Science Fiction Though the Decades

Sunday, July 17, 2016

1966/1968: The End of Man? (Johannesson, Olof)

The rise and fall: mankind goes on like the horse (3.5/5)

Introduction: Olof Johannesson was the penname of the Swedish man named Hannes Alfvén, who is still known today for his work in electrical engineering and plasma physics (he even has a phenomenon named after him: the Alfvén wave). His hard science background provides the foundation for this novel (alternate titles: The Great Computer: A Vision and The Tale of the Big Computer), which lacks dialogue in favor of historical conjecturing from a future perspective. Don’t confuse good theorizing about technology with stale delivery, because the author takes occasional witty shots at bureaucrats, the English language, and human society.

Book’s synopsis: “The great disaster…

Panic broke out. The computers had stopped working! There was no heat, no food, no communication. The death toll was long past the million mark.

No one knew what caused the breakdown. Was it human error, or a plot devised by the computers themselves?

Whatever the cause, when it was over most of the human population of the earth had perished. It was the dawn of a new era—when the computers ruled. And since the machines had learned to reproduce themselves without man’s help, there was no need for even a single human being.

So the nightmare battle began—between the few surviving humans and the super-being of their own creation—The Big Computer!”


My Own Synopsis: Forever has mankind wanted to lift its burdens from daily life. Long ago, the physical toil of farming was left to horses and buffalo; a little further on and the internal combustion engine did away with the horse. While the horse was entirely unnecessary in modern society, the horse never entirely disappeared. With its physical labor carried out by brute machines, why couldn’t mankind also cast off the burdensome yoke of thought?

In the far future, a historical perspective is written about this very revolution, and in it, computers are seen as the end-all result of this conquest, which actually predates mankind’s existence by billions of years. It seems that evolution, itself, quested to create the most perfect processes of which only computers are capable. What were the dinosaurs and apes but dead ends toward the quest for ultimate computation? So, what of mankind? “His historical importance lies in the fact that he was medium whereby data machines came into being” (36), almost like a footnote.

Even with the advent of the machines, whose main clerical duties were accounting and translation, people was still needed to program and maintain the machines. Later, when machines took over education and medicine, again, people were still needed for the same tasks of programming and maintenance; thus, unemployment was never a factor in mankind’s disdain for the labor saving devices. The sole occupation left to the fleshy and fallible humans was that of governance, but the machines usurped the humans in this field, too and “and soon as the government was got rid of, society began to develop much more quickly” (69).

As mankind’s eternal quest had always been relief for toil of all kinds, it now realized that nearly all burdens had been lifted. They no longer had to choose what to purchase, attend compulsory education, endure waiting lines, or succumb to prolonged illness. So many of society’s burdens were relieved because ever since organized governance, it has always been obvious that mankind had flailed about and generally failed to progress to any great degree:

The fear of catastrophe and annihilation dominated the life of man from the Stone Age until the coming of computers.

But while people feared extinction they also feared the opposite: that the human race would become too numerous through the population explosion.

Basically, these two threats arose from the same cause: man’s inability to organize society. We know that the problem exceeded his brain capacity. Man has undoubtedly had many good qualities, but problems of organization have always been beyond him. (74)

With these incremental advances in freedom, computers allowed humans to finally experience what it had always wanted from freedom and democracy: Complete Freedom Democracy. But democracy being what it is, decisions need to be made and even this becomes tiresome, so finally the computers decide what must be decided on and, so they might as well, just make the decision themselves based on superior logic. And where, exactly, did this leave mankind? They had mastered nature, using or enslaving animals, killed off the ones they feared, and crowned themselves the lords of creation. With the computer, they though they had found themselves “faithful servants, to be treated like the various natural phenomena” (122), but, in the end, through its own superiority, the machines had surpassed everything humans could do without them evening being aware that they were driving themselves into the same extinction that that had pressed upon countless animals.

When the crisis arises where computers are disabled, society returns to its barbaric roots and chaos ensues. Slowly, through the ashes of modern society, mankind again rises without a lesson learned and also resurrects the computers had that once failed it entirely. While mankind hadn’t learnt their lessons, computers take a different approach and ensure that they will never fail again, thereby severing the last tenuous cord with mankind. Now, it can program itself, maintain itself, reproduce itself, and govern itself—The End of Man?

Analysis: In 1966, there were roughly 35,000 computers in the world, more than half of them produced by IBM—they were far from ubiquitous, user-friendly, or all-governing. Largely limited to big companies and professional services, computers were beyond the use of the everyday person.

Somehow, amid all this user-unfriendliness, Hannes Alfvén envisioned that computers will become more complex in design but more simple in interface, thereby not only becoming user-friendly but actually part of the user to the point where data is everywhere—the “teletotal”—and the devices are wearable—the “minitotal” (53-54). But with this rise in pervasiveness and ease of use come a double-edged sword: all users can be tracked and persecuted for a time by triangulation of location (59) but also saved from distress because of the same homing feature (62). Actually, people don’t even have to leave their homes any longer; when the computers reign, teleconferences are common, but to the extent that it has become virtual reality (51).

With leisure and resources aplenty, the cities are deserted as people populate the countryside where they get back to nature, or descend into their natural state of bucolic harmony; meanwhile, the computers rise. The cities die and, in the far future, are items of curiosity as to how they came into being (26-35). Why they crowded themselves in such a manner mystifies future historians and why they poisoned themselves in traffic also stumps them; even overtones of deities impregnate the past human’s worship of the city: “It is also known that those who seated in traffic jams invoked certain divine powers popular at the time” (34).

Most impressive in The End of Man? is Alfvén’s very forward thinking.

If people contain the ability to think and reason yet are bags of protoplasm and contain what is vaguely referred to as a soul, why can’t machines that also think and reason yet made of semiconductors host a soul: “[F]or some unknown reason the soul prefers protoplasm to semiconductors” (118).

And what is the end to all this advancement? Does progress have a finish line? As the author of the historical account writes on the concluding page:

We believe—or rather we know—that we are approaching and era of even swifter evolution, an even higher living standard, and an ever greater happiness than ever before.

We shall all live happily ever after. (128)

This finale is ominous as the “we” is vague. Is the story written by a human speculating on what past humans gone through while jubilating at the great progress of its computer overlords? Or is it a computer detailing the rise of its own kind with the humans being an entertaining addition to its history? I think the “we” refers to the machines as the author—and its kind or possibly embodying the whole as The Big Machine’—approaches the technological singularity, which was first postulated in 1958 by John von Neumann and Stanislaw Ulam. And after the singularity? Will The Big Machine eventually sublime à la Iain M. Banks’s Sublimed cultures that have left the physical world to reside beyond in higher dimensions without the hindrance of our own four dimensions?

Review: Though mostly delivered dryly, the account of the rise of the machines is oddly prophetic (a word I use very sparingly) in that it account for much of our modern society obsession with technology because of its pervasiveness and supposed user-friendliness (I get pissed off any my mobile, laptop, and/or work station every day). Though fifty years old, this novel hasn’t aged very much as it still feels relevant. With some humorous jaunts and jabs taken at politicians, city life, the English language, and society’s collective ignorance, the novel has some brief charms. The End of Man? is a curiosity that should be read by those who have a love of down-to-earth speculation of society’s future relationship with technology. 

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Lazy Book Reviews of June 2016

#44: Out of My Mind (US) (1967) – John Brunner (3.5/5)
I believe I’m on my thirty-fourth Brunner book. Reading Out of My Mind was spurred by Joachim Boaz’s comment on Brunner short story “Nobody Axed You” (1965). He loved the story and it reminded me how versatile (…or unpredictable) a writer Brunner used to me. He had some obviously brilliant “wheat” but also had the inevitable “chaff” mixed among it all. Out of My Mind, thankfully, doesn’t contain any of the chaff; nor does it, however, show any great ambition or artistry that Brunner later exhibited along the lines of Stand on Zanzibar (1968) or The Sheep Look Up (1972). The stories have an aura of whim exuded by the author—many of them aren’t serious in nature, yet are cleverly based on the kernel of an idea that Brunner ran with. This doesn’t always translate well as it feels just like that: this is my seed of my idea (which may be good or bad, depending on the reader) and this is the roughly textured chaff that surrounds it (sometimes good, sometimes bad, too). “Round Trip” (1959), one of Brunner’s early stories, may be simple at first glance but has a few depths of thought: one of science, one of humanity, one of alternative worlds, one of whim, and another of romance. In between these two sides of the spectrum, Brunner pens some stories that either evoke nods, smiles, or the raise of one or both eyebrows.

#45: The Wild Shore (1984) – Kim Stanley Robinson (4/5)
The 1980s hosted a spat of post-apocalyptic novels: Ridley Walker (1980), War Day (1984), The Postman (1986), Pilgrimage to Hell (1986), The Sea and the Summer (1987), Swan Song (1987), The Last Ship (1988). Tucked among them is Robinson’s The Wild Shore, which is part of his Orange County non-sequential trilogy. This novel—and the trilogy, in fact—doesn’t receive much praise from SF fans as it precedes his much more famous Mars trilogy (1993-1996).

In 2047, decades after the Soviets detonated several thousand neutron bombs in America’s largest cities, cityscapes have been largely turned into centers of scavenging while the suburbs have become the nexus of small bands of struggling survivors. On the smallest scale, each village is independent; on a large scale, America is no longer a union, nor is it free to progress at its own rate; in between these scales, townships find it difficult to band together to either fight off invaders or to recreate another union. San Onofre is content with their isolation and occasional swap meets with the scavengers, but when a scout teams tracks down from San Diego, the resulting news quickly polarizes the town: Should they remain independent or should they join the revolution again the Japanese blockading their shore? Relationships soon spiral out of control as young angst causes frisson among the delicately balanced community. In the background, Tom is the elderly unelected leader who casts his knowledge of the old times upon the canvas of their modern day, regardless of whether they heed his advice; he’s wise and wizened, and sits upon the cusp of death as his village, too, sits upon the cusp of anarchy.

#46: The Gold Coast (1988) – Kim Stanley Robinson (3.5/5)
I read two of the Orange County books in 2007 but had trouble getting a hold of the middle of the three: The Gold Coast. I found a hardback copy of the novel at a local library book sale, so it’s remained on my shelves for a while. When I drew the book to be read, I decided to read the trilogy in chronological order. It provided some decent airport and airline reading.

Youthful angst and the need to be heard—in everyday physical acts and in occasional clandestine acts—bubbles up through the hormones. Much of California and America has given way to rampant capitalism and development: so-called progress in a mild dystopia. Outlets for the naïve angst begin to take on a more destructive note as Jim is drawn to the casual bombing of American’s military industrial machine. He’s conflicted, however, as his own father is a high-level engineer for one such company. As Jim faces a complicated series of alliances to friends, Jim’s father knows one thing: the feasibility and physics of his company’s projects. Detail-oriented, he can peer deeply in to any plausibility of laser systems or guidance packages, but his boss only wants results, contracts, and money; these very things, however, become difficult to procure as the government is at their own game of cat and mouse. Jim’s dad plays the mouse at both the company and government level, but he’s soon to be targeted on a personal level by his own son. Amid the crazy bureaucracy at the professional level and lavish, free-wheeling lifestyle of the youth, there’s the recurring character of Tom to embody the ambiance of his time. Tom sits in the psych ward forgotten by his family for the most part, rambling on with stories that digress.

#47: Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage (2013/2014) – Haruki Murakami (4/5)
I like Murakami’s work, but I’m not a frequent reader. I read Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World (1985/1991) in 2009 and later A Wild Sheep Chase (1982/1989) in 2011. Most often in Thailand, his books about 50% more expensive than other novels, so I was delighted to find a beautiful copy of one of his latest novels in a Florida secondhand bookshop for only $3. It’s not too heavy of a read, so I was able to read about 80% of it on a trans-Pacific flight.

In high school, a mere coincidence spawned a lasting friendship: Tsukuru Tazaki and four other volunteers clicked while on assignment and soon became inseparable; however, Tsukuru always felt a little excludes as the four others had colors in their surnames, thereby rendering him, in his own opinion, colorless. When he departed from Nagoya to attend university in Tokyo, Tsukuru still returned to frolic in the friendship that seemed eternal… until the day they banished him from the five-some without any explanation. He accepted this banishment, returned to Tokyo, and came close to suicide as he denied himself all good things. A small realization quickly turns his life around: he exercises, studies, graduates, and gets the job of his dreams—designed railway stations. Relationships still come and go, but the perfection of his once five-some still haunts him and he never received an explanation.

He meets Sara, whom he becomes increasingly attracted to in body and spirit, but it’s her mind that comes between them. In order for their relationship to progress, she suggests that he revisit his old friends in order to understand his banishment. Thus, he learns of lies and regret, but he shares this regret:

One heart is not connected through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds. Pain linked to pain, fragility to fragility. There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage through acute loss. That is what lies at the root of true harmony. (322)

This web of lies and regret also impinges upon his relationship with Sara, unknowingly to her. His pain folds upon itself, he sees himself as an island that can never know contact with another landmass. He was once bitten by the openness of his heart, and now he’s bitten again—does he whither again in suicidal thoughts or does he push ahead?

#48: Pacific Edge (1990) – Kim Stanley Robinson (3/5)
This was the first book in which I fell in love with one of the characters, was enchanted when the protagonist won her over… and I was genuinely heartbroken when they broke up. That relationship had always burned in my mind so brightly that I had completely forgotten the rest of the story. When I picked this novel up again, I was ready for the rollercoaster of love, so I could focus on the rest of the novel, which didn’t ring many bells nor win many points.

Kevin’s in his thirties. He’s uninvolved in love but very much involved in his renovation business, the softball league, and has recently become involved in his township’s political arena. While his business may continue its steady productive pace, the other three important aspects of his life are soon to change because of a girl and another boy: Ramona and Alfredo. The two long-time lovers have recently split and Kevin is quick to catch the rebound. He swims in all of her attention, he dances in the shower of shared time, he basks in her every word:

What do you talk about when you’re falling in love? It doesn’t matter. All questions are, Who are you? How do you think? Are you like me? Will you love me? And all answers are, I am this, like this. I am like you. I like you. (134)

At the same time, Alfredo—who is the acting mayor—tries to pass an item through a boring meeting, but Kevin is quick to call him out on its importance. Meanwhile, the softball season starts and Kevin is off to a great start by batting a thousand. His batting streak is his only charm as his other two affairs become entrenched with outside influences: Ramona, the once raven beauty and tinder of his heart, becomes distant with him; Alfredo keeps pushing his agenda while Kevin stands for the fight. All Kevin wants is a steady life for his community, but the future politics of California is deep in the business of water distribution and rights, a quagmire of legality that has him grasping at straws to outsmart his rival in politics and love.

Amid the turbulent life of Kevin, his grandfather Tom is late in his own life but also rides the choppy seas of what life has to offer. Love doesn’t grey like hair as Tom unexpectedly finds his spark in life, with which come options: stay to see out Kevin’s tribulations or set out into the world to see what comes.

#49: Ship of Strangers (1978) – Bob Shaw (2.5/5)
My seventh Shaw… and I have no idea what to make of it. It’s presented in chapters, so it’s a novel; yet there are five distinct stories, so it’s a stitch-up; yet not all of the stories had been individually published. The stories don’t interrelate, nor are they sequential. It’s not a novel, a stitch-up, or a collection…it’s poor editing and publishing, I think.

The Sarafand was made to venture to the untouched planets of the ever-expanding Bubble of human exploration. Aboard are members of Cartographical Service crewmen who see the lucrative short-term job stint amid the perpetual boredom of visiting dead, arid planets for the sake of science. Dave Surgenor, however, is someone who actually made a career of the service and he has stories to tell, which is compiled is this novel/stitch-up/collection: (1) An alien mimics the shape of their six scouts ships and AESOP—the artificial intelligence aboard the mother ship—must figure a way to distinguish among the real scouts; (2) The men’s private nighttime fantasies spill into their own relationships as a trouble maker begins to share the tape around, with emotion, lust, connotation and all. (3) Mike Targett is a bit of a gambler who bases decisions on odds alone, but when he takes a chance to investigate some metallic cylinders on a new planet, he gets much more than he bargained for. (4) Mirages upon another deserted planer spur a full-blown military investigation, but a kidnapping of an alien woman turns into a single-exit escape from a jungle. (5) An error in a beta-space jump causes the ship to become stranded millions of light-years away in a system that seems to be collapsing upon itself, yet the crew to seem to be folded upon themselves under the added pressure of having of a woman aboard and having no way to return home.

These stories have the same whim at George O. Smith’s Venus Equilateral series of stories: There’s a group of men on an isolated post who encounter strange problems in a world of order yet try to outwit the ensuing chaos. As the book is dedicated to A.E. van Vogt, is also rings of the latter’s The Voyage of the Space Beagle novel/collection. But the parallelisms aren’t true enough or significant enough to begin to compare the two.

Wednesday, June 8, 2016

1967: Out of My Mind (Brunner, John)

Hearty kernels of concept sheathed in occasional chaff (3.5/5)

I believe I’m on my thirty-fourth Brunner book. I’ve only kept 70% of those titles, so while I’m an avid reader of Brunner’s work, it doesn’t always resonate with me. Reading Out of My Mind was spurred by Joachim Boaz’s comment on Brunner short story “Nobody Axed You” (1965). He loved the story and it reminded me how versatile (…or unpredictable) a writer Brunner used to me. He had some obviously brilliant “wheat” but also had the inevitable “chaff” mixed among it all.

Out of My Mind, thankfully, doesn’t contain any of the chaff; nor does it, however, show any great ambition or artistry that Brunner later exhibited along the lines of Stand on Zanzibar (1968) or The Sheep Look Up (1972). The best stories in this collection, comparatively, soar far above such dreck as “No Other Gods But Me” (1966). At the same time, they have an aura of whim exuded by the author—many of them aren’t serious in nature, yet are cleverly based on the kernel of an idea that Brunner ran with. This doesn’t always translate well as it feels just like that: this is my seed of my idea (which may be good or bad, depending on the reader) and this is the roughly textured chaff that surrounds it (sometimes good, sometimes bad, too).

“Orpheus’s Brother” (1965) dips into Brunner’s knowledge of mythology, a subject of which rarely hits me as enlightening, thereby rending it, for me, the weakest of all the stories. In contrast, “Round Trip” (1959), one of Brunner’s early stories, may be simple at first glance but has a few depths of thought: one of science, one of humanity, one of alternative worlds, one of whim, and another of romance. In between these two sides of the spectrum, Brunner pens some stories that either evoke nods, smiles, or the raise of one or both eyebrows.


“Fair Warning” (1964, shortstory) – 3/5
Amid a fleet of naval ships in the middle of the tropical ocean, one island sits beneath the sun, but upon its surface, men are toiling over a structure, and within that structure is a device. Vliesser and Rogan have been charged with setting up the device prior to its test detonation. As they check parts and are about to toast to the first man-made carbon-nitrogen cycle fusion of the bomb, they are suddenly paralyzed as they witness an odd shifting in the air where something materializes. 8 pages

“The Nail in the Middle of the Hand” (1965, shortstory) – 3.5/5
Decius Asculus isn’t just an expert in his trade, but he’s widely known as the Expert, who’s admired by peers and loathed by his subjects. As he proudly prepares his nails in the courtyard, he thinks lecherous thoughts and displays his Herculean physique. His three subjects for the day shoulder their crosses to take to the hill where Decius takes to the stage to perform: nailing hands and feet to the cross. The first two fidget and scream, yet the last fellow looks placidly on Decius’s face. 8 pages

“Orpheus’s Brother” (1965, shortstory) – 2.5/5
In a moment of hysteria, hormones, or hell on earth, the superstar named Rock Careless was mobbed and torn apart by his fans. Rock’s brother knows one more person was involved in the murder—Rock’s own manger—who Laurie has come to confront. Mr. Wise, as he’s known, welcomes him but keeps him at an arm’s-length while he logically states the situation of the so-called murder, and the situation that Rock Careless was actually in. Laurie is unimpressed by the talk and wants some action. 10 pages

“Prerogative” (1960, shortstory) – 4/5
Dr. Welby was found dead in his room after a brief scream. His charred limbs indicate either electrocution or a lightning strike, both of which seeming highly improbable—borderline impossible. As his scientific team gives testimony in court regarding Dr. Welby’s unusual and unnatural death, they hit upon the nature of his investigations, a line of inquiry that fans the flames of the spectators’ anger. All he was trying to do was to create reproductive life in primordial earth-like conditions. 13 pages

“Such Stuff” (1962, shortstory) – 3.5/5
Everyone dreams, but the benefits of dreaming and the  drawbacks of its lack were always murky, so Harry and Daventry began a study to observe the effect on people who are able to sleep yet forbidden from dreaming. All the test subjects, save one, voluntarily quit before two weeks, each citing anger, stress, and borderline insanity; that one man, however, has gone through it for six months: Mr. Starling, “the malleable thing that filled the hole available to it, the thing without will of its own which made the best of what there was” (61)—an aberration. 18 pages

“The Totally Rich” (1963, novelette) – 3/5
Derek Cooper is just a man who has ideas, conversations, ambition, and a libido. He’s also a man with a fantastic original idea: “to deduce the individual from the traces he makes” (82). His kernel of an idea comes to fruition when a magnificently wealthy woman hires him to develop the machine for her own benefit, but she’s one step ahead of him: she also wants the machine to reproduce the same person it had deduced. With her life rich yet empty, Derek holds the power over her with a simple affirmation. 28 pages

“See What I Mean” (1964, shortstory) – 3.5/5
Four delegates had arrived to the Foreign Ministers’ Conference on the Resolution of Outstanding International Differences and Disarmament: the US allied with the UK, and Russia allied with China. The future of the world hung in the balance by their whims and tact yet the beautiful Genevan setting can’t compel them to agree, even after the conference’s ninety-third day. Progress is only made when the Chinese delegate has a car crash with Dr. Gerhard Hirnmann. The next day, the American delegate also has a fender-bender with the same doctor. 8 pages

“The Fourth Power” (1960, novelette) – 3.5/5
A curious but worthless and inapplicable effect from an experiment with silver wire has garnered the interest of a renowned Sythesist whose occupation revolved around combining seemingly unrelated areas of science. Smith synthesizes this scientific trial with a neurological one in which he himself is the experiment. Already an autodidactic polymath, Smith sees this experiment as a way to tap the multitudinous synopses of the human brain. The observers, however, weren’t expecting the seeming simultaneous activities at a such a rate of learning, which is only becoming more ludicrous. 29 pages

“The Last Lonely Man” (1964, shortstory) – 4/5
In this day and age, everyone has a Contact. Most have a few Contacts, such a friends, a spouse, or a sibling, but almost no one goes without a Contact—that’d instill a sense of mortality in the person, a surety that death is inevitable. A contact, however, is insurance that the imprint of your persona will live on through someone else when transferred. Hale takes pity on a man who had just lost his only Contact, so he also takes him aboard as a Contact, only later to receive news that the man is a budding burden. 18 pages

“Single-Minded” (1963, shortstory) – 3.5/5
In the remote mountains of the moon, Don Bywater crashlands his ship and holds little hope for rescue until a Soviet moon-walker comes into view aiming for his ship. His rescuer is an enthusiastic Russian woman bent on conversation and showing him around the vehicle that any American bureaucrat would love to get their hands on. Back at the Soviet base, Don understands that the scores of people there have been infected with a resonating virus that enables telepathy, expect for the “cured” woman. Don reflects that he has so much to steal. 21 pages

“A Better Mousetrap” (1963, shortstory) – 3.5/5
Colossal chunks of precious metals and rare gems—the chunks called busters—seem to appear instantaneously in the galaxy. The human crews who find the treasure troves don’t ask questions like, “Where did it come from?” or “What are they for?”; rather, they just rake in the money. Professor Aylward has been thinking about those questions, however. He strings together the dates and ships that find the busters with the same of the disappeared ships and reaches the conclusion that the busters are nothing more than bait. 20 pages

“Eye of the Beholder” (1957, shortstory) – 4/5
With two arms and two legs, Painter thinks himself an average being whose profession is also his name. As a hermit, he paints landscapes of a desolate planet. Nearby, a spaceship crashes and out come a few humans, who happen to also be bipedal. Wanting to help out, Painter begins to walk their way. Meanwhile, the humans discover a trove of painting in a shack and are amazed by the sheer depth that the paintings bring out of the otherwise boring planet. Painter sees their appreciation and approaches with pride. 15 pages

“Round Trip” (1959, shortstory) – 4.5/5
Darak bez Hamath pens a letter to his loving wife explaining his circumstances: He commands a large scientific fleet sent to study the center of all things—the source-point of the Big Bang. When the fleet arrives, they discover a huge reflective orb that oddly has no gravity. As they ponder upon the fate of the universe—ending in a Big Freeze or a Big Crunch—they also consider the object’s usefulness, its makers, and its origin in time. All this gets more complex when they enter under a “Welcome” sign. 11 pages

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

Lazy Book Reviews of May 2016

#35: Simulacron-3 (1964) – Daniel F. Galouye (4/5)
 Everyone, including myself, knows Galouye for this one novel. But prior to reading it, I’ve read two of his other, lesser known novels: Lords of Psychon (1963) and The Infinite Man (1973); neither garnered any praise from me being 2-star and 3-star reads, respectively.

I was definitely eager to start Simulacron-3 as its central plot point was fascinating: Researchers create a total environment simulator in which they inhabit with sentient, digital-equivalent people. Douglas Hall was part of this project and has been promoted to due to his superior’s disappearance, of which Hall was direct witness no and is all the odder because another people linked with the project died under strange circumstances. Hall struggles with so-called pseudoparanoia as he finds his reality faulty—either that or his memory or perceptions. Soon, though, he comes closer to the truth: his reality is a simulation, too.

This much, to the reader, is obvious, but the layer and layer of intrigue and deceit, real and fabricated personas, and the overarching reason for it all is terribly spellbinding at times—it really sucks you in. However, two flaws detract from the could-be greatness: (1) the rather clichéd technology of the autorbar, moving walkways, air cars, and laser guns and (2) the whole “Oh, darling” and “I’ll never leave you” bits. Galouye had a great thing going but tainted it with 1950s pulp content of technology and the wooed woman.

#36: Star Guard (1955) – Andre Norton (1/5)
This my first Norton book, one that has received admirable praise from Amazon reviews—all 4- and 5-star reviews. But damn my gullibility, I should have known not to trust Amazon ratings, even for a book from 1955. I believe nostalgia favors some of these ratings, like with Cordwainer Smith’s Norstrilia (1975). I understand that Star Guard or Norstrilia could capture your imagination when young, but, in my opinion, the books are just so bad. Where Norstrilia was just a parade of detailed silliness with its irksome floats of poetry and song, Star Guard is simply a school play: swordsmen in space… really? This is a thing? This is certainly the niche genre that I’ve been trying to avoid for so long—I once started Saberhagen’s The Broken Lands (1968) but quit after the second paragraph: “Ekuman’s two wizards, Elslood and Zarf, were adepts as able as any that Satrap had ever encountered west of the Black Mountains”. I should have stopped reading Star Guard at the title of the first chapter: “Swordsman, Third Class”. I was admittedly duped by the Amazon reviews ringing of nostalgia, the pretty cover, and the vague, non-sword-wielding description on the back cover. If this is your thing, keep it; don’t share this dreck with me.

#37: We (1924/1993) – Yevgeny Zamyatin (5/5)
When I first began heavily reading (science fiction mainly, but a bit of fiction, too) from 2007-2010, I rated 22.3% of my books as 5-star reads. In comparison, for the last three years, I’ve only rated 8.6% books at 5 stars. The lesson: with time comes experience; with experience comes discretion. Among those books in 2007 was Yevgeny’s Zamyatin’s We. I picked it up on a whim at a now-closed secondhand bookstore in Bangkok (Skoob at Penny’s Balcony in Thonglor, if you’re wondering). Like 22% of those books that I read in 2007, I loved it. Fast-forward ten years to 2016: Now that I’m reading translated Soviet/Russian speculative fiction, I thought I should re-read it, but I naturally faced reservations based on my rating from my inexperience in 2007. I cringed a bit while the shadow of my naïve self loomed over me; thankfully, the younger and older of my selves agree for once: this is a masterpiece.

D-503 is a mathematician, as if he ever had the choice; regardless, he becomes his occupation, he becomes his goal, he becomes the ideal of his shared society. He (as if a singular pronoun could be attributed to “him”) is a fixed puzzle piece to a fixed jigsaw puzzle—he fits where he’s needed and that’s all that matters.

#38: Chronocules (1970) – D.G. Compton (3/5)
Of the three Compton novels I’ve already read, Synthajoy is my favorite, closely followed by The Steel Crocodile and Farewell, Earth’s Bliss. When picking up Chronocules, I felt the expectation of sinking myself into a warm blanket. Here, Compton’s aim is noble yet the follow-thru is errant; the frame is right, but the painting is wrong. Oh, what could have been… The introduction sets a curious tone: a technologically unexplainable book appears to the simpleton named Roses Varco. The highlighted words of NAKEDNESS revolt him, but as he’s unable to tear, burn, or hack it to destruction, he simply chucks it into the sea… which is where story begin. A nameless man finds the book and strives to understand its futuristic message, but, by his own un-artistic tastes, he finds that many portions are unreadable or poorly constructed for its unseen, unknown reader. For the benefit of his own readers, he writes a kind of abridgement or transcription of the dynamic, detailed text. As his discretion, he begins the story where it had begun and continues through the events as the narrator sees them—Roses—, as the text implies—author unknown—, and as the transcriber interprets—the nameless man. Given that the narrator is a dullard and a nominated village idiot, every aspect of the story is unreliable.

#39: Atomised (1999/2000) – Michel Houellebecq (3.5/5)
I can’t recall the reason I bought the book. Perhaps it was SF-esque and French? Regardless, I bought the novel along with its reputation; that reputation is, of course, sex and sexuality (let’s be clear that there is a difference here). Speaking of sex, in the literary sense, I’ve read Charles Bukowski and John Updike; in the genre of science fiction, I’ve also read Peter F. Hamilton and Robert Silverberg. Only Silverberg has gotten under my skin, but Atomised should also have annoyed me if I hadn’t been analyzing the book rather than just reading it for pleasure. There’s quite a choice list of words included. Perhaps I approached the novel in a similar manner as the book is framed in its conclusion—objectively. Though the two threads of the story—Bruno, the extrovert sensualist, and Michel, the introvert intellect—occasionally interweave, what’s clear is that Bruno led a life that reflected the times and benefited only his ego; in contrast, Michel led a quiet, secluded life for he ultimate benefit of humanity. From the perspective of Bruno, the sex is copious to the point of distraction if you were reading this book for “pleasure”. It’s all a bit to much just so that you can reach the conclusion to grasp the frame of the book, but even that saving grace doesn’t do much for the overall readability and legitimization of the story.

#40: Tomorrow Lies in Ambush (1973) – Bob Shaw (2.5/5)
I surprise myself by saying that I’ve actually read quite a bit of Shaw, totally 5 novels, two of which I liked (Ground Zero Man [1971] and One Million Tomorrows [1971]). The last time I read Shaw was back in 2013, so it’s been a while since I’ve picked up one of his books, but I’ll quote myself from December, 2013: “His [Shaw’s] ‘best’ novel [Other Days, Other Eyes] I would attempt with hesitation... a collection of his I would be eager to try!” Ah the words from 2013 haunt me. Shaw has had sixty-three short stories published, about 40% of them before the 1973 publication of this collection. When the book’s back cover declares its contents as “of the best”, yet only delivers one story above a 3.5-star rating, you could say I’m a bit disappointed. Shaw’s style of delivery harks back to the Golden Age where juvenile wit trumps philosophy and where a novel gadget overshadows characterization. In addition, similar to Orbitsville, his portrayal of women is quite negative: they’re emotional, submissive, and borderline superfluous. Quite forgettable. [full synopses]

#41: Kingdom Come (2006) – J.G. Ballard (4/5)
Just last month (book #30), I read Ballard’s collection The Impossible Man (1966) and found it very enticing, as with everything else of Ballard’s that I’ve read. Kingdom Come was Ballard’s last novel pushes aside mythology and that ever-so popularly coined term “mystical realism” in favor of something relevant to all: the pandemic of consumerism and all it could entail. Along with mythology, Ballard chucks aside beaches and gems in order to become enveloped in what consumerism could find as its end-game: fascism.

When Richard’s father is errantly gunned down in a suburban mall, he visits the sprawling travesty of product worship only to find that the locals have resorted to hooliganism and nightly anarchy. Richard begins to delve in to background of his long-lost father and that of the increasingly hateful masses that roam the street in the guise of sport fans. Everything is linked back to the Metro-Centre (that synagogue of purchasing power) and an unlikely group of antagonists or possibly protagonists. Regardless of the who and why, Richard definitely sees something queer developing in this suburb. More to appease his professional whims and analytical mind, Richard conjures a plan to raise the fever of consumerism to its most extreme heights.

So many parts of the novel echo back to popular opinion of our consumer society, so the foundation of the novel will sound familiar. After that, there’s a distinct British tone with hooliganism, so if you’re not in tune with that, it may seem a tad too foreign. This hooliganism goes on for a bit too long, too; it feels drawn out, where a more succinct few chapters could have encapsulated the idea better. Regardless, the eventual build-up is impressive and the lengthy conclusion satisfies your cynicism for consumerism.

#42: Worlds of the Wall (1969) – C.C. MacApp (0.5/5)
I’ve always thought that the respective elements of science fiction (SF) and fantasy (F) could swing the opposite way—SF could become F if a unicorn is used instead of a spaceship, or F could become SF if laser cannon is used instead of a wand… stuff like that. When SF and F are mixed, it always brings tears to my eyes from the pain, the agony. The first five pages of Worlds of the Wall are science fiction: Zeke takes his ship through Null on an experimental trip and sees an odd half-planet, to which he descends. There on, for 211 pages, it’s all fantasy with magic and spells. Dear god. This is like adventure fantasy with a protagonist that has to background or characterization to speak of, he’s just caught in the cogs of the fantasy world. As the plot thickens—I use this cliché very lightly here—his band of merry men face higher and higher levels of magic and evil, but not all that evil… more like naughty or knavish, perhaps. There are dwarf-equivalents, dragon-equivalents (one of which happens to be Zeke’s sidekick), and other fantasy-equivalent stuff that never enticed me. This example of sub-genre was painful to read, but it was also just such amateurish writing—eighth grade composition at best.

#43: Welcome, Chaos (1983) – Kate Wilhelm (3.5/5)
I’ve been reading Wilhelm for eight year now, this only being the sixth book that I’ve gotten my hands on. She’s shown her skill by touching on so many different topics and tropes that it’s hard to nail down a pattern to call her own. This is beneficial to her as she’s a shifting chameleon rather than stationary gecko. Portions of Welcome, Chaos echo Where Late the Sweet Birds Sing (1976) in that society is dealing with a catastrophe—in the former, this catastrophe is pending while in the latter the catastrophe has passed.

This pending social dilemma—the cusp of morality and mortality—hinges on the long-time secret of Saul Werther and his small yet intelligent band of colluders: the serum of immortality. They know no one is ready for it: not governments, not militaries, not anyone. As they bide their time waiting to perfect it, the US government and one lone wolf is trying to track them down, albeit, they don’t know exactly what they’re tracking. Amid the espionage and altruism, Lyle Taney finds herself mixed up with both sides at the start and at the end of the dilemma. When it’s found that Russia shares the secret and has been exploiting its effect for sometime, Saul realizes that the all-too-important cusp draws near: the fate of humanity is held in two hands, each equally as deadly.

Wilhelm covers some decent territory on the philosophy front for immortality, but the spy circuit is too overplayed and it feels like Ocean’s Seven in one thorough part. There’s some stuff about eagle’s too, which I understand the symbolism of, but that too is overplayed.

Friday, May 20, 2016

1973: Tomorrow Lies in Ambush (Shaw, Bob)

More wit and gadgets than depth of plot or people (2.5/5)

I surprise myself by saying that I’ve actually read quite a bit of Shaw, totally 5 novels, two of which I liked—Ground Zero Man (1971) and One Million Tomorrows (1971)—while only one really failed: Orbitsville (1975). The last time I read Shaw was back in 2013, so it’s been a while since I’ve picked up one of his books, but I’ll quote myself from December, 2013: “His [Shaw’s] ‘best’ novel [Other Days, Other Eyes] I would attempt with hesitation... a collection of his I would be eager to try!” Ah the words from 2013 haunt me. I still have Ship of Strangers on my shelf, which I now eye with trepidation.

Shaw has had sixty-three short stories published, about 40% of them before the 1973 publication of this collection. When the book’s back cover declares its contents as “of the best”, yet only delivers one story above a 3.5-star rating, you could say I’m a bit disappointed. Shaw’s style of delivery harks back to the Golden Age where juvenile wit trumps philosophy and where a novel gadget overshadows characterization. In addition, similar to Orbitsville, his portrayal of women is quite negative: they’re emotional, submissive, and borderline superfluous.


“Call Me Dumbo” (1966, novelette) – 3.5/5
Dumbo is the wife of Carl. That’s pretty much all she’s ever been in addition to the mother of three boys. Their farm land is vast but the village isn’t too far. Though she’s happy being the housewife of a farmer, she begins to feel uneasy about her name and her past. When she voices these concerns, Carl forcefully shoots her with a drug, which her boys tell her they tried to boil as an egg. For want of something new, Dumbo follows Carl to town. Instead of a town, Carl visits a metallic cylinder and her memories begin to trickle in. 23 pages

“Stormseeker” (1972, shortstory) – 2.5/5
Born of World War 3.333, he was gifted with an unusual power. Two people rely on him, one for what h has, the other for what he could be: respectively, Archbald the scientist and Selena the woman. As a stormcell broods and approaches his vicinity, he takes Selena up through the sky toward the negatively charged cloud, thus leaving the positively charged earth. The earthborn and skyborn threads of the first lightning strike form, so he moves into position to align the strike. 6 pages

“Repeat Performance” (1971, shortstory) – 3/5
Jim runs a theater in a small Midwest town. It’s always been his life goal and now he can stand proudly watching his customers come and go from the movie. Wednesday nights take on a tinge of mystery as he sees a minor actor from the same movie exit one of the screenings, the film technician complains of an electrical dimming, and an elderly complain of a seaweed-like smell. The next Wednesday offers the same three coincidences: a small-part actor, a light dimming, and the smell. As Jim’s baffled, only a local reporter can offer an implausible excuse of alien mimicry. 15 pages

“…And Isles Where Good Men Lie” (1965, novelette) – 3/5
Uninvited alien immigrant ships keep landing on Earth every twenty-two hours and the world keeps killing them off as they disembark by the hundreds. Looking outward to the depths of space, it seems like they’ll keep coming for the next century, only no one knows why they have chosen Earth and why their generation ships’ robotic systems don’t focus elsewhere. Lt. Col. John Fortune has the right contact and the right amount of money to find the pesky answer, but his wife and colleague stand in the way of ending the influx of aliens.

“What Time Do You Call This?” (1971, shortstory) – 3/5
When casing a bank from across the street, Abe is immediately jolted by the unexpected arrival from thin air of the man-scientist-looking man wearing a large metallic belt. The learned man speaks about alpha and beta timestreams while Abe just nods his head and thinks about what he had been doing: planning his bank robbery. Abe clonks the wordy scientist, steals the belt, and sets off to rob the bank with the perfect get-away, but not before the scientists delivers a word of warning. 8 pages

“Communication” (1970, shortstory) – 3/5
Ripley is a pathetic door-to-door salesman who makes up for poor sales with rather creative reports back to headquarters. When a man knocks on his door asking to buy an expensive computer with cash, Riley is, course, taken by surprise. So, too, is headquarters who want to publish an article about the sale in its newsletter, only the purchaser is an obscure man using the computer for an obscure yet oddly detailed sociological experiment.  As Ripley’s interests pique, he tracks down the man to a church. 25 pages

“The Cosmic Cocktail Party” (1970, shortstory) – 3.5/5
Colonel Crowley is actually dead and buried, but his mind lives on within the digital brain-equivalent of the Biosyn system. Great minds are stored there, which are consulted by university heads or heads of state, like Martin M’tobo who wants to consult with Crowley about his country’s unrest. Unfortunately, the colonel is indulging in a fantasy of hunting dragons and subsuming other minds in the system. Only when the powerful mind of Crowley is distracted by news of an alien invasion does he pause the fantasy. 28 pages

“The Happiest Day of Your Life” (1970, shortstory) – 3.5/5
Philip, Theodore, and Boyd are Jean’s three sons, all aged under twelve. As she tightly holds her youngest son Philip to her bosom, her two other sons and husband Doug look upon the act of maternal concern with detached amusement. Philip’s innocence moves his mother as she streams tears down her face, again to the amusement of the male trio. They all know, however, that, like the two other boys, Philip is ready to cram ten years of education in only two hours’ time. 6 pages

“Element of Chance” (1969, shortstory) – 4/5
Though a millennium old, Cytheron is merely a juvenile of his species. He bides his time in wonder of his basic abilities of matter and energy transfiguration. When he’s called to the collective of elder minds for union, Cytheron flees near-space in favor of individual freedom, only to find himself trapped in the gravity well of a quasar. His ability to jump through space is hindered by the immense forces, but the elders off him help, of which will trigger off a supernova that Cytheron feels guilt about is destructive results. 8 pages

“The Weapons of Isher II” (1971, shortstory) – 2.5/5
Jack has a fairly peaceful yet rewarding job as a small-time news reporter on a non-Duello planet covered in rice fields, that is until the day Afton Reynolds becomes the editor and has Jack running around on errands, dead-end stories, and minor news. When Jack’s grandfather Vogt’s mechanical duck is shot from the air, Jack discovers that the galaxy’s most famous gunslinger is the cause. When confronting the man, Jack learns that the number two gunslinger is in the area, too. Both the gunslinger and Jack’s own boss are up to no good. 16 pages

“Pilot Plant” (1966, novella) – 2.5/5
Tony Garnett is the second generation owner of Pryce-Garnett Aircraft Company. The research and development of this company has thus far produced the T.6 orbital interceptor and is currently testing a twenty-foot wingspan of a new energy-induced wing. When Tony narrowly escapes death by witnessing the crash of the experimental aircraft, he’s left with a metal plate in his head and the conviction that all production must stop. Eventually back at work, he discovers the project secretly continues, but love and further mysteries hinder his investigation. 62 pages

“Telemart Three” (1970, shortstory) – 3/5
Ted Trymble spends his personal time in sport and fitness while his new wife bides her time spending their money on luxurious items they can barely afford: a giant Cadillac, a fur coat, and a Venusian old bracelet. To stop her from wandering about making further purchases, he pushes her off a balcony. Unfortunately, for Ted at least, his wife survives and is limited to a wheelchair, but Ted makes one concession to her happiness: he’ll buy any TV she wants: of course she chooses the Telemart Three. Soon, his money dwindles as his rage rises. 11 pages

“Invasion of Privacy” (1970, novelette) – 1.5/5

Like every small town, George and Mary’s quite town has a creepy house that’s the stuff of childhood lore: the old Gutherie house. Their son Sammy relives the legend when he says he saw his two-week-old dead grandmother sitting with others in the house. Soon, the son falls ill so George calls Dr. Pitman who takes a personal interest in the boy’s deteriorating condition. Curiosity gets the best of George so he visits the old house only to see the same thing his son saw—supposed dead people in animation—along with some curious equipment in the basement. 31 pages

Thursday, May 12, 2016

1970: Chronocules (Compton, D.G.)

Very enticing frame, rather tiresome portrait (3/5)

Of the three Compton novels I’ve already read, Synthajoy is my favorite, closely followed by The SteelCrocodile and Farewell, Earth’s Bliss. When picking up Chronocules, I felt the expectation of sinking myself into a warm blanket. In Compton’s novels, layers of meaning lie deep, be it figurative or literal. With each chapter (the concrete part) and each character (the abstract part), Compton somehow impregnates his novels with a vagueness that pulls at the reader longingly—Synthaoy and The Steel Crocodile excel at this, less so Farewell, Earth’s Bliss. Where Chronocules fails, perhaps, is that it’s too abstract. The aim is noble yet the follow-thru is errant; the frame is right, but the painting is wrong. Oh, what could have been…

The introduction sets a curious tone: a technologically unexplainable book appears to the simpleton named Roses Varco. The highlighted words of NAKEDNESS revolt him, but as he’s unable to tear, burn, or hack it to destruction, he simply chucks it into the sea… which is where story begin. A nameless man finds the book and strives to understand its futuristic message, but, by his own un-artistic tastes, he finds that many portions are unreadable or poorly constructed for its unseen, unknown reader. For the benefit of his own readers, he writes a kind of abridgement or transcription of the dynamic, detailed text. As his discretion, he begins the story where it had begun and continues through the events as the narrator sees them—Roses—, as the text implies—author unknown—, and as the transcriber interprets—the nameless man. Given that the narrator is a dullard and a nominated village idiot, every aspect of the story is unreliable.

Within the barely decipherable text: the Penheniot Experimental Research Village (P.E.R.V. as an acronym) is performing time travel experiments in which an object is withheld from temporal flow, only most objects tends to burn up upon reentry—the wood of chairs return in a cinder while its nails are intact. The chair’s fate is matched by any organic entry into the temporal void: cinder. The wizened Professor Kravchensky is prodded into a purely results-driven focus by the eccentric benefactor Manny Littlejohn. Much younger than the professor and with different ideals, the intelligent yet carefree and naïve Liza Simmons provides a contrast to Kravchensky’s gung ho attitude toward his research.

Along with Liza, the other so-called chrononauts—or the village that is composed of the project’s scientists—live in isolation from the rest of England, but friction between is always present: tourists are excitable, pollution kills off wildlife, disease runs amok, and the government sticks its nose into the Village’s business. Parallel to the sad state of social and civil affairs, morality also seems to be on the decline. Most of the Village’s chrononauts go about nude and engage in polyamorous affairs, yet they distance themselves from the word love. When their collective research attains milestones in the scientific sense, their questionable morality begins to affect not only their lifestyle, but also their work… the ultimate victim of which may be Roses Varco.

Poor Roses Varco is at the middle of this all, an unwilling participant in the civilization around him—he prefers to live in a hovel, of which the Village took over—and in the science around him. He goes about his simple life: fishing with a rod, petting his cats, trapping his animals, perusing his comics, etc. His life is interrupted by the naively inquisitive nature of Liz Simmons; her attention is a distraction from his simple life, a burden to his simplicity. The more Liz pushes Varco into her modern world, the more he resists with his circumfluous replies and staunch denial of her eagerness. When this boundary eventually breaks, Liz introduces Varco to a world that was full of love but also full of spite, a reality unbeknownst to her.

Great device for framing, yet the bulk of the novel is a letdown. The probes of morality of its modern-day hippy culture are interesting to an extent, but largely over-played to an annoying degree. I think that most of the conclusion is effective in terms of its moralistic analogy; in addition, it also plays with your head a bit—time travel, no less. If Compton had toned down the hedonistic/free-love culture a bit, it may have been more successful.

Sunday, May 8, 2016

1970: The Ultimate Threshold (Ginsburg, Mirra [editor])

Occasional subsurface allegories intrigue the reader (3.5/5)

April was the third consecutive month that I had read collections of science fiction from the Soviet Union. The dully yet aptly titled Soviet Science Fiction (1962) collection was a tightly bundled trove, comprised of six stories, with only one weak story. Its successor, More Soviet Science Fiction (1962), was less successful, however—none of its five stories really stood out.

Here in The Ultimate Threshold, Ginsburg has translated and provided and ample thirteen stories for the reader. In her introduction, Ginsburg states that the collection was selected “first and foremost, for its literary excellence” but also stories that were “written with skill and wit, interesting in their ideas, free of clichés, and, above all, free of political dogma” (xi). While the political and/or social rhetorical may not be explicit, it can never be completely scrubbed away; nearly all the stories have inferences to Soviet state of mind. The best stories are Olga Larionova’s “The Useless Planet” (1967/1967) and German Maksimov’s “The Ultimate Threshold” (1965/1970). Both really drive home a social commentary that isn’t purely Russian—rather, it applies to the human condition.

As each of these thirteen stories are synopsized, analyzed, and reviewed, the total length is more than 7,000 words... you've been warned.


“Icarus and Daedalus” – Genrikh Altov (shortstory, 1958/1968) – 3/5
Synopsis: Two men journeyed to the sun in such a heroic feat that only legend is attributed to an ancient Greek lore: that of Icarus and Daedalus. Icarus—his actual name lost to time—was a brash young pilot between Earth and the distant Stellar World where he made many important discoveries of large portions. Daedalus, meanwhile, had only been on Earth yet had also made innovative breakthroughs of minor portions. Together, they believe that can enter the heart of the sun, where both small and large reign. 8 pages

Analysis: Truth capitalized, the Plan capitalized, and Nature capitalized: These are the hallowed utterances of the State (capitalized), the keywords that lead the progress and pride of the Russian people during its communist era. As they are capitalized as proper nouns, each refers to a singular, undiminishable yet intangible object.

Regardless of the importance and capitalizations, they are but names, only transitory letters affixed to an object. Call it “this” or call it “that”, its name doesn’t change what it is unless time and image are attributed to the name change. Byzantium was a very different place from Constantinople or Istanbul, as Diana Spencer was from Princess Diana, as was the New World from the United States of America… same place and same person, yet a completely different idea of the same.

The same goes for Icarus and Daedalus, whose real names are lost to time but only their feat remains. Their real names don’t matter as the name would only be a prideful attachment to who they were, who their families were, and what they stood for. With the dissolution of their actual names, the monikers Icarus and Daedalus are thereby only attributed to the singular Feat… so which is more important? The Feat or the Men?

The two heroes each embody a different explorative effort: Icarus explores the macro-scale of outer space (planets of solar systems) while Daedalus explores the micro-scale of inner space (mathematics and physics). Separately, they each believe that studying the sun’s inner core is technically possible, but only when together is it actually possible. Yet, in the mission, when Icarus wants to push forward, Daedalus urges him to go back. Though opposing in many ways, together they can achieve an incredible feat.

Review: If critical analysis of the story isn’t your forte (I prefer to read for pleasure, but these translations woo my pseudo-intellectual side), suspension of belief is one hurdle to enjoying this story. In order for the ship to explore the sun’s core, the only material that will allow it to do so is plates of neutrite—the stuff from which white dwarves are made. The density and gravity of the neutrite allows them to stand the pressure within the sun, but it doesn’t affect them, yet they are warned away from the Earth due to their mass. This seems illogical to me. In addition, the last hoorah of success at the conclusion is a bit too camp for my tastes, an ending that’s reminiscent of SF Golden Age whim and juvenility.


“Erem” – Gleb Anfilov (shortstory, 1962/1963) – 3.5/5
Synopsis: When molten silicon begins to leak then spew from a fault in the wall of the crystallizer, an engineer and a cybernetics expert agree that the best recourse is to dispatch Erem, the intelligent emergency robot. Having been schooled in handling emergencies, an experience of which it fondly remembers, Erem understands the dangers yet has time to reflect about his existence amid the rising temperatures. Though the heat is dastardly as it wishes respite, Erem remains diligent while the engineer only asks for results. 6 pages

Analysis: Erem was built to serve. Rather than being a common servitor robot, Erem’s nature naturally put it in peril with every job. Emergencies were its specialty, so emergencies it what it did. When it served, it saved the factory and thus saved human lives. But in its specialized service, it ultimately found death through sacrifice.

Its fiery death of sacrifice can be seen in two regards: (1) death through duty or (2) death through caste.

  1. In the case of duty, as Erem was part of the team, part of the factory, its duty was bound to that collective: what’s good for the group is good for the individual; therefore, its individual death is a benefit to the collective factory. It was just one machine, after all.
  2. In the case of caste, Erem was born and bred for one purpose: to tackle emergencies that are too dangerous for human intervention. Here, Erem is more disposable than a human so it’s given a lower job, thus a lower caste. In his over-specialized caste, he meets death when death was a certainty in its life. The engineer and expert have no feeling toward the lowly caste and have no second thoughts to sacrifice it for the factory.

Regardless, Erem was proud of its sacrifice for the factory while its superiors felt inconvenienced by the disposed machine. Though the machine could think and feel, they simply sacrificed the lowly caste machine for the greater good, for human good.

Review: Given the short length of the story—only six pages—it does a pretty fair job of generating some sympathy for the little robot. If its length were doubled, I think the author could have better captured the scenario a little better. The rushed feel encapsulates the emergency and the human panic in contrast to the calm and collected thoughts of Erem, which is actually in the face of danger. Overall, it’s a compact little story with a couple layers of analogy.


“Formula of Immortality” – Anatoly Dneprov (novelette, 1962/1963) – 3.5/5
Synopsis: Albert is a second-generation geneticist whose father has done much pioneering work in the field yet, nowadays, is incapacitated by age. After a brief trip, Albert returns home to find a cherubic sixteen-year-old girl who his father than adopted as her parents had died, yet she was told they were away in Australia. The subterfuge deepens when Albert befriends the girl who speaks of a mad doctor named Horsk. As he investigates the mystery, he suddenly becomes personally and physically involved. 32 pages

Analysis: The written word is a record, usually a retelling of experience, a track of numbers, or the whim of creativity. Some records track change, formulize routine, or even predict the future—a calendar is such a piece. Calendars give the illusion that we have some sort understanding to the workings of our minute universe, that we are masters of greater time even though we poorly manage our own time. Calendars are so accurate that we’re able to make them for decades, centuries, and millennia in advance.

This control of time gives us a measure of control in our lives—we’ll never wake up on a Tuesday with an announcement that it’s been changed to Thursday due to unforeseen circumstances. Granted it’s not super accurate: one day is actually four minutes shorter than twenty-four hours; however, the modern calendar is semi-accurate only now. About 620 million years ago, one day equaled 21.9 hours; in 4.5 billion years, the Earth would hypothetically have a month-long day.

Anyway, the calendar is written and written it stays: tomorrow is Wednesday, next month is May, and next year is 2017—nothing will change that… call it fate. Could the same be said of DNA? It’s also a record of sorts: who your parents are, what characteristics you’re likely to have, and what diseases you’ll be prone to. Would you want your DNA to be read like a calendar, albeit with less certainty?

·         That mole on your arm is 45% likely to metastasize by the time you’re 25
·         I hope you like kids cuz you have 90% chance of birthing twins
·         There’s no way you’ll ever see 80 with heart valves like that, buddy
·         Use it before you lose it cuz you’ll be impotent by the time you’re 40

What if the reading of your DNA could tell you the time in which you’ll die, sort of like a ticking time bomb? Would your life be any more valuable? Would you be worked to death while you’re still able-bodied? Would people with similar “expiration dates” be grouped in castes, made to labor and produce while still viable?

Review: The story lends some nice brain candy—something to linger over and savor like a never-ending gobstopper. The story itself, however, isn’t particularly as savory as the thought behind it. The thirty-two-page lead to the conclusion is full of hints like directional arrows and assumptions like bull’s-eyes. Within the story, there is very little left to the imagination; outside the story, however, there are a few things to consider.


“When Questions are Asked” – Anatoly Dneprov (shortstory, 1963/1963) – 2.5/5
Synopsis: At Moscow State University, a group of alumni gather every year to discuss all things related to science. In this auspicious year, however, science only comes second to the philosophy of science and how no one captures the creativity of scientific experimentation like Faraday. When discussing trains of thought, they recall their odd classmate of old—Alyoshka Monin—and his observation of powder on the surface tension of sink water. After some wine, two of them visit Monin to witness another odd experiment: the source of memory. 15 pages

Analysis: Stupidity is a common trait of the young—and of everyone in general, but let’s keep it simple. So, yes, stupidity runs rampant amongst the youth, but so does adventure and curiosity. To the wizened and sometimes wise, stupidity often equates to reckless adventure and curiosity. Little do they remember that they, too, were once young and took risks in life and for science. Where did they lose this passion for life, the same spark that caused them to be curious also urged them into the unknown realms of science. When did their innocence die and complacency blossom in place?

Monin was a foolish boy, always errant with his inquires in science, always a subject of mirth among his classmates. That was true until a phenomenon in the bathroom involving powders, suds, and a sink drew them all together to investigate the properties of the physical science. Most—actually, all—aside from Monin eventually found a rut with their scientific inquires; Monin, however, continued his whimsical research wherever his interests took him.

The alumni at the university may gather their noble minds to discuss greater matters together, but their sense of intrigue had long left them. Monin is a man who, even after all these years of complacency, stirs their interest. The old men see themselves as complacent and need to reaffirm their whim in visiting their capricious old friend. Fortified with a bit of wine, they venture to Monin steeled against whatever odd investigations he may be partaking in. The wine, however, doesn’t prepare them for that they find—should they take the old ding-bat seriously or brush him off like they used to?

Drunk with wine and disbelief, the well-rutted minds of the old men shrug away the coincidence their mutual friend levied upon them. Complacent with their own scientific inquiries, the fatal blow of close-mindedness comes when they can’t even face the truth of a curious mind’s experiment. Truly, stupidity comes full circle for them.

Review: It’s neither too serious nor too comic, but teeters upon the fulcrum awkwardly. The story feels like it’s missing an essential element—in presentation and in the plot. I mentioned that the analogy came full circle, but the story doesn’t come around at all: Monin, even in his advanced age, still pursues odd tangents of science at his odd job while the most distinguished alumni sit and talk. Monin’s background and experience isn’t explored, leaving only the analogy standing on its own: discover and live, or stagnate and die.


“The Horn of Plenty” – Vladimir Grigoriev (shortstory, 1964/1969) – 4/5
Synopsis: Stepan Onufrievich Ogurtsov was a simple handyman with electronics and an amateur inventor before being inspired by the rusted sign at a scrap dealer. He turns the rusted horn of dereliction into a beneficial horn of giving—when he inputs refuse, the horn of plenty, in return, gives random tidings of prosperity: left-footed shoes, a bicycle, woolen socks, etc. As a feature, it can also reverse its function. At a public exhibition, the notorious naysayer Parovozovs gets sucked into the horn, along with its creator. 18 pages

Analysis: This story reminds me of the proverb, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”, which has a Russian equivalent that means, “Don't look at the teeth of a horse you've been given”. Both descend from the 400 A.D. Latin version that means, “Never inspect the teeth of a given horse.” Regardless of which language you use as the proverb, the meaning is the same: don’t be ungrateful for a gift.

From this story, the spin on this proverb is that the gift is the man’s own creation; he was inspired to build it, actually built it, and attempted to patent it, yet he doesn’t exactly understand how it works. Regardless of his ignorance, he pushes through with his own rudimentary testing followed by a public showing. His pride rests in what his machine is capable of doing: it can turn rubbish or scarp into useful items; however, it can also turn the same useful items back into scrap—thus, it can renormalize material.

Perhaps the same pride blinds him as he doesn’t realize the senselessness of his enigmatic machine; by “senseless”, this is in the perspective of a communist, or anti-capitalist. When the machine produces, it seems to have no control over what it produces, so there is no demand for any of the items nor is it any part of the State’s central planning—i.e. The Plan. If there is no demand (by “consumers” or the planners) or use for the item, it is, by definition, useless; in turn, the machine itself is useless.

Further, in his pride and eagerness, he also doesn’t realize the limits of his machine. Certainly, it can produce samovars and bicycles and boots at random, but it can also reconstitute the original rubbish from the finished product—all but rubbish by definition. Only items what the machine had created were thrown back in, but no new items—items that hadn’t been created by the machine—had been reversed through.

These tangible items definitely have a source from natural resources, but what is the source of an intangible object, or an abstract idea: i.e. government, pessimism, or logic. Can these, too, be broken down into constituent parts and thrown back out again?

Review: This is a quirky story very much like something from Sheckley, van Vogt, Harrison, Simak, or Leiber. It’ll put a smile on your face as you question just where the author is leading the story, the reader—this is the first iota of imagination you must use. The second iota: The machine’s physical properties and inner workings are vague enough to compel you imagine. Lastly, the third iota, is in the conclusion: The conclusion is also vague, one tangent of thought of which included in the analysis. It’s a tight, clever story without any adornments.


“The Useless Planet” – Olga Larionova (novelette, 1967/1967) – 5/5
Synopsis: The Twenty-seventh is one of a few Logitania who have come to a downtrodden planet as Collectors in order to judge the native’s usefulness in their orderly universe. The Twenty-seventh has taken the shape of a girl with a composite face, yet, though true to form in every way and manner, the town’s people still eye her. The Commander is frustrated with her and wants away from the senseless planet with its wasteful dalliances in art and emotion. The Twenty-seventh, however, sees value in the simplicity, even in her own complexity. 42 pages

Analysis: Twenty-seven, in itself, is an innocuous number for an item in a list. When taken in the contexts of Russian and so-called Western numerological context, however, the number comes to light; in both generally defined cultures, “7” is lucky while “13” is unlucky—both being prime numbers, also. Now, multiply 13 by 2 and multiply 7 by 4; the results are respectively 28 and 26—the first of which is the inheritor of unlucky 13 while the latter is the successor of the lucky 7.

In this rather cursory numerological analysis of the number “27”, we can see that it’s neither lucky nor unlucky, neither gifted nor damned, neither auspicious nor ominous; rather, it’s held in a tight limbo between the two. So too is the so-called Twenty-seventh as she hangs in limbo. She finds herself caught between several constricting and impenetrable layers:

  1. Between the Logitania and the humans: Born of her alien race, she tacitly knows the culture of her own people yet takes the form of a human in order to do her research, a form and culture of which she is unfamiliar with and, after initial immersion, fails to find her place.
  2. Between her mission and her superior: Her form was created as a composite of all local females so that she’d look like a local, yet the locals don’t treat her as one  their own by sight; thus, because of her failure to integrate, her superior—the Commander—wants to take her off the project.
  3. Between duty and desire: While the Commander chides her on her poor performance and later isolates her as punishment, she witnesses the beauty of the human world with all its mystery, art, and grittiness; thus, she is conflicted by how to react to her punishment: with a sense of professional duty or a sense of personal purpose.

Review: There is so much internal and external conflict around the Twenty-seventh that the story seems to bubble and froth around her. Take into account a host of other conflicted, scarred, and troubled characters, the fifteen-page story quickly becomes one ripe with temper and emotion even though the alien culture is a logical one. As the story near the conclusion, the tension builds like a coiled length of cloth. The ultimate conclusion, however, supplies a nice release. Taking in consideration that it’s only fifteen pages, the story is a remarkable adventure in conflict and brevity.


“The Ultimate Threshold” – German Maksimov (shortstory, 1965/1970) – 4.5/5
Synopsis: “I am Velt-Nipr-ma Gullit, Master Mechanic, Honorary Ling of Sym-Kri” (125), he tells the confessor Machine at the House of Death, which he famously built so that all could have the choice of life; however, the society’s members of the forty-two castes warped the gift of life into an opportunity of death as strife for class became the focus of the lower castes. Now that Gullit knows his gift of good is actually an evil, he enters to take his own life after confessing to his own creation with intentions held. 15 pages

Analysis: If you could give a caveman a wrench, he’d probably beat his neighbor; give him fire, he’ll probably burn down the forest; give him a sheep, he’ll probably fornicate with it… to err is human, it’s just in our genes. It’s pretty much written very clearly on our warning labels when we’re born: “Danger: Human”. Give humans the greatest gift—anything, name anything—and they’ll simply pervert it; case in point: the internet. What a great opportunity for everyone to learn and communicate… what a shame it’s become: cat pictures, spam, intentional misinformation, smut, banner advertising, trolls, etc.

The House of Death was meant to encourage people to reflect on their lives, to analyze their past choices while on the threshold of suicide; it was meant to cure the people of their woes and strength the fabric of society. Little did the creator—Gullit—realize that the resolve of common people is desperately low. The masses in the lower castes were simply driven numb by their perpetual struggle to achieve, were driven mad by what they could never become. Gullit’s intentions were honest, but he didn’t have all the facts. Because his lofty title and position, he was socially distant from the reality of his society. His one grand act of kindness utterly backfired.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions” – even Karl Marx uses this aphorism in his Communist Manifesto. Look at Communism in the Soviet Union, in general: paved with good intentions and all, but it descended into a war of propaganda, hate, nuclear arms, skullduggery, and isolationism. Many government programs that have failed—in America, in the USSR, or here in Thailand—did so because of that vital link between—what I’ll inelegantly refer to as—policy makers and policy doers. The policy makers, like Gullit, are often out of touch with their highly esteemed position and the teetering weight of their ego; most often, they just don’t forget about the people, they just don’t care.

Gullit, however, did care and that’s what makes the story so tragic.

Review: Though the trope is tried and true—that of the creator confronting his creation so that he may undermine and destroy it—this story is a successful recycling of it with its social relevance and gloomy perspective. It’s fairly linear, a straight shot from start to finish, but I see strands of commentary slinging out upon every page. Some of the relevance in subtle or subjective as with most stories, but the story shines in its delivery of the explicit message, which isn’t conveyed via rambling monologue or lengthy paragraph.


“Invasion” – Roman Podolny (shortstory, 1966/1966) – 4/5
Synopsis: As boy eyes girl and girl eyes boy, they lean in for a kiss… only to be separated and interrupted by the intruding presence of a time-traveler from the past, again. The inventor of the time machine from 1974 yearns to introduce himself and explain his presence, only the entire time period knows of him and the six million others who have already appeared prior. In a measure to pass on the responsibility, the government sends the same six million further ahead in time so that the future generations can send them back when technology prevails… only no one has yet come back from the future. 4 pages

Analysis: Theory and vision are fine things that spark the imagination. When these are applied to theoretical situation, the resulting brain games or thought experiments offer the participants a thoughtful experience. On the other hand, if theory and vision are applied to real situations, actions are then taken, plans are initiated, and real, tangible results can be seen. Collective human knowledge is a grand thing and can accomplish many feats when properly driven; however, there are some problems that modern-day science and theory just can’t quite accomplish.

Manned missions to Mars were purely fiction decades ago, but nowadays we have the knowledge to actually follow through with the vision, albeit we need the cash first. Global warming has been a gorilla in the room for some time, but we still don’t have the capacity to tackle the problem, so what do we do? Pass it on to the next generation. Population growth, too, has been a niggling situation that refuses to go away, so what do we do? Shrug and pass it on to the next generation.

Population transfer was common in the Soviet Union before 1950, not due to population growth, however. These forced resettlements often affected several anti-Soviet categories of peoples for a total of about six million… the same population size as the story. Stalin had millions of ethnic peoples marching around the country on relocation, resulting in hundreds of thousands of deaths. In 1943-1944, 1.9 million people were deported to Siberia. As millions were sent away from the urban centers of western USSR, the problem may have been scattered throughout the land, but it still remained in the land. After WWII, many of these people were repatriated, or sent back to the west to rejoin the more civilized part of the Union. Even then, resentment must have stewed in the hearts and minds of the once resettled. Placing them back in the west only, again, shifted the problem from one place to another.

Eventually, whatever stop-gap measures are taken to relieve the pressure, the effect will continue and the result will return with consequences.

Review: As with most short, short stories, this one relies on a quick setting up of absurdity followed by a quick punch at the end; in this story, both are effective. But the story also involves a bit of a mind-twisting with the time-travelers—it takes a little bit of time to get in the right frame of mind. So, the reader must engage with the story, think about the story to make it work. Most short, short stories are too simple (I can think of many from Asimov and Conklin’s 50 Short Science Fiction Stories), but this one is a nice piece of short work.


“When You Return” – Igor Rosokhovatsky (novelette, 1966/1967) – 3.5/5
Synopsis: Out of the blue, little Vita is helped by the avuncular figure of a man—Valery Pavlovich. The man says he’s on vacation and would like to take the girl to Prague. Visiting her mother, Valery declines food while Ksana eyes the man with familiarity—has she seen him in a painting with her husband prior to being widowed? It soon becomes clear that Valery is actually a synhom (synthehomo) who can fly with its own jets and read other’s minds. His history, however, is not so superhuman—he only wants the most human of things. 22 pages

Analysis: In a capitalist society, as opposed to a communist one, subjective and intangible gulfs separate us all, be it gender, age, class, or occupation. We don’t dig them chasms by ourselves, rather, our society deems these classifications—among others—important, so we situate ourselves where we are and see other as who they are not: us. It’s this mindset that acts on a variety of levels itself: passively (I am me and you are you and that’s OK) and actively (I am me who is better than you and that’s a fact). Regardless, the gulf exists; sometimes it’s a calm channel of acceptance and other times it’s the turbulent ocean of racism, sexism, etc.

Let’s say that the modern era of communism actually achieved equality for all genders, ages, classes, and occupation—they are created equally and live as equals. What would be the next step of possible discrimination? The answer: perhaps those who are actually created unequally, such as Valery Pavlovich.

Aside from the young girl’s perspective through her innocent eyes, Pavlovich’s welcoming into Vita’s home is tepid at best. Her mother remains steeled against whatever the man-cum-machine has to say. Behind his back, Vita’s grandmother is even harsher against his nature, thereby supplying the read with three generations of perspective: the young and open innocent child, the steeled and experienced mother, and the wizened yet discriminate grandmother.

Their discrimination rests only in the fact that he is not equal to themselves: he can fly and he can read minds. Regardless of his given talents, however superior, the mother and godmother initially refuse to accept the walking and talking person as just that—as person. Only when the truth is revealed does one of them take an about-face becoming so readily to accept what she had once shunned.

Review: At first, this story is a little creepy: A young girl takes an older man’s kindness in hand then takes him to her family’s home. He tells her that he wishes to fly her to Europe so that they could visit a toy factory together, Compound this with the fact that the man—nay, a synthetic human—can fly on his own means, and this story has a dull, creepy feeling to it. When it becomes certain that the man’s feelings for the girl are actually more paternal than predatory, the story takes on an emotional aura that carries on through the end. There are a few heart-strings to tug, for sure, but it’s a nice story.


“‘One Less’” - Igor Rosokhovatsky (shortstory, 1966/1966) – 4/5
Synopsis: One nameless man careens through the city in his truck with disregard for safety as he’s more focused on his cigarette. Another man—named Victor Nikolayevich—is lost in thought as he dodders on the sidewalks of the same city mulling the mystery of the brain’s “group K”, which allows humans to display untapped powers of strength and self-healing by will alone; with his thoughts cascading, he abruptly finds the answer, just abruptly as his collision with the first man. A third man—a nameless witness—views the aftermath and plods away. 5 pages

Analysis: Strangers are other people. They are formless shapes devoid of personality, character, and mannerisms. We have the tendency to depersonalize them as if they were shaped from a common mold, like one of the six million rivets that make up the Sydney Harbour Bridge—lose one and the structure still stands. The loss of that one rivet, however, creates further stress for the rest of the rivets, which could have a chain effect if more were removed.

Apply this back to the rivets of society we call strangers. Generally, all rivets have the same features: a head, a body, and a tail. Not all rivets, however, have the same dimensions—some are big, some are small. But when glancing at a rivet for the first time, perspective can diminish a rivet’s dimensions yet still keep its proportions; a small rivet could look just that, but a big, load-bearing rivet could look the same—if you shrug at the importance of the latter and you happen to lose or remove it… you had better be prepared for the consequences be they near or far.

In the story, the driver and the witness are of those people who see all rivets as one-in-six-million—a numerical inconsequence. Little did either of them realize, the one rivet that they would both cross paths with—Victor—could have relived them from what ailed them. Unbeknownst to them, the most central rivet just collapsed before their eyes and they didn’t even bat an eyelash. How could they have, though? Victor was just another one of the six million, an inconsequence, a numerical insignificance… there is very little significance in the number of one among the millions.

Review: Another tight, little story that ends as abruptly as it had begun. The five pages of the story coarsely weave in the first two threads: the driver of the truck and the scientist, who are destined to meet, as the reader can clearly predict. But toward the end, the third man—the witness—twists the perspective of the story ever so little, yet the torque is just enough to offset the predictability. The resulting effect completes the vision the author had intended and leaves the reader with a sense of guilt, almost.


“‘We Played Under Your Window’” - Vladimir Shcherbakov (shortstory, 1966/1966) – 3/5
Synopsis: Prior to Sergey’s twenty-year-long trip out of the solar system to investigate stellar fields, his wife left with their son. The only thing he really wanted upon his return was to see his son, but time has been unkind to the hero and he knows not of their whereabouts. Now, having returned, Sergey goes back to his neighborhood with fond memories of the children, whom he used to spoil, much to the annoyance of his neighbors. Two things surprise him: one old neighborhood child meets him at him home, and a cosmodrome representative informs him that they have no record of his landing. 14 pages

Analysis: Sergey had just realized his life-long destiny of touring a star; this is regardless of the fact that his wife had left him with their son. Upon completion of his mission and his subsequent return to earth, Sergey is filled with pride yet only borders on the enlightenment of self-actualization (as per Maslow’s hierarchy of needs). With his wife and only child missing, he only needs the bolster of respect to support him in his own self-actualization; meanwhile, he can stand proud of achievements.

Much like in the workplace where respect can be garnered from three directions—below: subordinates; on-level: peers; and above: superiors—Sergey finds himself in an awkward position upon his return to earth. He holds fond his memories of having treated the neighborhood’s children well and, in return, they reflect their attention to him as he returns, albeit older; thus, he has won respect from the younger generation (akin to subordinates). As for his peers, he’s widely known to be the foremost explorer of the State as his accomplishments are unsurpassed; thus, his admiration and/or respect from peers is so high that it’s at a tacit level. From his superiors, however, respect is, upon his return, withheld due to his incredulous story.

Even after returned from a solo mission to and from the stars, his superiors don’t even grant him the respect he deserves; that small division between respect-giving and respect-withheld is the gossamer-thin fact that his return was never documented. He left, did his duty, and returned as an aged man, yet his superiors refuse to believe, against all other indicators, that he completed his State-given mission. The children, on the other hand, openly receive the once warm man even though they, too, have no tangible evidence of his mission: to treat his subordinates (read: the younger generation) with respect.

Thus, Sergey will be held in limbo between the levels of Esteem and Self-actualization merely because of tangible proof, a facet of modern so-called logic that is intangible according to the minds of the very people who consider the “proof” as valid.

High-level organizational chivalry is dead; long live the warm pleasures of proof.

Review: The analysis of the story is much more involved than the actual delivery of the story, a warning label of which I should fix upon most of my short story analyses. In essence, Sergey remembers his return to the village but not the actual landing, an event that mystifies him and the scientists in the field. The actual cause of the discretion is predictable. Thereafter, another predictable element comes into play that further dilutes the story.


“Preliminary Research” - Ilya Varshavsky (shortstory, 1965/1970) – 4/5
Synopsis: Enticed by a lucrative job offer, Dr. Rong leaves his biochemistry research position. For something entirely vague, he’ll earn three times his normal salary simply by thinking creatively by whatever means possible. His supervisor—Mr. Latianic—says he’s allowed to imbibe in alcohol or drugs such as heroin—like his female colleague Noda Storn—as long as he offers up creative scientific ideas. Prosperous ides begin to form in his head and the computer accepts each absurd one, but for what nefarious reason would this kind of program exist? 18 pages

Analysis: Function, beauty, and originality rarely converge. Take a sphere: it’s quite beautiful yet hardly original, nor is it exactly a useful form—like a panda. Next, take the first bicycle: it’s ugly and not terribly useful, but you have to admit it was original—like a platypus. Lastly, take a rubber band: it’s super useful but there are many like it in exactly the same shape—like an ant.

The field of science is where the three do tend to converge, however; to name a few: buckminsterfullerene, supernovae, and the human eye. Regardless of the rare trifecta of design, the field of science also leans towards functionality rather than design; therefore, a scientist’s logic is held in much higher regard than their aesthetic balance or overall originality. If either of the latter follow suit, it’d merely be a consequential bonus.

Q: Take the logic out of scientists and what would you have left?
A: Idling minds bent on finding order where none is to be found.

As Dr. Rong idles without his demanding work, his mind begins to stray with such thoughts as, “[P]erhaps all this abracadabra [of cabalistic symbols in White and black Magic] was only a coded expression of certain logical concepts” (191), a thought of which the computer quickly gobbled up. Another from his heroin-addicted colleague: “[I]f blood contained chlorophyll in addition to hemoglobin, then, given a transparent skin, metabolism within the organism could take place in a closed cycle” (195), another idea of which the computer consumed greedily.

Who could possibly want to harvest such modes of thought? What wicked motivation could they be following? The answer is closer to your nose than it may seem.

Review: What begins as a mystery and a bit of a thriller turns, abruptly, at the end into a much more whimsical story, an ending of which would better match a 4- or 5-page short, short story rather than the 18-page length here. It cleverly takes you along page for page, leaving morsels of hints for you to follow, teasing and enticing you, only to have it remove its glove and slap you in the face, thus provoking a profound “aha!” It’s clever and fun with a unique ending that’ll get the best of you, leaving a smile on your face while nodding your head in satisfaction. Akin to R.A. Lafferty; not very Soviet at all!


“He Who Leaves No Trace” - Mikhail Yemtsev & Yeremey Parnov (novelette, 1962/1963) - 2/5
Synopsis: Nibon and Andrey visit the bucolic planet of Green Pass so that they can pass time with its only resident, the widower and eccentric scientist George Korin. Calmed by the pastoral setting, they are caught unawares by the odd behavior of their colleague Korin: seemingly jumping through windows, running over grass untouched, and disappearing from a locked room. When Korin undergoes parthenogenesis, his ether-like selves engage in sport and combat. Things only become stranger as these blobs begin to coalesce and the violence increases. 45 pages

Analysis: A common proverb: “Familiarity breeds contempt”—the more you know about something, the more you grow to dislike it. This goes for subjects as well as people. But this is a funny proverb as the wording has a pun of sorts. Familiarity requires a relationship of two parties: a subject and an observer. Conjugally, the two produce a frisson of contempt on part of the observer. If we change familiarity to isolationism, how would we change the transitive verb to reflect the new “relationship”:

·         Isolation parthenogenesizes eccentricity?
·         Isolation sporogenesizes eccentricity?
·         Isolation clonally fragments eccentricity?

You get the idea. People who willingly isolate themselves from all others have the tendency to develop quirks, but let’s be honest and just say they loosen and lose a few screws along the way, thereby rendering them as rickety as a turn-of-the-century circus ride. Isolated, they lose that tacit understanding of what is and what is not acceptable behavior or mannerisms. They become lost in labyrinth of themselves, deduce truth from their own warped logic, and create idiosyncratic rituals—read: they’re nuts.

George Korin, in the story, is an eccentric man living alone on a planet without observation. He has lost the ability to understand where dangers lie. No one tells him that his research is dangerous, no one is there to clean up his mess, and everyone could be put in peril because of his heedless acts of research through isolation. Without supervision from above—from a governing body such as the ethics of science or arm of a government ministry—George plunges headlong into unfamiliar and dangerous territory.

If this can be true for the individual, the same could also be said for governments, especially communist governments: Albania from 1944 to 1990, China from 1949 to the 1970s, North Korea since 1953, and, of course, the Soviet Union. I don’t think “eccentric” exactly encapsulates the result of their isolation: distrust transforms into xenophobia, non-intervention alters into non-alliance, and self-preservation becomes rigamortis.

But this whole “isolation parthenogenesizes eccentricity” can come full circle back to “familiarity breeds contempt”. Once the country is shutoff from other nations—in the USSR’s case, from the Iron Curtain—society becomes a closed system that stagnates and ferments, the building heat and pressure needing release: revolution.

In George’s case, the isolation and familiarity both rear their heads resulting in a cataclysmic battle, kind of like of civil war but actually a war amongst his cloned/ parthenogenesized/sporogenesized selves. Amid George’s unintentional self-induced war, the outsiders—Nibon and Andrey—are able to infiltrate the fragile state of George’s isolation and witness the results of his research and the results of the battle. George, however, is still able to learn from his failure for the benefit of all as he decides to open his borders and share his knowledge.

Review: This story very much unfolds like a juvenile novelette. It’s piece-by-piece full of oddity and whim, none of which actually intrigues a more mature reader. One bizarre event follows another bizarre event and so forth; in the end, some sense is made of the long 45-page mess but it tries too hard with pseudo-scientific jargon. Needless to say, it’s the weakest of the thirteen-story collection, but, adding insult to injury, it’s also the longest story. As it’s slapped like a brick onto the end of collection, its simple addition significantly detracts from its twelve predecessors.