#11: Soviet Science Fiction (1962) –
uncredited editor (4/5)
The Iron Curtain once
held back more than culture and economy, but at the same time, the shroud
became an intriguing mystery to some. The USSR was an unfathomable territory
and within its expansive borders it contained an infinity of nuances, nooks and
crannies, and its own literature. Around 2000, I was compelled to read
Soviet-era travel fiction to experience this mystification of the USA’s old
enemy, a sub-genre that I continue to read today. I’m only now getting around
to reading Soviet SF. After my Japanese SF project last year, I decided to take
the dive in to Soviet SF… so this is the first in a series. Isaac Asimov’s
introduction sort of sets the reader up for disappointment: “the particular
stories in this book were selected in part for their relative inoffensiveness
[in regards to propaganda and anti-Americanisms]”. The collection starts with
the dull “Hoity-Toity” (1930/1961) but follows with five better stories, all but
one a 4-star read. You may think that all stories would have a heavy
sociological slant, but you’d have to dig a little to get to that kind of
message. I’ve tried to portray each story in terms of propaganda, but actually
they read just like any other collection from the 1950s. (full review)
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#12: The Day of the Shield (1973) – Antony
Alban (2/5)
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This author only wrote
two SF novels: the one featured here and Catharsis Central (1968). The
latter novel was published twice and The Day of the Shield was only published
once. I can’t find anything else the author ever did, so it seems like he’s
lost in the sands of time. It’s no wonder though that The Day of the Shield never
saw the light of day again—everything about the novel is a forced idea that
fails to find a grip on the weak scaffolding of the plot. With Russia and China
nuked to oblivion, the eurofed and America were left untouched because of their
powered domes which shielded them from attack. America devolved into
neofeudalism where the Owners of states prolong their lives with “body
servants, who are mere indentured slaves for body parts for five years. Fisk is
indentured to a vixen who is the daughter of the proclaimed president of the
entire land. The Owner himself requests his presence, sending him into a modern
complex labyrinth of death by disobedience. Soon, he’s embroiled in an
underground movement with unknown motives. Actually, as the cover states, that
motive is to bring down the dome, which the reader doesn’t find out until the
last seven pages of the 191-page novel. Everything is forced and blocky, but at
least it’s a mind-numbing read.
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#13: The Monadic Universe (1985) – George
Zebrowski (3/5)
‘Twas a gift from Joachim Boaz, a collection of
which he himself berated. I had much trepidation opening this one! Unlike
Joachim’s own 1977 edition, my 1985 edition has two additional stories, both of
which add much needed quality to the sluggish start of the collection: “Wayside
World” (1977) and “The Word Sweep” (1979). The first eight stories—yes, all
eight—feel like good ideas wasted with poor execution, especially the three
chronological stories with Praeger; these felt like non-stories, snippets of
something that never gather enough momentum of its own to push it toward
relevance, thereby leaving it fledgling like a lame duckling far behind its
majestic mother. When compared to the last six stories—yes, all six—the first
eight are contrastingly poor. But, ah, the latter six stories are all
worthwhile, almost worthwhile enough to slog through the first eight… but don’t
do that. (full synopses)
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#14: The Probability Man (1972) – Brian
N. Ball (2/5)
I’ve only read Ball’s Singularity
Station (1973), which was an impulse buy long ago. Innocuous as it was
sitting on my shelf and without any notable reviews online, I picked up only to
be surprised by how fun it was. Now, “fun” isn’t a term I use very often to
describe plots or stories, but Singularity Station had all the bells and
whistles for a stereotypical science fiction novel, yet done to an expert degree.
Since then—2011—I’ve been anxious to see what else he had written, and when I
pulled The Probability Man from my shelves, I was almost salivating;
sadly, that “expert degree” that I mentioned before is sorely lacking here. It
tries so hard to be a fun novel and it tries to be clever by pulling strings
together in the end, yet it’s just so tedious for a 175-page novel. Spingarn
knows that he doesn’t know who he is or what he’s exactly doing, yet he lives
through an eighteenth-century siege when he realizes that it’s just a Plot in a
Frame. After he calls a Time-Out, he begins to learn more about the man who he
used to be; memories come trickling back, names begin to establish importance,
and once common knowledge morphs into newly learned facts. The reader is
dragged through his bizarre experience in these historical Plots in the far
future, where he muddles through his past to save the future of humankind, or
something. There are plot twists, metaphorical rabbits in the hand and slights
of hand, but in the end it all seems to pressured to be outlandish rather than
outstanding.
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#15: Canal Dreams (1989) – Iain
Banks (4/5)
Of Banks’s 30 published books, I’ve
now read 22 of them. I still need to read six pieces of his fiction in addition
to Raw Spirit (2003) and Poems (2015), all of which I own. He’s
the one author I’ve re-read the most often. Needless to say, I very very
much look forward to picking up one of his books that I’ve never read… or one
that I have read, for that matter. Regardless of being fiction, poetry,
short stories, or science fiction, I open his books reverently. Canal Dreams
started off in unfamiliar waters: a renowned female Japanese cellist is
stranded aboard a freighter in the Panama Canal due to a regional war, the ship
of which becomes besieged by seeming guerillas with a hidden agenda. No
castles, no Scotland, no bridges? Hmm, it was off-key but I settled in to it
with heightened expectation… but what followed felt like an airport novel on
the brink of being a thriller yet with rich character development. I hasten to
say that my interest began to pique with the book’s own peak of action. In
retrospect, the placid waters of the developing plot and the disassociative
dreams played right into the arms of the downward spiral of inner torture of
Hisako Onoda. Symbolism and parallelisms are subtle yet bloom in full with the
resulting actions, the consequences. Clever—damn clever.
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#16: Beggars in Spain (1993) – Nancy
Kress (4/5)
Prior to Beggars in
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#17: Catharsis Central (1969) – Antony
Alban (2/5)
Sorry for me. I picked up two books
by Antony Alban on a whim at a secondhand bookstore. It turns out that same two
books were the only two books that the author had ever written. I had already
read Day of the Shield (1973) this month and found it a chore at times,
so I mildly whimpered when I pulled Catharsis Central from my to-be-read
pile. Catharsis doesn’t feel as forced at Shield, but it still
hurts to read it. For sake of brevity, I’ll try to synopsize this novel in one
sentence. For hundreds of years, the citizens of the Settlements have snoozed
peacefully and lived compliantly because of Catharsis Central, which monitors
their moods and keeps everyone calm; regardless of the wide-spread peace, someone
is beginning to kill off those who work for Catharsis, the murder whose agenda
cannot be anything other than total revolution, but by what other means?
Consider the number of generic tropes: domes cities, autochefs, disposal
chutes, travelators, janitor robots, televisor consoles, algae tanks, and a
central computer. There is very little that is original in this novel… but one
thing does stand out: the laugh-out-loud, guffaw-worthy sex scenes. Allow me to
quote: “Carlsen [the protagonist] was very good in bed; all of his women had
said so” (18), “the full breasts swaying like perfect fruit from the taut lines
of her neck and shoulders …. Eva urged him on with rapid plungings of her hips”
(115-116), and “her eyes locked with Carlsen’s, sending a surge of love across
the room like a high-voltage current” (127). I literally guffawed aloud on
public transportation. Avoid Alban, unless for laughs.
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#18: Children of the Wind (1989) – Kate
Wilhelm (3/5)
My experience with Wilhelm is limited to three novels and two novellas,
all of which I have given a 3- or 4-star rating; for example, her novel The
Killer Thing (1967) was quite good while “The Plastic Abyss” (1971) left
something to be desired for. Neither have I been impressed nor disappointed. In
her collection Children of the Wind, the stories don’t impress me yet
again, but further, I’m disappointed in two of the five. I wasn’t under the
assumption that all five stories would be science fiction; I’m quite open to
reading non-genre fiction and a bit of non-Tolkien/non-paranormal fantasy. Of
the five stories in this collection, two are paranormal fantasy, two are
fiction, and one is science fiction. Perhaps because of my distaste for
fantasy, those two stories were the weakest, in my opinion. I couldn’t immerse myself
in the story, couldn’t draw any parallelisms, couldn’t sense any direction or
point. In contrast to these two dullards—one of which actually received a
Nebula award for Best Novella (“The Girl Who Fell into the Sky”)—the one
science fiction story (“A
Brother to Dragons, a Companion of Owls “) and the first story (“Children of the Wind “) are
pretty good, but not great. (full synopses)
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