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.
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“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.
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“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.
- 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.
- 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.
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“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.
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“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.
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“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.
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“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:
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
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“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.
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“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.
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“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.
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“‘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.
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“‘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.
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“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!
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“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.
