#50: Red Star Tales (2015) – Yvonne
Howell (editor) (3.5/5)
This is the fourth Soviet/Russian short story collection I’ve
read this year. The
publisher, Russian Life Books, was kind enough to provide me with a copy after
I mentioned by reviewing of Soviet SF. The other collections—Soviet ScienceFiction (1961), the aptly titled More Soviet Science Fiction (1962),
and The Ultimate Threshold (1970)—all the stories were almost
exclusively from the 1958 to 1970 (with the exception of Belyaev’s “Hoity-toity”
[1930]). In Red Star Tales, fortunately, the spectrum is much, much
wider—a hundred years in fact: 1892 to 1992, a period that spans, according to
the rear cover, “the path-breaking Revolutionary period, through the difficult
Stalinist era and into the post-war heyday of science fiction, to the first
post-Soviet stories”. Just as the stories run the spectrum on age, they also
span the width on topics (some heavily social, other very mechanical) and
quality (some so dully written, others penetrating). The only unifying trait of
the stories is their origin: Russian.
The
most intriguing stories are the two unfinished pieces by Valery Bryusov: “Rebellion
of the Machines” (1908) and “Mutiny of the Machines” (1915). Though very
narrative in structure, they offer tantalizing glimpses at a future world
obsessed with technology and a world where that technology begins to turn on
them. The other story that caught my eye was Belyeav’s “Professor Dowell’s Head”
(1926), which offers some mind-candy on social class and ability. Meanwhile, Kazantsev’s
“Explosion” (1946) portrays much of what you’d expect from his other
Tunguska-themed stories, Tsiolkovsky’s “On the Moon” (1893) is an unartistic
jaunt on the moon, and Dolgushin’s “Rays of Life” (1939) is an excerpt from an unpalatable
cross-genre novel of romance, spies, and science fiction. [full review coming]
#51: Sunburst (1964) – Phyllis
Gotlieb (1.5/5)
Years
after a reactor had melted down and spewed radioactivity in its vicinity (why
the town wasn’t entirely evacuated—dunno), its residents continue to eke out a
living while barricaded from the rest of America. Within its confines, a
generation is brewing, whose genetics have mutated to give them the unnatural
abilities of teleportation, pyro-generation, telekinesis, and telepathy. These
budding teenagers, upon realizing their abilities amid their angst, wreak havoc
on the town, only to be captured and cordoned off in a nearly impenetrable
force field. Shandy Johnson—a thirteen-year-old girl—is just entering her
abilities as she approaches her eventual menarche. Unlike the others, she is
only able to deflect on telepathy, making her the only known Impervious. Soon,
the governors of the fenced city take her in and enlist her to help with an
ever-approaching disaster: the long-kept delinquents may escape. Sure enough,
they do escape and Shandy finds herself at the middle of the action.
Though
only 13, she certainly has a vocabulary of a university post-graduate, drinks
coffee like an office worker, and understands human nature like a yogi. Perhaps
she superhuman, but she’s impossible to relate to with her mismatched
attributes. In compound with the trying and protracted intricacies of the plot,
the tedious dialogue frustrates the reader. There’s little saving grace here
aside from the interesting mix of characters.
#52: Inherit the Stars (1977) – James
P. Hogan (3.5/5)
I chose this book to be a one-day read. Another new author
for me, but the novel is fairly well known for being scientifically
captivating—heavy on science and hypothesizing. When I read of this accolade, I
immediately dreaded the
thought of tackling a “hard SF” book in one day on my day off. The initial
pages, as promised, were enticing and the following few chapters really drew me
in; however, soon, the orations and far-out postulations begin and my interest
in the deliver waned in parallel with my care for the protagonist who had no
background, personality, or development aside from being smart, creative, and
didactic… all too didactic along with another didactic character. Great ideas
for a plot, but all too rushed, all too didactic, and all too catering to—what
seems to be—the author’s own pet theories rather than his organic and artistic
relationship with the story.
50,000
years ago, a human died on the moon and modern day humans—now around the year
2027—haven’t a clue where he came from. Speculation is rife as they study the
corpse’s body, documents, and technology; the body is distinctly human, yet the
language stumps linguists and the circuits mystifies engineers. Amid the
competing theories, Vic Hunt is at the center of progressive thinking as he
casts aside the popular assumptions of a lead professor. Soon, Vic is brought
to the forefront of the theorizing: Who is the moon man? Where is he from? What
circumstances took him there? These questions baffle the world, the world’s
scientists, and create a fissure of agreement among experts. A huge variety of
experiments are correlated with various measurements to produce wild theories
that tend to stick with the facts given, which involve an alien species, their
speculative and far home-planet, the decay of said planet, and the rift that
created the war that brought the moon man to the our moon. Others disbelief is
the face of fact highlights their adherence to assumptions, and with this Vic
Hunt takes the progressive fight to Jupiter’s moon Ganymede.
#53: Mindbridge (1976) – Joe
Haldeman (4.5/5)
I’ve read five Haldeman novels and one of his collections. According to my database,
I was rather the fan of Haldeman in 2007-2008, when I ranked four novels
five-star: The Forever War (1974), All My Sins Remembered (1977),
Forever Peace (1997), and.Old Twentieth (2005). I had never
realized that prior to picking up Mindbridge, but was pleasantly
surprised what I ended up loving this novel, too!
Communication
is an umbrella term for the means of transmission between people, and it’s this
very topic that is probed in Mindbridge. Communication can be narration
or dialogue, but it further extends to works of fiction, academic literature,
music, memoranda, schedules, personal letters, screenplays, interviews,
timetables, reports… all of which are used one way or another in Mindbridge.
Jacque
is on his first mission across light-years of space in order to survey an
unexplored planet. This instantaneous travel via energized crystal deposits him
and his team on the muddy land if the yet-to-named rock, which actually supports
an atmosphere, liquid water, and some forms of life. This rarity is compounded
by their discovery of blob-like lifeform that allows them to connect telepathy
while touching it. Earth is amazed at the discovery and requests more of the
thus-named mindbridges. But out in the depths of space, another discovery is
made: an odd gravity signature, a wonderfully beautiful planet, its
hypnotizingly beautiful humanoids, and the same humanoids barbarous nature of
killing the visited team with no remorse. Having learned from experience,
another expedition is sent to defy the aliens’ attacks, in which several are
brought back to earth, with grisly results. Jacque is soon to be in the middle
of the perilous grounds of communication between the aliens and the humans,
thanks to the mindbridge that he helped discover.
#54: The End of Man? (1966/1968) – Olof
Johannesson (3.5/5)
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.
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?
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? [full review]
#55: Fort Privilege (1985) – Kit
Reed (2/5)
Her name isn’t new to me as I’ve seen it cross the screen
dozens of times in conjunction with the recent trend of reading female science
fiction writers. Surprising
to myself, this is actually the first Kit Reed story or novel that I’ve ever
read. As she’s better known for her short stories in the 1960s and 1970s,
choosing a 1980s novel wasn’t the best option, alas…
Bart
lost his lover in a tragic accident, unfortunately he doesn’t remember the
circumstances that lead to it nor does he know why he has lost his ability to read.
Regardless of his deprived recent history, Bart is still motivated by his
deeper heritage in the form of a social party at his rich extended family’s
home/castle/enclave in the middle of New York. The stone behemoth seems to be
the only inhabited structure in the entire city, which has been deserted,
derelict, and left in a dreaded state of decay (oops, on an alliterative roll,
again). Teeming in Central Park’s haven, protesters/looters/anarchists seem to
bubble at the castle’s very edge in anticipation of something bigger.
Bart
senses this trouble even before entering the bastion of urban aristocracy. Once
scheming his way inside, he confirms that the mansion has been converted into a
shuttered, armored, well-manned, and well-armed fort. The high-minded and
high-manner family members and guests don’t seem phased by the troubling brew
outside the mansion’s walls, even the head of the family: Abel Parkhurst. A
slew of characters impress their presence on the party, each of whom Bart keeps
tabs on. When a harpoon is shot through the shutters, the tension slowly begins
to escalate as arms are cached, secondary weapons are prepared, explosives are
made, and tactical plans outlined.
I
feel that whatever message or underlining morale was woven into the story was
lost between the between (1) the complex array and changing statuses of
characters and (2) the more glaring lesson that, rich or poor, people will
fight tooth and nail in the dirtiest of ways to eke out their living, be it
high- or low-living. There’s nothing satisfying in the meat of the book, nor is
there anything satisfying about the conclusion.
#56: Waters of Death (1967) – Irving
A. Greenfield (1.5/5)
I’ve been dreading this moment. Compound Joachim’s scathingly
hilarious review with SFE’s brief bio of the author and my loathing is
complete. Disregarding
Joachim’s review, Greenfield’s novel sounds and reads a lot like Silverberg’s The
World Within (1971) but instead of towering urban blocks of humanity with
sex, Waters of Death is about deep marine plots of farming with sex…and
sharks. Honestly, the words “cannibalistic orgies” was about my only shred of
motivation to open this rather slim novel.
Dr.
Robert Wilde is a conservative man in liberal times; not everyone treats their
partner like a real wife, but Robert is at the end of his wits as he’s refused
sex, respect, and dignity from his wife. Her one bloom of pleasure only comes
when he finally hits her. She wanted to leave to become a government-sanctions
prostitute, anyway. His son can take a punch, too—good kid though, just a shame
that’ll go away to a government shelter.
After
a brief sexual frenzy with a very willing girl, Robert is sent on assignment to
the Caribbean to get down to the bottom of things in regards to the sea
farmers, who are one of a few clans that harvest the world’s oceanic food
source. He’s down to earth, so he’s eager for the challenge, but behind the
scenes there’s an evil plotter who hopes to… cue dramatic music… take over the
world! Robert also fights some sharks and scores a cute 20-something-year-old
chick who’s quick on the rebound from her father’s death. That Dr. Wilde is one
class act.
To
put it briefly, the novel has to two-pronged attack: wow the reader with cool,
futuristic oceanic farming methods and gratuitous breast groping. If you’re
looking for anything more than that—well, if you want 10 pages fighting with
sharks, this would do you well… or rather dry, obvious, and didactic dialogue,
for that matter (pages 12, 33, and 40)… or advice on how to treat a woman (page
47)—then there are hundreds of better novels to choose from.
Best
quotes: “[H]e would eventually become the total master of the world” (23), “‘You’re
hurting me,’ she said in a tremulous whisper …. “‘I’d like that [to speak with
you again]’, she said” (47), and “Then he died” (147).
#57: Idle Pleasures (1983) – George
Alec Effinger (3/5)
Of course I’ve read Effinger’s Budayeen trilogy—the first two
books, twice—but wasn’t terribly bowled over by the delivery of an otherwise
enticing premise. The same can’t be said for Idle Pleasures as not even
the premise sounded interesting, yet I still gave it a shot.
Prior to reading, my first thoughts of a science fiction
collection about sports took two routes: (1) earthly sports taken to the
extreme or (2) playing earthly sports with aliens. Surely, both of these types
of stories are included in the collection, yet are actually the better of the
eight-story bunch; respectively, “Breakaway” has enough hard science fiction to
carry the weight of the sportsmanship theme while “From Downtown at the Buzzer”
actually made me laugh aloud at its absurdity.
Certainly this isn’t the best snapshot of Effinger’s short
work, which might be better captured in Mixed Feelings (1974), Irrational
Numbers (1976), or Dirty Tricks (1978), none of which I own.
great post. keep up the fine work
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