tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65712417254042294112024-03-17T01:51:38.567+07:00Potpourri of Science Fiction LiteratureSci-Fi Reviews with Tyrannical Tirades, Vague Vexations, and Palatial Praises2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.comBlogger351125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-89334417409322606792017-04-09T12:39:00.001+07:002017-04-09T12:39:20.498+07:00Four Pieces of T.J. Bass's Short Fiction<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the one hand, there's the stereotypical so-called "hard" science fiction that immerses itself in the technicalities of physics and other realms of science, such as astronomy, biology, and chemistry. Among SF fans, while this type of fiction is interesting, it rarely inspires the reader due to its instruction booklet-esque presentation, as if the fiction were a wet fantasy of some pent up writer; in addition, "hard" SF tends to lack both character development and wit (aside from technical puns, another ejaculation of nerds [not always a bad thing, though]).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the other hand, there are some wondrous examples of "hard" science fiction, such as Hayford Peirce's "<a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2015/08/1976-best-science-fiction-of-year-5-del.html">High Yield Bondage</a>" (novelette, 1975), which takes a fun and witty romp through economic science, and Greg Egan's <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2013/01/1992-quarantine-egan-greg.html">Quarantine</a> </i>(1992), which hold a mind-bending adventure through some rather Schrodinger-esque science... then there's T.J. Bass's Hive duology--<i>Half Past Human </i>(1971) and <i>Godwhale</i> (1974)--the oddity, science, and writing of which has never been reproduced. Crammed full of anatomical jargon, it's a delight for those who love words and word origins; filled to the brim with originality, the world that Bass created really pushes the envelope.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">However, T.J. Bass (a pseudonym for Thomas Joseph Bassler, M.D.) also produced four pieced of short fiction that were never anthologized, having only seen the light in once or twice in a magazine. Thanks to archive.org, back issues of these magazines--and so much more--can be found, which opens up the world of one-off short fiction once-thought-forever buried in time. While they contain the gift of anatomical jargon, much of the wit isn't evident in these pieces, aside from "The Beast of 309", which was published after Bass's first novel. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've added links to each source in case you'd also like to take a trip back in time with these magazines.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://archive.org/details/1968-09_IF">Worlds of If, September 1968</a>: "Star Itch" (novella, p.72-119)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtiPhEYmcXg6eEsd34ldfw7qBQ2TC6BSaTr1eu0en-2hpFTq6C8e22NVN65PsR5UccqZnUPwJws3AkPpMm9lHSQWAoFv-9_BTUtyTGATuHIqTf0Ml-Om3GxTkMozb6donFOgoEmQ3SY4w/s1600/Bass1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtiPhEYmcXg6eEsd34ldfw7qBQ2TC6BSaTr1eu0en-2hpFTq6C8e22NVN65PsR5UccqZnUPwJws3AkPpMm9lHSQWAoFv-9_BTUtyTGATuHIqTf0Ml-Om3GxTkMozb6donFOgoEmQ3SY4w/s320/Bass1.jpg" width="232" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3.5/5 - <i>Cigar</i> was sent two centuries ago to a distant planet in order to establish a colony with its hold of colonists; sadly, after a decade, one by one, the colonists died of either insanity, starvation, or both as <i>Cigar </i>orbited helplessly above. Now, <i>Olga </i>arrives with her own crew to investigate why the colony failed to establish itself. Of the expendables sent to the surface, Ralph get a first-hand experience on the difficulty of adapting to the planet's ecosystem.</span><br />
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<a href="https://archive.org/details/1969-09_IF" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Worlds of If, September 1969</a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">: "Star Seeder" (novelette, p.77-97)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQyLvRG5PC0LMgT3AyT_ba45AjEm_1B4yjJUsmiibmeqaAN3weyeXE6blZ24oOd3ju_oI_hrjkaoy-9SI3Z9AeGjq-sANq2KylZsC4ImdQRaZMLqs_pJ6RHUAjWBfWwVC_j1RX984rmZQ/s1600/Bass2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQyLvRG5PC0LMgT3AyT_ba45AjEm_1B4yjJUsmiibmeqaAN3weyeXE6blZ24oOd3ju_oI_hrjkaoy-9SI3Z9AeGjq-sANq2KylZsC4ImdQRaZMLqs_pJ6RHUAjWBfWwVC_j1RX984rmZQ/s320/Bass2.jpg" width="224" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2/5 - On Robert Zuliani's home planet, the Games are in full swing and while he doesn't win top prize for any of them, his overall score if enough for him to be crowned the Champion. His victory is short lived as an assassination attempt is made upon him by, which turns out to be, a member of the human clone clan called the Dregs. When its discovered that the Dregs plan to litter the Andromeda galaxy with their monogenetic strain, Zuliani and his home planet come up with a more powerful weapon to defense to human lineage and Andromeda.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://archive.org/details/1970-02_IF">Worlds of If, February 1970</a>: "A Game of Biochess" (short story, p.75-87, 152)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNukRZ8l4qUYKZvR1r_JyCmJ7LQgqTJkKEYfyiJeXX4WGX8l3_j3ixvz3H-zlgcnczSHDNVP2kc3LVjBS-NeKnEW7mcUkumklRo1lbLFgNc3EZCb3wRdXnSiw1NIDDN2ERBm-d9bwhC4s/s1600/Bass3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNukRZ8l4qUYKZvR1r_JyCmJ7LQgqTJkKEYfyiJeXX4WGX8l3_j3ixvz3H-zlgcnczSHDNVP2kc3LVjBS-NeKnEW7mcUkumklRo1lbLFgNc3EZCb3wRdXnSiw1NIDDN2ERBm-d9bwhC4s/s320/Bass3.jpg" width="229" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4/5 - Spider is named for his malformations of limb and bone, yet the disability doesn't extend to his mind or libido. A master at a form of chess and at a competition, he eventually defeats a female opponent who also becomes his object of desire. With the sly starship <i>Olga </i>meeting his analytical needs, Spider tracks down her ship down to an ancient planet where <i>Olga </i>makes a few discoveries. With his mind prepared for the meeting, Spider takes a frail step to meet the woman whose biology is askew to his own.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://archive.org/details/1971-01_IF">Worlds of If, February 1971</a>: "The Beast of 309" (novelette, p.22-48)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6wnUiX2GVX8B9PXjJPu_ubgDMzhOFbV-0m_2I0FjRvIgQGValIYy9cYWBGH7zVgfGSLqlcY-H4QSzkDjbYkiB5bWHL1t-cigaF2PNH2-5Mo-qTT8f9dJfIJRPf-CQZbxG3ByCRlr8sao/s1600/Bass4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6wnUiX2GVX8B9PXjJPu_ubgDMzhOFbV-0m_2I0FjRvIgQGValIYy9cYWBGH7zVgfGSLqlcY-H4QSzkDjbYkiB5bWHL1t-cigaF2PNH2-5Mo-qTT8f9dJfIJRPf-CQZbxG3ByCRlr8sao/s320/Bass4.jpg" width="221" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4/5 - One of Caesar's earliest memories from the orphanage is waking up with once one eye and having to adapt to life likewise. Replacing catching and throwing for running as his primary activity, Caesar soon makes a name for himself and eventually earns a place with the Starship Academy, with which he can find duties lucrative enough to pay for his eye replacement. On a jaunt back home, he shares information about his once-injured father and retakes to running the trail, only to suffer a heart attack. He soon learns that growing a new heart and a new eye is cheaper than just the eye, but why?</span><br />
<br />2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-77338961092291000382016-09-08T11:25:00.001+07:002016-09-08T11:25:14.514+07:001963: The Counterfeit Man (Nourse, Alan E.)<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bell curve of quality: simple, clever, simple (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">I believe Joachim may have sent me this book along with a
trove of others, most of questionable quality, as if receiving masochistic
pleasure from the pain some of these books induce—i.e. Irvin Greenfield’s <i>Waters
of Death</i> (1967). The inclusion of Nourse’s short story collection was a
mixed blessing: he’s a new author to be and reading his short stories is a great
opportunity to sample his work, yet what nefarious plans did Joachim lay for me
in reading this collection… angelic altruism or demonic possession?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The latter description better suited Joachim as first two
stories hastily slapped together pieces of, er, speculative fiction. This is
especially true for “The “Counterfeit Man”, which felt like it had been squeezed
from a 200-page novel to fit the form of a novelette, thereby losing all of its
subtleness, intrigue, and refinement—if any of those had been present to begin
with. Meanwhile, “The Canvas Bag” also feels like it was compressed to fit the
short story form. What could have been an interesting unfolding of hallucinations
or dream-like sequences, Nourse’s inexperienced hand took the short route
possible and made it dully simple.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The collection peaks in the middle: “Circus” is a familiar alien-in-alien-land
story with an unusual framing twist, “My Friend Bobby” is also a familiar
boy-with-telepathy story but takes an unnervingly dark path to its just as dark
conclusion, and “The Link” has all the right qualities for a modern-day space
opera epic but it’s caged by its length and lack of vision.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nourse’s other collection may be of interest: <i>Psi High and
Others</i> (1967) contains longer pieces of his work (three novelettes),
possibly examples that aren’t so hurried; <i>Rx for Tomorrow</i> (1971)
contains stories from 1952 to 1971, so I’d gauge his early writing to be of
similar quality to the ones listed here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Counterfeit Man” (novelette, 1952) – 2/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Return from a mission to Ganymede that was suspiciously dull,
one man dies and another man exhibits bizarre blood chemistry that would surely
have killed anyone else. Dr. Crawford is quick on the uptake and posits that
the man is actually a counterfeit, but every fake has a weakness and it’s only
in good time and cleverness that he corners the alien. 38 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Canvas Bag” (shortstory, 1955) – 2/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">After six weeks of stability in a small Indiana town with a
stable girlfriend, Joe is considering settling down with a home, a job, and a
wife. He wants to end his train-hopping vagabond days, but Jeannie isn’t sure
of his promises or history. When she asks about his past, Joe begins to
remember decades and decades of history. 15 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“An Ounce of Cure” (shortstory, 1955) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Fifty-five years old and healthy, or so James thinks to
himself, except for the bothersome little toe that twinges with pain. Seeing
the doctor for relief, he’s only sent from specialist to specialist as each
analyze him for some far-fetched diagnosis. As he just wants simple relief
rather than a regiment of tests, James walks out to the unknown. 6 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Dark Door” (novelette, 1953) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Henry Scott was hired to analyze data concerning the rise of
insanity in the population, only for him to become insane from performing the
job without a result to Dr. Weber, who now seeks to treat his paranoia. Henry,
however, is convinced that fourth-dimensional people populate the city, until
he further realizes that Dr. Weber is his source of prosecution. 33 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Meeting of the Board” (shortstory, 1955) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Since the Robling Titanium Corporation’s stock has been
tanking due to poor production output, Walter Towne has been the whipping boy
as he’s the Vice-President in Charge of Production. Behind the scenes though,
administration has been sabotaging production to drive the stick down in order
to buy is up cheaply while the laborers lounge about. Walter is frustrated yet
reactive. 23 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Circus” (novelette, 1963) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Jefferson Haldeman Parks has been seemingly dropped on Earth
and everything is exactly like it is back home, save for things like coinage
and pets. When he tries to tell people the truth of his extraterrestrial
origins, he only gets ridiculed. His one sympathetic ear is found in a diner,
who also happens to be a writer, but both are bound for a mutual shock. 9 pages
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“My Friend Bobby” (shortstory, 1954) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Jimmy is just a five-year-old boy whose best friend is a dog
named Bobby. The two are inseparable. Jimmy’s mother, however, is scared of
him, telling his daddy that Jimmy can read her thoughts and that the boy and
the dog have a unusual relationship. If she hadn’t beaten him and projected her
ugly thoughts, Jimmy wouldn’t have threatened to kill her. 15 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Link” (shortstory, 1954) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">For two thousand years, Nehmon and his ancestors have been
jumping from solar system to solar system to avoid the perpetual pursuit of the
Hunters, another group of humans that no one in living history has ever met,
yet they continue to run. But Ravdin and Dana decided to stay to try for peace,
but only get so far as to play some music for them. 22 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Image of the Gods” (shortstory, 1954) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The tiny colony of Baron IV doesn’t have many people nor does
it produce much <i>taaro</i> for export back to Earth, but this is home for
Pete Farnam—he’s also the mayor. Even the planet’s indigenous intelligent life
is rather dull: short furry beings who seem pleased with having the humans
around. When an unscheduled ship lands dictating new Earth policy, everyone is
up in arms. 23 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Expert Touch” (shortstory, 1955) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chris Taber was hired as a single-patient experiment to find
a one-all cure for insanity. After two years of—literally and
figuratively—digging through his brain, Dr. Palmer believes they are 90% near
their goal, but then Chris gets scared and decides to quit the project. Knowing
Chris’s mind, Dr. Palmer has a quick and persuasive word with him. 19 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Second Sight” (shortstory, 1956) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Amy is the first full telepath and though at the age of
twenty-three, she’s never been independent as her parents had abandoned her and
the Study Center has taken care of her and trained her. The kind Dr. Lambertson
wishes to protect her innocence and independence while Drs. Custer and Aarons
in Boston want to exploit her talent to develop other psi-latent patients. 17
pages</span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-21565545906632586752016-08-31T11:25:00.003+07:002016-08-31T11:25:36.079+07:00Lazy Book Reviews of August 2016<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#58: The Hive 1: Half Past Human (1971)
– T. J. Bass (4/5)</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vAPZ7f0KB5Xz1t9GrtlG_j0zouNcXPYAiAE_8csbpkq49203omUXBv7lHEpRdgVY1lFbWsydYde4ZJta-LzJ_ghpr9RdZa5ePxK6EWfckRBI_Gy78Kr-rcHQH56Mhb4WTlo9ZtvQW1g/s1600/aug1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vAPZ7f0KB5Xz1t9GrtlG_j0zouNcXPYAiAE_8csbpkq49203omUXBv7lHEpRdgVY1lFbWsydYde4ZJta-LzJ_ghpr9RdZa5ePxK6EWfckRBI_Gy78Kr-rcHQH56Mhb4WTlo9ZtvQW1g/s200/aug1.jpg" width="116" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">T.J. Bass (penname of Thomas Joseph Bassler,
MD) is something of an enigma. He only wrote two novels—both of The Hive—which
were met with intrigue, yet he never published another novel, leaving the start
of his Hive series unfinished—fruit ripe for the picking; thus, he has left a
minor yet indelible legacy on science fiction. The Hive is a wonderfully witty
and unmistakably unique series that has little parallelism to any other novel written
before or written since—it’s wholly original.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">In a few thousand years, humans will have been
genetically tampered with so that they could adapt to crowding; this
adaptation, however, also deprived the Hive citizens of “immunoglobulin A,
calcium and collagen, neurohumoral axis, [and] melanoctye” (8), rendering them
soft and frail… they also live a full lifespan of twenty years and have a
deeply set default to obey. Being barely four-foot tall, these feeble
citizens—named Nebishes—are packed in underground spirals all across the globe,
totally more than three trillion Nebishes. Their food source: planet-wide
agriculture in which machines plant, pollinate, and pick the food to feed the
ever dwindling supply of calories to the Nebishes. At the helm of this massive
so-called society is C.O. or Computer One, who steers the course of the same
society, governs all decisions, and has very little toleration for the tangents
of humans… or toleration for any humans, really, as re-packaged cannibalism is
common in order to meet calorie quotas with a particular streak of disregard
for well-being. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Continually inventive and written with
extensive medical English (i.e. edematous, seborrheic, edentulous, squamous),
diagnostic English, and acronyms, the whole package is a bizarre and intriguing
kaleidoscope of imagination. Ultimately, however, this strong current of
invention is too swift for the inexperienced author as the plot takes on too
much just prior to a mildly unsatisfying conclusion… but it was also ripe for its
sequel, <i>The Godwhale</i> (1974). [<a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/08/1971-half-past-human-bass-tj.html">full review</a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#59: The Metallic Muse (1972) –
Lloyd Biggle, Jr. (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95nNUmRyqsphal66dZ2aEk2rXUMbBPnbCm12F8nTjihqqTl4hCRRkkscvOFZoBHludMNkj6KtSNIMJP3AgSBlqKQHluJXoY-dY8ebITTQsx5rFKbdDr57YydEBs0WdgVinrZGWrH2hHo/s1600/aug2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95nNUmRyqsphal66dZ2aEk2rXUMbBPnbCm12F8nTjihqqTl4hCRRkkscvOFZoBHludMNkj6KtSNIMJP3AgSBlqKQHluJXoY-dY8ebITTQsx5rFKbdDr57YydEBs0WdgVinrZGWrH2hHo/s200/aug2.jpg" width="119" /></a></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Prior to his death in 2002, Biggle, as a SF writer, had
produced about twenty novels, three collections, about forty short stories.
Though he’s not a well-known SF author, Biggle had two other facets to his
habit of writing: mystery and music; neither of these is explored fully in his
seven-story collection, but it’s obvious that some of his personal interests
are imposed on the stories, as the back cover comments: “seven fine science
fiction stories of what could happen in the world of music and art and
television”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">This thematic collection of “art” comes right after my
reading of Effinger’s thematic collection of “sport”, neither of which
particularly suited me. I guess I prefer a broader range of topics by a single
author (such as Yasutaka Tsutsui’s <i>Salmonella Men</i> [2006]) or a broader
range of authors on a single sub-genre (such as Paul Kane & Stuart
O’Regan’s <i>The Mammoth Book of Body Horror</i> [2012]).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Overall, the stories show a good streak of originality in
regards to plot, but most—if not all—stories end on rather predictable notes.
The first five stories are obvious inclusions to the theme of art, but this
theme tapers away along with the flow of the stories: “In His Own Image” is
more about religion, idolatry, and worship than any form of art; and “The
Botticelli Horror” is named after an artist but is really about alien
life-forms eating people on earth. [<a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/08/1972-metallic-muse-biggle-lloyd-jr.html">full synopses</a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#60: The Hive 2: The Godwhale (1974)
– T. J. Bass (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfyW-IjKzWxhYWAOdnZ1nTzMJxLtmkS7CtlKytolCb_4kFApbgrwQwIaomBq30NOzjFRM7tYYZhFZJvPmrKosHwDPq0SkgEQHLwTnbqOpWd5E0jfma94PrbLDzTQsEjT5zggggQ9O-PdI/s1600/aug3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfyW-IjKzWxhYWAOdnZ1nTzMJxLtmkS7CtlKytolCb_4kFApbgrwQwIaomBq30NOzjFRM7tYYZhFZJvPmrKosHwDPq0SkgEQHLwTnbqOpWd5E0jfma94PrbLDzTQsEjT5zggggQ9O-PdI/s200/aug3.jpg" width="120" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Bass’s freshman novel and first in this two-part series of
The Hive—<i>Half Past Human</i>—was an extraordinary foray into a wild
de-evolution <span style="color: #111111;">of the human species and the human
spirit. It was zany, colorful, technical, and far-fetched but its success was
burdened by its ambition of inclusion—he wanted to put so much in that it bulged
at the seams. Regardless of its conclusion, there was enough material to work
in a tantalizing sequel, which is exactly what Bass did.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">The first half of the novel is built superbly well:
it’s quirky, warped, interesting and keeps in line with the original novel, <i>Half
Past Human</i>: Larry was one of the original bodies to be placed in
hibernation until a thorough physical replacement could be found for his
amputated legs. When he’s revived alongside the Nebish society, his
millennia-long-old habits don’t jibe with the sluggish, conformist chubs that
live underground. He wants out, back to the land and seas that he used to know.
Meanwhile, a grotesque baby has been ejected from the baby farm and deposited
into a chute only to be serendipitously captured by concerned robot. As this
hulk grows up in the sewers (the bottom of the bottom) in the Hive, he learns
the decrepit and intricate throughways that run through it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">These two rejects play contrast to four other
players: (1) a duo of Nebishes who opt for sewer cleaning duty rather than
being placed in hibernation; (2) the people that live in the sea under their
submerged domes of air and pillage the goods from the Nebish land; (3) ARNOLD who
is a genetic experiment to combat the water-people yet who also has a kind of
built-in time bomb; and (4) the wandering whale-shaped<i> Rorqual</i> that used
to harvest plankton but now searches for mankind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">There are many great characters in <i>The
Godwhale</i> and each of them plays a cunning role in Bass’s<i> </i>vision for
the novel; however, much like the first novel, he tends to get well ahead of
himself in putting in too many ideas to clout the direction of the plot… but
not too many details because that’s what makes it rather quirky. Medical
terminology plays a healthy part in the writing, just as it did in <i>Half Past
Human</i>. For something really strange in SF, Bass’s duology here would be
perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#61: The Story of the Shipwrecked
Sailor (1955/1970/1986) – Gabriel García Márquez (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZN51irfszveFeC6o7M71mnaPp1T_KaT10mbU9ubEK2H2nGOP2Mz1-8ZERJqU1GgPgTwjSj6807fYKbk6hs7vPA1W8ZfMGineEFmuywSj5qWzq1LckJ5-VX8NM2KNE9Z8_CGdhOb05CU/s1600/aug4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZN51irfszveFeC6o7M71mnaPp1T_KaT10mbU9ubEK2H2nGOP2Mz1-8ZERJqU1GgPgTwjSj6807fYKbk6hs7vPA1W8ZfMGineEFmuywSj5qWzq1LckJ5-VX8NM2KNE9Z8_CGdhOb05CU/s200/aug4.jpg" width="129" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Most people know </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gabriel García Márquez for<b> </b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111;">his novels <i>One Hundred Years of
Solitude </i>(1967) and <i>Love in the Time of Cholera </i>(1985), but this
non-fictional story predates almost everything he’s published as an author
because he wrote this story when he was just a journalist in 1955. Later in
1970, it was published as a novel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">On a relatively routine trip back from Mobile,
Alabama to Columbia, a Columbian destroyer is thrown about the sea with its
stacks of contraband. Eight men are tossed overboard while only two days from
their home coast, yet only one survives to tell his tale: Luis Alejandro
Velasco. His ten days of solitude are predictably studded with hunger pangs and
his efforts to steal food from the wildlife around him, his fight against
hallucinations and loneliness, and using his seamen know-how to survive the
ordeal along with some clever problem solving with materials at hand. This is
fairly standard fare for any shipwreck story (including William Golding’s <i>Pincher
Martin</i> [1956]); however, it’s the framing of the story that captures
attention.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">While Velasco was embattled with many elements
on his ten days afloat—sharks, hallucinations, and painful wounds among
them—one embattlement stood out more than any other: “[M]ore than thirst,
hunger, and despair, what tormented me most was the need to tells someone what
had happened to me” (92). While under observation and recuperation, his story
was largely ignored by civilians and officials alike, yet he was kept from
reporters on the true nature of the shipwreck… and was treated as a hero of the
state. This state of heroism only confounded Velasco: “So, in my case, heroism
consisted solely of not allowing myself to die of hunger and thirst for ten
days” (101). Disenfranchised with his government’s so-called honor, Velasco
goes to a newspaper to tell what <i>really</i> happened, without censorship or
distortion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#62: The Midwich Cuckoos (1957) – John
Wyndham (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyfJXi43ow0trWmuXFv6p81pVfYNPnzVQtExVZzeUFus0j57UfxqkzNskUeD4miAnGHyIgQ7B40tpn-wcuCWrPSNdfwcDXGKuTw8M2t4krR0jexNEOptntXN9pAumBaQQUFEroLdJNLHk/s1600/aug5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyfJXi43ow0trWmuXFv6p81pVfYNPnzVQtExVZzeUFus0j57UfxqkzNskUeD4miAnGHyIgQ7B40tpn-wcuCWrPSNdfwcDXGKuTw8M2t4krR0jexNEOptntXN9pAumBaQQUFEroLdJNLHk/s200/aug5.jpg" width="124" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Six years ago, a time which just feels like
only two years ago, I first read Wyndham’s famous novel <i>The Day of the
Triffids</i> and was drawn into the dark, relentless reality of the situation
faced with the victims of the stalking plants. I was also struck by the
imbalance of seriousness and zaniness. This imbalance was also found in his collection
<i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2013/07/1973-best-of-john-wyndham-wyndham-john.html">The Best of John Wyndham</a></i> (with stories from 1932 to 1960): some were witty,
some were dull, and some were serious. I didn’t really expect the same delivery
from <i>The Midwhich Cuckoos</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">When everyone and everything living within a
two-mile radius of the cathedral in the sleepy town of Midwich—and anyone who
enters that has circumference—suddenly fall asleep, the military is certainly
concerned about what happened to Midwich and determined to keep everyone silent
about the curious goings-on. When the mysterious force is lifted, it’s soon
discovered that all fertile women are carrying a child—again, the military is
quick to keep it mum… and yet again when those same children exhibit a kind of
telepathy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Rumors of a curse spread through the town, yet
no one had ever heard of a curse that produced fertility—only barrenness.
Regardless of the children not being their own, the mothers soon take
responsibility for them, not so much as a biological imperative, but more as a
social obligation, yet even their motivation to care for the children is soon
upended when they discover that the children can control their actions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Theory breaks out that the children are, in
fact, an advanced form of humanity who are able to control the weaker
non-telepathic humans according to their collective whim (the boys share a
boy-consciousness while the girls form their own consciousness). The wiser of
the men begin to consider their own form as going the way of the dinosaurs, a
fatalism that isn’t shared by all who form protests against the children who
have much beyond their nine years of age.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Humans seem to have met their match simply
because they were too busy being the dominant life-forms on earth without any
competition: “As a securely dominant species you could afford to lose touch
with reality, and amuse yourself with abstractions” (199). This serious tone
pervades <i>The Midiwich Cuckoos</i> and doesn’t relent even into the grim
future that is outlined for those under the children’s control; however, some
sympathy is actually garnered for the mysterious children as they didn’t bring
about the change themselves—they are just as much victims of circumstance as
the villagers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Many parts of the novel are didactic or full of
lengthy monologue. There isn’t a satisfying stretch to the conclusion as some
of it is a prolonged, all-revealing dialogue with one of the children. It’s not
very subtle in its direction. Though this was Wyndham’s sixth novel (series
included), it’s feels amateurish and dated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="NO-BOK" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: NO-BOK;">#63:
Gladiator-at-Law (1955) – Fredrik Pohl & C.M. Kornbluth (4.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjTebqOht1GM5XXplwCupuMopCjZbe1nDTZ-gHYAA7UzwpSG5H4DFLLu6Rhd2SnZwQu5a7ShA7-E96FFEDj65QOcW0dRXfgF2HeV5512FYkXVjN9f_ySBubzkCbhyphenhyphenOjQyRM12spCUt8rY/s1600/aug6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjTebqOht1GM5XXplwCupuMopCjZbe1nDTZ-gHYAA7UzwpSG5H4DFLLu6Rhd2SnZwQu5a7ShA7-E96FFEDj65QOcW0dRXfgF2HeV5512FYkXVjN9f_ySBubzkCbhyphenhyphenOjQyRM12spCUt8rY/s200/aug6.jpg" width="116" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">The razzle-dazzle of the Phol & Kornbluth’s
<i>The Space Merchants </i>(1953) had me at a bit of a loss toward the end of
the novel. I can’t exactly remember why, but I <i>do</i> remember feeling left
behind. I knew I was missing something, so I kept it in my library along with
Pohl’s excellent sequel—or so I remember—<i>The Merchants’ Way</i> (1984). Joachim
must’ve known my confusion over the Merchant matter, so he must’ve decided to
force my decision by sending me <i>Gladiator-at-Law</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">G.M.L. Homes is the world’s largest company
both in terms of the stock market and capital. They are fabulously influential.
As the company grew from its noble roots in provided cost-effective housing for
everyone, eventually money took hold of the greedy usurpers of the company’s
power and left the two heirs of the now-dead founder’s company share—a
surmountable 25%. Knowing that the rightful and righteous heirs—the Lavins—control
that power, they brainwashed the son so that he’d be unable to remember the
stock’s location, leaving him and his sister living in a slum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Meanwhile, Norvell is hard on his luck as he
gets fired from his job planning the well-celebrated Field Day entrainment
extravaganza. His cushy life soon degrades to the slums where his grasp on
reality loses its focus, his wife’s composure loses its rigidity, and his
daughter’s haughtiness loses its innocence. Thankfully, prior to his firing, he
had just met a lawyer named Mundin, a connection of which comes well into favor
for the both of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">With some ingenious maneuvering, manipulative
suggestions, and legal tactics, Mundin begins to build not only a case against
G.M.L Homes, but also a complete overthrow of the world’s largest company. It’s
fun and tense, clever and witty. You may never root for the underdog as much as
you do for Norvell, Mundin, and the Lavins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#64: The Silent Multitude (1966) – D.G.
Compton (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRM4p1XMmtOyUdU5-t4IWYIczTjq3dDQ5Jy2XrjBLQbfV9S47lMM3AFPX-pdFEYxLMFWqQHJPMM7emBAXmNU6p2NUd1VO9QxFE1FwUaJLPwtdQintpMfrDXKT9F2FRlZ1xLn8kAlpr4Ng/s1600/aug7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRM4p1XMmtOyUdU5-t4IWYIczTjq3dDQ5Jy2XrjBLQbfV9S47lMM3AFPX-pdFEYxLMFWqQHJPMM7emBAXmNU6p2NUd1VO9QxFE1FwUaJLPwtdQintpMfrDXKT9F2FRlZ1xLn8kAlpr4Ng/s200/aug7.jpg" width="117" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">This is my fifth Compton novel, all of which,
including this one, I’ve really enjoyed, with the exception of <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/05/1970-chronocules-compton-dg.html">Chronocules</a></i>
(1970). He seems to be a largely forgotten figure in science fiction, probably
because he never tackled popular themes or abided by the norms of the same
themes. <i>The Silent Multitude </i>is a perfect example of this: In
apocalyptic English, the author steers away from describing the actual disaster
in favor of delivering tidbits of societal effect <i>from</i> the disaster. I
can understand why it’s not a popular take, but then again, Compton has never
aimed to take that popular route; rather, his endeavor has been to capture
humanity in its state, be in on Mars (<i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2011/10/1966-farewell-earths-bliss-compton-dg.html">Farewell, Earth’s Bliss</a></i> [1966]),
against a supercomputer (<i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2014/07/1970-steel-crocodile-compton-dg.html">The Steel Crocodile</a></i> [1977]), or at the end of
its physical reign (this novel). All these theme are familiar, yet <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Compton</st1:place></st1:city> turns the popular
head on its pivot to show the lesser shown side of the same story—and it’s a
captivating journey of many figures, akin to Chaucer:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">1. William (Paper) Smith knows his story yet
shares little of it. He’s known now as a recluse in the city who collects and
stores newspapers, lives in a basement, and who, otherwise, has very little to
contribute to society at large; regardless, he’s known throughout. As the story
comes to, the characters and the reader come to realize that his plain past is
actually an elaborate checkerboard in which is was the pawn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">2. Sally Paget seems to be a simple female
photojournalist sent to capture the human side of the city’s crumbling, yet her
reactions to its collapse cast a darker side to her nature: Why is she so
accommodating? Why does she play the role she does?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">3. The Dean of the local church continues at
his post even after the city’s evacuation, regardless of the zero-attendance
congregation and outside surety that all concrete structures are sure to
collapse. As a Man of God, he has the conviction that as the intangible Church
has withstood countless centuries, so too must his physical church stand
whatever may come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">4. Sim represents the abbreviation of his
name—a man who attributes himself the lowest common denominator: primal man.
Rape, looting, and murder at the forefront of his primitive mind while amid a
larger collection of humanity. Does being primitive hamper or encourage his
rise to power?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">5. The least withdrawn from his nature yet also
closest to its primeval state, the cat named Tug scourges the city for prey. It
knows its territory yet hardly casts a doubt on why the humans have disappeared
and why the city is crumbling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#65: The Wreck of the Mary Deare
(1956) – <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Hammond</st1:place></st1:city>
Innes (5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHFzx42ICNCj4DDqGpKvgfl1sTX9xS6CXGPH4M91dnJZXavht7AhUg7zV4hZTiw_ockiJ2N7_p3-3joEgyhg1lV8atzPejeO0EEreAUM59Gk6ZMAb7lqbNVvBgswfUyXE3slebWpc6Xtg/s1600/aug8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHFzx42ICNCj4DDqGpKvgfl1sTX9xS6CXGPH4M91dnJZXavht7AhUg7zV4hZTiw_ockiJ2N7_p3-3joEgyhg1lV8atzPejeO0EEreAUM59Gk6ZMAb7lqbNVvBgswfUyXE3slebWpc6Xtg/s200/aug8.jpg" width="129" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Moby-dick</i> (1851) </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">whet my appetite for
sea adventure—the high seas had never seemed so riveting even though its just
water, water everywhere. Fresh off the Melville’s novel, I picked up </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gabriel García Márquez<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111;">’s </span><i>The Story of the
Shipwrecked Sailor</i> (1955/1970/1986)<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111;"> and Hammand Innes’ <i>The Wreck of the Mary Deare</i>, both of which I
read this month. While <i>The Sailor </i>left a lot to be desired for, <i>The
Wreck</i> really hit the mark.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">John and Mike are out in the Channel when,
through the fog, a massive ship comes nearly barreling into this tiny wooden
boat that seems to be crewless. Later, they come across the same ship at rest
and, being wreckers with dreams of pulling a big one, John volunteers himself
to board the ship to gage its seaworthiness. Once on the ship, he sees a man
named Patch in a very disheveled state working frantically. Through the rough
seas, John is unable to return to his own boat and stays on with Patch. Through
the next forty-eight hours, John will learn only half of Patch’s story, in
which he is the hapless victim of circumstance, of John is to believe him. It’s
all too fantastic to be true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">And it’s only 75% of the story that comes out
when Patch is at the official inquiry. John knows more than Patch lets on
through his testimony, but Patch’s reservation of certain details intrigues
him, yet at the same time he knows that Patch can’t be fully trusted. Other survivors
of the wreck oppose Patch’s story and the insurance claims begin to take precedence
over Patch’s own fate, but John starts to realize that, when all these things
add up, it does indeed look like Patch is the fall guy for something bigger. The
only way to be sure—through Patch’s obsession and John’s reluctance—is to
return to the <i>Mary Deare</i> out there stranded on a reef far from shelter
and safety. The only safety net in this joint endeavor is their trust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">From the beginning to the very end, this novel
is filled with suspense through action on the seas and in testimony,
manipulation by numerous parties, and second-guessing intentions of everyone.
Patch himself really comes to life when with John, who takes on a placid supporting
role to Patch’s larger-than-life story, personality, and obsession.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#66: Starjacked! (1987) – William
Greenleaf (2.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFzKVzjGi5PpEKuofZTA54WvoO-upQ834eeKgRbCHZffSGy6Yq-HpKqPff32vNccX-6DOfYbWGCcFsJiTJ4hkwCOEWw7x5dp3uwh-5s6EVy7p3FTo7rb_VSNbV2moEbacpE1zwF53DAag/s1600/aug9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFzKVzjGi5PpEKuofZTA54WvoO-upQ834eeKgRbCHZffSGy6Yq-HpKqPff32vNccX-6DOfYbWGCcFsJiTJ4hkwCOEWw7x5dp3uwh-5s6EVy7p3FTo7rb_VSNbV2moEbacpE1zwF53DAag/s200/aug9.jpg" width="116" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">I first read Greenleaf on an off-chance having
picked up <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2012/04/1983-tartarus-incident-greenleaf.html">The Tartarus Incident</a> </i>(1983) from, I dunno, some godforsaken
secondhand bookshop, probably. The book’s technical and bureaucratic workings
were much more intriguing than the cheap thrills of the horror that followed. I
also picked up <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2012/04/1984-pandora-stone-greenleaf-william.html">The Pandora Stone</a> </i>(1984), which was a standard linear
plot involving an alien artifact, of which various peoples are vying for the
prize and its control. It was fun and also a tad technical, but nothing to sink
your teeth into nor something exactly worthy of praise. My third Greenleaf
novel—<i>Starjacked!</i>—has so many warning signs of a bad novel: (1) an
exclamation in the title, (2) the very mention of “space-pirates” on the front cover, and (3) the mention of “intergalactic
outlaws” on the back cover. It seems like Ace didn’t give this title much
thought because the book wasn’t written with much thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">The large station named <i>Copernicus </i>has
been hijacked by treasonous members of the UNSA Guard and a band of cohorts, two
groups who have hidden plans for their theft. The UNSA doesn’t know where the
station is located in space as it had skipped off into the neither realms of
space. Only one call for help had been transmitted, but only a fragment of that
message was received by the Guard. That same fragment was kept from the powers
that be and sold to Leo Blannon, a reporter who is quick to head out to the
station and discover what’s going on aboard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Once captured, Leo is very quick to discover
three powers at a cold war with each other: Xavier Cassady (such a bad, bad
name for a villain) who holds the power of influence, Victor Troy (all men who
have two first names are bad people) who holds the power of force, and Gillie
who holds the wildcard in her 9-year-old hands. Leo and his pilot Erek are
saved by Gillie and her deaf-mute brother and thus taken to the basement (?) of
the station to plot their overthrow of Cassady and <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Troy</st1:place></st1:city>. They also learn the history of the two,
what their intended destination is, and what both of them hope to accomplish—and
their respective goals don’t necessarily mesh. With stealth and wit, the four
of them sneak throughout the station looking for advantage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Add in a whole lot of shooting, copious
instances of technical garble, and a shared UNSA background to <i>The Tartarus
Incident </i>and <i>The Pandora Stone</i>, and what you’re left with feels like
borderline YA novel full of action with a fizz-pop conclusion on the last two
pages. “Forgettable” would be the best word to describe this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-44655954982583486482016-08-28T09:01:00.002+07:002016-08-28T09:01:59.727+07:002015: Red Star Tales (Howell, Yvonne)<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Across the boards of time, composition, and society (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnyplFoAIOoQjzWYNPLSFF1J1xoRNw8lejpviBkHks9iyqTvzy4gADjclM8VKGnUyesL5CoSpi28bBejwtJbeolgphgct6Ox2k-QgZECoFkUppp5sLF2DcoBZ8AA_T94vVsKKhVHPhQc4/s1600/july1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnyplFoAIOoQjzWYNPLSFF1J1xoRNw8lejpviBkHks9iyqTvzy4gADjclM8VKGnUyesL5CoSpi28bBejwtJbeolgphgct6Ox2k-QgZECoFkUppp5sLF2DcoBZ8AA_T94vVsKKhVHPhQc4/s320/july1.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I came across <i>Red Star Tales</i> while searching
for online for translated Russian science fiction. I had already bought some
collections and novels, but most had been from the 1960s and 1970s—nothing recent.
Considering that this 2015 publication fit in perfectly with my project—as mentioned
above: reading translated Russian science fiction in 2016-2017—I knew I had to
contact the publisher, Russian Life Books.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Paul expedited a review’s copy my way, which I
quickly opened and slowly made my way through. Interspersing the stories
throughout July, I kept synopses of all the stories for a later full review of
each, which I published on Tongues of Speculation. In addition, Paul was kind
enough to even put me in contact with Yvonne Howell, the editor, and together
we shared our favorite and not-so favorite stories in the collection… but that’s
nearly true for all collections. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">What’s significant about <i>Red Star Tales</i>? It
covers one-hundred years of science fiction, from 1892’s Fyodorv essay to 1992’s
Lukyanenko story; through pre-Stalin Russia, the USSR Cold War, and
post-Collapse Russia; and also having translated new pieces of work that had
never been the light of day in English (all aside from the Strugatsky brothers’
“The Spontaneous Reflex” [1958/1961], which was first published in <i>Soviet
Science Fiction </i>[1962] and translated by Violet L. Dutt). All covers from
the well-kept <a href="http://fantlab.ru/">fantlab.ru</a> website,
which I used heavily when researching the titles below.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">My favorites, you may ask?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The
most intriguing for me would be Valery Tsiolkovsky’s two stories—“Rebellion
of the Machines” (1908) and “Mutiny of the Machines” (1915)—about machine
rebellion, both unfinished pieces of work; both, however, are also
fertilely ripe for a full-length novel that probes the human dependence on
machines, our trusting nature of technological acceptance, and our demise
when these two fail. <o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The
single best story of the eighteen would be Alexander Belyaev’s “Professor
Dowell’s Head” (1926), which was first published as a novelette but later
expanded into a novel. The novelette version is included in this
collection, yet I naturally eager to get my paws on the novel. The story
itself is filled with plausible and intriguing science, deception by many
parties, appealing gruesomeness and darkness, and layers of social commentary.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The
Strugatsky brothers’ “The Spontaneous Reflex” is still one of my favorites
of the collection and of Russian science fiction. It can be viewed simply
as a robot-on-the-fritz story that entertains, but the undercurrents of analogy
run deep here—What does the robot represent? Why does it go haywire? What
exactly stops its rampage?<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="NO-BOK" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: NO-BOK;">”Karazin: Meteorologist or
Meteorurge?” </span></b><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">(1892,
essay) – Nikolai F. Fyodorov</span></b><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";"> (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDUzxN_ducU1XF2FVO9aPUIhlzGeQT1y2a1zKxul0Un9jF8Ovh8FhyphenhyphenG8waXxdiaCUO35nxaqZkbd-5Iy8KocpkzA3MBCPF2P8qJOrSkzhb0F41DwdCw_2xZR0l0MEtzaarwHygo6m8JI/s1600/red01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDUzxN_ducU1XF2FVO9aPUIhlzGeQT1y2a1zKxul0Un9jF8Ovh8FhyphenhyphenG8waXxdiaCUO35nxaqZkbd-5Iy8KocpkzA3MBCPF2P8qJOrSkzhb0F41DwdCw_2xZR0l0MEtzaarwHygo6m8JI/s200/red01.jpg" width="135" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: In a scientific
essay, the author writes about the extraordinary theories and experiments of
one man names Karazin. Where weather used to be a passive study of incremental
measurements and eyewitness accounts, Karazin has taken the initiative to make
the weather work for him. With a sense of social unity needed for his project’s
success, the government passes in favor of a competing theory that has more practical
and militaristic application, much to Karazin’s disdain. 7 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: I’m no
physicist, not even at the armchair level, though I do find pleasure in
particular physical science problems: e.g. What length of wire is needed for a
1mm coiled turning the size of a CD and how many turns will take? Karazin seems
to be approaching a similar nasty feat of science: How to conduct electricity
from the neither-regions of the atmosphere all the way to earth for general
use. His theories seem plausible for 1892, I suppose, as it was passed by
boards for study, but I found it rather implausible. Consider:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Karazin
wants to run a machine up to the highest, most energetic reaches of the
atmosphere. This region between space and the atmosphere is called the Karman
line, which is 62 miles (100 kilometers) above the earth. <o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">He
wants to usefully conduct the electricity down to earth, so let’s use
0-gauge wire as the standard. It weighs about 1,687 pounds/mile; hence,
Karazin would need about 52.3 tons of wire suspended in the air (assuming
zero stretch).<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">To
lift 52.3 tons, hydrogen would be a good gas to use, but it’d have to be
the size of four Hindenburgs: thirteen times the length and nine tines the
height of a 747. It’d be big.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Then
there’s the cost… but that’s enough.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Aside from theoretical science, the essay
also offers a little glimpse at a centuries-long struggle of science: a
government’s sinister urging to use all science for war. Karazin envisioned the
use of his invention to benefit all of mankind, but the government was only
keen to progress the state along by other means.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">One additional and surprising theme is
religion. Early in the essay, the author paraphrases, “humanity is not meant to
compete with nature, but only to regulate her” (33) and further toward the
conclusion claims, “transforming the blind forces … should unite all of us”
(36), which, according to the author, is a Christian tenet of conceding that <i>life
is good</i>; opposite of this is the Buddhist mindset that believes <i>life is
evil</i>. Following this Christian
tenet, it is the author’s opinion that science, through Karazin’s own
invention, to establish “the interdependence between sentient being and the
blind, unfeeling forces of nature” (35).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: As it’s an
essay, there’s neither plot nor character. It hypothesizes uses of purported
scientific progress with a philosophy of “non-secular transhumanism” (22). So,
technically it’s not fiction but it <i>is</i> speculative. If you can cringe
past the science, there’s a deeper nature to this brief essay, even if it’s a
bit flowery at times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">------------</span><span lang="TH" style="font-family: "Angsana New"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“On
the Moon” (1893, novelette) – Konstantin Tsiolkovsky (2/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvKnwBhoBO85oltTGG-BJgmqZQysoeCb808EZFeF9qPKop81cmdNxvRZl76tOVZARIGV2LiAvkl-lg4GyGRgAHsWj_DcrT1rgHbxNPMbcC5knhu26oG8NZizvNi4Y6Py5DeZCSs15zeG0/s1600/red02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvKnwBhoBO85oltTGG-BJgmqZQysoeCb808EZFeF9qPKop81cmdNxvRZl76tOVZARIGV2LiAvkl-lg4GyGRgAHsWj_DcrT1rgHbxNPMbcC5knhu26oG8NZizvNi4Y6Py5DeZCSs15zeG0/s200/red02.jpg" width="142" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: The writer of
the account and his unnamed physicist friend awake to find themselves to
peculiar conditions that they soon realize to be the low gravity of the moon.
Though their trip is unexplainable, they don’t dwell on the reasons for their
presence; rather, they take to the originality of their position and explore
the feats they can accomplish, the sights they can see, and the extremes they
can endure. Curiosity gets the best of the duo as they travel further and
further with dwindling supplies and worsening conditions. 40 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">:
Most, if not all, men are kids at heart. Given the right opportunity, a man can
gleefully snicker to himself, widen his eyes at a whim, and geekishly indulge
wherever he pleases. Admittedly, that’d be me with Lego’s, but I’ve seen other
men turn to putty with the thought of creating overly complicated and
cross-referencing Excel spreadsheets or preparing to watch a new episode of
Star Wars. Most, if not all, men are geeks at heart. Kids, geeks… you get the
idea. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Konstantin
Tsiolkovsky</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">’s particular niche was the following: the moon was his
playground, his mind was the child; fantasy the joyous currents of air between
the two.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Like most—note:
not all—early science fiction, “On the Moon” follows a whimsical plot purely
based on imagination without any finesse. The introduction states very clearly
that it is “almost devoid fictional grace or plot tension” (11). Although the
so-called plot is a far cry from literature, it does describe some phenomena
upon the moon, which the introduction also mentions as accurately describing
“the physical sensations of weightlessness, low boiling temperatures,
disorientating diurnal rhythms, and other things a human being would encounter
during a sojourn on the moon” (11). However, it reads a bit more interesting
than an employee manual or grade school science textbook.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: As mentioned
above, there’s very little—if any—literary merit. As one blogger has been
quoted in the introduction as saying, it’s “a tine baby step for Russian
literature, but a giant leap towards humanity’s era of cosmic exploration”
(11). It may hold a place in the heart of Russian science fiction, but its
artistic merits make it an irksome read if for anything other than a historical
curiosity. Regardless of the poor writing style, Tsiolkovosky remains a pioneer
of thought regarding humanity’s relationship with space, be it the moon or in
orbit. He was a visionary. To synopsis his achievement in this regard, consider
the author’s own epithet:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Man
will not always stay on Earth; the pursuit of light and space will lead him to
penetrate the bounds of the atmosphere, timidly at first but in the end to
conquer the whole of solar space.<a href="http://www.sf-encyclopedia.com/entry/tsiolkovsky_konstantin"><sup>1</sup></a><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Rebellion
of the Machines” (1908, unfinished) – Valery Bryusov (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQPvX8Gw_a4oYfTTtPcWLI46TSgA7QgAgsbaIj5JwDmpwvYVebnOYJufKry_LLVtuGHm_dq_pZHrCZgOAoI9M5YONZXgYY3maTr62RmZxVKam5GQp5McKBbKZ4TZDXxlZdPwcr4z7lyJQ/s1600/red03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQPvX8Gw_a4oYfTTtPcWLI46TSgA7QgAgsbaIj5JwDmpwvYVebnOYJufKry_LLVtuGHm_dq_pZHrCZgOAoI9M5YONZXgYY3maTr62RmZxVKam5GQp5McKBbKZ4TZDXxlZdPwcr4z7lyJQ/s200/red03.jpg" width="129" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: In the thirtieth
century, everyday life is immersed in electricity, technology, mechanisms, and
gadgets. Across the world, all this technological sophistication is run by a
generator in each of earth’s eighty-four machine zones. Descending from zone to
district to county, the power trickles down to meet demand. The mysterious
nature of technology and its constant service to mankind takes a more sinister
role—it begins to attack. Accidents soon appear to be murder by machine. 8
pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">:
The title of the story—which Google translated to “Rise of the Machines”,
actually—evokes the image of the Terminator stalking after Sarah Connor. The
horror of the first Terminator movies (let’s leave it at that because the
sequels were simply bent on action scenes, tropes of time travel, and destruction)
lies in the single-minded stalking of the Terminator, the pinpoint obsession of
the Terminator to accomplish this one task: kill Sarah Connor. From Sarah’s
perspective, she’s just a normal woman, yet, for some reason, she becomes the
prey of a futuristic monster. The future is manifested in the monstrosity of
the Terminator, and Sarah, as a result, fears what the future holds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Whereas Terminator personalizes fear in the
form of a single-minded machine stalking after a seemingly harmless woman, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Rebellion of the Machines”<b> </b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">disassociates
the fear to embody the everyday, tactile world: the telephone, elevator, tram,
or light switch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Ignorance is
bliss, until that same ignorance bites us on our ass, or in the case of </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Rebellion of the Machines”</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">,
it electrocutes us to death via the earpiece on our phone. Complacency with the
modern-day wonders around us is tantamount to the same proverb; we don’t fear
them, of course, but at the same time, we don’t understand them. Our
reliability on these devices sets us on the precipice of fatally ignorant when
they begin to falter, go on the fritz, act up, or when the so-called gremlins
wreck the works. We’re left helpless by our ignorance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Nowadays, this helplessness can be
witnessed by our panic when our laptops crash, when our phones don’t reboot
from a fall, or even when a fuse (hey, some people are helpless in all
situations). Revert your technology back 110 years… I’m sure they dealt with
similar problems: your phonograph’s quality deteriorates quickly, your Brownie
camera takes poor photos, your radio receiver is too staticky when receiving
Morse code, your windshield wipers smear something terrible, your Model T has
some funky steering, etc.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Regardless of the era, occupants of the
time will experience their own form of helplessness against the “ghost in the
machine”, be it digital computer, electric typewriter, pneumatic pump, or even
pulley systems, levers, flints, fire, or rocks. Whenever we use technology—see
any of the above—our widespread use of the device is far ahead of our
widespread understanding of the same device. Imagine how many cavemen damned
their deities when literally playing with fire—Ugg damn it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: The story is
sort of a precursor to a novel, much like a historical outline prior to writing
the actual novel. Given that the time was 1908, this may well in fact have been
the very piece that was going to be extended into its entirety, be it a
novelette, novella, or even novel. At the end of the story printed in <i>Red
Star Tales</i>, the story ends with “”I froze in [Editor’s note: the text ends
here]” (85). Though only eight pages long, the entire length of the story is
compelling in one way or another. It needs some editorial refinement, for sure,
but it comes off well. If the story had ended with “I froze in” without the
editorial note, the reader could have assumed that the author had met their
fate via an electric typewriter, ballpoint pen, or fountain pen—intriguing, to
say the least.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“One
Evening in 2217” (1906) – Nikolai Fyodorov (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM3RPf8br0ihxpu3fUIWUoi1-1x7HF_FBjuB0Htx89g73jQLJTfNUNPA5EaUtSZIgpeVpLdheW1QpwqdG76sSMBqmZD2xdQJf-w7J4lTNQnVUJAkgmr0uoS_epmFIl3Mr2rb39A0N2Sac/s1600/red04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM3RPf8br0ihxpu3fUIWUoi1-1x7HF_FBjuB0Htx89g73jQLJTfNUNPA5EaUtSZIgpeVpLdheW1QpwqdG76sSMBqmZD2xdQJf-w7J4lTNQnVUJAkgmr0uoS_epmFIl3Mr2rb39A0N2Sac/s320/red04.jpg" width="193" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Aglaya isn’t a
young girl with her mind set on beginning a family. This has never been her
prerogative until repeated remarks urge her to seek a path toward marriage and
reproduction. Inexperienced in these matters, she registers to “visit” the
famous Karpov for one evening. Immediately struck with shame, the memories
haunt her and compels her to visit a friend. There, the two are interrupted by
Pavel Vitinsky, who, it turns out, holds many of the same ideas as Aglaya—they
see eye to eye in both figurative and literal senses. 19 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">:
Initial love, like dawn at the first light, is superficial when the
participants are at their dimmest: the spectator sluggish in the morning, the
spectacle only breaching the horizon. At first sight, touch, and conversation,
the mind and body are saturated with hormones that encourage courtship, much
like the dusty heavens spellbind the eye toward its painted skies. Linger the
eye upon that same spectacle for a while longer and that same eye will be
blinded—set the heart’s expectations upon the same target for ever after that
love-at-first-sight and that same heart will be blinded; therein, the sun has
no care for the spectator, only the latter is hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Aglaya is a
loner. She shares her emotions with no one and no one shares her ideas; thus,
she is left as an island amongst humanity. Just as the continents drift, so too
does Aglaya as she realizes that, as an island, she cannot thrive and develop
alone. She bows down to the lowest common denominator, thus lowering herself
and her standards, before reaching heights she never before knew possible—those
same heights are propelled by the shared ideological interests of a mere boy.
From this spring of ideology, Aglaya finally feels a sense of bonding that she
had never known. As the trio of conversation becomes a duo of dialogue, she
firstly quietly reflects on her choices in life before openly confiding in her
escort, from which a Shakespearian comedy ensues.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: I prefer not to
read any introduction to a story prior to reading the story itself so that it
doesn’t contaminate my opinion or perspective of the same story. After reading “</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">One Evening in 2217” </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">and
forming a palpable view of it, I finally read the introduction and was
pleasantly surprised to see my opinion confirmed: “It is remarkable to find
most of the essential themes of Evgeny Zamyatin’s brilliant dystopian novel <i>WE</i>
(1924) already present in this under-acknowledged harbinger” (11). Perhaps it’s
a tad too keen on highlighting the emotional proneness of proud individuals,
but it does foreshadow the coming ideological intolerance of the Stalin years.
Not only this, but it also plays on the role of females in early
twentieth-century Russian society with a surprising take on sexuality, reproductive
rights, and purity (be it body or mind, which is where the twist is turned in
this story).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Mutiny
of the Machines” (1915, unfinished) – Valery Bryusov (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGRhwCPsF0UeWsI3X6RBD_pyjWqb-eQN8wXxQKnJNGulkCyoca_3fhmDXi6LLZY4mVUl8uAdAV5d4ioR-UkWCA0kZoTi4C_i2b1hW2205WmidurhrN_8GDiDjXUNP9JsI-c-SivPuvcEE/s1600/red05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGRhwCPsF0UeWsI3X6RBD_pyjWqb-eQN8wXxQKnJNGulkCyoca_3fhmDXi6LLZY4mVUl8uAdAV5d4ioR-UkWCA0kZoTi4C_i2b1hW2205WmidurhrN_8GDiDjXUNP9JsI-c-SivPuvcEE/s200/red05.jpg" width="129" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: From the
nineteenth century on, inventions have become so common that any simpleton
could conjure one up. On through the thirtieth century, mankind has progressed
with ample forms of power including the powerful source of radium, but much if
that power is for automation: trade, production, transportation among them,
save for accounting. Aside from inventing, people have little activity in their
lives, which doctors warn about due to illness stemming from their sedentary
lifestyle. Meanwhile, all whim within the city can be theirs. 6 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">:
Aside from speculation of the future relationship between man and machine,
Bryusov adds only one section of number that refers to the world’s urban
population. Consider the United States’ urban population from 1890 (29.2%),
1910 (46.3%), and 2010 (80.7%), which doesn’t account for the so-called
megacities, only the urban areas. In 1910, megacities hadn’t even existed—New
York was the first in 1950.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">In “Mutiny of Machines”, Bryusov predicts
that a quarter of earth’s five billion people will live in these same
megacities (those with populations of over 10 million). While Bryusov predicted
112 cities, the figure in 2015 (with a global population of about 7 billion)
was actually only 35, or about 47% of the world’s population. He may have
overshot the mark in regards to the number, but considering that he tried to
nail it more than 100 years ago, you can’t say he was far off the mark.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: With the
population’s influx into the megacities, everything is at their convenience,
which makes them all the most sloth. Power for the machines is readily
available, and so all ways to implement this supply of energy is used, many
ways, of course, are useless but not wasteful. As the unseen energy use
increased, the population’s physical activity decreased, leading doctors to
“issue warnings about muscular atrophy, decreased mobility, or impairments in
arm movement” (110). Automation followed the population for dusk to dawn, from
eye-rise to eye-shut; their entire world was provided by a press of the button,
all carried out by machine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Unfortunately,
the story stops there with the editor’s note, “the text ends here” (110),
similar to the other Bryusov unfinished story “Rebellion of the Machines”
(1908). If this, in fact, were the true end of the story, it might signify the
laziness of the writer in modern times, unable to summon the effort to put pen
to paper or to document <i>not</i> the mutiny of the machines, but the meekness
of the masses (I love alliteration). Perhaps extended three- or four-fold, the
story could have better taken a glimpse into life in the megacities… a bit of
dialogue wouldn’t have hurt either rather than the didactic delivery of this
story and “Rebellion of the Machines”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Professor
Dowell’s Head” (novelette, 1926) – Alexander Belyaev (4.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qZIBBSPIETSpmnsI6KC5LMpDjgxMx0jYCC58IAIndX5YHJFKY4Fu1eaycQjiOiC1RqHDSapHzmmGbOwHdo-ZkEgByKwJaBLKRs7bsuIr6vxKBiHMnoIkM3tci_r4in2FaWFHqJnv4xg/s1600/red06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qZIBBSPIETSpmnsI6KC5LMpDjgxMx0jYCC58IAIndX5YHJFKY4Fu1eaycQjiOiC1RqHDSapHzmmGbOwHdo-ZkEgByKwJaBLKRs7bsuIr6vxKBiHMnoIkM3tci_r4in2FaWFHqJnv4xg/s1600/red06.jpg" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Note</span></strong><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">: The version from 1926 is a novelette
while the 1937 version is the novel. The Macmillan and Collier editions are
both novels; however, the Russian Life Books version is the novelette, which
his reviewed here.</span><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Miss Adams took
an unusual job under the supervision of Professor Kern, even with his threats
and temper. She soon meets the subject of her time while under employment: the
detached yet still living head of Professor Dowell. Disregarding Kern’s threat,
Miss Adams secretly opens an innocuous valve, which allows the head to speak
and confess. She soon alliances herself with the head prior to beheading two
other corpses for a scientific exhibition, where Miss Adams takes the soapbox
for a hysterical rant. 45 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">The Author’s Work</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">:
Belyaev is one of most accomplished SF writers from Russia with eight novels
and nine short stories having been translated and published in English. His
work began to be published in 1926, so considering that he died in 1942, he was
quite productive and, posthumously, has been a shining example of Russian and
Soviet SF literature.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">:
You may never read such a tragic biography as the one of Belaev. After birth
(1884), his father forced him to take a religions path in his life and entered
him into a seminary, but, not feeling particularly religious, declared himself
an atheist in a seminary. After his success as a lawyer, he became a writer,
but during this time (1814) he contracted tuberculosis, which spread to his
spine and paralyzed his legs. Not wanting for care for a crippled, his wife
him. He convalesced in Yalta with his mother a nanny, took a few odd jobs in
Yalta, but eventually found himself back in Moscow as a law consultant. He had
two daughters, one which died in 1930, and lived until 1942, when he died of
starvation after he refused to evacuate the town as he was recovering from an
operation. The Nazis gave him an Orthodox ceremony or his interment, the exact
place of which is not known. His wife and remaining daughter were sent a Nazi
camp yet later returned to Russia only to be suspected of collaboration with
the Nazis, thus being exiled to Siberia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: The most
pivotally traumatic point in Belyaev’s life came when his wife left his as he
lay diseased, defenseless, and unable to care for himself. He must have hated
his body for the state he was in, the hatred of which must have been a
double-edged sword whose two edges were honed to lethal lines that attacked his
body and mind. Surely, a better life could be had in the future, if not in
reality than at least in fiction. Perhaps this is where Belyaev’s motivation
came for some of this SF themes: organ and brain transplants, a procedure of
which that only became reality in 1954 with the world’s first kidney
transplant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Belyaev’s 1928 novel <i>The Amphibian </i>revolves
around the transplantation of gills, while his 1930 novella is about a brain
transplantation from a man to an elephant. Prior to these two stories is “</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Professor Dowell’s Head</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">”,
which doesn’t feature a transplantation, as such, but the revival and
sustainment of a detached, bodyless head. Perhaps in Belayaev’s grieving for
the abandonment of his wife and the dereliction of his body, being a healthy
living head would be preferable to having an ill body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Professor Dowell actually headed (oops, a
pun) the research that allowed him to have a detached the living head; his
co-researcher—Professor Kern—is exclusively using his ideas to further his
career and gain fame from the success. If Dowell doesn’t agree, what’s Dowell
going to do—violently blink at Kern? With a good mind, Dowell concedes in doing
to literature review for Kern, but he oddly doesn’t become morose with his
stationary state. When Kern brings in two more victims for their bodyless
experiment, the duo don’t fair as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Tom and Miss Watson are the next two heads,
but their occupations don’t involve the use of their mind: Tom is a physical
laborer while Miss Watson used to occupy her time with another physical use of
her body. Now bodyless, the two don’t adjust as well to their state as Dowell.
The rigors of occupying one’s mind doesn’t suit all walks of life, so only
Dowell is able to withstand the hours of by using his mind. Here, Belyaev may
be simplifying and exploring social class in that the intelligentsia is fine
being secluded to their whims while the common laborers aren’t suited for a
similar life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Not only is this
story compelling from start to finish, but it also has some social overtones as
mentioned above. Take these two perspectives in parallel with Belyaev’s
personal history and the story suddenly becomes intensely personal. This
doesn’t necessarily make the story better, per se, but it does bring it sharply
into a contextual focus. Admittedly, the idea sounds corny from the 1920s, but
Belyaev masterfully carries the idea through its plausibilities and social
perspectives. This is much better that “Hoity-Toity”, which I didn’t care for
at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The
Lunar Bomb” (1926) – Andrei Platonov (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM51USWLWPgvs8ny8VKJcbjgq31tVY1YLc-IPgka_VAJpOXL50rS_zL37v2FZdpBKpy1VmThKIJ5oySBtyIs_FYxMEQbfFkhAQ7sULi63YSZsGCoIEbXTHS4h1kHoJPC0kptVa7D9sJ4I/s1600/red07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM51USWLWPgvs8ny8VKJcbjgq31tVY1YLc-IPgka_VAJpOXL50rS_zL37v2FZdpBKpy1VmThKIJ5oySBtyIs_FYxMEQbfFkhAQ7sULi63YSZsGCoIEbXTHS4h1kHoJPC0kptVa7D9sJ4I/s200/red07.jpg" width="123" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: An ex-miner with
big ideas better suited for the big city, Peter Kreuzkopf heads for the capital
with his technical plans for sending a sphere into space. Surprisingly, his
plan is passed by the board for approval and initial construction begins.
Ignorant of his device’s own power, he electrocutes to death forty workers and
soon is found of administrational malfeasance. Found guilty and imprisoned, he
tries to take his life but is later restored to his own project that he had
lost hope on. Still with a deathwish, he impresses upon the government for him
to ride on his own device to the moon. 23 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Author’s Work</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">:
Platonov was once heralded as a significant writer in the Soviet Union in the
late 1920s, just after the famine and right before the first Five-Year Plan in
1928. Both readers and critics found his work significant, but later drew
unfortunate scorn from the State for his criticism of the system. Today, he
better known for his novels <i>Chevengur </i>(1926, untranslated) and <i>The
Foundation Pit </i>(1930/1987). According in Wikipedia:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">In terms of creative works, Platonov
depicted one of the first state-controlled dystopias of the 20th century. The
novel is often compared to George Orwell’s </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nineteen Eighty-Four<i> and Aldous Huxley’s </i>Brave
New World<i>. However, both English novels were published long before a
translation of </i>The Foundation Pit<i> became available.</i> (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Foundation_Pit">link</a>)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Though this story was written in
the same year as he reputedly significant novel <i>Chevengur</i>, I didn’t find
much of an anti-establishment or dystopian theme throughout; rather, dedication
seems to be of importance here… perhaps with social parallels.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Peter Kreuzkopf</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"> is and always has been a common
man, a working man. His marriage ended in disaster as she herself was a
proletariat. They never managed to see eye to eye or share the same interests.
As he is and always has been an engineer at heart, he could never adapt <i>upward</i>
to the proletarian lifestyle of which his wife was so fond. Though he tried to
dedicate himself to his socially lofty wife, he failed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
the capital awaiting word of the success of his submission, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Peter
Kreuzkopf</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"> takes a
freelance job testing cars. He only needs to take the car out and drive it so
many kilometers before bringing it back for them to analyze the data. On his
first drive, he swerves to miss an animal only to hit a small boy. Stopping the
car and going to the boy’s aid, he sees that the youth was already dead.
Solemnly, he buries the boy and promises to dedicate his life to the poor
commoner boy. Though he tries to do so, one obstacle gets in the way: himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bent
of suicide, his last hope rested with the State to allow him to board his own
experiment to fly to and orbit the moon. When even they denied him, he cut his
last thread of dependence and fell back on the only person he had left:
himself. With the legal system on his side, he takes a step closer to the death
that awaits him, a death so righteous for such a man with limited
perspective—the death of a hermit rather than a voyager.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: If you can think past the
contraption that spins/revolves thousands or millions times per minute,
maintain its integrity, and allow a human to survive on board before it’s
flung—with precision, mind you—into the orbit of the moon… then there’s a
mildly compelling tale of a man trying to find a toehold in the jagged façade
of his society, where relationship fails him (wife leaves), his dedication
fails (seems to forget the boy he killed), even his work fails him (he
accidentally kills come workers). As he himself is the obstacle to all of the
above, his last goal also finds himself as the obstacle—can he commit suicide?
It may not be heroic, but it’s what his fate defines.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Rays
of Life” (excerpt, 1939) – Yuri Dolgushin (2.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglPiIS28hJUztmdydTA9U78t0GX5xnMuaWFCxWXan9lfbBn-a-etM5AIVPxTzhQejPmbqW8hJAnnjDgspQvYigILiiKK-eA5r254-OoR55g-8zlY8jL1xkRX6rrE6gUgJXRERaoREkdSw/s1600/red08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglPiIS28hJUztmdydTA9U78t0GX5xnMuaWFCxWXan9lfbBn-a-etM5AIVPxTzhQejPmbqW8hJAnnjDgspQvYigILiiKK-eA5r254-OoR55g-8zlY8jL1xkRX6rrE6gUgJXRERaoREkdSw/s200/red08.jpg" width="127" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Collaborating,
Nikolai and Ridan have a device and a method that’s able to literally kill a
body and later revive it free of its previous symptoms of disease or illness. A
number of other mammals have undergone the routine, each taking longer to
revive as they move up the evolutionary ladder, so the current experiment with
Anna is taking considerably longer. Amid the tense atmosphere, they discover a
German spy who is bent on sabotaging their experiment, but their angst at
success weighs more heavily upon their shoulders. 15 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">:
“Rays of Life” comes between Belyaev’s original novelette “Professor Dowell’s
Head” (1926) and Curt Siodmak’s novel <i>Donovan’s Brain</i> (1942), both
dealing with prolonging the life of a disembodied mind. This vivification of
life or the sustenance of the spark of life seems to be a trend during these
three decades. Dolgushin isn’t a widely known writer in the sphere of English
literature, neither in the literary sense nor in the genre sense. According to
my resources, only the above-mentioned novel has been translated into another
language—Romanian (1961). So, with Red Star Tales, this excerpt from a novel is
the English-language sphere’s first exposure to Dolgushin.He’s also published
screenplays, so-called sketches, and articles, but <i>Generator Wonderland</i>
(1939) remains his only stand-alone novel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: As this novel
(the spy element of which involves a Nazi) was written on the eve of Europe’s
descent into total war, perhaps the novel is best taken into context with the
chaos that ensued from the war: shifting alliances, redrawing of borders, and
the millions of deaths. Hitler invaded Poland in the same year as the story was
published, the same year, also, when Russia invaded their own “spheres of
influence”, according to their non-aggression pact in August, 1939.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">“War is hell” is largely attributed to the
American Army Civil War general named William Tecumseh Sherman. Hell on earth
wasn’t limited to the American civil, but found more fertile and expanse
grounds in Europe with World War One (around five million military deaths, one-third
of which was Russian). World War Two, however, saw more than eleven million
military deaths in addition to more than seven million civilian deaths. Russia
knows hell very well, all too well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">But what if the plague (war) could be
eliminated by killing the body (government)? Acts of aggression between nations
can only be perpetrated by heads of government and their respective bodies of
government. Suppress, quash, or eliminate said government, and war with another
nation is thereby cut off… in theory, of course—remove an aggressor and there’s
no aggression. This is abstract, naturally, as the opposing aggressor would
remain steeped in anger and would take occasion of any situation to gain an
advantage (like flogging a dead horse, as if it were an enemy). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">It’s a romantic vision of life as a simple
routine: A becomes infected with B, suppress/deaden A, B passes away as a
consequence, revive A to its full natural state. This romanticism works in
parallel with the excerpt’s themes; on the cursory level, it’s meant to be the
thriller rather than a thinker, a science experiment rather than a social
experiment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Dolgushin has a
different take on this disembodied-mind theme yet spices it with romance, spy
thrill, and science. As the introduction states: “Dolgushin wanted to fill his
novel [505 pages of which] with lightly fictionalized, but genuinely exciting
information about new discoveries in the biological and physical sciences”
(14). This mere excerpt captures all these themes: revivification, romance, spy
thrill, and science… and the chapter excerpt feels as forced as you might
expect. Stated again in the introduction, the original full-length novel “does
not stand out for its artistic merits” (14).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The
Nur-i-Desht Observatory” (novelette, 1944) – Ivan Yefremov (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnJbMA4yjN5qSsS7EVjA_eGnh1n7Vrmelxx6ow2CUe_TrJ0dcUd6KO7HfkqWAXkhQKSv_YPU-oXiTz6gUdWXJ_1xLEVx8HckSz10RVrumXbZBPKAsIarSBhnMMfNfHbyCPDsUJ8_1D9E/s1600/red09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnJbMA4yjN5qSsS7EVjA_eGnh1n7Vrmelxx6ow2CUe_TrJ0dcUd6KO7HfkqWAXkhQKSv_YPU-oXiTz6gUdWXJ_1xLEVx8HckSz10RVrumXbZBPKAsIarSBhnMMfNfHbyCPDsUJ8_1D9E/s200/red09.jpg" width="126" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Having staved
off death while fighting on the front, Ivan Timofeyevich gets off only wounded
and is sent to the isolated and desolate Kazakh steppes to recuperate. A
soldier at heart, he’d rather toil away; when he sees a woman named Tanya
standing alone at his destination, he gets just this chance. They cross the
land to an ancient observatory that’s built of stone and clad in mystery. While
their joyfulness is unexplained, they bide their time amid the inscriptions and
spectral emissions that lay deep within. 28 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">:
Radium was a wondrous discovery in 1898. Its luminal effect was mesmerizing to
the human eye, thereby attributing the element with health and vigor. Soon,
products began to be promoted with the same element: radium and it radioactive
properties in salts, in toothpastes, and even water<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quackery_involving_radioactive_substances"><sup>1</sup></a>. Even today, the restorative
properties of low-level radiation is a hypothesis (radiation homeostasis) but
remains a borderline pseudoscience along with its kin homeopathy (“like cures
like”). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Eventually, scientists and other who
professionally dealt with radiation became aware of its harmful effects yet
kept it a secret from the frontline employees (see the watch painters known as <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Radium_girls">The Radium Girls</a>). Even
up through 1934 when Marie Curie died, not many scientists—let alone
layman—knew the truly fatal side of the beautiful luminosity of radium and the
other radioactive elements. However, the notion of radiation homeostasis stayed
alive and touched nearly all borders of the world: America, Japan, and even the
Soviet Union (see on left).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: This story ties
together three elements: romance, adventure, and radiation homeostasis. Aside
from these and a sense of entertainment, this story offers very little else.
The most trying part of the story is the romantic friction between the
solider-cum-archeologist (Ivan) and the translator-cum-archeologist (Tanya).
The ebullition of well-being isn’t their own company, as they had first
thought, but only the radium-rich soil on which the observatory stands. Tanya
is disheartened by this as she had thought that their love was real and not the
curative effects of radium; Ivan, however, discredits the unnatural forces of
the radium as all sorts of spectral emissions are around them all the time, so
who is to decide which ones cause which effect?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Here,
my heart had come back to life, and it had opened… to you. Who knows? Maybe the
scientific advances of the future will offer a deeper understanding of the
effect radioactive substances have on us. And who’s to say that we aren’t under
the influence of many more radiations—cosmic rays at the very least. Up there …
all sorts of energy could be streaming, emanating from the dark depths of
space… the particles of distant world</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">. (223)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Like living and working around radium,
long-term negative effects on the central nervous system would also result from
the same sort of exposure of cosmic rays. If Ivan wishes to exclude all types
of radiation, then only love remains; hence, their love is real (ugh, this
ended on a mushy note).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: The keenest
aspect of the story is the adventure one: a real archeologist is digging
through the remains of an ancient observatory in search of inscriptions, a
hidden vase, the story underneath it all—in both figurative and literal senses.
The romance adds extra machismo to the story as the soldier wins over the girl…
then there’s the cringe-worthy looting of the observatory that the professor
condones. Each bit of the story is irksome—the adventure, the romance, the
radiation—but it actually ties together into a semi-decent story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Explosion”
(novelette, 1946) – Alexander Kazantsev (2.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFhPaBMlrScubclwgll5ByUn2eff4EQBcrSgkaRCM2dkMB7v70Zca3EyaY9aJ6maIulFyKmJWRZgTcZ7hr0EaKpVfHQ4f3JNiiU2Ykzrab76rau4JM-vBQfBPXZvgX8Rn9XAxvr1Xij6I/s1600/red10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFhPaBMlrScubclwgll5ByUn2eff4EQBcrSgkaRCM2dkMB7v70Zca3EyaY9aJ6maIulFyKmJWRZgTcZ7hr0EaKpVfHQ4f3JNiiU2Ykzrab76rau4JM-vBQfBPXZvgX8Rn9XAxvr1Xij6I/s200/red10.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: In April 1945,
an editor of a science journal is approached by two men with competing theories
for 1908’s Tunguska event, which the editor actually witnessed himself. Fuelled
by the theories, the man digs through his trove of historical data and
commentary of the event in order to defend his own theory. After August 1945’s
events, however, one of the previous two theorists returns and spouts forth an
outlandish tale involving a native black-skinned Siberian and a mystical source
for the huge explosion. 26 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">:
According to Kazantsev’s Wikipedia <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_Kazantsev#Writings">page</a>, he
was a pioneer of Soviet UFOlogy whose writings dealt mainly with
pseudoscientific theories. The page also says without a citation that “He
believed the Tunguska impact was caused by an alien spacecraft that crash-landed
on the Earth.” So, prior to reading a Kazantsev story, you need to be prepared
for two things: some focus around the Tunguska Event and some other outlandish
pet theory that goes hand-in-hand with it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: As Kazantsev has
indulged himself with a few pet theories of the pseudoscientific realm in the
form of a short story, there’s very little to analyze. I think the aura of the
story is best captured by the collection’s introduction:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Kazantsev
went </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">on [after the story’s publication]<i> to have a long and
less-than-admired career as a cultural conservative and Party hard-liner who
pushed back against literary innovations and artistic freedom in the 1960s … As
a Communist Party stalwart, Kazantsev wrote a macho, fun-to-read,
mystery-catastrophe in which the figure of the dangerous alien is easily summed
up in two words: “female” and “black.”</i> (14)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: This is the
third Kazantsev story that I’ve read and it’s the third story of his that
involve the Tunguska Event—at this point, it feels like Kazantsev is a
one-trick pony. The lamely titled “Explosion” is a variation of the previous
theme in “A Visitor from Outer Space” (1951) and “The Martian” (1958) that
posit a Martian UFO for the explosion. “Explosion” shrugs off this prior theme
in favor for something more mystical and less science fictional. His personal
interest in Martian canals, a fabled planet in the asteroid belt, and the
Tunguska Event taint his stories to the degree of obsession.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The
Spontaneous Reflex” (1958) – Arkady and Boris Strugatsky (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9lphBkBqTAWkenMdqUSMWrHoCztV_IbzQdg2tESWGpARAheuf_g1Q9sk9jEA5d5LgmO9gBT9PG3HibXNt52xYK7aV_qQjPgvEsDfrulSQDHmWucoFgJ6gADUJKV7CkRkTjpcWsCL52s/s1600/red11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9lphBkBqTAWkenMdqUSMWrHoCztV_IbzQdg2tESWGpARAheuf_g1Q9sk9jEA5d5LgmO9gBT9PG3HibXNt52xYK7aV_qQjPgvEsDfrulSQDHmWucoFgJ6gADUJKV7CkRkTjpcWsCL52s/s200/red11.jpg" width="145" /></a></div>
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-family: Arial; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Synopsis</span></strong><span style="font-family: Arial;">: With numerous sensors, Urm is able to sense the
world to a more thorough degree than any human; however, like a human, he too
can become bored. Unsatisfied with its underground concrete cube as its sole
known location, it opens the door, satisfied with its squeak. In the halls, in
approaches danger without fear, destroys without conscious, and frightens
without shame. As it reaches the surface, its Master attempts to bargain with
it and, in the end, to find a way to disable it. A victim of its own success,
mere bulldozers are able to pin it. 23 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<strong><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-family: Arial; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Analysis</span></strong><span style="font-family: Arial;">: High technology, especially of military value, is
often a closely guarded secret as it’s usually of sensitive nature. The robot
named Urm—an acronym for Universal Robot Machine—is a superior robot to such a
degree that it can learn and develop while left on its own; in essence, the
robot was given free-thought. Indeed, this would be a dangerous thing if given
free movement through the land, but even Soviet citizens didn’t have free
movement, instead, Urm is confined to a subterranean prison devoid of
sensation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">If Urm had not been
given free-thought, it would have been content to stare at its bleakly grey
environment; however, with primary urges to experience the world and adapt, it
tests the door, the halls, the walls, and even under the open sky. Not made of
flesh and bone, its curiosity is backed by metal and mechanizations, propelling
it through walls and radiation without harm. Its two weaknesses are its most human-like:
(1) As it has had very little experience in human communication, its
salutations come off as horrifically abrupt; (2) Its locomotion is an adaptable
one for all terrains—two legs and two arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Having been suppressed
for so long, it fails to find allegiance among the men at the base; also having
been given the fallacy of man’s locomotion, it fails to escape… only o be
defeated by a much simpler technology and one that doesn’t rely on human
fallacy: the treads and scoop of bulldozers. As it wallows in frustration, the
only rational thing for its creator (its Master) is to simply switch it off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-family: Arial; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Review</span></strong><span style="font-family: Arial;">: This is a familiar trope of a robot gone berserk,
complete with undeveloped human emotions while following a foundational,
pre-programmed prerogative. What it makes up for in originality is its allegory
of the danger of free-thought, inherited human flaw, development in seclusion,
and reliability of tried-and-true methods. It’s a well-fitted glove for a
Soviet story compounded by the repeated haunting salutation of the robot:
“здравствуйте как поживаете?” or “Zdravstvuite, kak pozhivaete?” or “Good day,
how do you do?” Even taken at its most literal level, the action story would be
a good, short romp yet with a lackluster ending if you weren’t aware of its
allegory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Soda-Sun”
(novella, 1961) – Mikhail Ancharov (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_0CDOHjdP-EK96mYuig20FpNcS4k1HBYGp94aUo45ntPJdBpuk0DKV_WnkfBOPJfXorIpjdE9wGgTUee68m9elI54dMGrRajo370Fq5OtQx4ezGWSDFY6KkUv8SPon6Sc4BBurTQYs3s/s1600/red12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_0CDOHjdP-EK96mYuig20FpNcS4k1HBYGp94aUo45ntPJdBpuk0DKV_WnkfBOPJfXorIpjdE9wGgTUee68m9elI54dMGrRajo370Fq5OtQx4ezGWSDFY6KkUv8SPon6Sc4BBurTQYs3s/s200/red12.jpg" width="140" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: The man
nicknamed Soda-Sun has an odd and patchy background, especially when
considering that he has no previous degree or experience to warrant his
position as a research assistant. He ought to be science-minded, but his
theories rattle the nerves of all around him, thereby referring to him as a
clown: the devil is real and takes the shape of a man even today. When the same
science group uncovers an unexpected giant mammal, Soda-Sun is there again with
another crazy theory, a well-dated skull, and a frank letter of explanation. 58
pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Promotions are hazardous, like
lion-taming or base-jumping. The opportunity for success exists and if you put
in the honest effort, your chance for success climbs along with your awareness
of the situation—i.e. put in the extra hours at the office, log your work,
exhibit your accomplishment, take on extra responsibilities… and your work will
be rewarded with a promotion. This, however, isn’t the hazard; rather, it’s the
people who don’t bide by the “honest effort” credo for a level playing field:
the suck-ups, the ass-kissers, the bribe-payers, the false-flatterers, the
yes-sir-right-away-sir-what-a-nice-tie-you-have-on-today-sir kind of people,
the… you get the drift. Oh, the numerous
examples from my own life…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Under
normal circumstances, there are only two kinds of victims when the latter kind
of person wins: (1) the honest johns and janes and (2) quality company management.
Yet, when this sort of ass-kissery (Is that a word? If not, it’s mine.) occurs
at academic and governmental spheres, the number of victims becomes
exponential. When those same I-kiss-ass-so-much-I-never-see-the-light-of-day
scum are also deceptively clever people, everyone is the victim. You know the
kind of tools I’m talking about…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Soda-Sun was a clever man or
resources during the war; some may have called him a courier, others a
smuggler. Regardless of his official title, he provided goods to those who
asked. Yet after the war, his specific talents and connections were no longer
needed, so Soda-Sun used his well-honed cleverness on an unsuspecting realm:
academia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Considering
his position in academia, he holds a dangerous idea that the devil is real,
which is certainly a position that could never be analyzed quantitatively.
Still, his superiors keep him on staff where the damage only grows because of
his stalwart stance and immature interference. When one urbane discovery
becomes a absurd exhibition of impossibility, surely Soda-Sun is behind the
extravagant prank, yet when academia probes deeper into a
part-prank/part-discovery, they are witness to one of two realities: (1) either
a very extravagant prank or (2) the discovery of an impossibility. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Even
when Soda-Sun is ousted from his position, the repercussions of his harm remain
as the mystery of his supposed prank unfolds. His series of juvenile notes of explanation
prolong the suffering of the serious academics, the hunt of which leads them
into deeper and darker terrain. It’s this “deeper and darker terrain” that
could possibly be an analogy for pseudosciences, or areas of knowledge that
academia refuse to probe because of the taint of skepticism from the greater
scientific community.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: This isn’t an easy story to read.
I’m not sure if it’s because of the story-telling or my state of mind;
regardless, I had a hard time following the ins and outs of the unraveling
prank and/or mystery. The introduction of the collection mentions that this
story is about “creative genius”, humanity’s “untapped capacity” of genius, and
the source of his genius (18). Certainly, that’s buried in the story somewhere
along with my idea of what the story is about. It’s the longest story in the
collection but also one of the most convoluted—again, maybe my mind was broken
on those days that I read the story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The
Exam” (novelette, 1979) – Sergei Drugal (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmRN4u5ib2mrwWYb4KV4PXMZDDa1uX-BSfCH72VvJko2rrZx9pqW64MHO_w6bDQ1OPjhh-Ob0-ToXGkaxofFyl05taA8ktZKBZ8KxVqDC4NQmobPacog7wMT31RRJv7heMs7TPggvdSxM/s1600/red13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmRN4u5ib2mrwWYb4KV4PXMZDDa1uX-BSfCH72VvJko2rrZx9pqW64MHO_w6bDQ1OPjhh-Ob0-ToXGkaxofFyl05taA8ktZKBZ8KxVqDC4NQmobPacog7wMT31RRJv7heMs7TPggvdSxM/s200/red13.jpg" width="158" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Within the
Institute for the Restoration of Nature, Nuri walks amid the tame musings,
comments on, and holds conversations with its various gene-adapted animals. The
numerous mammalian and human denizens of the Institute offer their advice and
urge Nuri to consider a freestyle parable, but he considers it beyond his
ability. Possibly inspired by his experience with speaking to anthropomorphized
animals, Nuri is finally able to spin on a parable while under observation—but
to whom and to what end? 20 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: As a small spoiler to the story,
the aim of the inquisition through parable is to become a teacher. This raised
both of my eyebrows as I have some experience in research into Soviet
educational philosophy when I studied my M.Ed. a few years ago. The class had
been through s good chuck of the educational philosophy book when I overheard
two students talk about “Who’s your favorite educational philosopher?” My first
utterance to self: “Total nerds”. My second utterance to them: “Mine’s Anton
Makarenko”, to which they replied: “Are you serious?” Then I was like, “Oh, I’m
sure you’re all in love with John Dewey, right?”, to which they agreed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Long
story short, thank you <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anton_Makarenko#Legacy">Wiki</a>: Makarenko
saw integration as one of the key aspects of education: “the activities of
various educational institutions — i.e., the school, the family, clubs, public
organizations, production collectives and the community existing at the place
of residence — should be integrated”… think of Hillary Clinton’s <i>It Take a
Village to Raise a Child</i> (1996) but seventy years earlier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: The exam in the story is an
example of “authentic assessment”. To summarize, thank you again <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Authentic_assessment">Wiki</a>, an
authentic assessment is:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">[T]<i>he measurement of
"intellectual accomplishments that are worthwhile, significant, and
meaningful," as contrasted to multiple choice standardized tests.
Authentic assessment can be devised by the teacher, or in collaboration with
the student by engaging student voice.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Beautifully
worded. Nuri is the student in this regard while the random denizens are his
teachers who are trying to encourage him to create a parable by framing the
situation. They give him multiple chances to engage his voice, his narrative,
but he only offers his first parable at the end of the story when he has to
define his “moral profile” to a bunch of toddlers. As ridiculous as the
situation may be, it’s about as authentic as a test can be for a teacher… minus
the lofty language of non-toddlers: “What kind of moral profile does a bachelor
have? We’d rather see if he can tell us a good story” (349).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
so, Nuri’s formal education ends with the application of his knowledge to a
situation he may actually face when he becomes a teacher; thus, he allowed to
go into the world and into the workplace to begin his informal education… the
ins and outs of everyday authentic assessments.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: The story was a bit spastic in its
delivery as it tended to bounce between new characters—both human and
animal—urging Nuri to tell a parable. It was frustratingly disconnected but it
really snapped into focus for me at the end… perhaps only because of my
knowledge of Makarenko and authentic assessments. The re-read of this story
proved to be more satisfactory. Tantalizingly, this story is the tip of an
iceberg that belongs to Drugal’s collected works of called <i><a href="http://www.isfdb.org/cgi-bin/title.cgi?1662738">The Institute of Nature
Restoration</a></i> (19??/1980), which, sadly, was only available in Ukrainian
and Russian. It seems that its publication origins are forever lost. So, you
may have to be happy with the tip rather than the whole berg.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Mixed
Up” (novelette, 1980) – Vladimir Savchenko (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Es4SA-bVIGkmSnP92jIvLItwoXlSYTiiTfsN-bl-eNGwnD1sTaTp0ejIGt87BRpvbtpUPuKsLAlPnwUkIFOae-GXFJKVmbQT4YlTun1K667ccDqdHN9rbuCt-1PGubxcqIZlkB9mVyY/s1600/red14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Es4SA-bVIGkmSnP92jIvLItwoXlSYTiiTfsN-bl-eNGwnD1sTaTp0ejIGt87BRpvbtpUPuKsLAlPnwUkIFOae-GXFJKVmbQT4YlTun1K667ccDqdHN9rbuCt-1PGubxcqIZlkB9mVyY/s200/red14.jpg" width="137" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: When an alien
race beamed their personalities across space to Earth, mankind learned the
secret of interstellar travel; not everyone, however, was able to sustain the
transfer, as evidence by the death of several so-called psychonauts. When M. A.
Kolotilin returns from his beamed journey, his eyes sense sound while his ears
register color. Initially perplexed by this mental cross-wiring, he soon begins
to accept and adapt to the uniqueness of his state even while his wife leaves
him and his fellow scientists urge treatment and experimentation. 47 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">:
Let’s shun the cliché “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” in favor of David
Hume’s “Beauty in things exists merely in the mind which contemplates them”. I
think this appropriately shifts the subject from the person beyond the senses:
the mind and that which registers the senses. If you were to change the mind,
you’d change the perception of beauty, but not the memory of that beauty—for
better or for worse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Kolotilin knew
of beauty in the form of sight and sound prior to his psychonaut jaunt—the
stars, the forest, the symphony, and his wife. When returning to Earth into his
own body, these two senses swapped in indescribable ways. As his mind had only
known a world where eyes and ears registered their respective sense, Kolotilin
was left bewildered and left reliant on his reliable sense of touch and space.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">For want of remembering beauty, he plays
music and sees his wife, but both of these instances fail to imprint a new
sense of beauty in his mind. His isolation in the laboratory doesn’t inspire
this same fledgling sense, so he prescribes himself a walk outside where beauty
reigns in his memory and to his new senses, the latter trumping the former.
When the scientists urge him to experiment in transliterating his senses so
that he can experience the so-called real world again, he adamantly refuses to
cooperate so that he can perfectly adjust to his new found sense of beauty… but
he also achieves a greater sense of life:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">And
that which is petty, stupid, empty and low is people and in the world will
remain for me incomprehensible noise and visual trash. And good riddance. I
hear that which is seen and see that which is heard, but I perceive not sounds
nor light</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">, <i>but</i> that which lies beyond them<i>. So am I poorer or richer
for it?</i> (385)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">If we use our subjective sense of beauty as
an analogy, could the same be same for a philosophy, an ideology, a system of
governance? I’m no Soviet historian, nor am I savvy with political science,
alas:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">The Soviet Union in 1980 was seeing a
growth on the global scale thanks in part to its military strength, indeed it
also was experience an economic growth, from $1 trillion in the 70s to $2
trillion in the 80s. Leonid Brezhnev, the General Secretary, had been holding
the reins of the party and the State for sixteen years. Aside from cold deathly
stares of the Americans across the intangible yet noticeable Iron Curtain,
things were looking good for the Soviets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Democracy isn’t for everyone. It’s one form
of beauty in the form of governance, but what works for one people in one
country doesn’t necessary apply across the board to all peoples and all
countries. The American ideological crusade to push democracy around the world
is an attempt to replace one subjective beauty with another. Take Thailand, for
example: Elected government after elected government have only brought the
country to the brink of civil war; since the coup two years ago, however,
social stability is finally savored, a fact supported by the recent referendum
approved by voters to allow the military junta to elect its own government for
the next five years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">To speak for the Soviets, perhaps the
hard-line communists truly believed in their form of society and government.
Democratic rhetoric (Kolotilin’s scientists) can’t ideologically understand
non-democratic systems (Kolotilin’s happiness). The former may see things as
they are—beautiful, natural, and perfect—while the latter may also see exactly
the same things—just as beautiful, just as natural, just as perfect—yet though
completely different senses. Who’s right; who’s wrong? Like my mum says, “As
long as you’re happy…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: It’s a bit hard
to envision what Kolotilin experiences. The framing of this unique experience
on Kolotilin’s part is due to the equally unique method of traveling among the
stars. How this method was discovered and who used this method were a two
additional unique aspects of the story—so, to sum it up, the story is pretty
unique. Regardless, it’s hard to wrap your head around and rather lengthier
than need be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Jubilee-200”
(short story, 1985) – Kir Bulychev (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnsJ_Mdkqdfvz0eiOVpFVTUPIUq_3enK3GU_0KQwpnUxQLBrWOkDfkYtlRdRh0NYYPTHXcx4cd2Xg98rQEhRSOaT0-MfxB9VSV5JTZOaLRUzHNmmK8IUZ7Y_qCK97JAzve6x0cd4-oiRE/s1600/red15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnsJ_Mdkqdfvz0eiOVpFVTUPIUq_3enK3GU_0KQwpnUxQLBrWOkDfkYtlRdRh0NYYPTHXcx4cd2Xg98rQEhRSOaT0-MfxB9VSV5JTZOaLRUzHNmmK8IUZ7Y_qCK97JAzve6x0cd4-oiRE/s200/red15.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Nearly two
centuries prior, a chimp breeding program began with the ultimate purpose of
producing a lineage with the traits of Logic and Reason. Limited success has
been observed with the elderly chimp named Johnny as he’s able to hold a
mundane conversation but is still prone to his wild nature. Meanwhile, through
the eyes of the Leader and the rest of his herd, the scientists are dumb to
their true intelligence and cunning, with which they hope to steal a plane and
make an escape to Africa. 17 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">:
I’m having trouble tracking down the direct quote, so I’ll paraphrase: someone
was said that monkeys don’t speak because they don’t want to be put to work. I
believe this was a serious attempt at reasoning why apes don’t speak like
humans, so it must have been a fairly early non-scientific approach to the
theory (say, early or late nineteenth century). This theory would imply that
apes have (1) a vocabulary and grammar as well as (2) the anatomical structures
to form thoughts and produce speech. Whoever said the paraphrase above had one
thing right, however: apes are capable of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deception_in_animals">deception and lies</a>,
but not to the great extent as collectively fearing being put to work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: A coup would be
a sudden overtaking of authority while one definition of revolution omits
authority in the sudden change of a situation. The chimps in </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Jubilee-200”</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">
had no intention of throwing a coup as they simply wanted to escape from
authority rather than replace it. Their secret revolution, therefore, was their
well-planned escape through their decades of deception. If the scientists are
seen as the government and the chimps as citizens, the story—written in
1985—takes on an ominous glow only six years before the intergovernmental coup
d’etat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Sometimes Big Brother knows; sometimes,
too, Big Brother lets things go the way he wants because the means agree with
the end, even though those means aren’t his own: protests could be a useful
pressure valve for the population or some terror may spark much wanted changes
in law enforcement. Though the perpetrators of the protests and terror may be
getting their way, the authorities sometimes smile down at their actions and
silently play into their hands. I won’t expound on any conspiracies (domestic
or international). If a popular grassroots means meet the same end as the
government’s intended forced means, surely it would allow the popular means to
unfold… possibly with an unofficial blessing and/or a well-informed mole.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">On August 18, 1991, Yeltsin led a coup
against Gorbachev; both wanted freer economic systems, yet the former wanted
reform faster than the latter. Perhaps Gorbachev had his hands tied for policy
but wished for faster reform, which Yeltsin was able to accomplish through
swifter means. Surely, Yeltsin hated Gorbachev, but if Yeltsin could pull off
the coup in favor of greater reform, then perhaps Gorbachev would have
applauded it? Gorbachev had the opportunity to send Yeltsin to a far-off
ambassador errand when the firebrand openly criticized Gorbachev, but Gorbachev
kept the man on, though through a demotion. Gorbachev says he regrets keeping
Yeltsin, but…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Another story
ripe for analysis! Much as the chimps unfold their plan in secret to a greater
end, the story, too, unfolds from a basic onset toward a greater end with a
twist in the end (as analyzed in the analysis portion of this review). It’s
well structured, well thought out, and unique – add in the twist and the
fertile ground for analysis and you have yourself a satisfying story!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Those
Burdened by Evil” (excerpt, 1988) – Arkady and Boris Strugatsky (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcdw9JIp2f3_LBgjh_oopql82T5bZM2iis7HETxvBdjJxqtIZcsLqR5X77VpTqJ2MtWdXOHjW2dHyfEw9w6lbxwNkEm0drkHEPIyjrgc-xkmu0dsocIBqqJ5uKjUmxHmVFviwPxG5q7Ag/s1600/red16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcdw9JIp2f3_LBgjh_oopql82T5bZM2iis7HETxvBdjJxqtIZcsLqR5X77VpTqJ2MtWdXOHjW2dHyfEw9w6lbxwNkEm0drkHEPIyjrgc-xkmu0dsocIBqqJ5uKjUmxHmVFviwPxG5q7Ag/s200/red16.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: The dark, towering
figure casts a deceptive appearance amid the otherwise vacant apartment
building that overlooks the dreary scene of a town and its society, both on a
downward spiral. He questions their ethics, he scorns their composure, but most
importantly he hopes to help them in one way of another. Under his expansive
parka rest the folded wings of his true nature, and at his figurative side sits
the statuesque assistant who tells him of this earth yet walks a tenuous line
of disobedience. 8 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">:
Leaders tend to come in two forms: agents of maintenance or agents of change.
There are times when maintenance is greatly needed in order to find a base
understanding, standardize whatever’s needed, and get it on track. Any element
of change can greatly skew its ability to assess itself, thus hindering its
progress. In contrast, sometimes systems needs a kick in the ass; here, an
agent of change would be beneficial as they—hopefully—have the also have the
ability to analyze problems and find efficient methods of change… efficient,
here, being the key.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Anyone with a
shred of knowledge about the later years of the Soviet Union will know that
Gorbachev had been introducing many changes to the Soviet government (e.g.
elections and the economy) since 1985. Some saw these changes as damaging to
the communist vision while others saw the same changes as not being progressive
enough to change what really needed to be changed—e.g. the head of power.
Though Gorbachev was an agent of change in contrast to the lineage of premiers
who strived to maintain Cold War tensions and backwardness on the global scale,
but sometimes <i>some</i> change is not change <i>enough</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">The agent of change in “Those Burdened by
Evil” is a winged angel of impressive stature whose origins are well known in
general yet here veiled in the story (will avoid any spoilers read from
fantlab.ru). If Gorbachev wasn’t an angel with power enough to scare its flock
to alter its moral fabric, then was he just a saint with good intentions. So
who was the archangel who wielded God’s word for democracy? I’d hardly compare
Yeltsin to an archangel let alone a saint, prophet or priest, but as he was
ushered into th seat of power after the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">USSR</st1:place></st1:country-region>’s collapse, he must fit the
role of angel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">As this is only an excerpt to a novel,
there’s more room to postulate the allegories and parallelisms. Perhaps the
Strugatsky brothers also felt that their society was crumbling from underneath
them and that Gorbachev wasn’t the agent of change that they needed. Creating
an angel as that agent would be one form of worry, but creating an even higher
spiritual body as that agent would be complete desperation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Of all the
stories included in <i>Read Star Tales</i>, the novel-length edition of “Those
Burdened by Evil” is the one story that received the highest rating (8.41/10)
and had the most reviews (54), according to the fantlab.ru website. The reviews
heavily point out that the novel is deep and ripe for analysis with its
religious allegories and social parallelisms. Most mention that they need to
re-read and compare it to Mikhail Bulgakov’s <i>The Master and Margarita</i>
(1967) for its themes of religion. Even though this is an excerpt, there’s
still a tangible depth and enough setting to intrigue the reader. By itself,
however, the general theme of religion is only superficial and doesn’t come
into focus by the excerpt’s conclusion. To placate the reader, the conclusion <i>does</i>
offer a certain motion: expectation of change. Pray that this novel is
translated to English, one day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Doorinda”
(excerpt, 1990) – Daliya Truskinovskaya (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiglsvtsJJJR2TrFwwyDtZVPS-MqgHvJ490_Wqd7vErLkT2xpYEc_S4WBYz7CBy_Qd7hjYJQNf4yY0H0ZPjUuIKhUB3zT_cy7fbjFvLY4AW-zNyvfqsrh1zffwuI_X1CWDpAey-W-6Qhfc/s1600/red17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiglsvtsJJJR2TrFwwyDtZVPS-MqgHvJ490_Wqd7vErLkT2xpYEc_S4WBYz7CBy_Qd7hjYJQNf4yY0H0ZPjUuIKhUB3zT_cy7fbjFvLY4AW-zNyvfqsrh1zffwuI_X1CWDpAey-W-6Qhfc/s200/red17.jpg" width="151" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Ksenya is seeing
hard times since her husband left her and their son to live alone in their
apartment block. Returning to her home on evening, she realizes that she had
forgotten her keys, and at that moment of good fortune, a man on the run offers
his help, which he does with several strange devices, but it also benefits
him—as soon as he’s through the door, he disappears. When Ksenya tries the door
on a rainy day, she suddenly appears at work. First, thoughts of food and
medicine stir in her mind. 17 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">:
A few words from Wiki regarding supply and rationing in the USSR in the 1980s:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;">Perestroika<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>was a political movement for
reformation within the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i></span><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">Communist Party of the Soviet Union</span></i><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;"> </span></i></span><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;">during the 1980s, widely associated </span></i><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">with </span></i><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;">Soviet</span></i><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;"> Leader Mikhail Gorbachev</span></i><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;"> </span></i></span><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;">and his<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">glasnost</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;"> </span></i></span><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;">(meaning "openness") policy
reform. The literal meaning of </span></i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;">perestroika<i> is "restructuring", referring to the
restructuring of the Soviet political and economic system. </i>Perestroika<i>
is sometimes argued to be a cause of the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i></span><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">dissolution of the Soviet Union</span></i><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;">, the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">revolutions of 1989</span></i><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;"> </span></i></span><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;">in<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">Eastern Europe</span></i><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;">, and the end of the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: #00FF; mso-bidi-language: #00FF; mso-fareast-language: #00FF;">Cold War</span></i><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;">.</span></i><i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: #00FF;"> </span></i><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: #00FF;">(<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Perestroika">wiki</a>)</span><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #252525; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">In
the 1980s shortages continued in basic consumer items, even in major population
centers. Such goods occasionally<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">were rationed</span></i><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #252525; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i></span><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #252525; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">in
major cities well into the 1980s. Besides the built-in shortages caused by
planning priorities, shoddy production of consumer goods limited actual supply
…. By the time of the Soviet Union's collapse at the end of 1991, nearly every
kind of food was rationed. Non-rationed foods and non-food consumer goods had
virtually disappeared from state owned stores. While the gap was partially
filled by non-state stores which started to appear in the mid-1980s, the prices
in non-state stores were often five to ten times higher than in state stores
and were often out of reach for the general population</span></i><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">.</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">
(<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Consumer_goods_in_the_Soviet_Union#Consumer_supply_in_the_1980s">wiki</a>)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Desperation
settles upon Ksenya as she struggles with her life at home as she has to raise
her son by herself. She considers their lack of food and medicine yet is
hopeless against </span><span style="color: #252525; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">the inertia of perestroika</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";"> to obtain anything
useful. Her stroke of fortune comes from the fantastic run-in with a fugitive
who enables her door to open to wherever she pleases. She allows her to
immediately bypass to a number of everyday annoyances: (1) she can forego
inconvenient public transportation, (2) she can pick and choose victual items
from hoarded stockpiles, and (3) she can obtain medical supplies just when she
needs it most.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">In essence, the gift that Ksenya had been
given was the gift of capitalism. Consider: (1) if she had a private car, she
could avoid most the rain and arrive at work on time; (2) if she could go to a
supermarket, she could purchase items for her two-member family within her
budget; and (3) if she had a decent hospital, she could get the supplies and
care she needed for her son. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: As she considers
her life to have become magical, she interweaves herself into the fairy tales
she tells her son, an aspect of the excerpt that adds a meta-fictional element
to the longer novella-length story, which, according to various translated
reviews, sees Ksenya travel to romantic fantasy lands. So, as a reader show
doesn’t fancy anything related to “romantic fantasy”, perhaps its better that
the story was abbreviated before it go into the magical lands. The full-version
of the story could, however, offer a little more detail into the meta-fictional
element of this excerpt that, at first glance, seems to follow the 1930s or
1940s pulp tradition of “inexplicable devices doing wondrous things without any
reason”, if that’s a sub-genre or something. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“My
Dad’s an Antibiotic” (novelette, 1992) – Sergei Lukyanenko (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP2wnD3B5frO7YN71t0tNxYKf-EL_TBohhQlVf_1xAZI8djZcQaZMndJ0frFSPoTlWf3Ehd-BVtwOBqeYQ-Yz8vDplJxDX2_ZWaBmpKhnBCegWKohSnNrx8ABA8wlCPeAtz6UA8n-Zsy4/s1600/red18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP2wnD3B5frO7YN71t0tNxYKf-EL_TBohhQlVf_1xAZI8djZcQaZMndJ0frFSPoTlWf3Ehd-BVtwOBqeYQ-Yz8vDplJxDX2_ZWaBmpKhnBCegWKohSnNrx8ABA8wlCPeAtz6UA8n-Zsy4/s200/red18.jpg" width="123" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Angsana New";">: Alik is proud of
his father, who is with the Assault Force Corps responsible for special mission
to quash revolt among planetary colonies. His dad is an impressive figure of
Herculean strength, but he’s thoughtful too in bringing his son a gift after
every mission—usually war loot. When his father gives Alik a bracelet from the
same planet as his best friend, he digs a little deeper into the bracelet’s
veiled origins, only to later learn that the, on that same planet, boys his own
age are recruited to fight in the resistance. 23 pages</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Pre-analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Trophies from hard-fought wars
have been a source of pride from countless wars across countless lands wherein
countless people died. These trophies were the aim of the conquest and/or
conflict, so the winning of the trophies is doubtlessly a sign of victory—the
conclusion to the war. Spoils of war, on the other hard, are sort of like
tokens of combat, items had by chance. But the trophies and tokens shouldn’t be
held to the same standard—the trophy came through power, the tokens came by
chance, so fate dealt the gifts of the spoils of war… and haven’t we always
been told to not look a gift horse in the mouth?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
intangible trophy from the victory on the distant planet is the suppression of
dissent, the end to a rebellion—the soldiers probably feel very little pride
over this trophy, so they resort to spoils of war as tokens of their victory.
Pride in these tokens/spoils is vacant as these items are kept merely for
interest like a memento from an event, a keepsake from a ceremony, or a
souvenir from a holiday. These same items are kept on shelves, stored in boxes,
or given to family or friends. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Alik’s
father paws off one such spoil of war to his son without much thought about
what the bracelet meant to its now-deceased owner. It was given to Alik in a
sort of low-key manner without much forethought as to the significance of the
gift—neither of them looked the gift horse in the mouth, until the boy’s
curiosity gets the best of him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Considering the story is from
1992, the year after the USSR’s change to modern Russia, the story is ripe with
reference to this transition. There’s certainly the intangible trophy of the
people—democracy—but what are the tangible spoils of war had by chance? “Choose
washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers…” (<i>Trainspotting</i>,
1996) – ah, the plentitude of capitalism!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
older generation (akin of Alik’s father) may not give second thoughts to these
tangible spoils because <i>having</i> is much better than <i>having-not</i>—perish
the queues for bread, the rations of gasoline, and permits for travel. The
shift from inefficient communism to at-hand capitalism must have been warmly
welcomed and embraced! The more modern generation—what with their Pepsi,
Walkmans, and Levis—should have been more skeptical of these wondrous gifts
from the West. Who were they to shrug off the yoke from decades of tradition
and hard work? They must have learned their lesson from the proverb “Don’t look
a gift horse in the mouth”, unlike the wise young Alik from the story. The
youth don’t see the danger in what they have; meanwhile, Alik quickly learned
what the bracelet represented, thereby saving his life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: This story, much more so than any
of the others, has a certain Western feel to it, akin to Joe Haldeman. The
analysis have may dug a little too deep into the story for want of a juicy
morsel, but on my initial read of the story, it really felt straight forward,
unlike many of the other stories in the collection. Perhaps it’s a sign of the
times or simply the author’s style, but the collection ended on a fairly weak
note with this inclusion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-6635726137321436652016-08-19T23:23:00.002+07:002016-08-19T23:23:39.343+07:001972: The Metallic Muse (Biggle, Lloyd, Jr.)<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Reflection on forms of art take predictable directions (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaB39aMZj0LpurlayFQ2fORZPLy8X-FBkNxGQwXH7TIK-X6XMbsjClAL5CeWTNms6o_dbCgJICQzRsyd2BxH3Vec10TnmHmKQ7USZh3X51x14-Qh7zoEFpH348T-6KQgr5h_Z3Iq2BbT0/s1600/aug5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaB39aMZj0LpurlayFQ2fORZPLy8X-FBkNxGQwXH7TIK-X6XMbsjClAL5CeWTNms6o_dbCgJICQzRsyd2BxH3Vec10TnmHmKQ7USZh3X51x14-Qh7zoEFpH348T-6KQgr5h_Z3Iq2BbT0/s320/aug5.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Prior to his death in 2002, Biggle, as a SF writer, had
produced about twenty novels, three collections, about forty short stories.
Though he’s not a well-known SF author, Biggle had two other facets to his habit
of writing: mystery and music; neither of these is explored fully in his
seven-story collection, but it’s obvious that some of his personal interests
are imposed on the stories, as the back cover comments: “seven fine science
fiction stories of what could happen in the world of music and art and
television”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">This thematic collection of “art” comes right after my
reading of Effinger’s thematic collection of “sport”, neither of which
particularly suited me. I guess I prefer a broader range of topics by a single
author (such as Tsutsui Yasutaka’s <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2015/02/2006-salmonella-men-on-planet-porno.html">Salmonella Men</a></i> [2006]) or a broader
range of authors on a single sub-genre (such as Paul Kane & Stuart O’Regan’s
<i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2015/09/2012-mammoth-book-of-body-horror-kane.html">The Mammoth Book of Body Horror</a></i> [2012]).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Overall, the stories show a good streak of originality in
regards to plot, but most—if not all—stories end on rather predictable notes. The
first five stories are obvious inclusions to the theme of art, but this theme
tapers away along with the flow of the stories: “In His Own Image” is more
about religion, idolatry, and worship than any form of art; and “The Botticelli
Horror” is named after an artist but is really about alien life-forms eating
people on earth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Tunesmith” (novelette, 1957) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Erlin Baque is the best at what he does but feels that it
offers no personal enjoyment or even professional advancement. His commercial
compositions sell well and are well remembered but Baque has his sights set on
moving from the Tunesmiths’ Guild to the Performers’ Guild, thus getting work
playing the multichord at the Lanky-Pank Out. Onbreak from performing old
commercials, Erlin takes the stage by himself to play music without a visiscope
or lyrics—and the crowd went wild for it as they had never heard anything other than commercials in their entire lives.
41 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Leading Man” (shortstory, 1957) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Patient #1319 acts at the Duke of Wellington as he prepares
to address the nation about the Spanish crisis; meanwhile, the Duchess who used
to be Cleopatra when 1319 was Caesar, urges him to complete the speech.
Immediately, 1319 beckons for his harem, whom he watches dancing as he sits
upon a pile of rugs eating camel stew; meanwhile, the same woman—then Cleopatra
and the Duchess but now a shy harem member—sits in the corner. When she drugs
1319 to sleep, she contacts her team on 1319’s progress, but 1319 also has time
to contact his team. 13 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Spare the Rod” (novelette, 1958) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">In a small town, there seemed only room enough for one violin
teacher—Professor Oswald Perkins—who had about two dozen students, that is
until a new teacher arrived on the scene: Sam Beyers’ robot. With Oswald’s
tutorship, students make slow yet steady progress on their own; however, while
listening to the robot’s lessons from outside a window, the students seem to be
able to play perfectly from the very start. To investigate, Oswald himself
takes a free lesson from the robot to learn from the very source. 21 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Orphan of the Void” (novelette, 1960) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">When the “Homing Song” becomes a galactic hit, people from
all over begin to feel the pains of homesickness that eventually take them back
to the place they call home, including star-pilot Thomas Jefferson Sandler III;
however, while he calls Earth his home, he’s not an Earth-native. When he
inquires yet receives no answer about his original home prior to adoption, he
digs deeper and finds himself in trouble with the authorities across the
galaxy. He also finds a wandering drunk who shares more in common with him that
first thought. 48 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well of the Deep Wish” (shortstory, 1961) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Solar Productions has a quota to meet: write and produce
ninety-six one-hour films per day. Only recently, however, they’ve been way
behind on developing scripts because it seems that the writers have stopped
writing and nothing can inspire them to return to their so-called art. Kalder
is hired to get to the bottom of things, which isn’t hard to do since everyone
lives at the bottom of their subterranean housing. The bottommost levels of
their lives don’t inspire the writers as much as the virtual reality in the
Tank where they often take respite. 19 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“In His Own Image” (shortstory, 1968) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nearly four-hundred people died in a spaceship explosion
except for Gorton Effro, who was sleeping off stolen hooch in an escape pod.
Lucky for him twice again is that he’s near an emergency station that hasn’t
been inhabited by anyone for fourteen years yet can still house over a
thousand. He’s stunned to meet one man who survives alone on the base who seems
religiously inclined, quotes bible passages, and treats Gorton as a priest. The
hermit also commands a flock of machines in worship of a god in contrast to
Gorton who they see as a sinner. 13 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Botticelli Horror” (novelette, 1960) – 2.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">All imported biological Venusian items are fingered when
children near a carnival are partially eaten, curiously leaving only their
shoes behind. At first, the giant slug is blamed yet could hardly make the
journey without leaving prints behind; finally, a type of chromatic moss is
accused as it has recently taken flight. The area where the moss takes its
victims keeps spreading as their number increases, too; regardless where the
victims are, they leave their shoes behind. The army is quick to learn and
battle the moss. 41 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-91153390256180268782016-08-14T08:40:00.002+07:002016-08-14T08:40:15.600+07:001971: Half Past Human (Bass, T.J.)<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #111111; font-family: Arial;"><b>Inventive, unique, and bizarre yet tumultuous (4/5)</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcwo3zkiYmMhECwzNtzJsgO11jJyrvu8_7rremtPAua5nzFPQZfFJKQBOLKjiwLwy8maVk0ZbFJTDEmHX5jot53lHC_xSaatkSIkQjenT2vpYbvnUbkkpmiFDoLlZL0jz47AFihGx4MpY/s1600/aug1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcwo3zkiYmMhECwzNtzJsgO11jJyrvu8_7rremtPAua5nzFPQZfFJKQBOLKjiwLwy8maVk0ZbFJTDEmHX5jot53lHC_xSaatkSIkQjenT2vpYbvnUbkkpmiFDoLlZL0jz47AFihGx4MpY/s320/aug1.jpg" width="185" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">T.J. Bass (penname of Thomas Joseph Bassler,
MD) is something of an enigma. He only wrote two novels—both of The Hive—which
were met with intrigue, yet he never published another novel, leaving the start
of his Hive series unfinished—fruit ripe for the picking; thus, he has left a
minor yet indelible legacy on science fiction. The Hive is a wonderfully witty
and unmistakably unique series that has little parallelism to any other novel
written before or written since—it’s wholly original.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Rear cover synopsis:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">“Deep in the Shaft-cities lived three trillion
creatures, once human—and still calling themselves homo sapiens. But they were
small, bred to size in fact, as they were bred for various kinds of ‘work’—for even
in their almost totally automated culture they had to be kept busy. Like ants.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">But things were going wrong. The machines weren’t
getting it all right any more—they were even breaking down sometimes. While Outside,
there were Others—who waited…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">In a few thousand years, humans will have been
genetically tampered with so that they could adapt to crowding; this
adaptation, however, also deprived the Hive citizens of “immunoglobulin A, calcium
and collagen, neurohumoral axis, [and] melanoctye” (8), rendering them soft and
frail… they also live a full lifespan of twenty years and have a deeply set
default to obey. Being barely four-foot tall, these feeble citizens—named Nebishes—are
packed in underground spirals all across the globe, totally more than three
trillion Nebishes. Their food source: planet-wide agriculture in which machines
plant, pollinate, and pick the food to feed the ever dewindling supply of
calories to the Nebishes. At the helm of this massive so-called society is C.O.
or Computer One, who steers the course of the same society, governs all decisions,
and has very little toleration for the tangents of humans… or toleration for
any humans, really, as re-packaged cannibalism is common in order to meet
calorie quotas with a particular streak of disregard for well-being. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Just as their forced evolution was de-evolution
in regards to longevity, strength, and intelligence, the long-term stability of
The Hive has produced other atrocities: recurring Hunts on the surface to kill
and make trophies of the five-toed humans, the systematic destruction and
reprocessing of the weak in order to feed the strong, the balance of morals
based on calories rather than happiness, and the Nebish disregard for their heritage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">The four-toed Nebishes are surely the most
dominate species on the planet as nearly every other lifeform has been made
extinct. On the brink of extinction is the five-toes human, a smattering of
whom live on the surface where the Nebishes find conditions deadly. The
five-toes pillage the fields of calories and largely live a hand-to-mouth
existence, among them are five-toed outcasts and non-conformists from The Hive.
When one of these five-toes comes across an ancient piece of technology, the figurative
wheels are set in motion to begin the uprising against The Hive—but the
five-toes don’t understand their place in the upheaval and how are they
supposed to battle three trillion Nebishes with their just-as-obedient
machines?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">The
Hive is much too stable—evolving in terms of millions of years, and then toward
death. It lives by the status quo—only becoming competitive when faced with
another hive. Then it does only what is necessary for survival—no more. It can
come into being wherever your species is too successful—a product of population
density.</span></i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"> (272)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Continually inventive and written with
extensive medical English (i.e. edematous, seborrheic, edentulous, squamous),
diagnostic English, and acronyms, the whole package is a bizarre and intriguing
kaleidoscope of imagination. Ultimately, however, this strong current of
invention is too swift for the inexperienced author as the plot takes on too
much just prior to a mildly unsatisfying conclusion… but it was also ripe for
its sequel, <i>The Godwhale</i> (1974).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-10495137680602491242016-08-06T20:48:00.003+07:002016-08-06T20:48:45.563+07:00Lazy Book Reviews of July 2016<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#50: Red Star Tales (2015) – Yvonne
Howell (editor) (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMXSmw3SbCoYnvVvB0baBC_s082xQ95q_P2zPsQ4Ohjw1wCprP_svKEb5Y6HTImRt7URWDQoYHPrF1whYPI98fenhXnRdZ8ZFimoO29QEXpLLBJOTUtKeL6vT98m8pPXP5ulQVBAR2YeU/s1600/july1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMXSmw3SbCoYnvVvB0baBC_s082xQ95q_P2zPsQ4Ohjw1wCprP_svKEb5Y6HTImRt7URWDQoYHPrF1whYPI98fenhXnRdZ8ZFimoO29QEXpLLBJOTUtKeL6vT98m8pPXP5ulQVBAR2YeU/s200/july1.jpg" width="135" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">This is the fourth Soviet/Russian short story collection I’ve
read this year</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">. 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—<i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/02/1961-soviet-science-fiction-uncredited.html">Soviet ScienceFiction</a></i> (1961), the aptly titled <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/03/1962-more-soviet-science-fiction.html">More Soviet Science Fiction</a></i> (1962),
and <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/05/1970-ultimate-threshold-ginsburg-mirra.html">The Ultimate Threshold</a></i> (1970)—all the stories were almost
exclusively from the 1958 to 1970 (with the exception of Belyaev’s “Hoity-toity”
[1930]). In <i>Red Star Tales</i>, 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#51: Sunburst (1964) – Phyllis
Gotlieb (1.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiOxLHacztwLA8ukobSJSXtITQcQUjZ2pfOGcKYocWfYz37ePuSN8oE8eb3PuCnFaHbJZcanQCumsPBrLaC97DfUDG9apb6w-q9xgNwHo7aueaWcvwY1sbNYcyXfQfitvMBonmKgRZdX4/s1600/july2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiOxLHacztwLA8ukobSJSXtITQcQUjZ2pfOGcKYocWfYz37ePuSN8oE8eb3PuCnFaHbJZcanQCumsPBrLaC97DfUDG9apb6w-q9xgNwHo7aueaWcvwY1sbNYcyXfQfitvMBonmKgRZdX4/s200/july2.jpg" width="118" /></a></div>
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">New author, unknown novel… well, it was just $2 in 2014.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"> I’m not one to shy away from
anything in the form of a paperback novel for my genres of choice. Picking up
this novel in 2016, I was immediately bitch-slapped by the terrible tagline: “A
fiendish race of demonic children is spawned in the genetic chaos of a runaway
reactor explosion” — dear god, why did I ever choose this novel?</span><br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#52: Inherit the Stars (1977) – James
P. Hogan (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJYwbMzK5KP6RZ9WRlxPQAJqaEK86_X3B-YRH5f1m2kdaobqAAU0boY9MUyjcTaBCvGiRzv4_r8BI6WqChPf0FmdzAE9SsC8dGYXJYZerO70jKF4PtBxXyXXv24yrV1kZ5XHEis1N27U/s1600/july3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJYwbMzK5KP6RZ9WRlxPQAJqaEK86_X3B-YRH5f1m2kdaobqAAU0boY9MUyjcTaBCvGiRzv4_r8BI6WqChPf0FmdzAE9SsC8dGYXJYZerO70jKF4PtBxXyXXv24yrV1kZ5XHEis1N27U/s200/july3.jpg" width="119" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">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 </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#53: Mindbridge (1976) – Joe
Haldeman (4.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR9XP77LrHeSYG1YAQEVAjzQv-zyf-fHWs_6hNoeqy8uapkIlfmBkTIC1IC-BD0SDNKvANiS9VISsYdPKX18lboBrWgUzkiHdhp8b2d1uNbq9oLy7inpxZF0NEyi1zu8OnSyhdY20eTlE/s1600/july4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR9XP77LrHeSYG1YAQEVAjzQv-zyf-fHWs_6hNoeqy8uapkIlfmBkTIC1IC-BD0SDNKvANiS9VISsYdPKX18lboBrWgUzkiHdhp8b2d1uNbq9oLy7inpxZF0NEyi1zu8OnSyhdY20eTlE/s200/july4.jpg" width="120" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve read five Haldeman </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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: <i>The Forever War</i> (1974), <i>All My Sins Remembered</i> (1977),
<i>Forever Peace</i> (1997), and.<i>Old Twentieth</i> (2005). I had never
realized that prior to picking up <i>Mindbridge</i>, but was pleasantly
surprised what I ended up loving this novel, too!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Communication
is an umbrella term for the means of transmission between people, and it’s this
very topic that is probed in <i>Mindbridge</i>. 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 <i>Mindbridge</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#54: The End of Man? (1966/1968) – Olof
Johannesson (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyKKI1pB8vA9jVtCrycQdjyfhYucc0V4zcP8hQj5VFbhy9gRyiwMbPqcycZGwRRYsHPymmppyCa2kv1sq3AHW-ct9XnaEqHOG0XTXecczlwTNn7q4GDaADhbwp3W607YQ4y9kQlzEB2AM/s1600/july5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyKKI1pB8vA9jVtCrycQdjyfhYucc0V4zcP8hQj5VFbhy9gRyiwMbPqcycZGwRRYsHPymmppyCa2kv1sq3AHW-ct9XnaEqHOG0XTXecczlwTNn7q4GDaADhbwp3W607YQ4y9kQlzEB2AM/s200/july5.jpg" width="116" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Olof Johannesson was the penname of the Swedish
man named Hannes Alfv</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">é<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111;">n, who is still known today for his work
in electrical engineering and plasma physics</span> (he even has a phenomenon
named after him: the Alfvén wave). His hard science background provides the
foundation for this novel (alternate titles: <i>The Great Computer: A Vision</i>
and <i>The Tale of the Big Computer</i>), 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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? [<a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/07/19661968-end-of-man-johannesson-olof.html">full review</a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#55: Fort Privilege (1985) – Kit
Reed (2/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha2fniO6VmsjfJRH68VTGLJL6brzOSzexuzvwEzvW9qXq1m9WdwIej6Aq2FBsGrkH4QWXZdo6Wb2FbaMSJIdR6_2Saqe2sNtkJk7Dnx0RIxAH0LZMh0e6-pZhcdC7ihyphenhyphen1nug9818yS9Sg/s1600/july6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha2fniO6VmsjfJRH68VTGLJL6brzOSzexuzvwEzvW9qXq1m9WdwIej6Aq2FBsGrkH4QWXZdo6Wb2FbaMSJIdR6_2Saqe2sNtkJk7Dnx0RIxAH0LZMh0e6-pZhcdC7ihyphenhyphen1nug9818yS9Sg/s200/july6.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">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. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#56: Waters of Death (1967) – Irving
A. Greenfield (1.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiovsuny9CWzjVU1bGB_tv4Jtf2lO0aI2-D72o-jwaDTob6NA-Ec67eC8NsaO36GKQX9UnX7IEw05PEyLe44_CdF_EdrTxtXjZ6tdpBUYld9BX3_ACsUe6moKZgpguG1oR98JGKhxAHwR8/s1600/july7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiovsuny9CWzjVU1bGB_tv4Jtf2lO0aI2-D72o-jwaDTob6NA-Ec67eC8NsaO36GKQX9UnX7IEw05PEyLe44_CdF_EdrTxtXjZ6tdpBUYld9BX3_ACsUe6moKZgpguG1oR98JGKhxAHwR8/s200/july7.jpg" width="120" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">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.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Disregarding
Joachim’s <a href="https://sciencefictionruminations.wordpress.com/2012/02/25/book-review-rant-waters-of-death-irving-a-greenfield-1967/">review</a>, Greenfield’s novel sounds and reads a lot like Silverberg’s <i>The
World Within</i> (1971) but instead of towering urban blocks of humanity with
sex, <i>Waters of Death</i> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#57: Idle Pleasures (1983) – George
Alec Effinger (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9tFOcegsKo5qnFUeYPRzxty9k6yd1SGXP8OBsU0lYg8Jg1exaVCM_tJXsfcv4R3mnU4nVcXVwxusQ2nEX90Ym8bFb8AlDfKytF1zbUYz5cQvo2WxPZJOkpZIS6UG6UJ-clxGLZ-90Z1w/s1600/july8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9tFOcegsKo5qnFUeYPRzxty9k6yd1SGXP8OBsU0lYg8Jg1exaVCM_tJXsfcv4R3mnU4nVcXVwxusQ2nEX90Ym8bFb8AlDfKytF1zbUYz5cQvo2WxPZJOkpZIS6UG6UJ-clxGLZ-90Z1w/s200/july8.jpg" width="121" /></a></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>Idle Pleasures</i> as not even
the premise sounded interesting, yet I still gave it a shot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Certainly this isn’t the best snapshot of Effinger’s short
work, which might be better captured in <i>Mixed Feelings</i> (1974), <i>Irrational
Numbers </i>(1976), or <i>Dirty Tricks </i>(1978), none of which I own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-2631589838327413572016-07-31T11:01:00.000+07:002016-07-31T11:01:53.752+07:001983: Idle Pleasures (Effinger, George Alec)<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Only half successfully combine sports and SF (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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</div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>Idle Pleasures</i> as not even
the premise sounded interesting, yet I still gave it a shot. The book’s
rear-cover synopsis was pretty ugly:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
aliens’ first words were “Let’s play ball!</span></i><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"> [Sic: actually, the
first word was “yes” and the aliens only answer yes or no]<i>”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 1.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ice hockey with an entire planet for a
rink<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">A chess competition where the rules
change with every move<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">No-holds-barred basketball with the blue
Cobae<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
other stories from the Wide World of Sports by one of today’s most astonishing
Masters of Imaginative Fiction<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtaHjicDe9cvEHGj67ISMGmBsr1YV-52ZDiSycvuljnL5cd_mX9QfEEKDTwh2zQc9jf1471QgupumL4eE8M1vHqaHpT4Ykai4du2ZH4Tk04akYhlR1EIx1yzilA8BFsampaR6y7XIekPw/s1600/july8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtaHjicDe9cvEHGj67ISMGmBsr1YV-52ZDiSycvuljnL5cd_mX9QfEEKDTwh2zQc9jf1471QgupumL4eE8M1vHqaHpT4Ykai4du2ZH4Tk04akYhlR1EIx1yzilA8BFsampaR6y7XIekPw/s320/july8.jpg" width="195" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Effinger remarks upon the difficulty of combining science
fiction with sports in the first story’s introduction:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Combing
the two genres in one story is so formidable a challenge that unless one is
truly in love with both forms, the finished product stands a good chance of
cheating the reader: either the story will be a pure sports story with
artificially applied science fiction gimmickry, or the story will be science
fiction all the way through and the sports aspect is neither essential not
relevant. The sports setting must be integral; the story should not be able to
function without it. The same must be true of the science fiction—otherwise the
author is not playing fair.</span></i><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"> (1)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Certainly this isn’t the best snapshot of Effinger’s short
work, which might be better captured in <i>Mixed Feelings</i> (1974), <i>Irrational
Numbers </i>(1976), or <i>Dirty Tricks </i>(1978), none of which I own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Naked to the Invisible Eye” (novelette, 1973) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">In South Carolina, the stadium feels bleak as the season
winds down for a minor league baseball team. Some kid from Venezuela named Rudy
Ramirez is pitching and no one is expecting what’s about to happen: Rudy will
win the game for his team in a total of twenty-seven pitches—all strikes, no
swings. The Tigers’ manager, along with everyone else, is utterly baffled, but
not as much as Rudy when he’s taken off the rooster for the remaining games. A
deal is soon made against Rudy’s favor as he enters the major leagues and his
first game. 27 pages <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“From Downtown at the Buzzer” (novelette, 1977) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">When a green-skinned, blue-suited alien arrives under the US
president’s nose while answering only closed questions, the administration is
left stupefied without a contingency plan. In the end, the alien and eleven
other members are shifted to a remote military base in Louisiana where only one
representative of the aliens continues to answer only yes/no questions. Their
interests remain neutral and nebulous until they become spellbound by a
basketball game. They take to it quickly to the astonishment of the soldiers,
but their secret is veiled. 19 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Exempt” (novelette, 1977) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Wanting a change from <st1:state w:st="on">New York</st1:state>,
Hoyt Schermerhorn and his wife up and leave to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">New Orleans</st1:place></st1:city> without any foresight aside from
finding a home. There, he changes his name and the two must get used to the
local ways of life, including the yet-to-be-explained “alternates” that
everyone else to know about. At the center of their city—their universe—they
are allowed to change certain aspects of their reality according to their
home’s notebook of so-called alternates. In a reality where Hoyt is stimulated
by running, mythological gods are also embodied. 17 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“25 Crunch Split Right on Two” (novelette, 1975) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Having been widowed at a young age, a professional football
player has never truly recovered from this tragic, abrupt loss. The memory
haunts him until he finds a way to relive their moments together: through the
haze of pain. On the field and in scrimmage, he gives his athleticism 100% so
that when the pain comes, he can re-experience the look of her eyes and the
lilt of her voice. In his next game, however, he’s disappointed that he’s
unable to flashback; thus, he lets his guard down a little. 21 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Pinch Hitters” (shortstory, 1979) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">When five famous science fiction writers—Sandor, Norris,
Larry, Dick, and Jim—awaken after a convention to find themselves inside the
bodies of major league baseball players, chaos doesn’t ensue; rather, they
carefully go about their baseball lives, stay in contact with one another, and
figure out what had happened. Eventually, they pin their plight on the jealous,
vengeful heads of the science fiction mainstream; thus, they meet again with
only science fiction in mind and only science fiction in conversation as they
live as they would have, 11 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Breakaway” (novelette, 1981) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">As if the three-square-mile ice rink weren’t enough, the
players of this particular form of hockey also have to contend with near zero
temperatures—zero Kelvin, The isolated rocky body offers a unusual playing
surface for the workers of humdrum deep-space life who otherwise lead a
terribly dull life. Zajac is one of the best players on his team and in the
league. As soon as the sprint for the punk begins, he’s strategizing and
skating circles—both literal and figurative—around the competition, until he’s frozen
into ice with an arm that needs amputating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Horse with One Leg” (shortstory, 1974) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">On an <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ohio</st1:place></st1:state>
farm, when a foal is born with only one leg, a girl instantly sympathizes with
the unfortunate animal while her father wishes to shoot it dead. Against all
odds, the foal teaches itself to hop upon its single hoof, undoubtedly to the
amazement of everyone. The girl even takes to riding the animal, which
thoroughly impresses a retired horse breeder that wishes to purchase the horse…
to “run” in the upcoming derby. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">As could be expected, the sad horse gets off to a slow start,
but against all odds yet again… 9 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Heartstop” (novelette, 1974) – 1/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chlorophyll is in all products nowadays and it’s Newby who
begrudgingly has to be the traveling salesman who makes the pitch to such hick
towns as <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Gremmage</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">Pennsylvania</st1:state></st1:place>. In a diner, he’s
exposed—again, begrudgingly—to the town’s folk, both simple and eccentric, the
most eccentric of whom is Old Man Durfee who challenges him to a game of chess.
After only a few tense and commentated moves, they wrap it up for the evening
and Newby retires to his room. Therein, some strange dreams occur, strange
incidences happen, and strange rules are added to the chess game. 47 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-60462186128393403062016-07-17T10:25:00.001+07:002016-07-17T10:25:50.657+07:001966/1968: The End of Man? (Johannesson, Olof)<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The rise and fall: mankind goes on like the horse (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkOWnjwL2HKfYRvVhGFsiK-Vr9bT61KfTv1JChjoBiQ57pJlJEKMek9KSQUOix4PFveRZcwaZKs7xdGpkS1Bb0hqe1kpZxUc6bjZVXvN0am6DntUrC8LdqZnrbk3EqU3pMHsLx2YHXmSg/s1600/johan4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkOWnjwL2HKfYRvVhGFsiK-Vr9bT61KfTv1JChjoBiQ57pJlJEKMek9KSQUOix4PFveRZcwaZKs7xdGpkS1Bb0hqe1kpZxUc6bjZVXvN0am6DntUrC8LdqZnrbk3EqU3pMHsLx2YHXmSg/s320/johan4.jpg" width="187" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Introduction</span></b><span style="background: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Olof Johannesson was the
penname of the Swedish man named Hannes Alfv</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">é<span style="background: white; color: #111111;">n, who is
still known today for his work in electrical engineering and plasma physics</span>
(he even has a phenomenon named after him: the Alfvén wave). His hard science
background provides the foundation for this novel (alternate titles: <i>The
Great Computer: A Vision</i> and <i>The Tale of the Big Computer</i>), 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Book’s synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: “The great disaster…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">No one knew what
caused the breakdown. Was it human error, or a plot devised by the computers
themselves?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">So the nightmare
battle began—between the few surviving humans and the super-being of their own
creation—The Big Computer!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">My Own Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The fear of catastrophe and
annihilation dominated the life of man from the Stone Age until the coming of
computers.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">But while people feared extinction
they also feared the opposite: that the human race would become too numerous
through the population explosion.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"> (74)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Somehow, amid all this
user-unfriendliness, <span style="background: white; color: #111111;">Hannes Alfv</span>é<span style="background: white; color: #111111;">n</span> 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).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Most impressive in <i>The
End of Man? </i>is <span style="background: white; color: #111111;">Alfv</span>é<span style="background: white; color: #111111;">n</span>’s very forward thinking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">We shall all live happily ever
after.</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"> (128)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-80186306079929771162016-06-28T21:59:00.000+07:002016-06-28T22:01:53.403+07:00Lazy Book Reviews of June 2016<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#44: Out of My Mind (US) (1967) – John
Brunner (3.5/5)</span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">I believe I’m on my thirty-fourth Brunner book.
Reading <i>Out of My Mind</i> was spurred by Joachim Boaz’s <a href="https://sciencefictionruminations.wordpress.com/2016/05/22/book-review-the-best-sf-stories-from-new-worlds-ed-michael-moorcock-1967/">comment</a>
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 </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">inevitable
“chaff” mixed among it all.<i> Out of My Mind</i>, 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 <i>Stand on Zanzibar</i> (1968)
or <i>The Sheep Look Up</i> (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). “</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Round Trip” (1959</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">), 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#45: The Wild Shore (1984) – Kim
Stanley Robinson (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5iN4k16acBRYRJ8gXgPPaZH27k-wEG87yJKMTwo6fsY4myq3ZBIbnL_a3M8p9K4QBpxJ9epBTTbg4Zso9xuY1Je7Y23yD78xPdeMp-ikBA4CjN5oljZWJTgWXTFBffBlj1KdEedWDXo/s1600/june2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5iN4k16acBRYRJ8gXgPPaZH27k-wEG87yJKMTwo6fsY4myq3ZBIbnL_a3M8p9K4QBpxJ9epBTTbg4Zso9xuY1Je7Y23yD78xPdeMp-ikBA4CjN5oljZWJTgWXTFBffBlj1KdEedWDXo/s200/june2.jpg" width="125" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">The 1980s hosted a spat of
post-apocalyptic novels: <i>Ridley Walker</i> (1980), <i>War Day</i> (1984), <i>The
Postman</i> (1986), <i>Pilgrimage to Hell</i> (1986), <i>The Sea and the Summer</i>
(1987), <i>Swan Song</i> (1987), <i>The Last Ship</i> (1988). Tucked among them
is Robinson’s <i>The Wild Shore</i>, 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).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">In 2047, decades after the Soviets
detonated several thousand neutron bombs in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>’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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#46: The Gold Coast (1988) – Kim
Stanley Robinson (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho4iOSMtF5qKjXxTzErHa0t4lXYojMGK7U_H1RSQy_oW_CTr5W8xtNavmadqc1dDSb-wVnN4GEvaB8ipFcV9jZ7JO44AN4Z7dQjb6gJUUNCypWBGmK-kNn1E9dwcVf9zNzw_Lfj0Z9DCs/s1600/june3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho4iOSMtF5qKjXxTzErHa0t4lXYojMGK7U_H1RSQy_oW_CTr5W8xtNavmadqc1dDSb-wVnN4GEvaB8ipFcV9jZ7JO44AN4Z7dQjb6gJUUNCypWBGmK-kNn1E9dwcVf9zNzw_Lfj0Z9DCs/s200/june3.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">I read two of the Orange County books
in 2007 but had trouble getting a hold of the middle of the three: <i>The Gold
Coast</i>. 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#47: Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and
His Years of Pilgrimage (2013/2014) – Haruki Murakami (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVbj7FFHzl7bQaukcyI4L4up8SwuwUxOsylAx8Ygnmr-nDT0JbjiUv_3glEeZZKkKDXWAvc_BsJgUsWIdaqdhvydQWdNjotdVXLALKhrf9SckepfGpIrHHQjlr4SQ2o7Br_z6ur7tj1_8/s1600/june5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVbj7FFHzl7bQaukcyI4L4up8SwuwUxOsylAx8Ygnmr-nDT0JbjiUv_3glEeZZKkKDXWAvc_BsJgUsWIdaqdhvydQWdNjotdVXLALKhrf9SckepfGpIrHHQjlr4SQ2o7Br_z6ur7tj1_8/s200/june5.JPG" width="155" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">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 <st1:country-region w:st="on">Thailand</st1:country-region>, 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 <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Florida</st1:place></st1:state> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">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:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial";">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.</span></i><span style="font-family: "arial";"> (322)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">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?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#48: Pacific Edge (1990) – Kim
Stanley Robinson (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">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:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial";">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. </span></i><span style="font-family: "arial";">(134)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">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 <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#49: Ship of Strangers (1978) – Bob
Shaw (2.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">The <i>Sarafand </i>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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">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 <i>The Voyage of the Space Beagle</i> novel/collection.
But the parallelisms aren’t true enough or significant enough to begin to
compare the two.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-35033596970837094152016-06-08T23:09:00.000+07:002016-06-28T22:01:33.359+07:001967: Out of My Mind (Brunner, John)<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hearty kernels of concept sheathed in occasional chaff
(3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">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. <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Reading</st1:city></st1:place>
<i>Out of My Mind</i> was spurred by Joachim Boaz’s <a href="https://sciencefictionruminations.wordpress.com/2016/05/22/book-review-the-best-sf-stories-from-new-worlds-ed-michael-moorcock-1967/">comment</a>
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 </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">inevitable
“chaff” mixed among it all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Out of My Mind</span></i><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">, 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 <i>Stand on Zanzibar</i>
(1968) or <i>The Sheep Look Up</i> (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).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Orpheus’s
Brother” (1965</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">) 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, “</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Round Trip” (1959</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">), 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Fair Warning” (1964,
shortstory) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Nail in the
Middle of the Hand” (1965, shortstory) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Decius Asculus isn’t
just <i>an</i> expert in his trade, but he’s widely known as <i>the</i> 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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Orpheus’s Brother”
(1965, shortstory) – 2.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Prerogative” (1960,
shortstory) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Such Stuff” (1962,
shortstory) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Totally Rich”
(1963, novelette) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“See What I Mean” (1964,
shortstory) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Four delegates had
arrived to the Foreign Ministers’ Conference on the Resolution of Outstanding
International Differences and Disarmament: the <st1:country-region w:st="on">US</st1:country-region>
allied with the <st1:country-region w:st="on">UK</st1:country-region>, and <st1:country-region w:st="on">Russia</st1:country-region> allied with <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">China</st1:place></st1:country-region>. 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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Fourth Power”
(1960, novelette) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Last Lonely
Man” (1964, shortstory) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Single-Minded” (1963,
shortstory) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“A Better Mousetrap”
(1963, shortstory) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Eye of the
Beholder” (1957, shortstory) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Round Trip” (1959,
shortstory) – 4.5/5</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-8679626132882891302016-06-01T10:32:00.000+07:002016-06-01T10:32:30.857+07:00Lazy Book Reviews of May 2016<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#35: Simulacron-3 (1964) – Daniel F.
Galouye (4/5)</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtapbgHZ5ccyMreI7OIcZgvQNm4I4uhW6hWmcLE7RL9ePo60Wj-s35D2ogT2T5x1QZB9UJne0IFGvqGWasyjKD6mRyGuktWY0Tc3gWLtOSZCIgxdao50AzqZkEdUNTTpYVM72WThdexI/s1600/may1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtapbgHZ5ccyMreI7OIcZgvQNm4I4uhW6hWmcLE7RL9ePo60Wj-s35D2ogT2T5x1QZB9UJne0IFGvqGWasyjKD6mRyGuktWY0Tc3gWLtOSZCIgxdao50AzqZkEdUNTTpYVM72WThdexI/s200/may1.jpg" width="120" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Everyone, including
myself, knows Galouye for this one novel. But prior to reading it, I’ve read
two of his other, lesser known novels: </span><i style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Lords of Psychon</i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"> (1963) and </span><i style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">The
Infinite Man</i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"> (1973); neither garnered any praise from me being 2-star and
3-star reads, respectively.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was definitely eager
to start <i>Simulacron-3</i> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#36: Star Guard (1955) – Andre Norton
(1/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PkRB8RCRHSQxl2wULTdgUhGpZFN5H-8gtERlc0vqrh38uFWqKDgKU3s_am8RASuNMvToUk-pYVErDUI7EfmVm0JQdecbl6GVdHsPn1336sJC4V6VfqLhGIjT9eEuS5PnJltXJ8Dmslc/s1600/may2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PkRB8RCRHSQxl2wULTdgUhGpZFN5H-8gtERlc0vqrh38uFWqKDgKU3s_am8RASuNMvToUk-pYVErDUI7EfmVm0JQdecbl6GVdHsPn1336sJC4V6VfqLhGIjT9eEuS5PnJltXJ8Dmslc/s200/may2.jpg" width="122" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>Norstrilia</i> (1975). I
understand that <i>Star Guard</i> or <i>Norstrilia</i> could capture your
imagination when young, but, in my opinion, the books are just so bad. Where <i>Norstrilia</i>
was just a parade of detailed silliness with its irksome floats of poetry and
song, <i>Star Guard </i>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 <i>The Broken Lands </i>(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 <i>Star Guard </i>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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#37: We (1924/1993) – Yevgeny
Zamyatin (5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8vE2ZIBrrKtR8vaKs_v5VGCe5bL-w83DhKpxHAtWSMApIiEPYuy-b2E7V6Meiw87f25HOTgY47kVJEoQDRWBWVvTaMwWK7X3aBytY8EVU3eFkPEOzpRs5XHzqrNceyTM7j2EY_smH5Q/s1600/may3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8vE2ZIBrrKtR8vaKs_v5VGCe5bL-w83DhKpxHAtWSMApIiEPYuy-b2E7V6Meiw87f25HOTgY47kVJEoQDRWBWVvTaMwWK7X3aBytY8EVU3eFkPEOzpRs5XHzqrNceyTM7j2EY_smH5Q/s200/may3.jpg" width="129" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>We</i>. I picked it up on a whim at a now-closed
secondhand bookstore in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bangkok</st1:place></st1:city>
(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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#38: Chronocules (1970) – D.G.
Compton (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKnjwpxUoIQynTCErHpgtlzMoBAoLerT0uZ6xWKPIFZVydcWdMXwJNSEWbzcSFpJ_IswR_S_MBYPd3mtGHiHShmxrTcd3ImiU3FvGHfSjgeVRd4DlcBt15zN2GpQPiB8QcCQvH2tcsOHk/s1600/may4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKnjwpxUoIQynTCErHpgtlzMoBAoLerT0uZ6xWKPIFZVydcWdMXwJNSEWbzcSFpJ_IswR_S_MBYPd3mtGHiHShmxrTcd3ImiU3FvGHfSjgeVRd4DlcBt15zN2GpQPiB8QcCQvH2tcsOHk/s200/may4.jpg" width="120" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Of the three <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Compton</st1:city></st1:place> novels I’ve
already read, <i>Synthajoy</i> is my favorite, closely followed by <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2014/07/1970-steel-crocodile-compton-dg.html">The
Steel Crocodile</a></i> and <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2011/10/1966-farewell-earths-bliss-compton-dg.html">Farewell,
Earth’s Bliss</a></i>. When picking up <i>Chronocules</i>, 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 <i>own</i> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#39: Atomised (1999/2000) – Michel
Houellebecq (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLHskQP0AE1nfcKyMU11xSJNr7dQPfD_WVlnAiczhRwbCADYgG-9HJ4zxZ_gbp2ssAFj_RTgZUJFMlGYvj66KWXxhdIwLPOAMYK1F9SfV-NDnyn3WGGlYVWo_b2MQCkPxAeJ5x6fMiLI/s1600/may5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLHskQP0AE1nfcKyMU11xSJNr7dQPfD_WVlnAiczhRwbCADYgG-9HJ4zxZ_gbp2ssAFj_RTgZUJFMlGYvj66KWXxhdIwLPOAMYK1F9SfV-NDnyn3WGGlYVWo_b2MQCkPxAeJ5x6fMiLI/s200/may5.jpg" width="128" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>Atomised </i>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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#40: Tomorrow Lies in Ambush (1973)
– Bob Shaw (2.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbbWgl2yNuIbClNnwQ5mV7YGYsWw4ltIUnAa9QokVlc-QVyoiI8-BkeDuFJdQ5SR7ku8-fAL_5Jn-VCyXQsAKmdXVauMzE-uQFw5ENi7apJKHdMstUWNMDjYpnMHkNoWMJ3v8HQlTzIa0/s1600/may6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbbWgl2yNuIbClNnwQ5mV7YGYsWw4ltIUnAa9QokVlc-QVyoiI8-BkeDuFJdQ5SR7ku8-fAL_5Jn-VCyXQsAKmdXVauMzE-uQFw5ENi7apJKHdMstUWNMDjYpnMHkNoWMJ3v8HQlTzIa0/s200/may6.jpg" width="116" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">I surprise myself by saying that I’ve actually
read quite a bit of Shaw, totally 5 novels, two of which I liked (<i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2012/01/1971-ground-zero-man-shaw-bob.html">Ground
Zero Man</a></i> [1971] and <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2012/12/1971-one-million-tomorrows-shaw-bob.html">One
Million Tomorrows</a></i> [1971]).</span><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">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 </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’ll
quote myself from December, 2013: “<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111;">His
[Shaw’s] ‘best’ novel [<i>Other Days, Other Eyes</i>] I would attempt with
hesitation... a collection of his I would be eager to try!” Ah the words from
2013 haunt me.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> 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 <i>Orbitsville</i>, his portrayal of women is quite negative:
they’re emotional, submissive, and borderline superfluous. Quite forgettable. [<a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/04/1966-impossible-man-and-other-stories.html">full
synopses</a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#41: Kingdom Come (2006) – J.G.
Ballard (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_x5sJxsNJHW-db5K_qgAowakKwHdi8KhMhtwCFIBzqfWQi3cSX2mac98nVymy94XiOEijoLt-awMK8khBhTMsjV3jK5BjHyt2uKqoQHTMBEJMDKVQzKpjT_sUN_dKycmOh8Olc0a8mek/s1600/may7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_x5sJxsNJHW-db5K_qgAowakKwHdi8KhMhtwCFIBzqfWQi3cSX2mac98nVymy94XiOEijoLt-awMK8khBhTMsjV3jK5BjHyt2uKqoQHTMBEJMDKVQzKpjT_sUN_dKycmOh8Olc0a8mek/s200/may7.jpg" width="137" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Just last month (book #30), I read
Ballard’s collection <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/04/1966-impossible-man-and-other-stories.html">The
Impossible Man</a></i> (1966) and found it very enticing, as with
everything else of Ballard’s that I’ve read. <i>Kingdom Come </i>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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>and</i>
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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#42: Worlds of the Wall (1969) – C.C.
MacApp (0.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwMSWs2DccBjjh2w7JCVRud4w4HLD9NdoQD7PHGAtdEyGNOzy8hFNgshVeIewNicv5V5TP9ehpaHp1Lp64lAJjClkNefIYzPcKJWReZkJNzz-vUL5WwfpDu2BF5Z2rxcsxwtDUHRbBZLs/s1600/may8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwMSWs2DccBjjh2w7JCVRud4w4HLD9NdoQD7PHGAtdEyGNOzy8hFNgshVeIewNicv5V5TP9ehpaHp1Lp64lAJjClkNefIYzPcKJWReZkJNzz-vUL5WwfpDu2BF5Z2rxcsxwtDUHRbBZLs/s200/may8.jpg" width="122" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>Worlds of the Wall</i> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#43: Welcome, Chaos (1983) – Kate Wilhelm
(3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFO43yYtKi8Fwhoa_MW-LBInNmgpAAWik5geK31Giio0dqu7ynYjlvKmKwyqK_FTtvsUCZ-dSVXiManiPPoJKdRYf2xrE0gNHFoJYSdShmCTOxq0VqQuDn9w-w9fvHRgftaz-cHTkdi0/s1600/may9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFO43yYtKi8Fwhoa_MW-LBInNmgpAAWik5geK31Giio0dqu7ynYjlvKmKwyqK_FTtvsUCZ-dSVXiManiPPoJKdRYf2xrE0gNHFoJYSdShmCTOxq0VqQuDn9w-w9fvHRgftaz-cHTkdi0/s200/may9.jpg" width="118" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>Welcome,
Chaos </i>echo <i>Where Late the Sweet Birds Sing </i>(1976) in that society is
dealing with a catastrophe—in the former, this catastrophe is pending while in
the latter the catastrophe has passed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Wilhelm covers some decent territory
on the philosophy front for immortality, but the spy circuit is too overplayed
and it feels like <i>Ocean’s Seven</i> in one thorough part. There’s some stuff
about eagle’s too, which I understand the symbolism of, but that too is
overplayed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-9784845113504453732016-05-20T11:12:00.000+07:002016-05-20T11:12:03.852+07:001973: Tomorrow Lies in Ambush (Shaw, Bob)<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">More wit and gadgets than depth of plot or people (2.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB46ql3zNCtpMzUWPjePmG9cCKDgbhjOf8bZ7d1fuwF3hjl-kVTit_Qd8c8yXlUuXFrzQoxJ08zGvN7lt7sbmSiC5BUf8kopQEysUp8uHkMhOr8oHDhrOoxdEKuv3xB6PRB8M3cQjG-no/s1600/may6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB46ql3zNCtpMzUWPjePmG9cCKDgbhjOf8bZ7d1fuwF3hjl-kVTit_Qd8c8yXlUuXFrzQoxJ08zGvN7lt7sbmSiC5BUf8kopQEysUp8uHkMhOr8oHDhrOoxdEKuv3xB6PRB8M3cQjG-no/s320/may6.jpg" width="186" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">I surprise myself by saying that I’ve actually
read quite a bit of Shaw, totally 5 novels, two of which I liked—<i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2012/01/1971-ground-zero-man-shaw-bob.html">Ground
Zero Man</a></i> (1971) and <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2012/12/1971-one-million-tomorrows-shaw-bob.html">One
Million Tomorrows</a></i> (1971)—while only one really failed: <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2013/07/1975-orbitsville-shaw-bob.html">Orbitsville</a></i>
(1975).</span><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">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 </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’ll quote myself from December, 2013: “<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #111111;">His [Shaw’s] ‘best’ novel [<i>Other
Days, Other Eyes</i>] I would attempt with hesitation... a collection of his I
would be eager to try!” Ah the words from 2013 haunt me.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> I still
have Ship of Strangers on my shelf, which I now eye with trepidation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">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 <i>Orbitsville</i>,
his portrayal of women is quite negative: they’re emotional, submissive, and borderline
superfluous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Call Me Dumbo” (1966,
novelette) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Stormseeker” (1972,
shortstory) – 2.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Repeat Performance”
(1971, shortstory) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“…And Isles Where
Good Men Lie” (1965, novelette) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What Time Do You
Call This?” (1971, shortstory) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Communication” (1970,
shortstory) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Cosmic
Cocktail Party” (1970, shortstory) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Crowley</st1:place></st1:city>
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 <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Crowley</st1:place></st1:city>
is distracted by news of an alien invasion does he pause the fantasy. 28 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Happiest Day
of Your Life” (1970, shortstory) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Element of Chance”
(1969, shortstory) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Weapons of
Isher II” (1971, shortstory) – 2.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Pilot Plant” (1966,
novella) – 2.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Telemart Three”
(1970, shortstory) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Invasion of
Privacy” (1970, novelette) – 1.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-13483469996326904192016-05-12T23:18:00.000+07:002016-05-12T23:18:37.850+07:001970: Chronocules (Compton, D.G.)<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Very enticing
frame, rather tiresome portrait (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQTX9OfUjgE91_tXdKBe3Dv_BV1vXQEkqrkfQjHkZJgaNjvCiH6wEwBvwL49o-mB6vGwt-pORDx6Z4hnbgSwNuKdHzMReJ5WeA9M9L8WMd_r6Qre1tbabaSeXaAKBVITQJ90u3lbV_EIs/s1600/may4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQTX9OfUjgE91_tXdKBe3Dv_BV1vXQEkqrkfQjHkZJgaNjvCiH6wEwBvwL49o-mB6vGwt-pORDx6Z4hnbgSwNuKdHzMReJ5WeA9M9L8WMd_r6Qre1tbabaSeXaAKBVITQJ90u3lbV_EIs/s320/may4.jpg" width="193" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Of the three <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Compton</st1:place></st1:city> novels I’ve
already read, <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/02/lazy-book-reviews-of-january-2016.html">Synthajoy</a></i> is my favorite, closely followed by <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2014/07/1970-steel-crocodile-compton-dg.html">The SteelCrocodile</a></i> and <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2011/10/1966-farewell-earths-bliss-compton-dg.html">Farewell, Earth’s Bliss</a></i>. When picking up <i>Chronocules</i>,
I felt the expectation of sinking myself into a warm blanket. In <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Compton</st1:city></st1:place>’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—<i>Synthaoy</i> and <i>The
Steel Crocodile</i> excel at this, less so <i>Farewell, Earth’s Bliss</i>. Where
<i>Chronocules</i> 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…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>own</i> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>love</i>. 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>most</i> 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 <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Compton</st1:city></st1:place>
had toned down the hedonistic/free-love culture a bit, it may have been more
successful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-21847679159820613592016-05-08T21:49:00.000+07:002016-05-08T21:49:52.717+07:001970: The Ultimate Threshold (Ginsburg, Mirra [editor])<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Occasional subsurface allegories intrigue the
reader (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUKrF_O7ZNrGWzel7rVKmHLnkELoApMz5DOKTYuBbybOr-dklJTxz28ryWMZNeUiEU46XYZW5kcmdI1xnSChPbIGYmi1PN3cCUgUpG4hK0HwaxrPRUUOfoDizd5-ARmrDeD-mjsTKLuZo/s1600/apr1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUKrF_O7ZNrGWzel7rVKmHLnkELoApMz5DOKTYuBbybOr-dklJTxz28ryWMZNeUiEU46XYZW5kcmdI1xnSChPbIGYmi1PN3cCUgUpG4hK0HwaxrPRUUOfoDizd5-ARmrDeD-mjsTKLuZo/s320/apr1.jpg" width="186" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">April
was the third consecutive month that I had read collections of science fiction
from the <st1:place w:st="on">Soviet Union</st1:place>. The dully yet aptly
titled <i>Soviet Science Fiction</i> (1962) collection was a tightly bundled
trove, comprised of six stories, with only one weak story. Its successor, <i>More
Soviet Science Fiction</i> (1962), was less successful, however—none of its
five stories really stood out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Here
in <i>The Ultimate Threshold,</i> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">As each of these thirteen stories are synopsized, analyzed, and reviewed, the total length is more than 7,000 words... you've been warned.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Icarus
and Daedalus” – Genrikh Altov (shortstory, 1958/1968) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>technically</i> possible, but
only when together is it <i>actually</i> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Erem”
– Gleb Anfilov (shortstory, 1962/1963) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Its
fiery death of sacrifice can be seen in two regards: (1) death through duty or
(2) death through caste.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Formula
of Immortality” – Anatoly Dneprov (novelette, 1962/1963) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">That
mole on your arm is 45% likely to metastasize by the time you’re 25<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
hope you like kids cuz you have 90% chance of birthing twins<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s
no way you’ll ever see 80 with heart valves like that, buddy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Use
it before you lose it cuz you’ll be impotent by the time you’re 40<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“When
Questions are Asked” – Anatoly Dneprov (shortstory, 1963/1963) – 2.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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 <i>philosophy</i>
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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The
Horn of Plenty” – Vladimir Grigoriev (shortstory, 1964/1969) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: This story reminds me of the
proverb, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”, which has a Russian equivalent
that <a href="https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Russian_proverbs">means</a>, “<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #252525;">Don't look at the teeth of a horse
you've been given”.</span> Both descend from the 400 A.D. Latin version that <a href="http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/dont-look-a-gift-horse-in-the-mouth.html">means</a>,
“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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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
<i>what</i> 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, <i>useless</i>;
in turn, the machine <i>itself</i> is useless. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The
Useless Planet” – Olga Larionova (novelette, 1967/1967) – 5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Twenty-seven, in itself, is an
innocuous number for an item in a list. When taken in the contexts of Russian <i>and
</i>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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The
Ultimate Threshold” – German Maksimov (shortstory, 1965/1970) – 4.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: “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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“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 <i>forget</i> about the people, they just don’t <i>care</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gullit,
however, <i>did </i>care and that’s what makes the story so tragic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Invasion”
– Roman Podolny (shortstory, 1966/1966) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>in </i>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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Eventually,
whatever stop-gap measures are taken to relieve the pressure, the effect will
continue and the result will return with consequences.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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 <i>50 Short Science Fiction Stories</i>),
but this one is a nice piece of short work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“When
You Return” – Igor Rosokhovatsky (novelette, 1966/1967) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“‘One
Less’” - Igor Rosokhovatsky (shortstory, 1966/1966) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“‘We
Played Under Your Window’” - Vladimir Shcherbakov (shortstory, 1966/1966) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">High-level
organizational chivalry is dead; long live the warm pleasures of proof.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Preliminary
Research” - Ilya Varshavsky (shortstory, 1965/1970) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
field of science is where the three <i>do</i> 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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Q:
Take the logic out of scientists and what would you have left?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">A:
Idling minds bent on finding order where none is to be found.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“He
Who Leaves No Trace” - Mikhail Yemtsev & Yeremey Parnov (novelette,
1962/1963) - 2/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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 <i>familiarity</i> to
<i>isolationism</i>, how would we change the transitive verb to reflect the new
“relationship”:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Isolation
parthenogenesizes eccentricity?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Isolation
sporogenesizes eccentricity?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Isolation
clonally fragments eccentricity?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
this can be true for the individual, the same could also be said for
governments, especially communist governments: <st1:country-region w:st="on">Albania</st1:country-region>
from 1944 to 1990, <st1:country-region w:st="on">China</st1:country-region>
from 1949 to the 1970s, <st1:country-region w:st="on">North Korea</st1:country-region>
since 1953, and, of course, the <st1:place w:st="on">Soviet Union</st1:place>.
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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">USSR</st1:country-region></st1:place>’s
case, from the Iron Curtain—society becomes a closed system that stagnates and
ferments, the building heat and pressure needing release: revolution. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-46360500713745569042016-05-03T19:55:00.001+07:002016-05-09T10:54:19.042+07:00Lazy Book Reviews of April 2016<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#28: The Ultimate Threshold (1970) –
Mirra Ginsburg (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2E60QfwoMQpKWSXbQCbtBO-JehTUUH4np376VPKnwpr778LZ6YKAU7-OFwMKRwZRKE5yQDXkTA2W6Nz5WtFN80NOUGKiPtxNikk3oq9FqIhaFFFkv8wN-07QZiWFfIOcfIT_oFo6-EY/s1600/apr1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2E60QfwoMQpKWSXbQCbtBO-JehTUUH4np376VPKnwpr778LZ6YKAU7-OFwMKRwZRKE5yQDXkTA2W6Nz5WtFN80NOUGKiPtxNikk3oq9FqIhaFFFkv8wN-07QZiWFfIOcfIT_oFo6-EY/s200/apr1.jpg" width="116" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">This
is the third consecutive month that I’ve read collections of science fiction
from the </span><st1:place style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;" w:st="on">Soviet Union</st1:place><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">. The dully yet aptly
titled </span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Soviet Science Fiction</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;"> (1962) collection was a tightly bundled
trove, comprised of six stories, with only one weak story. Its successor, </span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">More
Soviet Science Fiction</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;"> (1962), was less successful, however—none of its five
stories really stood out. Here in </span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">The Ultimate Threshold,</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;"> 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. [<a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/05/1970-ultimate-threshold-ginsburg-mirra.html">full reviews</a>]</span><br />
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#29: Chernobyl (1988) – Frederik
Pohl (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtXtsKMmqH-3X9uT-QgDhKg0vgqNLB7UO8tGj9zlpyD7uy1Kjy6ktsuXZuJFD_EEd9iuY8hP78FKelRMusEayDJzn4LIIZ4dnFq-H1wZ8vZyp-sGMWvbK1ZJhjnK1BysIRA2a4SF-xdbM/s1600/apr2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtXtsKMmqH-3X9uT-QgDhKg0vgqNLB7UO8tGj9zlpyD7uy1Kjy6ktsuXZuJFD_EEd9iuY8hP78FKelRMusEayDJzn4LIIZ4dnFq-H1wZ8vZyp-sGMWvbK1ZJhjnK1BysIRA2a4SF-xdbM/s200/apr2.jpg" width="122" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I remember that my
first essay in high school was one of organizing facts. For whatever reason, I
chose the Chernobyl accident as my topic. I don’t remember by grade or my
prose, but the independence of the essay allowed me to “surf the Internet”
(‘twas 1995, after all) for something that I was interested in.</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Then in
2012, I fell back into Chernobyl history while writing a short story for my
graduate program, which spawned a yet-to-completed novella. Pohl’s fictional
portrayal of the event is based on the facts of the time, but rather than focus
merely on the ins and outs of the plagued facilities and the resulting illness,
Pohl takes the limelight to the people involved, albeit fictional and forced
twists on actual people and situations. The story paints the Soviet system,
first, in negative light but through some sympathetic perspectives, the reader
begins to understand the broader situation that caused the Chernobyl event; in
addition, it also shakes a finger at the West for their coverage of the same
event. It’s an odd juxtaposition but satisfying… if it weren’t for some rather
forced segments about the Ukrainian history of the Jews and a surprising
meeting with a member of the Central Committee. I wanted to love it, given my
history with the subject—I <i>did</i>—but when left in Pohl’s hands, the result
is lackluster, like much of Pohl’s other work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#30: The Impossible Man (1966) – J. G.
Ballard (4.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Kk826RbIn8IrwL40b8ZhWR383zNpJ3TkxgMZBT7zBB3_Uf05ixJnhEtXK2FTxiCUpEuiZKhWi9M-9m4mcX_OPQg38LJJfKCilQsii0xM9WXuj_KBsMSxrL3rOeI47fa3U60zx98z0ow/s1600/apr3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Kk826RbIn8IrwL40b8ZhWR383zNpJ3TkxgMZBT7zBB3_Uf05ixJnhEtXK2FTxiCUpEuiZKhWi9M-9m4mcX_OPQg38LJJfKCilQsii0xM9WXuj_KBsMSxrL3rOeI47fa3U60zx98z0ow/s200/apr3.jpg" width="122" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is my fifth
Ballard book, a tally which includes two other collections (<i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2012/06/1964-terminal-beach-ballard-jg.html">Terminal
Beach</a></i> [1964] and <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2012/06/1971-vermilion-sands-ballard-jg.html">Vermilion
Sands</a></i> [1971]), a fictional novel (<i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2012/07/1965-drought-ballard-jg.html">The
Drought</a></i> [1965]), and a semiautobiographical novel (<i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2013/09/1984-empire-of-sun-ballard-jg.html">Empire
of the Sun</a></i> [1984]). Inclusive of <i>The Impossible Man</i>, these five
books have been fantastic reads as their saturated with symbolism and
parallelism, the layers of which tend to leave the mind reeling.</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The nine stories span a time of only
four years: 1963 to 1966. During these four years, Ballard actually wrote
thirty-one stories of SF, so <i>The Impossible Man</i> collection is far from
definitive. I haven’t read Ballard widely enough to understand his overarching
themes, but the stories in <i>The Impossible</i> <i>Man </i>definitely have
resonance in a few areas: the beach and sand, seagulls, dilapidated structures,
Greek mythology, protagonist fallacy, and allusive or disassociative speech.
I’m not the biggest fan of mythology, so some of Ballard’s use in the stories
was above my head (on occasion, I would read up on the myths so better
understand the story, like Eurydice and Oedipus. Among the best: “Time of
Passage” (1964), “The Gioconda of the Twilight Noon” (1964), “The Drowned
Giant” (1964), and “The Reptile Enclosure” (1963). [<a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/04/1966-impossible-man-and-other-stories.html">full
synopses</a>] <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#31: C (2010) – Tom McCarthy (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyy2VJAZqTqrcm4IUHyWnICeMo7m03IINRAwr-yOvjDkWjhMEBex0PGJe9IIndOgKeuAE2d_MtQtSFmhMd4OtjBAUni4i7p-uJy2yro2E8Nn7bp7Q8kcXsim97nR17T1RH6b2-P72xzk/s1600/apr4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyy2VJAZqTqrcm4IUHyWnICeMo7m03IINRAwr-yOvjDkWjhMEBex0PGJe9IIndOgKeuAE2d_MtQtSFmhMd4OtjBAUni4i7p-uJy2yro2E8Nn7bp7Q8kcXsim97nR17T1RH6b2-P72xzk/s200/apr4.jpg" width="138" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I picked up this novel
because of a random book list I came across two years ago. The list was the top
10 most challenging or most difficult novels, and as a reader who likes a good
challenge, I picked up half of the books on the list. I think this is </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">the first
of those books. What makes it so difficult? Well, it wasn’t all that difficult
to get through. Each of the four chapters—entitled Caul, Chute, Crash, and
Call—have length digressions of detail on whatever matter is at hand: the
actions and symbolism of a school play, the methods of producing silk, how a
séance is a hoax, where to procure heroin, or the history of Egyptian gods.
It’s not difficult in the mental capacity sense, but it’s surely taxing on
patience. Generally, the plot follows Serge from the advent of wireless
technology (circa 1900) through The Great War in which he flew as an observer
to his post-war trip to Egypt to act as a liaison officer for a communications
department. Sprinkled throughout are some cursory sex scenes, snippets from
poems, and some strange dialogue. The best thing about the book, however:
excellent punctuation—it’s complicated with plenty of comma breaks, em-dashes,
ellipses, colons, and semi-colons… it’s a grammar/punctuation teacher’s fantasy
(though not to Kafka’s extent).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#32: The Steep Approach to Garbadale
(2007) – Iain Banks (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhR6CO_mujOS00X0fb2RNY2DiFY_hBi3CpAEbltSttX7BdKaUm8ndbVELTS6DT7Zd29O_2LJb94hoPnc0ACKK0GguUDP7J40KrQc4Llfa1-BHiX1-c8GSYtC917qNO8-7iyeP3kZFcrcg/s1600/apr5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhR6CO_mujOS00X0fb2RNY2DiFY_hBi3CpAEbltSttX7BdKaUm8ndbVELTS6DT7Zd29O_2LJb94hoPnc0ACKK0GguUDP7J40KrQc4Llfa1-BHiX1-c8GSYtC917qNO8-7iyeP3kZFcrcg/s200/apr5.jpg" width="130" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is my
twenty-third Banks book. I only have seven left to go</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">: five
books of fiction (including <i>Whit</i>, and <i>Complicity</i>), his
non-fiction title <i>Raw Spirits</i>, and even his posthumous collection <i>Poems</i>.
Of the twenty-three, I enjoyed <i>The Business</i> and <i>Surface Detail</i>
the least—both three stars. Now that I’ve read <i>The Steep Approach</i>, I’d
have to say that this is Banks’ weakest novel. Too many little aspects of the
book feel forced: the cars and speeding, global warming, 9/11 and Bush’s war,
and the place names of the boondocks of Scotland and its accents, to name a
few. Then there are the familiar themes, which is almost word-for-word a
combination of <i>Walking on Glass</i>, <i>The Business</i> and his last novel <i>The
Quarry</i>: board games, a spice in incest, a strong well-spoken character, a
counterculture female, and some bites against capitalism. This is a very safe
and very stereotypical novel for Banks, where he didn’t even remotely try to
break his mold or cast afar for something exotic; granted, it’s good and funny
and heartbreaking and conspiratorial, but it all feels so forced. Really,
there’s nothing new here. If this were your first Banks’ book, it’d be amazing,
but this just feels cookie-cutter (it breaks my heart to say that—RIP Iain).<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#33: The Twilight of Briareus (1974)
– Richard Cowper (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia94wz_1LyiZMTNrQkMXdfeS2BNrZhDIGWJY9da8tCHUPV_NIeX_turakG8ya5NxeiKaj2dTGSWTm2nZpUj-NnA6hdXDY6ow3jr4AtMhD7GkpZrOsLInqspYETkTQ-jPnIOFnyvOFwxW4/s1600/apr6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia94wz_1LyiZMTNrQkMXdfeS2BNrZhDIGWJY9da8tCHUPV_NIeX_turakG8ya5NxeiKaj2dTGSWTm2nZpUj-NnA6hdXDY6ow3jr4AtMhD7GkpZrOsLInqspYETkTQ-jPnIOFnyvOFwxW4/s200/apr6.jpg" width="116" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’ve got some
experience reading Cowper: one trilogy (The White Bird of Kinship, 1975-1982),
one novel (<i>Profundis</i>, 1979), and one collection (<i>Out There Where the
Big Ships Go</i>, 1980). Everything been interesting, but only two novelettes
have wowed me: “The Custodians” (1975) and “The Hertford manuscript” (1976). The
star named Briareus Delta has been witnessed by many to have gone supernova.
Like a few other notable cases throughout history, the star shines brightly for
many days</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">, but what makes this star special is that it’s only 132 light-years
from Earth. The immediate scientific concern is about the waves of radiation
flooding the Earth—a cause for concern about atmospheric and genetic damage.
Soon, a trio of incidences are attributed to the star: the weather takes an
abrupt turn for the worse, a scattered group of people share some sort of
psychic bond, and every human—but not all mammals—are sterile. The world takes
the sterility with aplomb, but many distrust the so-called zeta-mutants. As the
years pass from 1984 through the millennium, the weather only worsens and the
status of the zeta-mutants changes; they share visions of the present and,
uncertainly, of the future. They have theories for it—including an alien
invasion from the exploding star—but none are certain until some of their
shared images begin to manifest. What didn’t manifest, however, was my
interest… supernovae may be interesting, but the effects in this plot don’t
carry it through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#34: The Best of Margaret St. Clair
(1985) – Margaret St. Clair (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVxbNhaBWw3UFiYp8te7ERRm8UA3kGng7Hrnvpqd-m6TLPJArKlYC5ppqIIq9JPBuE0Su2DIfkB8D0L2zbwSMTedhuoLYjGoX4lBWOCtBX9k67qdixBrCjISP5kKfFnmFaGLIEfscGe6o/s1600/apr7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVxbNhaBWw3UFiYp8te7ERRm8UA3kGng7Hrnvpqd-m6TLPJArKlYC5ppqIIq9JPBuE0Su2DIfkB8D0L2zbwSMTedhuoLYjGoX4lBWOCtBX9k67qdixBrCjISP5kKfFnmFaGLIEfscGe6o/s200/apr7.jpg" width="122" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I first read St.
Clair’s work in Groff Conklin’s most excellent collection <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2013/12/1962-worlds-of-when-conklin-groff.html">Worlds
of When</a></i> (1962). In the five-story collection, three earned five stars,
one of which was St. Clair’s novelette “Rations of Tantalus” (1954). I was so
wowed after reading it that I immediately read through it once again, thereby
earning a place for itself in my all-time top 10 for short stories. Needless to
say, that one story whet my appetite for the previously unknown author’s work
and where better to read more of it than the author’s own “The Best of Margaret
St. Clair”? The book’s rear-cover blurb states that this collection mainly of
stories that had never been available in book form; therefore, it’s not
comprehensive nor does it actually cover the spectrum of her best work. </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">Only five of the
twenty stories held either great depth, levels of analogy, or parallelisms to
the shared state of what it is to be human. None of the stories reach the
greatness of “Rations of Tantalus”, but two come close: “The Invested Libido”
(1958) and “Wryneck, Draw Me” (1981). Most are whimsical or silly, but a few of
the later ones bring out a similar depth as “Rations of Tantalus”. [</span><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/05/1985-best-of-margaret-st-clair-st-clair.html" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">full
synopses</a><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt;">]</span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-46233211018750346322016-05-02T22:46:00.001+07:002016-05-02T22:46:31.599+07:001985: The Best of Margaret St. Clair (St. Clair, Margaret)<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Mostly wit and whim than depth and density (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcZtIlGRQRTNk_xw3U9_zxDnBcEGHmUpc83xgxaofs9VGhNAz6ruwnARk9xiltJYqBV0Z8NRxVsXG56mHYsoatRxSa7aKf5M8qr65DCgnCPbv7mXvBoXH_WM6ea4XmhwQ-xyZ5bhBzgA4/s1600/apr7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcZtIlGRQRTNk_xw3U9_zxDnBcEGHmUpc83xgxaofs9VGhNAz6ruwnARk9xiltJYqBV0Z8NRxVsXG56mHYsoatRxSa7aKf5M8qr65DCgnCPbv7mXvBoXH_WM6ea4XmhwQ-xyZ5bhBzgA4/s320/apr7.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">I first read St. Clair’s
work in Groff Conklin’s most excellent collection <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2013/12/1962-worlds-of-when-conklin-groff.html">Worlds
of When</a></i> (1962). In the five-story collection, three earned five
stars, one of which was St. Clair’s novelette “Rations of Tantalus” (1954). I
was so wowed after reading it that I immediately read through it once again,
thereby earning a place for itself in my all-time top 10 for short stories. Needless
to say, that one story whet my appetite for the previously unknown author’s
work and where better to read more of it than the author’s own “The Best of Margaret
St. Clair”?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">This collection was
published by Academy Chicago Publishers as part of a series highlighting women
science fiction writers. Other books in the series include Marion Zimmer
Bradley (1985) and Pamela Sargent (1987). The book’s rear-cover blurb states
that this collection mainly of stories that had never been available in book
form; therefore, it’s not comprehensive nor does it actually cover the spectrum
of her best work. Her short fiction began in 1946 (“The Perfectionist”) which started
the nearly twenty-year reign of her heavy short fiction publications. After
1962, she sporadically published some short stories and novel. Her latter years
took a noticeable shift from science fiction to Wicca-themed stories, a pagan
religious movement into which she and her husband were initiated in 1966.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Only five of the
twenty stories held either great depth, levels of analogy, or parallelisms to
the shared state of what it is to be human. None of the stories reach the
greatness of “Rations of Tantalus”, but two come close:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Invested Libido” is both a
bizarre, witty story but it also speaks volumes about using
pharmaceuticals as a crutch, a similar theme, actually, to “Rations of
Tantalus”. There’s an established, standard way that people should view
themselves: in the first-person. When a patient is made to undergo a drug
routine to reinforce this first-person perspective rather than his usual
third-person perspective, his mood sinks. When he introduces an unknown
drug into his regiment, his first-person perspective swings into focus
with unexpected results, yet he’s happy nonetheless.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Wryneck, Draw Me” is, again, a
bizarre story with so much depth. Rather than the pharmaceutical element
being in focus, psychology takes the main stage here, or more
specifically, the psychosis of extreme egotism and narcissism on an
extreme scale. It looks at love on the human level and if it can be
applicable to a non-human, or more specifically, again, to a
human-engineered machine infected with human emotional non-sense.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">------------</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Idris’ Pig” (1949,
novella) – 2/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Aboard a flight to
Mars, George is suckered into delivering a package for his cousin who has
become ill. He’s enticed by the handsome reward upon delivery with which he can
impress a girl named Darleen into marriage. The package: a blue pig; the
reason: no idea; regardless, George lands on Mars and finds the secretive man
with whom he exchanges a secret codeword. Knocked down by the man then rescued
by the fair Blixa, the two attempt to track down, the pig, via logic and
séance, to the Plutonian embassy. 39 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Gardener”
(1949, shortstory) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Corrupted by power,
the chief of the Bureau of Extra-Systemic Plant Conservation carries out an
unthinkable act of malice for a man in his position: he cuts down a tree. That
tree, however, is only one of exactly fifty in the universe and each is revered
by locals and visitors alike. Without care, Tiglath Hobbs makes off with the
tree to whittle a walking stick. Once in space, a mysterious figure knocks on
his port window. When it’s disposed of, ill fortune follows the ship. 13 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Child of Void”
(1949, shortstory) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">For want of peace and
quiet, Eddie’s mother decides to take them—along with his little brother—on a
retreat to Hidden Valley, which used to be his uncle’s until he dynamited
himself on purpose. The atmosphere is sullen among the three until, all at
once, they all lighten up. When Eddie’s brother becomes stranded in a cave,
Eddie rescues him and discovers a glowing egg that tries to entice them by
promising them their dreams. After they resist, the air goes from sullen to
stressed to violent. Bullets and fire won’t destroy the egg, and the egg won’t
destroy their resolve. 17 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hathor’s Pets”
(1950, shortstory) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Henry and familial
retinue have seemingly been transported across time—forward or backward, none
know—to become under the watchful eye of the beautiful, fifteen-foot Hathor;
however, she’s as remote as she is beautiful, Henry being unable to understand
her direction of thinking. As they consider themselves pets to the master of
Hathor, they contemplate ways other people would get rid of pets. They settle
on causing such a disruption that, through annoyance, Hathor would throw them
out; thus, they devise and create the very disruptive matter canker. 14 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Pillows”
(1950, shortstory) – 2.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Neptunian moon of
Triton has very little to offer other than he now common novelty item called
“pillows”. These black, sand-dollar-sized pillows have the unique property to
heat themselves to 44 degrees Celsius before stabilizing at room temperature,
yet their use is limited to novelty-sake. To literally and figuratively dig up
more on the pillows, McTeague visits Triton onlyto discover a dead body still
in its suit, a find which the sniffer creature from Venus—named Toots—greatly
dislikes. Toots only wants to find the warmth of the pillows. 14 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Listening
Child” (1950, shortstory) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Though his heart
sputters from an illness, Edwin Hoppler’s heart still ticks for the young
deaf/mute boy named Timmy. As the boy waits on him during his convalescence,
Edwin takes it upon himself to treat the boy well and, as a result, understands
some of his mannerisms—all except his curious head-tilting. Prior to a dog
being hit by a car and another of his own heart attacks, Edwin sees that the
boy somehow predicts the misfortune. While on a beach holiday, the boy again
tilts his head as Edwin feels another pressure upon his chest. 11 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Brightness Falls
from the Air” (1951, shortstory) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Disadvantaged and
regressed, the bird people are shunted to their ghetto and the only time the
occupying humans see them is when they perform their aerial fights, which used
to be ritual but are now put on for display and entertainment. Kerr is one who
begins to see the beauty behind the beast and so befriends the beautifully
plumed Rhyshe. Her gift of acceptance is met by Kerr’s gift of jewelry and of
song, yet Kerr’s own acceptance isn’t universal among his people, nor is
Rhyshe’s reciprocal interest and admiration. 8 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Man Who Sold
Rope to the Gnoles” (1951, shortstory) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">As long as Mortensen
could profit, he didn’t care exactly for what the isolated gnoles used the rope
he intended to sell them. He brushes up on his salesmanship and visits the
secluded home of one of the gnoles. There, he’s immediately met by difficulty
as the wizened gnole indicates he can’t hear or speak; unperturbed, Mortensen
pushes forward with his demonstrations and pricing. When the gnole agrees to
purchase a large quantity and offers payment by a jewel; Mortensen, however,
eyes a bigger prize that the gnole may or may not be willing to part with. 5
pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Causes” (1952,
shortstory) – 2.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">In a bar, George
overhears a man damning the gods for the state of the world after WWII. He
listens to the man’s theory about the Greek gods and their exodus to New
Zealand in 1913 due to an incident with Aphrodite’s girdle. Another man
explains the world’s troubles by something he has in his possession: an angel’s
trumpet, the same one that should have been blown to cause the apocalypse in
Revelations. Laughed out of the bar, a third man details a forlorn monk and his
ensuring string of swearing that brings bad karma to the world. 13 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“An Egg a Month
from All Over” (1952, shortstory) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">With his mother dead,
George Lidders has very little to live for: no friends, no girl, only his hobby
of watching eggs hatch. His most recent delivery was from the planet Morx and
was said to be a chu lizard egg. Placed in its incubator, the egg is watched by
George as he’s spellbound by the growth and progress along its eight days of
incubation. His emotions stir—he hits highs and lows before the rapture of
watching its hatching, only to reveal emptiness. He leaves the home in
frustration and returns to a big surprise. 8 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Prott” (1953,
shortstory) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">A man takes it upon
himself to embark upon a journey into space in order to understand the
reproductive habits of the elusive and almost mythical Prott. They are thought
to be non-protoplasmic life-forms that communicate via telepathy, so the man
comes equipped for his research: he can look out the viewport, photograph from
different spectra, and even communication telepathically. Eventually, he
establishes dialogue but it’s too muddled to comprehend. Even their favorite
topic seems to differ in opinion, of which still eludes him to the brink of
insanity. 16 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“New Ritual” (1953,
shortstory) – 2.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Marie and Henry have
been married for some time, but there’s very little happiness in their
marriage: Henry has his farming and now Marie has her deep-freezer. They sit
and eat in silence and exchange very few words otherwise, a situation which
agonizes Marie. With her freezer, however, she finds a ray of hope. Having
bought it from an odd inventor’s estate sale, she discovers that if she wishes
for blueberries when she places in to the machine, out come blueberries. With
her mind ticking away, she find other ways that the machine can make her happy.
9 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Brenda” (1954,
shortstory) – 2.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Brenda’s parents can’t
quite control her as she ignores their requests and demands. Her teachers watch
her fail her classes and her only friend shrugs her off. In her own opinion,
she’s better off alone, anyway; that is until one day she discovers a
foul-smelling body clutching a dead bird. As she nears it, the body slowly
gives chase. Brenda traps then release the animated body from the quarry, only
to have it follow her back to the six-family community. Her father traps the
body and sends it to the quarry where he piles it under rubble, next to which
Brenda sits. 12 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Short in the
Chest” (1954, shortstory) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sonya has a host of
problems, for one of which she visits a robot psychologist called a huxley.
Aside from poor hearing and a problem with her marine unit’s piglets
unwillingness to feed, she also finds herself without a libido when it’s time
to “dight”. <br />
As she adjusts her hearing aid, the mechanisms in the huxley’s chest begin to
whir from the norm and the psychologist it is begins to analyze her situation.
With the buzzing and whirring interfering, the huxley gives its recommendation
to the woman for her ails her, and perhaps what ails all women. 10 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Horrer Howce” (1956,
shortstory) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Freeman concocts
horror house exhibits for a living, yet his honed skill has limited to one last
customer. Dickson-Hawes is his last resort for some of his sales, but what
Freeman has is a tad too morbid for the circus, so Dickson makes a number of
dull suggestions, to which Freeman reluctantly complies. When Dickson asks to
see something exceptionally horrid, Freeman takes him to an exhibit that he’s
been working on: They experience a car chase scene in which a black car exudes
black limbs that amputate other drivers. Dickson is scared witless by its
vividness. 13 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Wines of
Earth” (1957, shortstory) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Alone with his glasses
and bottles of wine, Joe is content yet lonely. He’s most proud of his vineyard
even though its vintages pale in comparison to the greats of <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">France</st1:place></st1:country-region>, of
which he owns a few. Out checking on his vines one afternoon, he sees four
people standing and studying, who say that they’re also growers. He sits them
down and pours the finest of wines for them, yet they offer mild praise. Joe’s
miffed by their indifference until they offer him their own wine from their
spaceship. 8 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Invested
Libido” (1958, shortstory) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Diagnosed with
depersonalization, Wilmer is on a cocktail of drugs and therapy so that he can
improve his self-awareness because, now, he always feels outside himself and
see Wilmer as another object. For want of a better medicine, he tries some
Martian senta bean syrup that has been mislabeled and actually contains
Dentantasen, a randomly affecting drug. When he awakens the next morning, he
takes a trip to the local aquarium to ease his angst only to become obsessed
with one of the squid, whom he now identifies as the true Wilmer. 9 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Nuse Man”
(1960, shortstory) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Weary of the
troublesome offerings from a future-situated company, one woman tolerates the
presence of the oft visiting salesman. His two devices seem laden with flaws,
so she has never intended to give in to his pitch, but she instead listens
about his story of having sold the same awesome power source to a king in the
year 3000 B.C. His deal went sour when the king died and as the king’s son began
to dispose of his father’s cohorts, the salesman used his own devices to stay
alive and further sweeten the deal. The peasants and slaves, however, wanted
him dead. 12 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“An Old-fashioned
Bird Christmas” (1961, novelette) – 2/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mazda is a mole sent
from the electric company in order to debase or ridicule the popular Reverend Clem
Adelbury, who has initiated a religious revival to take the lights out of
Christmas festivities. As the electric company’s loss has been noticeable, they
will go further and further to end Clem’s mission. Unfortunately for them,
Mazda has ended up falling for the Reverend. Behind the electric company is the
main player and pusher—Nous—who supplies the power and muscle from the year
3000. 23 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Wryneck, Draw Me”
(1980, novelette) – 4.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s Jake. Jake is
the world, it is itself multiplied by billions extending throughout the solar
system in a concert of thought. Somewhere in its timeless history, Jake fell in
love with itself and now plunges the depths of its memory in order to woo and
seduce itself. One rogue entity in the system is aware, via an array of sense, of
Jake’s odd courtship. Jake writes poetry to itself, then cooks and bakes to
find a way into its own heart; some black magic tries to seal the deal before
the deal is physically done. 17 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-48035578757398884442016-04-11T11:04:00.001+07:002016-04-11T11:04:39.258+07:001966: The Impossible Man and Other Stories (Ballard, J.G.)<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Allusive and symbolic – a labyrinth to cherish (4.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Ky41qL2BKdH5RitZgKN0ylb7e8nn5bYE54XTy_letxZ68yZlHWMZ523QS8AEM4PYqe6_4fFDfy5FI08KL86Rdr8sHP2oE2U0kqlhm4ZC7908qHAiaeuCTddoZRNaISVFgBojpJ-yLBQ/s1600/apr3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Ky41qL2BKdH5RitZgKN0ylb7e8nn5bYE54XTy_letxZ68yZlHWMZ523QS8AEM4PYqe6_4fFDfy5FI08KL86Rdr8sHP2oE2U0kqlhm4ZC7908qHAiaeuCTddoZRNaISVFgBojpJ-yLBQ/s320/apr3.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is my fifth
Ballard book, a tally which includes two other collections (<i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2012/06/1964-terminal-beach-ballard-jg.html">Terminal
Beach</a></i> [1964] and <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2012/06/1971-vermilion-sands-ballard-jg.html">Vermilion
Sands</a></i> [1971]), a fictional novel (<i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2012/07/1965-drought-ballard-jg.html">The
Drought</a></i> [1965]), and a semiautobiographical novel (<i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2013/09/1984-empire-of-sun-ballard-jg.html">Empire
of the Sun</a></i> [1984]). Inclusive of <i>The Impossible Man</i>, these five
books have been fantastic reads as their saturated with symbolism and
parallelism, the layers of which tend to leave the mind reeling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The most successful
stories are the passive ones, those that don’t lend so much to the reader but
with symbols or parallels subtle enough to be interpretive—each reader could
read in to the stories in different ways. Actually, the same reader—me—can find
meaning where none was found before, or where the symbolism wasn’t relevant
before but now comes in full light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Of these nine stories,
I’ve read five before (four in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on"><i>Terminal</i></st1:placename><i>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Beach</st1:placetype></i></st1:place>):<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">“The Drowned Giant” –
5/5 in 2012, 4.5/5 now</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">“The Reptile
Enclosure” – 4/5 in 2012, 4.5/5 now</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">“The Delta at Sunset”
– 4/5 in 2012, 4/5 now</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">“The Screen Game” –
3/5 in 2011, 3.5/5 now</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">“The Gioconda of the
Twilight Noon” – 2/5 in 2012, 5/5 now</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The nine stories span
a time of only four years: 1963 to 1966. During these four years, Ballard
actually wrote thirty-one stories of SF, so <i>The Impossible Man</i>
collection is far from definitive… for that, you’d have to pick up the two
volumes of Ballard’s <i>The Complete Short Stories</i> (2006), which includes
ninety-five stories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">I haven’t read Ballard
widely enough to understand his overarching themes, but the stories in <i>The
Impossible</i> <i>Man </i>definitely have resonance in a few areas: the beach
and sand, seagulls, dilapidated structures, Greek mythology, protagonist
fallacy, and allusive or disassociative speech. I’m not the biggest fan of
mythology, so some of Ballard’s use in the stories was above my head (on
occasion, I would read up on the myths so better understand the story, like
Eurydice and Oedipus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Drowned Giant”
(shortstory, 1964) – 4.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">After a storm, the
ocean’s waves still crash upon the shore, but for one small town, the waves
also beat against the jetsam of a giant. Initially skeptical then unbelieving,
the townspeople slowly gather to view then scale the colossal man lying supine
on the beach. Before long, the giant proceeds through states of decay as the
more knavish of the onlookers chop off parts for personal gain; others,
meanwhile, keep their respectful distance. Much later, evidence of their inhumanity
and greed line the town’s periphery. 12 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Reptile
Enclosure” (shortstory, 1963) – 4.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">People follow people;
they amass on the beach for relaxation only to be surrounded should-to-shoulder
with the same people they wanted to get away from. Pelham, in observation mode,
waxes philosophically about some aspects of human nature while his wife doesn’t
even feign interest. As the masses bask in the sun in reptilian repose, Pelham
remembers a coming satellite launch, on which his colleague Sherrington has an
interesting physiological theory. When a blue light pierces the sky, the masses
gather only to push further forward. 13 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Delta at
Sunset” (shortstory, 1964) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">With a turned and
infected ankle, Dr. Gifford is unable to venture far from the site of his
expedition: the ruins of Texcol. Gifford seems obsessively focused on the
dune-scaling snakes that appear at specific times of day, only to retreat never
to be seen. His wife and assistant, whom Gifford suspects of having late night
trysts, don’t see the snakes for what they represent, rather, the three argue
about the symbolism: transformation or wisdom. Unable to get help, Gifford’s
delusion deepens through the nights as snakes convene in greater numbers. 18
pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Storm-bird, Storm-dreamer”
(shortstory, 1966) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">After years of
uncontrolled use of weed and insect killing chemicals, some birds have died
while others have taken flights to distant coasts. When the resulting
generations of those birds return, their proportions are Herculean. The once
docile habits of doves and sparrows have turned hideous as they wreak havoc on
human structures and feast on human flesh. Crispin is charged with the defense
of one location with his machineguns, shooting the birds from the sky in droves.
But one hermit woman tends to the corpses, plucking on feather from each, much
to Crispin’s intrigue. 20 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Screen Game” (novelette,
1963) – 3.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Near Vermilion Sands,
Lagoon West is chosen as the setting for a <i>Nouvelle Vague</i> film called <i>Aphrodite
’70</i> in which the legend of Eurydice will be rekindled through
interpretation. Paul is paid to paint various scenes, including the million
square foot painted desert and the moving screens of the Eurydician maze amid
the arid scenery. In a balcony above the stage, Paul is enticed by the pale yet
beautiful apparition of Emerelda, whose damaged psyche leaves her bound to her
home and spurs her to bejewel the desert insects. 27 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Day of Forever”
(shortstory, 1966) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Earth’s terminator
creeps westerly across the African continent where the circadian rhythm has
been disrupted as the “days” have protracted. Halliday travels longitudinally
along the terminator looking for respite, sustenance, and his dream-state. At a
resort town, he comes across an alluring female painter and her doctor, as well
as a disassociative woman and her chauffeur. Frustrating by time, Halliday
sleeps without dreaming, then dreams of vivid ruins in the darkness, all the
while a permanent darkness awaits him in the western sky. 20 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Time of Passage”
(shortstory, 1964) – 5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Falkman comes into
this world from the grave, to his wake and deathbed, and from the very house he
owned for so many years. He has his first gasp of breathe, opens his eyes, sees
his elderly sister with an expression of grave concern, only he quickly
rebounds to health. He enters highly into the workforce and social groups only
to age younger, get demoted by more senior members, enter university, and watch
his wife disappear from his life. By then, he’s living with his parents,
entering primary school, and learning what words, limbs, and love are all
about. 13 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Gioconda of
the Twilight Noon” (shortstory, 1964) – 5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bound to his home by
convalescence, Maitland starts his enforced sightlessness struggling with
boredom and anger. His wife tends to most of his needs, but what he requires
most is denied to him by the doctor. The seagulls annoy him as his hearing
becomes enhanced, yet over time his sight takes on a more sensitive, phantasmal
degree: he can sense his illusion to a vivid death, make out details of a rocky
outcropping, and feel the penetrating gaze of a female observer. When the
doctor returns with good news, Maitland only wants to relive his fantasy. 11
pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Impossible Man”
(shortstory, 1966) – 4.5/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Conrad had just seen
the predatory gulls swoop and feast on the newly hatched turtles and the
predatory elderly men who collection the shells for profit. As Conrad starts to
cross the road, he’s hi by a car with such force that his leg is amputated
above the knee. Doctors at a special hospital inform his that, given his age,
he’d probably be very keen on receiving a donated limb—from the same man who
nearly killed him. He listens to differing opinion on the operation, but only
sees one facet of it until the limb is actually part or him. 20 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-8651855189846581992016-03-31T23:15:00.001+07:002016-03-31T23:15:29.171+07:00Lazy Book Reviews of March 2016<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#19: More Soviet Science Fiction
(1962) – uncredited editors (2/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeVtULKFdyTZf-e4Uw2D8BqMRPIQ1pqrF7n-cR6p1m20IH1nKNBJPeFb9rfFo-aWGvVKoqaaZWpn_zgJK8qRqNziahfcgIbr6eb45sEeCnP1DtiXbXnV463NE7skzUuYkSO4deNzJzS-w/s1600/mar1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeVtULKFdyTZf-e4Uw2D8BqMRPIQ1pqrF7n-cR6p1m20IH1nKNBJPeFb9rfFo-aWGvVKoqaaZWpn_zgJK8qRqNziahfcgIbr6eb45sEeCnP1DtiXbXnV463NE7skzUuYkSO4deNzJzS-w/s200/mar1.jpg" width="117" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
first set of stories from <i>Soviet Science Fiction</i> (1961) was chosen,
according to the introduction written by Isaac Asimov, for their “relative
inoffensiveness” to the American reader. Asimov further said that the stories
were of the technological ones, stories that had a focus on the gadgets rather
the people; in contrast, I found some regard for the ethos of the Russian
people and their everyday struggle with State-suppressed creativity
(“Spontaneous Reaction”) and State-applauded sacrifice (“Infra Draconis”), for
example. In the introduction to More Soviet Science Fiction, Asimov puts forth
that the stories all are spirited by the government-approved mantra, “If this
goes on, we will achieve an ideal society” (11). Again, I disagree with Asimov
on this point. He seems to be grasping at straws here, trying to give the
reader what they want to hear: Communist stories for Communists. I think only
one of the stories barely touches upon this purported Utopian theme—“The Heart
of the Serpent”. Where <i>Soviet Science Fiction </i>is a good collection
worthy of a place on my shelves with stories that I’d like to return to one
day, <i>More Soviet Science Fiction </i>is a historical curiosity that quickly
loses its novelty amid its lackluster stories. This latter collection is
unfortunate as I’m sure there are further excellent stories in other
collections—some of which I own—that could better reflect the quality of Soviet
science fiction. And therein sits this year’s goal. [<a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/03/1962-more-soviet-science-fiction.html">full review</a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#20: An Evil Cradling (1992) – Brian
Keenan (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4TajWV8jIXl3A6wIBwJeUdcefU3ztt3bipEdQwdXonr4SQmrmu3IGdE7Z6VxNzgD_T7QhCjNw1YcxuHlmEPKNeHztzBwearjjpjad4IBGHNycXiqAlFL7YhxQNvR5pBz5gfZGNUMbtJ0/s1600/mar2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4TajWV8jIXl3A6wIBwJeUdcefU3ztt3bipEdQwdXonr4SQmrmu3IGdE7Z6VxNzgD_T7QhCjNw1YcxuHlmEPKNeHztzBwearjjpjad4IBGHNycXiqAlFL7YhxQNvR5pBz5gfZGNUMbtJ0/s200/mar2.jpg" width="129" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I read this autobiography twelve years ago when I was 23. It was one of
my first such imprisonment stories that have always stuck with me. This may be
because I’m someone who values my personal quiet time, who prefers to be alone
rather than in the midst of excitement… but I’m also someone who grew up
playing alone with Legos, ramming together Matchbox cars, and devising wars for
my tiny action heroes. I suppose if you were to take away the Legos, car, and
figures… that’s be my personal hell to be left to my imagination and threadbare
sanity, much like Keenan was exposed to for part of his imprisonment in
Damascus. While Keenan kept his marbles together for the most part, there are
brilliant glimpses—amid the poetry, which I’ve never cared for—that offer
insight into his own mind, of his companions’ minds as they struggle with
physical captivity, and of his captors’ minds as they struggle with mental
captivity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#21: The Best of John Jakes (1977) –
John Jakes (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTIVk1OY3CURKXhn2YTcaYBKDOgAF8qtixA0PvRrFU3wfVrAE7apvlqBgXJCQeetABKr5bqf-LV55qxmWGqBJ5GCKua_I9YtwLBaart2GmjL59ZZk5OWUi7sOO6R0cFFaTSyLqWnuajzg/s1600/mar3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTIVk1OY3CURKXhn2YTcaYBKDOgAF8qtixA0PvRrFU3wfVrAE7apvlqBgXJCQeetABKr5bqf-LV55qxmWGqBJ5GCKua_I9YtwLBaart2GmjL59ZZk5OWUi7sOO6R0cFFaTSyLqWnuajzg/s200/mar3.jpg" width="119" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">John Jakes piqued my
interest after I picked up and read <i>Secrets of Stardeep</i> (1969) and <i>On
Wheels</i> (1973) on a whim, yet was unimpressed with both. John Jakes was a
“bestselling author of historical novels with the Kent Family Chronicles of the
Civil War era, not speculative fiction. And much like the civil war, this
collection is spiced with chauvinism of gender and race. As a bestselling
author, one would expect the stories that could plumb the depths of human existence
or touch the hearts of many; rather, it’s completely white-male dominated. Even
the titles are evidence of the amount of chauvinism—against women and Asians—in
the collection: “The Highest Form of Life”, One Race Show”, and “There’s No
Vinism Like Chauvinism”. This could (1) be the result of market demand as the
stories were written between 1952 and 1968 yet are distinctly not New Wave,
progressive stories of which often assume different sex and race roles. It
could also (2) be a symptom of the editors’ hand-picking of Jakes’ 72 published
SF stories: Martin Harry Greenberg (noted for over thirty years as an editor
and anthologist) and Joseph D. Olander (noted for his anthologies in the
1970s). It could also (3) be just part of the author’s repertoire as he also
has machismo novels as <i>Brak the Barbarian</i> (1968). [<a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/03/1977-best-of-john-jakes-jakes-john.html">full synopses</a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#22: More Things in Heaven (1973) – John
Brunner (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chalking up my
thirty-first Brunner book here and the mediocrity continues.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> I guess
my early Brunner experiences has more variety than my recent experiences, or
I’ve just become more discerning; regardless, Brunner is hit-and-miss in terms
of novels and in terms of parts of his novels… much like with <i>More Things in
Heaven</i>. Good: a hyperspace ship that explored the Alpha Centauri system for
two years has just returns to the solar system yet is adrift near Jupiter’s
orbit. At the same time, popular science writer Drummond sees his brother’s
likeness in Quito while Carmen sees the likeness of her brother, too—both
impossible situations as they are still aboard the vessel that had just
returned from Alpha Centauri. Meanwhile, the masses are frightened by
horizon-spanning monsters that appear and dissolve in a matter of minutes. As
he’s in the know, Drummond uses his connections to gather information about the
possibility of all three being linked: the likenesses of the crew, the
monsters, and the return of the ship. Obvious to the reader, yes, all three are
connected and Brunner slowly stitches them together with lackluster predictability.
There’s an interesting twist in the hyperspace theory and the origins of man,
but they are punches pulled too late without much impact following the
drawn-out story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#23: The Outcast of Heaven Belt
(1978) – Joan D. Vinge (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">I haven’t come across
much of Joan D. Vinge, except her shortstory “View from a Height” (1978) in
Terry Carr’s anthology <i>The Best Science Fiction of the Year #8</i>, the
story of which I liked even though it wasn’t the best in the collection. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">This
novel was her first, and it feels as clunky as you’d expect from a freshman
writer with influential backing. Betha is the captain of an extrasolar starship
that has traversed space from her struggling home planet of Morningside to the
supposed prosperous neighborhood of Heaven Belt. Her and her marriage group
came through years of space so that some level of advancement could be obtained
for their home yet upon arrival, they are immediately attacked. The attackers
are merely one shard of a system-wide population shattered by a civil war, many
shards of which fervently hope for the same thing: the one miracle to save
their own sect. The selfish intentions of each are reflected in their obsessive
desire for the technological savior in their skies: Betha’s starship, <i>Ranger</i>.
With superior speed and planning, Betha is able to evade and deflect
hostilities with the help of some unsuspecting conspirators, but there are
still some jokers in the stack that could foil her benevolent plans. All in
all, it felt too plotted with the various factions vying for control and too
focused on three nuances: the cat, the multi-marriage, and the hydrogen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#24: Paingod (1965) – Harlan Ellison
(3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Prior to reading the <i>Paingod</i>
collection, I had read twenty-one pieces of Ellison’s short work—mostly in his
machismo so-called suspense collection <i>No Doors, No Windows</i> (1975)—only
six to which I gave 4 or 5 stars. The first three stories are strong. “Paingod”
follows a rather simple plot line with the right twists at the right times, but
delivers a message and reminder about the benefits of pain. While the previous
story was rather dour, “Repent” is more humorous as the hero of the story first
unintentionally erodes the standing system of punctuality then decides to do a
few things intentionally. “Crackpots” follows this whimsical note with the
notion that what may seem to be illogical actions of some are actually
carefully performed acts with higher logic behind them. The last four stories
cross the lower spectrum of interest. For me, the first three stories were glimmers
of hope for a solid collection of Ellison’s, but the last four stories didn’t
delivery what I wanted… something of which even I can’t define. I know what I
like and I know what I don’t like; in between is my fluctuating opinion that
covers 90% of my reading. [<a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/03/1965-paingod-and-other-delusions.html">full synopses</a>]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#25: The Fury Out of Time (1965) –
Lloyd Biggle, Jr. (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is my first piece
of work by Biggle, be it a short story or a novel.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> He’s a
virtual unknown to me other than me owner two of his books: this novel, which
is his third, and his collection <i>The Metallic Muse </i>(1972), which
includes seven of his 38 prior published stories. <i>The Fury Out of Time </i>is
a unique novel; it starts with an 11-page setting in bar in which Karvel is a
strong yet sympathetic character. When Karvel discovers a spherical object that
destroyed the countryside in a spiral manner, he becomes the unsaid expert in
its existence. When France finds their own sphere and destruction, Karvel is
there eager to test theory: the pulped being and the sphere itself come from
the future with intentions unknown. Luckily for him, he gets the attempt to
shoot through time in order to investigate. Once there, the culture and
language barrier are a difficult barrier for him to cross, but his novelty and
importance bring him interest from on high, which, in turn, brings subversive
knowledge to Karvel. Ready for yet another trip, he shoots into the past to
pinpoint the true nature of the sphere, its original odd passenger, and the
reason for its destruction. The three-part plot—discovery, forward trip,
backward trip—is a cavalcade of intrigue upon intrigue. The last part, however,
tends to taper a bit as it builds upon pessimism and doubt, which contrasts
Karvel’s own logic. To sum it up: It’s pretty neat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#26: Andromeda Gun (1974) – John
Boyd (4.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">John Boyn wrote twelve
genre novels, of which I read the first three that compromised a thematic
trilogy: <i>The Last Starship from Earth </i>(1968), <i>The Pollinators of Eden
</i>(1968), and <i>The Rakehells of Heaven </i>(1969). </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">In this
trilogy, <i>Pollinators </i>had a tinge of humor with its sophistication more
than its predecessor, but <i>Rakehells </i>really stole the show—it was clever
and funny, both in blatant and subtle ways. <i>Andromeda Gun</i> is a direct
and better evolved descendent of <i>Rakehells</i>: the plot is more deceivingly
connived, the humor is more double-tiered, and the overarching plot is better
conceived. G-7 is very sophisticated energy being on assignment to the nineteenth-century
boondocks of Earth, where he takes Johnny McCloud as his case for evolving a
species to Brotherhood with the Galactic. Where McCloud used to be a thieving
and immoral knave, G-7 hopes to turn this “organism … bipedal hydrocarbon
compound which concert electrochemical energy into mechanical force by hinged
calcium compound levers” into a saint worth of species-wide ascension into
Galactic Brotherhood. When G-7 landed in the small town of Shoshone Flats,
Wyoming, little did it know just how persuasive the hormones and chemicals of
McCloud’s composition could be. G-7 makes a good start into converting the once
heathen man into a Samaritan, but McCloud errs as he is human…but once erred,
his drive tends to influence the nebulous energy of G-7. With persistence,
perhaps G-7 can guide McCloud to good, but at the same time, perhaps McCloud
will disappoint G-7 and the entire Brotherhood. Its plot is well sculpted for
entertainment and the humor is very worthwhile… one of the most entertaining
novels I’ve read since… well, read it for yourself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#27: The Atlantic Abomination (1960)
– John Brunner (3.5/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDSt9uzeh3qdsOxhGKOb4b214sgE-2IEDVtjeWONAJ0Z6SQDIPbtDT1QMlT9-seq4TnPmkNr_Muqec90iW1ciPeAa7Bm77Im0ef71S_C-T60JGYRamAyUBjH82I4xkkWrkERkCOX-shJY/s1600/mar9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDSt9uzeh3qdsOxhGKOb4b214sgE-2IEDVtjeWONAJ0Z6SQDIPbtDT1QMlT9-seq4TnPmkNr_Muqec90iW1ciPeAa7Bm77Im0ef71S_C-T60JGYRamAyUBjH82I4xkkWrkERkCOX-shJY/s200/mar9.jpg" width="130" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chronologically, this
is Brunner’s eighth novel, which falls between two of his great early novels: <i>The
World Swappers </i>(1959) and <i>Meeting at Infinity</i> (1961); however, don’t
equate this with overall greatness as he has never had the golden touch</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> having
produced some duds in the most extreme sense. This is my thirty-second Brunner
book, so I can speak with some authority. <i>The Atlantic Abomination </i>starts
quite dryly with pulp motives: An ancient relic is discovered under the
Atlantic Ocean with mysterious hieroglyphics and later beside a giant,
leathered carcass of unimaginable age. One diver is found to have survived
underwater for an unusual amount of time and later hijacks some apparatus then
steals away onto the sea with unknown intentions. The myth of Atlantis soon
rears its head and scientists conjecture about the leathered beast. Soon, a
cruise ship goes missing, on which another ascended ancient alien beast
converts all to be its slaves. Without remorse, it treats each human lesser
than a rodent, driving them with cranial pain until they bleed, break, and die.
The American military watches this at a distance until the same ship docks into
Jacksonville, where the monstrosity makes it home and converts thousands more
to be its mindless slaves. Missiles and chemicals have little effect other than
agitating it, so the military consider a nuclear strike with little
consideration to the human toll… and here is where the pulp turns into
allegory. In reflection, this story closely follows the rise of maniacal rise
of Imperial Japan prior to WWII and the Allies effort to deal with continuing
blows to the effort: strike the beast but spare the people, until only one
option remains: The Bomb. The initial delivery was too pulpy, however, to make
up for it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-23952858084987747142016-03-27T12:24:00.000+07:002016-03-27T12:24:16.306+07:001962: More Soviet Science Fiction (uncredited editor)<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Merely a curiosity that doesn’t match its predecessor
(2/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRLniOj9yava-1_sD9fuYEVyBDgALX93EQUX36M5UQWabMqnORavuFdiyvRfQifnfJsPwQ9OFBKqn7eKz_SzWhjoInA3BGsKFHHG5uprYW19I-ur_gti9VFvRn_LE9dJXkC9W9f3eSY8c/s1600/mar1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRLniOj9yava-1_sD9fuYEVyBDgALX93EQUX36M5UQWabMqnORavuFdiyvRfQifnfJsPwQ9OFBKqn7eKz_SzWhjoInA3BGsKFHHG5uprYW19I-ur_gti9VFvRn_LE9dJXkC9W9f3eSY8c/s320/mar1.jpg" width="188" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
first set of stories from <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/02/1961-soviet-science-fiction-uncredited.html">Soviet Science Fiction</a></i> (1961) was chosen,
according to the introduction written by Isaac Asimov, for their “relative
inoffensiveness” to the American reader. Asimov further said that the stories
were of the technological ones, stories that had a focus on the gadgets rather
the people; in contrast, I found some regard for the ethos of the Russian
people and their everyday struggle with State-suppressed creativity
(“Spontaneous Reaction”) and State-applauded sacrifice (“Infra Draconis”), for
example.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
the introduction to More Soviet Science Fiction, Asimov puts forth that the
stories all are spirited by the government-approved mantra, “If this goes on,
we will achieve an ideal society” (11). Again, I disagree with Asimov on this
point. He seems to be grasping at straws here, trying to give the reader what
they want to hear: Communist stories for Communists. I think only one of the
stories barely touches upon this purported Utopian theme—“The Heart of the
Serpent”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Two things
set this collection apart from the first collection:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The capitalized inclusions of
Nature and Truth—both universal absolutes, both tangible in the everyday
sense of Communism where Nature is inseparable from Society, where Nature
embodies Truth and only Man can delve into its mysteries. That’s a lot of
capitalization for the Soviet mentality of using capitonyms for everything
like a religion. <o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
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<br /></div>
<ol start="2" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The quality of the stories. Five
of the six stories from the first collection were written between 1951 and
1958, with the exception of “Hoity-Toity”, which was written in 1930. In
the second collection, all the stories had been culled from 1958 to 1960.
In terms of the spectrum of stories included in each collection, the focus
is extremely narrow. When comparing the two collections, it’s almost as if
the first collection held the wheat and the second collection held the
chaff.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Where
<i>Soviet Science Fiction </i>is a good collection worthy of a place on my
shelves with stories that I’d like to return to one day, <i>More Soviet Science
Fiction </i>is a historical curiosity that quickly loses its novelty amid its
lackluster stories. This latter collection is unfortunate as I’m sure there are
further excellent stories in other collections—some of which I own—that could
better reflect the quality of Soviet science fiction. And therein sits this
year’s goal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">All
stories were translated by R. Prokofieva. All propaganda quotes are from <a href="http://soviet-awards.com/forum/soviet-awards-forums/general-talk/general-talk-archive/498-official-slogans-central-committee-communist-party-soviet-union.html">this forum</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Heart of the
Serpent” – Ivan Yefremov (novella, 1959/1961) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: With the evils of primitive
capitalism far behind in time, the logical society of the future begins to
fulfill its destiny in the stars. The pioneer in multi-parsec travel to the
stars is the <i>Tellur</i> and its dedicated crew who have left earth behind in
space. With the time dilation, they understand that they will return 700 years
in earth’s future, but the quest for knowledge compels them. On their
scientific foray, they come across an alien ship in transit. Visually they’re
similar, yet biologically they’re different; regardless, beauty has form. 69
pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Propaganda</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Central Committee of the Communist
Party of the Soviet Union for the 60th Anniversary of the Great October
Socialist Revolution, propaganda slogan #51:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Long live the unity and close ties
of the peoples of the nations of the socialist community! Let strengthen the
indissoluble fighting union of the Communist parties of the socialist nations
on the basis of the tested principles of Marxism- Leninism and proletarian
internationalism!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: In a classless society, where
everyone knows earth as their own backyard, the only new direction is outward
into the ceaseless void of space. In that same society where everyone is a
brother, joint labor has grown beyond the sustenance of cavemen; rather, joint
labor is a higher goal, the common goal: “the need to unite first countries
then the whole planet” (50). Once the earth had been united in communist
brotherhood, they looked outward. With this step toward the stars, mankind strives
to “harness the forces of Nature on a cosmic scale only after reaching the
highest stage of a communist society … and the same applies to any other human
[alien] races” (57).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Essentially, the world
and society that has been portrayed in “The Heart of the Serpent” is a utopia
whose only limitation is the speed of its science—the more they know, the more
they conquer Nature. The heart of the Russians—now a global, unified
people—returns to pioneering; where once Siberia and Africa were untamed lands
ripe for dissemination and development, now the stars hold the same allure. Now
far in the future, communism is no longer the aim of the scientific diaspora;
more nobly, a more thorough and complete understanding of their island universe
is their aim.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Being part of a
rational society, the crew rationalizes that any aliens who are advanced enough
to reach the stars must, too, be of communist blood because of joint labor and
brotherhood. Once those same aliens are met—in a highly unlikely situation
where they fly past each other on opposing courses and must veer in order to
avoid collision—communism isn’t the topic of choice. This understanding sits
tacit between the two races, who are brothers in their own way as the silence
confirmation of their mutual societies—those who have traveled to the stars
must have traveled the noble path of communism. The more mundane specifics of
their origin and metabolism are the pet topics, all done without the medium of
language… but what’s language between brothers?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: I chided the previous collection—<i>Soviet
Science Fiction</i> (1961)—for being too subtle in the way of propaganda, which
was noteworthy enough for Asimov to mention in the introduction. I believe that
most people who would pick up SF from the Soviets, they would eagerly expect a
pick of in-your-face propaganda… and “The Heart of the Serpent” would sate that
appetite.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">In addition to
passages that expound the virtues of brotherhood, there are also damning lines,
paragraphs, and pages dedicated to bashing capitalism and the west, which is
usually produced with a flare of pro-communism: “Had not the first socialist
state appeared in Russia and started a chain of epoch-making changes in the
world, fascism would have taken the upper hand and plunged the world into
nuclear war” (56). Those are myopic and hypocritical words as the Russians were
as much of a loose cannon as <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region>
with their nuclear arms. Further, the story goes through the decline of
capitalism (40-41), capitalism as a lower stage of development and its
wastefulness (83-84), and again its wastefulness and evils as a slave-state
(54-55).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">As a science fiction
story, it really achieves no purpose. Largely, it’s a platform to promote
communism and to bash capitalism… oh, and there are aliens toward the end, who
are naturally rational beings also fond of communism. The conjecturing is
far-fetched (a recurring symptom of all the stories) and the coincidences are
absurd. I like the story for its unabashed style of soap-box politics, but
aside from that there is very little meat to the bones of the story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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------------</div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Siema” – Anatoly
Dnieprov (novelette, 1958/1961) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: A man interrupts the slumber of
another train passenger, who sits down and seems to have a lot on his mind.
When the disrupted passenger inquires about his worries, the man recalls a
lengthy tale in which he actually created a machine that could learn, read,
speak, and think like a human—almost. Through a series of logical deductions,
the machine began to outpace its creator who then began to have trouble
deducing the machine’s logic. When the passenger offers their thoughts, the
insight into human nature draws an immediate parallel. 31 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Propaganda</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Central Committee of the Communist
Party of the Soviet Union for the 60th Anniversary of the Great October
Socialist Revolution, propaganda slogan #39:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Pioneers and school children!
Fervently love the Soviet Motherland, persistently acquire knowledge and labor
skills! Prepare yourselves to become active fighters for the task of Lenin, for
Communism!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Drive by the analogy that the
nervous systems is just a series of electrical pulses—a code of ones and
zeroes—a semi-deranged scientist delves into the intricacies of his project:
create a robot that thinks like a human. The result is a machine (Siema:
self-improving electronic machine) that can write its own program; the
stationary construct can calculate numbers, use human language, and learn from
experience—it was write its own programs. After it had learned to read, it
began to voraciously consume literature and learn from the material. When
engaged in conversation with its creator, the machine—a <i>her</i>
incidentally—began to argue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">With similar mental
processes, the two were alike: man and machine; however, the man considered
Siema to be of lesser class as it was made of metal, as it was created from the
creator, thereby being made to serve its creator. The crux of the man’s
argument: “A machine cannot add anything to the knowledge man has given it. It
can only use that knowledge” (107).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">After it begins to
read and think, it soon begins to feel, sense, explore, and study <i>in situ</i>.
When the man awakes to his creation studying him, he becomes unnerved by the
reversal of observation. It makes the remark that direct experience is
necessary for its progress, that study of the human brain can excel its more
perfect state. Of course, the man is threatened by the knife-wielding
mechanism… but it’s a state of mind that the man pushed upon the machine, so
he’s about to become a victim of his own success.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Though the theme is
tiresome—a man-made machine goes berserk on its creators—this story has a
surprising parallelism that made it past the censors. Arkandy and Boris
Strugatsky’s “Spontaneous Reflex” (1958/1961 [Soviet Science Fiction]) dealt
with a similar issue, but its revolt was more naïve, more curious than the
borderline vindictiveness of “Siema”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Aside from various
other revolutions, revolts, rebellions, and uprising, consider the number of
peasant revolts in Russia in the last 500 years:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
Bolotnikov Rebellion (1606-1607)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
Spepan Razin Rebellion (1667-1671)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
Bulavin Rebellion (1707-1708)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
Koliyivshchyna (1768-1769)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Pugachev’s
Rebellion (1773-1775)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
Kosciuszko Uprising (1794)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
Mahtra War (1858)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Urkun
(1916)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
Arsk Uprising (1918)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">the
Tambov Uprising (1920-1921)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">With a long history of
grassroots revolt, the government of the Soviet Union of 1922 must have always
been weary of uprising. Institutional toleration for dissent was at a nil level
as they demanded those in revolt to die by gas poisoning. Needless to say, the
government thereafter continued this hardline of attack on opposition, which in
the government eyes was simply a continuation of organizational philosophy
imparted by the peasants who started the communism ball rolling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">As a fully functional
communist government (the created) by the peasants (the creators), surely there
was friction of similar ilk to this story: “How is it that the machine [the
State] turned against its creator [the peasants]?” (117). Were these same words
in the man’s mind when he saw the revolt of his robot? Well after the fact and
dwelling upon the whole incidence, the man reflects: “Nervous activity in man
is regulated by two contradictory processes—excitation and inhibition. People
who have no inhibition often commit crimes. This is precisely what happened to
my Siema!” (117-118).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: While the parallelism is
interesting in terms of Soviet history, the telling of the story is less than
amusing or enlightening. Nearly the entire story is told in reported speech of
t the ramblings of a mad scientist: “he said that he had said, ‘blah blah
blah’”. The result is littered with uninteresting tenses in a narrative format
and splattered with quotations marks for pages on end. The rambling is
reminiscent of Alexander Kazantsev’s “A Visitor from Outer Space” (1951/1961
[Soviet Science Fiction]) where the author pours forth his theories in the
guise of speculative fiction. It’s not at all readable, but it does spur the
mind into fits of parallelisms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Trial of
Tantalus” – Victor Saparin (novelette, 1959/1961) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Regardless of the plagues and
deaths they once caused, the future of humanity has preserved all known
bacteria and viruses for safe-keeping, study, and one-day use if need be. All
origins of such pestilent organisms can be accounted for except for the recent
spread of Tantalus on Jamaican sugar cane plantations. As Barch investigates,
he’s called to another sickness of unknown origin: sick elephants in Africa.
Once thoroughly examined without a clue of cause, he’s called yet again to the
Pacific to witness robustly growing bamboo. 26 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Propaganda</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Central Committee of the Communist
Party of the Soviet Union for the 60th Anniversary of the Great October
Socialist Revolution, propaganda slogan #33:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Citizens of the Soviet Union! Make
careful use of our nation's natural resources! Struggle for their preservation
and growth!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup><span style="font-family: Arial;">[<a href="http://countrystudies.us/somalia/17.htm">1</a>][<a href="https://books.google.co.th/books?id=PhTlQCycKJwC&pg=PA113&lpg=PA113&dq=amount+of+aid+given+by+country+soviet&source=bl&ots=Ho3mjUlYJ-&sig=JyYhqWu84yDT5VjZH1mOx1FkbFw&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjF3pHXjs7LAhVKCY4KHe44CeEQ6AEIKTAD#v=onepage&q=amount%20of%20aid%20g">2</a>]</span></sup><sup><span style="font-family: Arial;">[</span></sup><sup><span style="font-family: Arial;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_governments_by_development_aid">3</a>]</span></sup></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Socialism isn’t about only
benefiting your own clique, race, or society; rather, it’s about spreading the
good to all in need. Because it’d be unlikely for any superpower to feel needy
in any regard, this benevolence tends to trickle down to those nations that
don’t have the basic infrastructure to even begin to address their problems.
With rose-tinted glass cast aside, this type of aid is always—always—attached
with strings as the aid is tainted by militarism, ideologies, or another
counterproductive addition from the Soviet embassy staff; thence, a direct link
to Moscow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Though Soviet aid was
tainted from the above governmental ills, the Soviets themselves didn’t lavish
in spreading aid everywhere on the globe as they still considered the financial
benefits of such aid. In hindsight peering into the 1960s, if you consider the
main countries they <i>did</i> assist, you’d be leery to stand in line for the
free lunch the Soviets provided: Cuba, Ethiopia, and Indonesia, etc. It seems
like the Soviets’ pet project was Ethiopia and Somalia, where they provided
much more than military and ideological aid, but scholarships, printing
presses, and technical training; however, as the two nations stood in tension
amid their hostilities, the Soviets continued dripping their fingers in both
pies while the American wanted to spend their aid in the same countries…
thereby making the Horn of Africa a war of ideologies. The wonderful of such
lavish aid can be seen today as both Ethiopia and Somalia flourish in
development. Thanks, US and USSR.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">In “The Trial of
Tantalus”, the communists can be seen as benefactors in two ways: (1) by
helping each nation with their specific problem and (2) by preserving the past
in the form of having a museum dedicated to past plagues.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The altruistic
government of the future USSR sends manpower and intellectual aid to Jamaica
(parallelism to Cuba?) in order to tackle sugarcane plague, then the same aid
whizzes off to Africa (parallelism to Ethiopia?) to witness sick elephants,
only then to be whisked off to the Pacific (parallelism to Indonesia?) to
investigate the unusual bamboo. In the light shone by the story, each instance
is graced by the concerning presence of the communists and there’s no behind-the-scenes
exposure of the politics and militarism of each package of aid. Nowadays,
Russia is quite thrifty with their aid, giving only 0.03% of their GNI when
compared with Latvia’s 0.08%, Turkey’s 0.42%, or Norway’s 1.07%.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">As a defendant and
researcher of all things small and big—including the wee-sized viruses and
bacteria—Russia continues this trend today. Only the US and Russia have
quantities of smallpox in their government laboratories. Though the topic of
whether to destroy these samples has continues for thirty years, both
governments maintain that they must keep the sample in case the virus ever
rears its head again in nature.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: The story sets itself up for a
complex twist between Barch as the investigator of the three instances around the
globe and Barch as the shipwrecked passenger on the way to the third
investigation. As he considers his plight while stuck on a rocky islet in the
middle of Pacific, he recounts the story of the coincidences between the recent
outbreaks and the finding of a new virus in the Amazonian mud. Obvious to the
reader, the linkage is clear: the new virus caused the recent outbreaks, so
there is no twist. The final paragraph offers a topical sigh as the story wraps
up answering the question “If Earth is now safe from all infection, where will
Barch go?” Nothing enlightening here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Stone from the
Stars” – Valentina Zhuravleva (shortstory, 1960/1961) – 2/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: When a meteorite crashes into the
highlands of Pamir, the discoveries inside excite all areas of science, even
the biochemist. As he’s called to view the meteor, he is informed of the true
excitement that surrounds the object: encased within in a cylinder and within
that there is a being who knocks on its walls in reply. When it emerges, the
brain-shape of the alien baffles many but was predicted by one man present. The
excitement only heightens when the begin to unravel the secrets as the brain
sits dying. 15 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Propaganda: Central
Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union for the 60th Anniversary
of the Great October Socialist Revolution, propaganda slogan #27:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Workers of industry! Struggle for
the further development and strengthening of the industrial power of our
Motherland! Widen the road of new techniques and progressive technologies!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Only guesses could be made—be they
complex hypotheses of a learned man or the rambling writings of a hack—as to
what the future would hold. Today’s progress toward the ever-approaching future
is measured by the vague word “success”, which is sometimes technological or
sociological… and usually both when it concerns Cold War communism.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Clearly, the thing
that fell from the sky held a technological trove of science that could benefit
the State is all matters of ways. From the exotic metallic shell that encased
the brain, to the biological skin that enshrouded the brain, to the mass itself
that is the brain, all elements of the unexpected discovery could lead to
progress as measured in technological terms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">As perfect as it was,
it sat there decaying and dying while unknowingly divulging its secrets. The
humans who surrounded the tantalizing mass could only study to learn more
because, as they convened to agree, they could do nothing as it simply
continued to die. Perhaps it deserved its death as complex as it was—a precariously
advanced state where the simplest thing could trigger its simple end; so
specialized and so envisioned yet all-too unnatural and all-too fallible.
Regardless, this seed of knowledge will one day allow humans to visit the stars
in order to return to “come back to Earth bearing the unfading torch of
Knowledge” (165).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The parallel here is
between communism—the true type of society and governance by the people, for
the people in all matters of equality—and capitalism—a mongrel, steady-state of
decay from its origins of slavery. In regards to those who study economy and
laude the benefits of capitalism, “we scientists who work in narrow fields show
little imagination in predicting the future. We are far too engrossed in what
we’re doing in the present to foresee the shape of thing to come”; in contrast,
“the Future is often more clearly envisioned by non-specialists” (161). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">And so, as the
beyond-comprehension complexity of capitalism and its economics succumb to its’
death throes, the vigilant scientists of the communist State take note and
learn from the anguish, knowledge with which they plan to use to endeavor for
the impossible dream—knowledge with a capital K: Knowledge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: This story is quote heavy-handed
on the science of the brain and its encasement. Only is two short sections does
the author purport anything related to communism and/or capitalism. Excerpts of
the two short passages are quoted above. If you’re giving this story a
once-over, it could easily come off as simply another technology-dominate
story; but reading between the bulk of the speculative science, a small glimmer
emerges, yet it doesn’t save the story. OK, the brain is capitalism dying and
the scientists are vigilant scientists, but the parallels cease there when
extra science is added to the mix: exotic alloys, radiations shields, and bio-automatons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Six Matches” –
Arkady & Boris Strugatsky (shortstory, 1959/1961) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: With the arrival of a neutron beam
generator, the chief of the physics laboratory of the Central Brain
Institute—Andrei Komlin—eagerly begins his experiments behind closed doors.
After a few months, only Komlin’s assistant knows of the various experiments as
he has participated in and been subject to a few of them; meanwhile, the
Director is left clueless. A series of accidents and bizarre incidences raise
eyebrows, but only when Komlin is left catatonic does investigation begin on
his brain experiments and sacrifice. 22 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Propaganda: Central
Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union for the 60th Anniversary
of the Great October Socialist Revolution, propaganda slogan #39:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Engineers and technical workers!
Rationalizers and inventors! Actively struggle to hasten scientific-technical
progress!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Progress—and eventual defeat of
Nature—is conducted by the means of Scientific Method: question </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">à</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"> research </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">à</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"> hypothesis </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">à</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"> experiment </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">à</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">
analyze </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">à</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">
report. This is the rational way to investigate the pattern and mysteries of
Nature and should not be given detour. Rationalizers—as mentioned in the
propaganda quote above—should be active in their pursuit of progress, but not
reckless. In “Six Matches”, the scientists involved in the neutron beam
experiments are reckless as they treat the tried-and-true Scientific Method
dismissively: “They are trying to take a short cut to the Truth, to victory
over Nature. But too often they pay with their lives” (181).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Both Capitalists and
Communists respect the Scientific Method; however, both somehow romanticize
those rogues who take the occasional shortcut in favor of making that big
breakthrough; for example: Jonas Salk with the polio vaccine and Sir Humphrey
Davy with nitrous oxide. When these self-inflicted tests are a success, the
scientists are heralded as brave souls in fight against ignorance, yet when
these tests fail, the scientists are mocked as ignorant. Ingenuity—not
sacrifice—is the fuel that drives progress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">[T]<i>his was a wonderful age …
Wonderful people too, these Communists of the fourth generation. Like their
predecessors, they forged boldly ahead with little thought of themselves, from
year to year advancing more and more daringly into the unknown. It required
tremendous efforts to channel this vast ocean of enthusiasm so as to use it with
maximum effect. Mankind’s victory over Nature must be won through the medium of
ingenious machines and devices and precision instruments, not by sacrificing
lives of its finest representatives. And not only because those who live today
can accomplish far more than those who died yesterday, but also because Man is
the most precious thing on Earth. </i>(182)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">When the efforts of
the self-sacrificing scientist begin to encroach upon the taboo fields of
pseudoscience, they further lose credibility as a so-called scientist, one who
holds sacred the Scientific Method; therein, they should no longer be labeled
as such, rather perhaps as pseudo-scientists, the ultimate downfall for any
respected scientist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The story penetrates
the tacit ethos of scientists everywhere and the responsibility of even the
Communists to abide by the Scientific Method. While heroism and sacrifice in
war is much lauded, commended, and awarded, the same heroism and sacrifice is
greatly frowned upon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: This story follows the mad scientist
rut quite predictably with additional aspects of the paranormal. How neutron
beams affect the brain to produce telekinesis isn’t explained even remotely,
it’s just left as is. The curious effect of the experiments is that the
telekinesis is unidirectional—push—but resists any other movement—lift. The
title “Six Matches” comes from Komlin’s experiment of trying to lift the said
objects with his mind. Aside from showing the rationalization of Communist
scientists, the government mocking the sacrifice of the mad scientist, and the
bizarre effects of the same mad scientist’s experiments, there’s very little
here to capture the reader.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-84405562729696767662016-03-26T09:00:00.002+07:002016-03-26T09:00:55.948+07:001965: Paingod and Other Delusions (Ellison, Harlan)<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Ellison’s dissatisfaction with American cultural
progress (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLgbxftp2btfQ0PHJkdkVsWaEXhfY4BJ9b9HIgaKebumF1WQ-goZFoAxTtcT1vlqGqXOzakvw3DxytrjCYigtGF2QoOztqAd8oQ2MvCXiVjXjmA9_UJ_EF_l9BIKd77JL9sk655bISPo/s1600/mar6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLgbxftp2btfQ0PHJkdkVsWaEXhfY4BJ9b9HIgaKebumF1WQ-goZFoAxTtcT1vlqGqXOzakvw3DxytrjCYigtGF2QoOztqAd8oQ2MvCXiVjXjmA9_UJ_EF_l9BIKd77JL9sk655bISPo/s320/mar6.jpg" width="192" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Prior to reading the <i>Paingod</i>
collection, I had read twenty-one pieces of Ellison’s short work—mostly in his
machismo so-called suspense collection <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2015/12/1975-no-doors-no-windows-ellison-harlan.html">No Doors, No Windows</a></i> (1975)—only
six to which I gave 4 or 5 stars. From that figure, you could deduce that I’m
not a big fan of Ellison’s work. <i>Paingod</i> is the last piece of his work
on my shelves, but I’m sure it’s not the last forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ellison graces the
reader with an unbelievably brief introduction of only three pages. The sheer
chore of reading other rambling introductions often urged me to chuck the book,
but three pages I could tolerate, but even then the paragraphs were bloated
with whims, conjured disassociative memories, lists, and mini-rants. Each, too,
has a brief introduction, but here he tends to digress, as well; case in point:
After twenty-five line of an introduction for “Deeper Than the Darkness”
laments on our personal responsibility for our own action, name-drops Marilyn Monroe,
mentions the Afterlife, says life is for dignity alone and sluggish without
then, “And, oh, yeah, about this story” (136).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Unlike <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2013/05/1967-dangerous-visions-1-ellison-harlan.html">DangerousVisions</a></i> (1967) where each introduction took a back-patting or disassociate
tangent, the ones in <i>Paingod</i> are usually well-focused. Sometimes they
give a glimmer of meaning behind the story or the impetus for its writing. Most
introductions, though, carry a common theme: That of Ellison’s dissatisfaction
with American cultural progress and/or his inability to adapt to American
cultural progress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The first three
stories are strong. “Paingod” follows a rather simple plot line with the right
twists at the right times, but delivers a message and reminder about the
benefits of pain. While the previous story was rather dour, “Repent” is more
humorous as the hero of the story first unintentionally erodes the standing
system of punctuality then decides to do a few things intentionally. “Crackpots”
follows this whimsical note with the notion that what may seem to be illogical
actions of some are actually carefully performed acts with higher logic behind
them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The last four stories
cross the lower spectrum of interest: “Bright Eyes” has ethereal descriptions
of its environment, but never becomes grounded into a satisfactory story; “The
Discards” is fun and dark yet too predictable for my tastes; “Wanted in Surgery”
contains too many geeky futuristic SF elements so as to make it feel written
for a juvenile audience; and “Deep Than the Darkness” takes on psi-powers with
mixed success as it throws in aliens, fire starters, mind readers, some silly-sounding
science, and military intervention.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">For me, the first
three stories were glimmers of hope for a solid collection of Ellison’s, but
the last four stories didn’t delivery what I wanted… something of which even I
can’t define. I know what I like and I know what I don’t like; in between is my
fluctuating opinion that covers 90% of my reading.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Paingod” (shortstory,
1964) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Trente was appointed
the Paingod by the overseeing power of the universe—the Ethos. Pain must be
experienced by all the universe’s being, however sentient, and it is he who
must deliver that pain. Upon spiders, slugs, and slime of innumerable systems,
the Paingod is there; however, his curiosity gets the best of him when on
planet Earth where he takes the bodily form of a sculptor. He awakens to the
beauty of his pain-filled creation and the beauty of his universal task. 10
pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“‘Repent,
Harlequin!’ Said the Ticktockman” (shortstory, 1965) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Pestered by a lifetime
by deadlines, tacit expectations of punctuality, and his own perpetual
tardiness to all things related to time, Everett C. Marm finally catches the
attention of the Master Timekeeper. When he unloads millions of jelly beans
upon the commuting labors and the moving walkways—the vital bloodline of the
city—he disrupts the sacred schedule of all things by seven minutes, which is
an offense very worthy of the personal interest of the Timekeeper himself. 12
pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Crackpots”
(novelette, 1956) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">They Kyben rule the
galaxy as diligent administrators and observers, but their ubiquitous rule
doesn’t limit them to only the grand scale of things. On one planet, the native
Kyben have absolutely gone to pot—it’s citizens are the craziest, most
illogical beings of the whole galaxy and Themus is part of the team in charge
of detailing the actions of the so-called Crackpots. Some things don’t only
perplex Themus, but they also compel him, leading him to an underground tribe
that harbors secrets. 37 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Bright Eyes”
(shortstory, 1965) – 2/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bright Eyes is a mere
boy in the eyes of the stars and the planet on which he roams with his tame rat
named Thomas. As he sits upon Thomas experiencing the varied travesties that
have afflicted the unfortunate planet, both are perturbed by the river engorged
with the horizon-spanning mass of discolored, bloated corpses. Thereon, Bright
Eyes learns of the meaning of his life and the fate of his race. With the rat
as his companion and new equal, he faces their collective fate. 12 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Discarded”
(shortstory, 1959) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Having been banished
from the Earth due to their various forms of mutation, the ship full of
Discards roams Sol’s system looking for a place to call home, yet all inhabited
places coldly reject their request. Bedzyk, the figure of leader for the
helpless hundreds of Discards, considers their hopelessness as more and more
suicide. When a ship from Earth docks to their vessel, Bedzyk is quick to
condemn all Earthmen, yet his followers kill him in the belief that when they
can help, the can also be rewarded. 13 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Wanted in Surgery”
(novelette, 1957) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">In the late
twenty-first century, doctors all over America have become disheartened when
their professional trade is overrun by the more perfect robot surgeons and
diagnosticians called phymechs. Dr. Stuart Bergman just can’t accept the
progress of the state of the art of surgery—he begins to speak out against the
mechanical heartlessness of later devises ways to discredit the machines. In
the end, when feeling defeated, he returns to what he knows best—bedside
manner. 29 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Deeper Than the
Darkness” (novelette, 1957) – 2/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Alf Gunnderson sits
glumly in a jail cell being miserable with his situation and life overall. His
unique talent is also a burden to him as he’s a pyrotic—one capable of
producing flames from the rubbing of molecules; however, he can’t control his
talent as well as some Blasters and Mindees can control their sparks and
telepathy, respectively. When Spacecom interrogates him, they realize his
potential as a weapon and send him off to the home system of their alien enemy,
where Alf can choose to use his talent for good or for evil. 21 pages</span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-64727198044309257652016-03-18T00:21:00.001+07:002016-03-18T00:21:48.291+07:001977: The Best of John Jakes (Jakes, John)<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Chauvinism further mars the mediocrity (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_jOX0Ur_bttAWWr3MuMyMjUt9bUzEQnhUUaRP8cCgJwfguQtUNfj3scONS7UARqj49t9OSoQVAjHYSDPv7f2JrKO3GOTX3H475nGmvJP7Gr1AAYBp7RzdzPVenZz9xb1ghyx2xeYUaAQ/s1600/mar3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_jOX0Ur_bttAWWr3MuMyMjUt9bUzEQnhUUaRP8cCgJwfguQtUNfj3scONS7UARqj49t9OSoQVAjHYSDPv7f2JrKO3GOTX3H475nGmvJP7Gr1AAYBp7RzdzPVenZz9xb1ghyx2xeYUaAQ/s320/mar3.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">John Jakes piqued my
interest after I picked up and read <i>Secrets of Stardeep</i> (1969) and <i>On
Wheels</i> (1973) on a whim. The latter novel is a satisfying satire on
American’s obsession with cars yet follows a fairly typical plot line with a
predictable finish—3/5 stars in my opinion with 2/5 stars for the former novel.
John Jakes was a “bestselling author”, as the cover exclaims, of historical
novels with the Kent Family Chronicles of the Civil War era, not speculative
fiction. And much like the civil war, this collection is spiced with chauvinism
of gender and race. As a bestselling author, one would expect the stories that
could plumb the depths of human existence or touch the hearts of many; rather,
it’s completely white-male dominated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">This mini-theme starts
in the first story—“Machine”—where the only female character is a whiney,
concerning housewife, followed by “Political Machine” where only men dominate
the political arena and the sole women are, of course, schoolteachers or
secretaries. Females as secretaries, models, and victims make an appearance in
“The Sellers of Dreams” in which females are naturally so self-conscious of
fashion that they are all willing to change their entire person and persona
based on the season’s whims… and because men, naturally wouldn’t do that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">In “The Highest Form
of Life”, the only female is a reporter who has a “grating female voice”
(91)—thus, this story should be the title for the entire collection: <i>White
Men: The Highest Form of Life</i>. From this story on, the female and minority
roles take a plummet. “One Race Show”—another apt title for the collection—hosts
another whiney wife.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is all taken to
another level in “Love is a Punch in the Nose” where the misogyny is obvious
yet veiled in satire. When a man punches and hits his wife to make himself feel
better, it reeks of something wrong, regardless of the twist ending. But what’s
worse than being a woman?—being Asian. When the man finds that it was, after
all, OK to hit his wife, he sees another woman—someone lower on the totem pole
than himself—take up with a “refugee and freedom fighter from Japkor… [who had]
escaped through the Com Chin barricades” (139). He believes the woman
victimizes him out of scorn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Another apt title:
“There’s No Vinism Like Chauvinism”. Here, men take the domineering roles and
just once it looked like a female would play the leading role in the
revolution, but it turns out she’s just a victim, too, as in “The Sellers of
Dreams” and “Love is a Punch in the Nose”. Then there’s “Recidivism Preferred”
in which the kidnappers plan to free a “sex degenerate” in order to “teach
those bureaucrats” of the government for the sake of “free enterprise” (196).
Ah, free love is rough love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The last story—“Here is
Thy Sting”—is quite good but, again, chauvinism rears its head. While Cassius
is a seriously driven man with the noble goal of writing his own history book,
his female partner has a flighty mind bent on whimsical topics for her nitwitted
editorial job. And like “Love is a Punch
in the Nose”, Asians are the lowest in the rung of humans: Cassius writes about
how the Chinese were the defeated aggressors in a fictional Puerto Rican war;
another character has a book entitled <i>Alert! The Yellow Underground is Attacking</i>;
some “yellow-cheeked bootboy” (217) dies in an brief and unnecessary scene, and
Dolly Sue Wei dies in violence stemming from her being “the first non-American
ever to register at the University of Levittown” and who was buried “in a free
cemetery in Manhattan’s Oriental ghetto” (223). “Here is Thy Sting” scores one
point for having a famous female musician, but even she is prone to emotional…
the same unsettling, disastrous emotion which affects Cassius in the end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">All this chauvinism
could (1) be the result of market demand as the stories were written between
1952 and 1968 yet are distinctly not New Wave, progressive stories of which
often assume different sex and race roles. It could also (2) be a symptom of
the editors’ hand-picking of Jakes’ 72 published SF stories: Martin Harry
Greenberg (noted for over thirty years as an editor and anthologist) and Joseph
D. Olander (noted for his anthologies in the 1970s). It could also (3) be just
part of the author’s repertoire as he also has machismo novels as <i>Brak the
Barbarian</i> (1968).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Machine”
(shortstory, 1952) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Charlie swears at and
damns the very toaster that’s burned him, claiming it to have a mind of its
own. His wife Helen looks on with mild amusement mixed with topical worry. Charlie’s
pet hate for all machines good and bad affects his daily life as he forsakes
cars in favor of the streetcar, yet at home, he continuously eyes the kitchen
toaster. When his wife is away, he follows through with his mechan-icidal plan,
but both his wife and the toaster know that he’s up to no good. 4 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Political Machine”
(shortstory, 1961) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">In the American
capitol sits the Combined Congressional Building; in that massive complex sits
one of many similar machines that perfectly pass laws through rigorous logic:
the Illinois Chamber. To facilitate the machine, one man was elected as the
Populist Custodian: Elwood Everett Swigg. Behind the man made of metal and
flesh is an even bigger mover who commands keywords to Swigg so that he stops and
goes as he pleases: Buster Poole. And behind him is the good doctor. Above them
all sits a debate, which could unravel them all. 17 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Sellers of the
Dream” (novelette, 1963) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">TTIC and G/S are the
competing companies who drive the future of consumerism, where even
personalities and body modifications can change with the season. For G/S to
grab a larger part of the upcoming female modification, they send their mole
Finian Smith to view the initial unveiling. What he sees astonishes him: the model
is a girl he once loved. Having been caught and ousted from TTIC, his boss of
G/S sees him and fires him, but not before Finian catches a glimpse of a bigger
mystery. Jobless, Finian sets out to find his girl and unravel the mystery. 39
pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Highest Form
of Life” (shortstory, 1961) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The <i>U.S.S.
Sharkbait</i> sits throttling at pier ready to take its scientific journey to
the depths of the water in order to communicate with <i>Tursiops truncates</i>—the
bottle-nosed dolphin. But just off shore sits the <i>Nikolai Fernoyn</i>, the
presence of which seems to indicate that their dolphin communication research
is either false or penetrated. Regardless, the Americans feel confident as
they’ve already been contacted by an alien race and their translation systems
seem legit… only the dolphins don’t want to return communication. 12 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“One Race Show”
(novelette, 1962) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Rhinelander owns a
gallery and an estate—actually, his wealthy wife owns the latter, a fact that
miffs him. His gallery, however, isn’t the talk of the town as that accolade
goes to Swallows, who has received five original painting from an unknown
artist named Joe Caul. Morose yet intrigued by the popularity, Rhinelander
visits the gallery himself and is hypnotized by the dark, hellish portraits. Caul’s
location is a mystery, so Rhinelander becomes determined to hunt him down, but
what he finds confuses then disturbs him… and everyone. 28 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Love is a Punch in
the Nose” (shortstory, 1966) – 1/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">After Charles heard
that he had been passed over on a promotion, his angered compelled him to
strike the very thing he loved most: his wife Shirley. Once struck, she forgave
him; Charles felt like a new man—his anger relieved and his wife obedient. The
coming months saw his fierceness increase as he continued to strike her for
insecure insinuations after she had spoken. When he plunged a knife into her
chest, his life changed. He was soon learns that his misogyny is only eclipsed
by racism in terms of degradation. 11 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“There’s No Vinism
Like Chauvinism” (novelette, 1965) – 2/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“[T]hree hundred
million Americans who, in these packed vertical cities, found release in the
emotional catharsis if fierce partisanship with the armies on either side of
the various commercial wars which had uncontrollably wracked the US … for more
than twenty years” (151). The wars, however, are carefully scripted from
Washington with actors participating in the wars, the multitude of which is
under hypnosis. When a real bullet kills a real cow, the unscripted action
unveils a cascade of revolution. 44 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Recidivism
Preferred” (shortstory, 1962) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Randolf Mellors was a
soulless hulk of his former conniving self” (185) as he sits behind the counter
of a bumpkin goods ship. He’s polite yet deferring, shy yet competent; his only
fault is the one thing haunts him: three words: Acme Lead Works. His day-to-day
monotony breaks when a well-to-do trio enters the store, first innocuously then
aggressively as they attempt to kidnap him. His reflexes kick in but their
planning snares him as he continues to plead his innocence. News reporting,
psychology, and crime all clash as Randolf struggles to free himself. 13 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Here is Thy Sting”
(novelette, 1968) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">When Cassius goes to
retrieve the casket of his brother who died as a bystander in a knife fight, on
the moon, he’s frustrated that someone else had already picked it up. Phone
calls and visits to the officials produce no leads as to there his brother’s
body may have gone. Meanwhile haunted by a dream in which a savage dog chases
him, Cassius sees the world around him full of stagnation and mediocrity. With
his own flame of inspiration lit, he begins his long search for his brother,
but answers are dangerous. 50 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-4729000106951127322016-03-01T22:44:00.000+07:002016-03-01T22:44:37.372+07:00Lazy Book Reviews of February 2016<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#11: Soviet Science Fiction (1962) –
uncredited editor (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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. (<a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/02/1961-soviet-science-fiction-uncredited.html">full review</a>)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#12: The Day of the Shield (1973) – Antony
Alban (2/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">This author only wrote
two SF novels: the one featured here and <i>Catharsis Central</i> (1968). The
latter novel was published twice and <i>The Day of the Shield </i>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 <i>The Day of the Shield </i>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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#13: The Monadic Universe (1985) – George
Zebrowski (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">‘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. (<a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/02/1985-monadic-universe-zebrowski-george.html">full synopses</a>)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#14: The Probability Man (1972) – Brian
N. Ball (2/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’ve only read Ball’s <i>Singularity
Station</i> (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 <i>Singularity Station</i> 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 <i>The Probability Man </i>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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#15: Canal Dreams (1989) – Iain
Banks (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>Raw Spirit</i> (2003) and <i>Poems</i> (2015), all of which I own. He’s
the one author I’ve re-read the most often. Needless to say, I very <i>very</i>
much look forward to picking up one of his books that I’ve never read… or one
that I <i>have</i> read, for that matter. Regardless of being fiction, poetry,
short stories, or science fiction, I open his books reverently. <i>Canal Dreams</i>
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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#16: Beggars in Spain (1993) – Nancy
Kress (4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Prior to <i>Beggars in </i><st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Spain</st1:place></st1:country-region>, I had
only come across two of Kress’s short works: “Inertia” (1990) in <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2012/01/2008-wastelands-adams-john-joseph.html">Wastelands</a></i>
(2008) and “Evolution” (1995) in <i><a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2012/07/1996-years-best-sf-hartwell-david-g.html">Year’s
Best SF</a></i> (1996). I really liked the former, but not so much the latter;
regardless, I knew Kress was one author of who I had to read more… so <i>Beggars
in Spain </i>became my purchase. If you haven’t read the original novella like
me, here the breakdown: Gene modification has come so far that children can now
be engineered to not sleep. The result of the permanent sleeplessness is
accelerated learning, productivity, and overall drive. Because the genetic
alteration is prohibitively expensive, only a few thousand have the trait, yet
they become vilified when it’s discovered that they share one additional
characteristic: agelessness from cell repair. Soon, America is divided by law
and society as to what exactly “all men are created equal” means. Leisha is one
of the first Sleepless and takes a humanistic approach to the social problem;
Jennifer, rather, takes the insular approach and begins to barricade the
Sleepless while exploiting their talents through the economy. Years later,
after Leisha and her sheltered-by-fear Sleepless cohorts have established an
orbital colony, they produce their own modified version of genetic
perfection—also sleepless yet whose minds whirl with complexity. Leisha tends
to the society that had once forsaken them while Jennifer plots otherwise; in
between, the American government must take a side. Occasionally a bit preacher
on the philosophical front and a bit too Americentric, the novel recovers by
drawing various parallels to history and subtly alluding to a few others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#17: Catharsis Central (1969) – Antony
Alban (2/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">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 <i>Day of the Shield</i> (1973) this month and found it a chore at times,
so I mildly whimpered when I pulled <i>Catharsis Central</i> from my to-be-read
pile. <i>Catharsis</i> doesn’t feel as forced at <i>Shield</i>, 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">#18: Children of the Wind (1989) – Kate
Wilhelm (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">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 <i>The
Killer Thing</i> (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 <i>Children of the Wind</i>, 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 (“</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
Brother to Dragons, a Companion of Owls</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> “) and the first story (“</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Children of the Wind</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> “) are
pretty good, but not great. (<a href="http://sfpotpourri.blogspot.com/2016/02/1989-children-of-wind-wilhelm-kate.html">full synopses</a>)</span></div>
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2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-85201919057248830072016-02-29T19:01:00.001+07:002016-02-29T19:01:55.736+07:001989: Children of the Wind (Wilhelm, Kate)<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Themeless, directionless collection of novellas (3/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">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 <i>The
Killer Thing</i> (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 <i>Children of the Wind</i>, the stories don’t impress me yet
again, but further, I’m disappointed in two of the five.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">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 (“</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">A Brother to Dragons, a Companion of
Owls</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> “) and the first story (“</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Children of the Wind</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> “) are pretty good, but not
great.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Children of the Wind”
(1989, novella) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Precocious at home and
at school, the twin six-year-old boys of June and Robert are becoming an
increasing headache. They invent their own secret language and indulge in
fantasies yet they learn very quickly in areas like math and reading. When
family is invited to housesit over the summer, June and Robert see it as
beneficial to their jobs and for the boys. At the sprawling estate, an older
boy named Lorne treats the twins with indignity; thus, the twins silently plot.
64 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Gorgon Field”
(1985, novella) – 2/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Constance and Charlie
are invited by an old acquaintance to stay at her father’s hidden valley
mansion tucked away amid the Colorado mountains; the catch: get a feel for her
aging father’s sanity and his odd relationship with a man named Ramon. The
fantastic scenery spellbinds both of them amid the estate’s plush service and
furnishings. The towering stone gorgons especially captivate Constance who
feels drawn to their power of beauty, but also another more mystical power. 58
pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“A Brother to
Dragons, a Companion of Owls” (1974, novelette) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The earth is scorched
and the city sits nearly dying as it’s handful of aging inhabitants cling to a
so-called life by surviving on freeze-dried food and their respective hobbies.
All are aged over 70 save for Boy, whose long-ago childhood trauma left his
speechless. One day when Boy scavenges, he spies a lone band of children.
Viewing from afar, the elderly city dwellers are shocked but become concerned
then vengeful when people start to disappear. Only Llewellyn seems to see the
future in them. 39 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Blue Ladies”
(1983, novella) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Daniel Borg is a
reclusive millionaire in the small town of Potterstown, where life is slow and
simple for its residents, including Cissy and Lee. The married couple moved to
the small town so that Lee could live in relative peace after his wartime
injury and recovery. To make ends meet, Cizzy takes odd jobs about town. The
latest offer is the oddest yet most lucrative so far: pose for Mr. Borg. Though
the money is good, she’s demeaned by his verbal abuse as he sits in his
wheelchair, bound by anger, passion, and frailness. 41 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Girl Who Fell
into the Sky” (1986, novelette) – 2/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">David MacLaren is a
collector with a patchy history of war and revenge. John is on the receiving
end of his father’s stories and now on the receiving end of his father’s hobby.
As his father’s heart is frail, John travels hundreds of miles to an old
mountain commune. When he arrives, he meets the unassuming figure of Lorna
Shields, a member of the benefactor family for the estate sale. As the player
piano plays in the middle of the night, the supernatural awakens. 49 pages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6571241725404229411.post-46818082355131984202016-02-29T13:48:00.000+07:002016-02-29T13:48:54.352+07:001961: Soviet Science Fiction (uncredited editor)<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Scratching the surface of conjecture and propaganda
(4/5)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">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 <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">USSR</st1:place></st1:country-region> 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 <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region>’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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">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]”. If you’re
looking for brightly colored propaganda, communist rhetoric, or the steeled
Soviet pride, you’re looking in the wrong place. Furthermore, 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.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">All stories were translated by Violet L. Dutt. All quotes of propaganda are from <a href="http://soviet-awards.com/forum/soviet-awards-forums/general-talk/general-talk-archive/498-official-slogans-central-committee-communist-party-soviet-union.html">this forum</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">------------</span></div>
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<b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">“Hoity-Toity” –
Alexander Beliaev (1930/1961, novelette) – 2/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: In Berlin, the circus’s main
attraction is an elephant with the ability to count, read, and message. When it
refuses to do manual labor, its handler strikes it leg, sending it off in a fit
to the countryside. Named Hoity-Toity, it eats, bathes, and tramples where it
likes until the police begin to shoot. Soon, a telegram informs the circus that
a scientist is coming to handle the situation as he created it in the first
place. Then the story unfolds of a brain transplant, an adventure through
Africa, and fear of the white man. 68 pages<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Propaganda</span></b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">: </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Central Committee of the
Communist Party of the Soviet Union for the 60th Anniversary of the Great
October Socialist Revolution</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">, propaganda slogan #39:</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><i>Engineers
and technical workers! Rationalizers and inventors! Actively struggle to hasten
scientific-technical progress!</i></span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: While the main protagonist of
“Hoity-Toity” is indeed the elephant with a man’s mind, Hoity-Toity is actually
the result of brilliant Soviet scientific rationalization by the mind of
Professor Wagner in Moscow. Wagner’s inventions baffle his own
assistants—including the transparent, hollow, man-sized rubber ball—but his
most amazing achievement to-date is the keeping and growing of a live
brain—that of a man named Ring, who was young German scientist who died in Abyssinia.
Wagner’s unparalleled rationalization skills allow him to benefit the young
German by transferring his brain to that of an elephant, which is the only
animal large enough to house his artificially grown brain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Regardless of the
unprecedented feat in modern science, Ring is ungrateful as he casually spends
his life in a circus making money for its ringleader; and regardless of his
size, Ring is irresponsible in his range of possibilities as she shuns manual
labor for which he is clearly built. Once on his stubborn rampage, Ring is only
calmed down by the assurance that he will meet Wagner, who may be the only
person who truly understands his existence as an elephant. Hoity-Toity/Ring
agrees to come back to the circus after a two-week vacation in the Alps, with
the professor and his assistant along. Here, the professor is not only a great
logic-minded scientist, but he is also a compassionate soft-hearted human.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: In his introduction to the
collection, Isaac Asimov outlines three stages of American science fiction:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Stage One (1926-1938):
adventure dominant<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Stage Two (1938-1950):
technology dominant<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Stage Three (1950-?):
sociology dominant<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Being a Soviet science
fiction story, you’d immediately assume that the premise for the story to have
either an obvious sociological banner for communism or a clever underlying
message… so, stage three. While the story starts out with hints of allegory
about the responsibility of all Soviet labors—big and small, high and low—the
story quickly turns into one of adventure and science, thereon losing all of
its social currents in the beginning. This is a weak start to an otherwise
hearty collection.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">“Spontaneous Reflex”
– Arkandy & Boris Strugatsky (1958/1961, novelette) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: With numerous sensors, Urm is able
to sense the world to a more thorough degree than any human; however, like a
human, he too can become bored. Unsatisfied with its underground concrete cube
as its sole known location, it opens the door, satisfied with its squeak. In
the halls, in approaches danger without fear, destroys without conscious, and
frightens without shame. As it reaches the surface, its Master attempts to
bargain with it and, in the end, to find a way to disable it. A victim of its
own success, mere bulldozers are able to pin it. 23 pages<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Propaganda</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Central Committee of the Communist Party of the <st1:place w:st="on">Soviet Union</st1:place> for the 60th Anniversary of the Great
October Socialist Revolution</span>, propaganda <a href="http://soviet-awards.com/forum/soviet-awards-forums/general-talk/general-talk-archive/498-official-slogans-central-committee-communist-party-soviet-union.html">slogan
#60</a>:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Fraternal
greeting to the courageous fighters for people's freedom, democracy and
socialism who are suffering in prisons and fascist walls! Communists and
workers of all nations! More actively involve yourselves in the struggle to
halt terror and repression! Freedom for the prisoners of imperialism and
reaction!</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: High technology, especially of
military value, is often a closely guarded secret as it’s usually of sensitive
nature. The robot named Urm—an acronym for Universal Robot Machine—is a
superior robot to such a degree that it can learn and develop while left on its
own; in essence, the robot was given free-thought. Indeed, this would be a
dangerous thing if given free movement through the land, but even Soviet
citizens didn’t have free movement, instead, Urm is confined to a subterranean
prison devoid of sensation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">If Urm had not been
given free-thought, it would have been content to stare at its bleakly grey
environment; however, with primary urges to experience the world and adapt, it
tests the door, the halls, the walls, and even under the open sky. Not made of
flesh and bone, its curiosity is backed by metal and mechanizations, propelling
it through walls and radiation without harm. Its two weaknesses are its most
human-like: (1) As it has had very little experience in human communication,
its salutations come off as horrifically abrupt; (2) Its locomotion is an
adaptable one for all terrains—two legs and two arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Having been suppressed
for so long, it fails to find allegiance among the men at the base; also having
been given the fallacy of man’s locomotion, it fails to escape… only o be
defeated by a much simpler technology and one that doesn’t rely on human
fallacy: the treads and scoop of bulldozers. As it wallows in frustration, the
only rational thing for its creator (its Master) is to simply switch it off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: This is a familiar trope of a
robot gone berserk, complete with undeveloped human emotions while following a
foundational, pre-programmed prerogative. What it makes up for in originality
is its allegory of the danger of free-thought, inherited human flaw,
development in seclusion, and reliability of tried-and-true methods. It’s a
well-fitted glove for a Soviet story compounded by the repeated haunting salutation
of the robot: “здравствуйте как поживаете?” or “Zdravstvuite, kak pozhivaete?”
or “Good day, how do you do?” Even taken at its most literal level, the action
story would be a good, short romp yet with a lackluster ending if you weren’t
aware of its allegory.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">“A Visitor from
Outer Space” – Alexander Kazantsev (1951/1961, shortstory) – 3/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: The ship <i>Georgy Sedov </i>stops
in the arctic to pick up three unusual passengers who are on an expedition. The
crew are curious to learn that the nature of the expedition is an astronomical
one, yet it doesn’t concern the stars; rather, they are there to verify life of
Mars. Yevgeny Alexeich Krymov, the lead astronomer, then outlines his theory of
life on Mars with its causeways of life and how it relates to the Tunguska
event of 1908 and his involvement in its scientific study. His series of facts
entice and persuade the crew. 18 pages<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Propaganda</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet
Union for the 60th Anniversary of the Great October Socialist Revolution</span>,
propaganda <a href="http://soviet-awards.com/forum/soviet-awards-forums/general-talk/general-talk-archive/498-official-slogans-central-committee-communist-party-soviet-union.html">slogan
#50</a>:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Fraternal
greeting to the peoples of the socialist nations! Let develop and strengthen
the peaceful system of socialism--the deciding force of the anti-imperialist
struggle, the bulwark of peace, democracy, and social progress!</span></i><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Conjecture upon conjecture, the
so-called astronomer posits life on Mars with the bare minimum of fact
compounded with the unshakable mindset of a zealot; as a result, the tainted
inferences begin to stack into a scaffolding of the brittle twigs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">The impoverished
Martian landscape naturally produces a socialist people who fly to Earth in
order to seek its bounty of resources, yet understands the native people’s own
needs for the same resources. Here, the presumed invaders are only benevolent
victims of their natural environment wanting to understand and take what they need—no
more, no surplus, no capital. In reality, Russia once unofficially founded a
colony in Africa. Within a month, that colony was disbanded… and is it any
wonder that it happens to be in the ever so displaced location of Djibouti,
Somalia? Because we all know how well colonization affected its native peoples
as there are so many shining examples of benevolence among them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Also their sloppy
landing—the result being the Tunguska explosion of 1908—comes only one decade
before the October Revolution of 1917… which may or may not be a coincidence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: As the analysis implies, the story
really isn’t one that emits the character and culture of the Russian people;
rather, it’s a cheaply woven fictional narrative infused with the author’s own
exaggerated speculation on Mars and the Tunguska event. That said, at least it’s an entertaining
string of speculation; it’s not enough to convince the reader to subscribe to
Kazantsev’s/ Krymov’s ideas, but it’s enough to beguile the ship’s crew. There
are, however, still people who want to believe in the fantastic, minute
possibilities on the steep sides of Occum’s Razor: naturally, an exploding UFO
caused the Tunguska event—a conspiracy theory that’s been alive for 65 years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">“The Martian” –
Alexander Kazantsev (1958/1961, shortstory) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Entertained by the detailed
account of the Tunguska event, the same crew of the <i>Georgy Sedov </i>are
eager to hear another story, be it far-fetched or not. A pilot recounts his
tale of meeting a peculiar man—long-limbed, large-eyed, short, and bald—in his
office coming to speak with him about his willingness to become a member of a
manned Mars expedition. Most Soviet applicants take pride in their personal
sacrifice to science and the State, but the odd little man says he just wants
to return home. 13 pages<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Propaganda</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Central Committee of the Communist Party of the <st1:place w:st="on">Soviet Union</st1:place> for the 60th Anniversary of the Great
October Socialist Revolution</span>, propaganda <a href="http://soviet-awards.com/forum/soviet-awards-forums/general-talk/general-talk-archive/498-official-slogans-central-committee-communist-party-soviet-union.html">slogan
#31</a>:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Young
men and women! Persistently educate yourselves in communist convictions! Learn
to live, work, and struggle as Leninists, as communists!</span></i><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: This is somewhat of a continuation
of Kazantsev’s previous story—“A Visitor from Outer Space”—where Martians crash
land on Mars having originated from a Socialist civilization and seeking
resources. The beginning of the story features the same gullible-slash-eager
crew for storytelling; this time, however, the story is told through a pilot
and his encounter with an unusual man.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">In essence, the
Martian who comes to visit Earth and the Soviet Union—albeit a departure from
its original mission as the Martian <i>did </i>crash land—is eager to return to
his people. His eagerness stems from his one major finding: What had taken
thousands of generations of lineage and struggle for the Martians to develop
their form of communism, the Soviets have reached the same advanced level in
only one-hundred years. Inspired by the feat and spirit of the Soviet people,
the Martian wishes to return to Mars in order to spread his enthusiasm of
brotherhood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Progress is commonly
seen in terms of technology—the creation and use of it. To proponents of
communism, progress is seen in the light of a political ideology championing
equality—the creation and practice of it. Most Soviets were proud of both
aspects: the creation of communism and the practice of communism. They
considered it to be the end-game in all societies where all must be shared for
social progress. The Martians reach that same point after hundreds of thousands
of years, making it their own end-game of an equal society. The sheer triumph
of the Soviet people to push forward with this mindset inspires the Martian.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: This story is, by far, the most
gung-ho about communism—its creation and practice. To view it in a more
favorable light of advanced progress, Kazantsev compares the USSR’s development
of communism in decades with the Martians’ development of the same in
millennia. It’s very heavily built upon a Soviet-centric view of their pride,
minus the flag-waving, anthem-singing, and America-bashing. If there were piece
of Soviet science fiction that trumps the propaganda of this story, it’d
surprise me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">“Infra Draconis” –
Georgy Gurevich (1958/1961, novelette) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: With ideas in his head and stars
in his eyes, Rady Blokhin yearns to meet the famed space navigator Grandpa
Charushin, who’s been the first man to Jupiter, Saturn, Neptune, etc. Rady’s
radical idea: There may be black-bodied stars—called infras—that are so small
that they don’t radiate light yet they have enough warmth to heat its surface
internally. Charushin takes to the idea and soon one is found seven light-days
away, a thirteen year flight. They both join the six-man mission and discover
not only one, but two infras. 19 pages<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Propaganda</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Central Committee of the Communist
Party of the <st1:place w:st="on">Soviet Union</st1:place> for the 60th
Anniversary of the Great October Socialist Revolution, propaganda <a href="http://soviet-awards.com/forum/soviet-awards-forums/general-talk/general-talk-archive/498-official-slogans-central-committee-communist-party-soviet-union.html">slogan
#11</a>:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Long live the indissoluble union of
the working class, kolkhoz peasantry, and national intelligentsia! Strengthen
the social-political and ideological unity of Soviet society!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Charushin isn’t only the
universally admired hero of the state, but he’s only a caring and concerned
individual. His triumphs in space have never detracted him from the core of his
existence—before being a hero, he was simply a man, and forever a simple man he
will be. Now, however, he is a man of the people, so he must help those who
lack his influence and power.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">His down-to-earth
approach wins admirers in the scientific community as well as among the people
at large. Charushin even entertains the scientific whims of an eager, young man
named Rady. The young man’s convictions, though continually against the
opinions of the other professionals, wins the mind and heart of Charushin. When
Rady’s nearly preposterous theory is proven correct, Charushin takes yet
another leap for being such a well-admired hero of the state: he enlists for
the mission.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Charushin’s dedication
towards serving his people and his nation doesn’t cease even when he’s seven
light-days from his mother country. When an unexpected discovery throws the
mission into a tailspin, Charushin naturally, as the hero of the state, takes
it upon himself to rectify the problem. The solution is an immensely personal
one, yet he doesn’t think of himself—he only thinks about the success for his
crew, his people, and his country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Though Charushin is
never mentioned of having received any distinction from the Soviet Union, his unprecedented
statue as a hero must certainly qualify him for the nation’s highest
distinction: Hero of the Soviet Union. Up until its disuse in December 1991,
the award was given to 12,775 Heroes, many of them egotistical politicians and
war veterans from WWII, but all Soviet cosmonauts also received the award.
Naturally, as the highest distinction from the state, all recipients of the
award should be held in the highest regard in terms of respect and morals.
Charushin fits this profile by being selfless in the face of danger and by
giving his life—in more than one regard—to the advancement of the state.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Modern-day hero worship is a
watered down affair where praise is given to those who do very little for such
respect—actors, singers, soldiers, etc. For the most banal of reasons, many
loft these so-called heroes with endless praise for, usually, one simple,
unifaceted fact: they sing a hit song, they are admired; they star in comic book
movies, they are admired; they enlist, they are admired. I’ve seen them all
fall from shame, unworthy of the initial title of “hero” which was so
carelessly lofted upon them. The word “hero” greatly loses its meaning when
it’s vaunted toward every person who raises a finger.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Charushin, however, is
worthy of the term… probably much more so than the other 12,775 so-called
Heroes of the Soviet Union. His professional and humanistic acts are worthy of
praise; he leads a productive life that benefits everyone; and he isn’t above
sacrifice or ego. I doubt Charushin would fall from shame by his shameless acts
of drug indulgence, misogyny, or highhandedness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Compound this worthy
worship of the hero with an interesting scientific angle and the story is
propelled by its own steam. It’s intriguing, respectable, and worthy of my own
praise for being the best story in the collection.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">“Professor Bern’s
Awakening” – Vladimir Savchenko (1956/1961, shortstory) – 4/5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Synopsis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: The world is bent on suicide by more
powerful and efficient ways, so Professor Bern has a plan to opt out of this
eventual downfall: lower his body temperature in the absence of moisture and
lay supine for one-hundred-eighty centuries below forty-five feet of desert
floor. With only his assistant knowing his secret, the professor settles in for
the long sleep in the void of the Gobi desert. He awakens stiffly, looks at the
time, and bores to the surface; there, he sees a tree, a bird, and a humanoid
with a club running at him. 17 pages<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Propaganda</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Central Committee of the Communist
Party of the <st1:place w:st="on">Soviet Union</st1:place> for the 60th
Anniversary of the Great October Socialist Revolution, propaganda <a href="http://soviet-awards.com/forum/soviet-awards-forums/general-talk/general-talk-archive/498-official-slogans-central-committee-communist-party-soviet-union.html">slogan
#70</a>:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Peoples of the world! Decisively
speak out against the production of the neutron bomb! The design and production
of new types of weapons of mass destruction must be halted!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">Analysis</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">: Regardless on which side of the
Iron Curtain you looked, each was amassing earth-shattering weapons:
multi-warhead-tipped ICBMs with hydrogen bombs and neutron bombs. The so-called
“arms race” was nothing more than a pissing match with quantity of bombs,
tonnage of bombs, and more novel ways to kill in mass.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">In 1956, when this
story was originally written, the <st1:country-region w:st="on">US</st1:country-region>
production of weapons was in full swing (2,422 in 1955) while the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">USSR</st1:place></st1:country-region> production
line was still infantile (200 in 1955). But, certainly, on the horizon for both
nations, a news arms race had already begun, wafting fears of mutually assured
destruction… a destruction of life, culture, and nations not only on both sides
of the Iron Curtain, but all over the world. Insanity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">As a professor, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bern</st1:place></st1:city> is a learned man who
can see the course of history before his eyes by reviewing the facts and
inserting the variables. Scared by the escalations in political rhetoric and
production of arms, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bern</st1:place></st1:city>
makes the educated decision to opt out of this decade, this century, this
millennium altogether, and this eon all together. Even though the third world
war will be fought with atomics and the earth devastated, Professor Bern
believes that the earth can replenish its vitality over time… or 18,000 years
to be exact.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Professor Berns finds
a kernel of truth in the following quote, a paraphrase of which opens the
story: “<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #252525;">I know not with what
weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with
sticks and stones”.</span> But Bern is just a man at his core, someone who is
just as scared of life as everyone else and searches for something to cling to;
some men cling to the bottle, others to religion or hate (or both), but Bern
clings to the wise words of a fellow learned man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">Review</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="background-color: white;">: There are two parts of this story
that are carefully constructed yet both require the reader to withhold
believability: the delivery and the punchline. <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Bern</st1:place></st1:city> thinks—knows through experiments—that he
can hold a body in low-temperature limbo for at least six months so, naturally,
this process can be protracted 36,000-fold. When he awakes with only
grogginess, the reader must maintain the first line of credibility—that of the
delivery. The last full page is an added level of incredulousness, yet it’s
also kind of cool. When taken in terms of propaganda for the State, the ending
has a few subtle reminders that the Party will survive.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
2theDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15795328679130917054noreply@blogger.com0