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OtherRealms Issue 22 Part 09
Electronic OtherRealms #22
Fall, 1988
Part 9
Copyright 1988
by Chuq Von Rospach
All Rights Reserved
OtherRealms may not be reproduced without written permission from Chuq
Von Rospach. The electronic edition may be distributed or reproduced
only in its entirety and only if all copyrights, author credits and
this notice, including the return addresses remain intact.
No article may be reprinted, reproduced or republished in any way
without the express permission of the author.
Dreams of Flesh and Sand
W.T. Quick
Signet 0-451-15298-0, April 1988, 301 pp., $3.50
Johnny Zed
John G. Betancourt
Popular Library/Questar 0-445-20559-8,
July 1988, 213 pp., $3.50
Reviewed by Michael C. Berch
Copyright 1988 by Michael C. Berch
Ingredients:
% A dreary near-future setting
% Extrapolation of computer technology and human interfaces
% Obsessive fascination with weapons and drugs, the nastier the better
% A disaffected anti-hero(ine) protagonist
% Greedy oligarchies and corporate conglomerates
Mix generous quantities of the above and beat to a pulp-like
consistency. Add appropriate buzzwords (the matrix, ice, the Sprawl,
technical boy). Add corrupt hedonists to taste. Season with colorful
character names (Japanese, if possible) and garnish with assorted
references to computer security techniques. Serves 100,000.
Dreams of Flesh and Sand
A strong case can be made that recent literary movements in speculative
fiction have developed in four distinct phases: first come the short
stories, knocking on the door and demanding critical attention,
followed by a solid core of novels by the movement's "leaders" (which
they were writing while the seminal stories attracted attention), then
a spate of (often commercially successful) formula imitators, and
finally a collapse into self-parody and cannibalism. By this time, the
original leaders are usually well on their way to something else.
William T. Quick's first novel, Dreams of Flesh and Sand, leads me to
believe that the cyberpunk movement is well into its third phase.
Dreams may well become a commercial success, but its close adherence to
the well-traveled paths of cyberpunk make it difficult if not
impossible to enjoy Quick's crisp, witty, fast-paced prose style.
From the beginning, Dreams disturbing resemblance to the works of
William Gibson hinder the reader's attempts to discover the author's
thematic and dramatic intentions. By page 23, when one of the main
characters (after a discussion of wetware and information matrixes)
inserts a jack under her right ear and, a few pages later, she and an
associate take off on a visual tour of cyberspace -- excuse me, the
"metamatrix" -- I put the book down and looked at the cover to make
sure that I hadn't accidentally purchased a copy of Cyberpunk Combat
Command in the World of Burning Chrome..
Dreams of Flesh and Sand concerns a large, oligarchic corporation --
Double En -- run by a Mr. Nakamura and a Mr. Norton. Nakamura and
Norton are having some sort of feud, and our two main characters, Jack
"Iceberg" Berg, and his ex-wife, "Icebreaker" Calley, are either hired
or not hired by one or both or neither of the principals, ostensibly to
find out what the other is up to and take countermeasures. The scene
weaves in and out of the metamatrix (involving various representations
of Berg, Calley, Nakamura, Norton, and a number of lesser characters),
interrupted by a generous helping of chases, shootouts, raids, and
interrogations. Unfortunately, neither Icebreaker nor Iceberg (who
were, in theory, named on account of their respective intrusion and
intrusion-countermeasures abilities) seem to demonstrate any technical
knowledge of these areas beyond what one might read in a PC magazine.
This strains the reader's identification with these otherwise
sympathetic characters.
I kept waiting for Dreams to break out of its cocoon and head for some
uncharted territory; towards the end it showed a few signs of doing so --
as the true nature of the metamatrix and the Nakamura-Norton dealings
are revealed -- but never quite got there. Since Quick has promised
more novels in this genre, we can hope that the next and its successors
will make strong moves away from formula and toward the author's own
innovations and futures.
Johnny Zed
Many of the same elements are present in Johnny Zed, John Betancourt's
second novel. But instead of letting them form the stuff and substance
of the book, the author has relegated them to the background and
allowed the story to predominate instead. Johnny Zed is a political
novel, about revolution, terrorism and corruption. On a more personal
level, it is about trust and betrayal and a revolutionary trying to
figure out her political and personal identity.
In Johnny Zed the U.S. Congress has gone off its rails, suspending
elections and ruling by decree. Congressmen and Senators openly buy and
sell favors, become wealthy off the proceeds of foreign colonization,
and pass their seats on via inheritance. As the government and ruling
class have grown completely corrupt, the American people -- those with
jobs, anyway -- have withdrawn into fantasies of consumerist mall
culture or drugs or street technology.
This society could not be complete without a revolutionary movement.
Our focus is Shelley Tracer, urban terrorist -- or freedom fighter --
and member of a Disruptionist cell. The Disruptionists seem to lack
neither money nor technology, and Tracer and her cell leader, one
Johnny Zed, rush from one attack to the next, pausing only to replace
blown-off fingers with fancy imported prostheses.
If this sounds a bit comic-bookish, it should; Johnny Zed is a novel
painted in bright primary colors; its characters are almost constantly
in action. Contemplation, if any, seems to be restricted to the
(intentionally) platitudinous "quotations" that introduce each
chapter. But mere fast-pacedness does not render a novel a mere
adventure or romance; Johnny Zed manages to delve into some interesting
questions of power and how it corrupts. Shelly Tracer learns that where
power is involved, loyalties become fluid; things are quite often not
nearly what they seem.
This is a book of disguises, assumed identities, secret police, double
agents and double crosses, overlaid on a background of cyberpunkisms
like underground medics, drug and weapons merchants, people with
modified bodies (the catmen and the reptilian Esteban Grammatica are
particularly effective), and, of course, the mandatory treatment of
computer and communications security hacking.
Johnny Zed is plausible in a larger-than-life sense. This is more a
dark satire than a comic novel, but the author shows that he does not
take himself too seriously, and his tongue is occasionally found
planted firmly in his cheek. While Johnny Zed may not break new
literary ground, I found it an enjoyable, well-paced novel.
Brightsuit Macbear
L. Neil Smith
Avon paperback, 1988, 212pp., $2.95, 0-380-75324-3.
Reviewed by Neal Wilgus
Copyright 1988 by Neal Wilgus
The front cover blurb says "To save the Confederacy, a young man
embarks on a wild journey across galaxies...and enters exotic new
worlds." But the blurb writer screwed it up, because the teenage hero
doesn't save the Confederacy, there is no wild trip across galaxies,
and only one semi-exotic world gets entered. What happens is that young
Berdan Geanar follows his villainous grandfather down to the surface of
the not-so-exotic planet Majesty and eventually recovers the brightsuit
of the title, along with a new name: MacDougall Bear.
The back cover blurb tells us that this is "the first adventure in an
exciting new series set in the Tom Paine Maru universe," but that's not
quite right either. Brightsuit Macbear ends with the evil Hooded Seven
(who never appear on stage) still at large, so presumably Mac Bear will
run into them again in as many volumes as the market will bear (pun
gratuitous). But the truth is that this "new" series is the same as the
old one -- what's changed is the publisher, since the earlier volumes
were brought out by Ballantine/Del Rey.
For those not familiar with the series, the Confederacy is a sort of
loose anarcho-libertarian civilization which developed in an alternate
universe in Smith's first novel, The Probability Broach (1980). Broach
was a pretty good novel and it justly won the Prometheus Award given by
the Libertarian Futurist Society, but except for it and the third
volume, Their Majesties' Bucketeers (1981), the series has been a big
disappointment, with the same old "Hamiltonian" villains and the same
old Confederacy good guys duking it out in volumes such as The Venus
Belt, The Nagasaki Vector and The Gallatin Divergence, as the
improbable Confederacy science and society spreads from Earth to space
to the whole damn galaxy. Brightsuit is the, um, seventh in the series,
and little that is new or interesting happens, just more of the same.
The brightsuit, by the way, is a refinement of the smartsuit which made
its first appearance in Tom Paine Maru, and while the smartsuit would
only keep you warm and healthy and safe, the brightsuit will give you
superpowers such as flying through the air and space, blasting your
enemies with thunderbolts and saving the Confederacy in a single bound.
Smith does include one of his more interesting aliens, the Sodde Lydfan
scholar Pemot, in this story, and the fauna and flora of Majesty are
mildly interesting, but these crumbs do little to make up for the
lackluster story and style. If you're following the whole series as
I've been, you'll want to read this one too, I suppose -- otherwise,
don't bother.
At Winter's End
Robert Silverberg
Warner Books, 1988, 0-446-51384-9, 404pp, $17.95
Reviewed by Dean R. Lambe
Copyright 1988 by Dean R. Lambe
Silverberg, who seems to have passed through more artistic periods than
Picasso, has moved into megacorporate publishing heaven -- the fat book
series. If ever a novel cried out "there's more coming," this is it.
Sadly, like Clarke's 2061, this tour de force is all tour.
Following the 26 million year cycle of the Nemesis hypothesis, this
tale of Earth's reawakening after a 700,000 year stint on the meteor
hit parade ought to have ample sense of wonder. As they emerge from
their underground cocoon into the New Springtime, chieftain Koshmar and
her twining partner, offering woman Torlyri, lead the small band of
People west from the ancient Mississippi River to the fabled Great
World city of Vengiboneeza. During the dangerous trek, the old
chronicler of the tribal records and myths dies, and all precedent is
broken when Koshmar appoints a very young, impulsive Hresh to take his
place. Hresh, with more psychic power than most of his People,
represents both scientific inquiry and adolescent insecurity.
Once Vengiboneeza, parts of which are still in good repair, is finally
reached and the tribe settles in, Hresh slowly unearths functioning
machines from the past glories of the Six Peoples. Gradually, too, he
comes to realize what the reader knew all along, that Koshmar's small
tribe is not human, and was in fact, given human help to evolve from
New World monkeys during the Long Winter.
For all the wonderful background that surrounds Hresh and his friends,
for all the finely detailed works of the long- collapsed Great World
and its races, for all the implied threat of the similar Beings and the
very different, insectoidal Hjjks, the plight of these People barely
kept me awake. As with his Majipoor stories, Silverberg has exposed a
vast and glorious panorama to watery emulsions. Wait for the paperback.
Antibodies
David J. Skal
Congdon & Weed, 1988, 0-86553-199-4, 169 pp., $15.95.
Reviewed by Dean R. Lambe
Copyright 1988 by Dean R. Lambe
In a chilling update of Bruno Bettelheim's case study of "Joey, the
Mechanical Boy," and Bernard Wolfe's classic Limbo, Skal give us a
near-future sociopathic horror.
In San Francisco, Diandra marks time as an avant garde department store
window dresser, while she awaits full conversion to the Cybernetic
Temple. Under the influence of cult leader Venus Tramhell, an armless
sculptress whose robot arms promise so much, Diandra starves herself
ever closer to her dream of machine conversion, of escape from her hated
meat existence. When Diandra falls into a catatonic trance at work,
however, she becomes the unwilling patient victim of Dr. Julian Nagy,
whose Resurrection House uses questionable methods to deprogram such
"antibodies." Nagy's frustrated wife, Gillian, on the other hand, has
secretly penned the underground science fiction novel that inspires the
antibody cult, while her paraplegic lover urges her to write an expose
of her disgusting husband and gain her freedom. In the ensuing struggle
over the eternal mind/body problem, more than mere flesh is lost.
With just the right level of SoCal behavior-mod glitz over pseudo-
Freudian psychobabble, Skal flays much of contemporary American fads
and fancies -- with not a few swipes at SF fandom. This is not a
pleasant story, but short as it is, you're going to finish it in one
fascinated sitting.
The Big Lifters
Dean Ing
Tor Books, 1988, 0-312-93067-4, 243 pp., $16.95.
Reviewed by Dean R. Lambe
Copyright 1988 by Dean R. Lambe
Before American powers-that-be were jerked around by Shiite terrorists,
Ing told them how to respond in Soft Targets. There is little evidence
that they listened. Let us hope, as Ing again tosses out more clever
ideas, that somebody with Ing's can-do attitude about Man's future in
space is paying attention.
Wes Peel, founder and CEO of Peel Transit, has a dream. Due to a strict
Christian upbringing and a tragic loss of close family in trucking
accidents, Peel wants to replace trucks with more efficient, safer ways
of moving freight. He is on his way, thanks to his brain trust of Tom
Schulteis and Dave Kaplan, who have designed Delta One, a massive, state
of the art, cargo dirigible. In addition, Peel Transit is testing a
maglev track maintenance train contracted by railroad interests, which
has a few tricks designed by Schulteis and Kaplan that even Wes Peel
doesn't know about. When hot pilot Glenn Rogan is hired to test both
airship and train, the secret agenda of Peel's scientists is underway.
Unfortunately, other interests have secret agendas as well. Joey
Weatherby, head of the largest truckers' union, feels the threat of
Peel's future shock to transportation. And an obscure Iran-born college
professor, along with a band of Shiite Kamikazis, has targeted those
Americans who bring hope to the Great Satan, like John Wesley Peel.
This is an idea book, a set of gedanken experiments in fiction form,
but the characterization and action plotting offer plenty of
excitement. As you cheer on the good guys, you'll hope that all these
workable ideas are already off the drawing board.
----
End of Part 9
