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OtherRealms Issue 25 Part 08
Electronic OtherRealms #25
Summer/Fall, 1989
Part 8 of 17
Copyright 1989 by Chuq Von Rospach
All Rights Reserved
OtherRealms may not be reproduced without permission from Chuq Von Rospach.
Permission is given to electronically distribute this
issue only if all copyrights, author credits and return
addresses remain intact. No article may be reprinted or re-used
without permission of the author.
Thoughts on Reading the Classics
M. Elayn Harvey
Copyright 1989 by M. Elayn Harvey
I credit Damon Knight for this article; he once wrote words to the
effect that claiming to be a writer without reading the past literature
of your field was like claiming to be a leaf, but denying there was a
tree[1]. So, endeavoring to become a science fiction writer, I crawled
back along the branch and explored the trunk of our Golden heritage.
I visited a local used books store and gathered an armful of what SF
genre has labeled Classics. Half of them were novels of the late
forties -- early fifties: Fury, by Henry Kuttner; The Demolished Man,
by Alfred Bester; and The Green Hills of Earth, by Robert Heinlein.
I admit three works are probably not enough upon which to base an
objective opinion; however, that is not my intent. I want to offer a
subjective observation for the purpose of defining for myself, and
perhaps for others, the meaning of the term Classic in our genre.
Before I continue, I'd like to offer the first three definitions provided
by the dictionary I use: The American Heritage; second college edition.
"Classic: adj. 1. Of the highest rank or class. 2. a. Serving as an
outstanding representative of its kind. 3. Having lasting significance
or recognized worth."[2]
It is my opinion the three books mentioned above fail to qualify for
the exalted title -- except in the last sense of the word. I grant them
this not for any literary merit, nor for content, but for a curious
archaic phenomenon common to them all; a phenomenon I feel certain the
writers did not intend; in fact, could not possibly have intended
because they themselves did not recognize the psychological limitations
under which they were writing. I am speaking of the social climate of
their times.
In all three books the authors are attempting to portray to the reader
what it might be like to live in the future. I am certain that to the
contemporary reader they succeeded wonderfully; however from my
historical vantage point, the illusion is not convincing. I submit it
is not for the reason you might suspect. Yes, some of the science is
out-dated; Kuttner could not write, in this day, of oceans on Venus,
but that type of out-datedness is easily dismissed. What destroyed my
belief (that I was reading about the future) was the characters: their
lack of social evolution.
Here were three men, living in the fifties (Fury was published in 1947,
the other two in 1951), writing about three fictional men who, we are
asked to believe, were products of the far future. Yet, the illusion
fails because the lead characters remain trapped in the psychological
patterns of the past. They are egotistical, aggressive, insensitive,
and immature. In short, they possess the traits we of the 1980's have
come to associate with unenlightened males.
I had wondered all through the reading of these novels why I could not
sympathize with the main characters. They were unappealing. They were
men I would not wish to know. They were (shudder) chauvinistic; constructs
of the author's conditioned expectation of what a male should be.
Before you search my pockets for feminist pamphlets, let me state that
I found the same dated psychology in the make-up of the female
characters; they were stereotyped as weak, over-emotional, and
subservient. Again, they were not women I could admire.
Now, this is not meant as a negative criticism of the author's personal
development. As I said, each wrote from the perspective of their times.
Not having experienced the sexual revolution, how could they have
written any other way?[3] And I must take into account the age, gender,
and receptivity of the audience for whom they were writing. Being
aware of this, and of the fact that I am an audience unforeseen, I can
only appreciate their work as a sociological time-capsule of our past;
classics in the sense that they show us where we were, psychologically
speaking, during the so called Golden Age. Their lasting value is in
proving to us we have progressed. We are growing up.
So, back here as one leaf on our genre tree, I thank Bester, Kuttner, and
Heinlein for teaching me something I think will be of great benefit to my
growth as a writer. I have been made aware of how we pattern our characters
upon our current social models; something I was not aware of before.
To avoid dating my own work in the same manner, my attempt to portray
the future must take this awareness into account.
Men and women of 2030 A.D. will most likely live within an entirely
different social structure; gender roles and the way in which the
coming generations respond to one another will be a reflection of their
time, not ours.
Having made that statement of belief, let me add that as worth-while as
this intent is to pursue, there is a fine line between realistically
depicting attitudes of the future and alienating the readers of the
present. It is the same problem in reverse. Just as time had erased my
simpatico with Kuttner's Sam Harker, and thereby my interest in the
entire book (I could not finish it), there is the danger that in
advancing a character beyond our society, we could, for the same
reason, fail to sustain the attention of our readers.
This would be unacceptable; our primary goal, as writers of science
fiction, is to communicate ideas that will illuminate our possible
future, either to inspire or warn.[4] The delicate integration of reader
and character is our vehicle. Without it we become mute; by our own
hand, we slay our ideas. This is serious enough to intimidate the most
bold among us.
However, much as the social structures have changed in the last thirty
years, one thing remains constant: human nature. Its tenacious
qualities (fear of pain, desire for pleasure) still rule our actions
and reactions; so long as we continue beings of energy in bodies of
matter, they always will. What changes is the elusive restrictions upon
its expression. By utilizing these basic characteristics alone, I feel
the writer can walk that fine line, producing a true classic in all
senses of the word. We can accomplish the goal of expressing new ideas,
or new perspectives, by extrapolating not only the evolution of
science, but the evolution of humanity.[5]
The above criticism is not meant to imply that The Demolished Man,
Fury, and The Green Hills of Earth are not worth reading. Bester won
the Hugo for his ground-breaking exploration of telepathy as a social
service, and the ramifications thereof.
Kuttner's book is interesting for two reasons: it was, to a minor
degree, a collaborative work (with his wife, C.L. Moore); and it says
some very insightful things about how it might feel to be immortal.
Heinlein's work is an interwoven collection of stories outlining a
fictional history of man's development of space. Written in the early
days of the space age, it is the definitive "bible" of what we now call
"hard" SF. I found a sad nostalgia in these pages of space conquest
dreams: nearly forty years later they're still dreams.
All three books should be read by SF writers; they are valuable
foundation research. SF readers can find in them what they find in any
SF work: the bold exploration of ideas.
Notes:
1.Knight, Damon. "Creating Short Fiction": Writer's Digest Books,
1981.
2.Morris, Williams, et al. The American Heritage Dictionary, 2nd
College Edition: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1982.
3.For the record, this myopia was not shared by every writer of the
decade. In 1953, Judith Merril published a novel, titled: "Daughters of
Earth", in which matriarchy played a key role; and females were
depicted as the prime colonizers of the stars.
4."The function of science fiction is not always to predict the future
but sometimes to prevent it." Frank Herbert, "Science Fiction and a
World in Crisis," in Science Fiction: Today and Tomorrow, ed. Reginald
Bretnor (Baltimore, Md.: Penguin Books, 1974), p. 71.
5."It is when both dimensions are touched that science fiction as
literature is authentic ...". Regina Sackmary, "An Ideal of Three: The
Art of Theodore Sturgeon," Critical Encounters, ed. Dick Riley (New
York: Frederick Ungar Publishing Co. Inc., 1978), p. 143. 2
Scattered Gold
Reviews by Charles de Lint
Copyright 1989 by Charles de Lint
Installment 9:
In which we begin with an apologia and end with simply raving on
Before we get to the matters at hand, I'd like to make a small
correction concerning last issue's column. Recent correspondence from
Don Grant indicates that The Hour of the Dragon will not be the last of
the Grant Conan editions. In fact, Don says that he's got at least
three or four more volumes to come. The next one on the schedule is The
Scarlet Citadel which will include "The Phoenix on the Sword" as well
as the title story. So, to Don, and you aficionados of the original
Howard material out there, my apologies. It looks like we've got a
bunch more of that Good Stuff to which we can still look forward.
The Midnight Examiner
William Kotzwinkle
Houghton Mifflin, 227pp, 0-395-49859-7
The newest novel from the author of Fata Morgana, Dr. Rat and the E.T.
novelization is an hilarious adventure that features the madcap writers
of a sleazy supermarket tabloid as its cast of characters. Though not
marketed as a fantasy, humorous or otherwise, there are some moments of
silly voodoo (reminiscent of how Thorne Smith handled his fantastical
bits) and the book really should appeal to anyone with a sense of the
absurd.
The principal viewpoint character is Howard Halliday, the neurotic
editor in chief of The Examiner, but the cast includes everyone from a
schizophrenic staff artist who goes into seizures in moments of crisis,
a bumbling porn star, a mob boss who spends half his time worrying that
his interior decorators have foisted off imitation heirlooms on him, an
Egyptian cab driver whose idea of a turn signal is to stick his hand
straight up in the air, middle finger extended....
But I think you get the idea. There is a plot, but it's thin and to
talk much about it won't tell you what the book is really about -- and
that's having fun. One of its high points is how the characters
continually speak in tabloid headlines -- a classic being, Doctor Finds
UFO in Young Girl's Uterus.
Kotzwinkle's prose and worldview, always a treat, really sparkle here
and while The Midnight Examiner isn't high art, I highly doubt you'll
regret your time spent in its pages.
The Stress of Her Regard
Tim Powers
Ace, 400pp, $17.95, 0-441-79055-0
Gonzo historian, Tim Powers, is back with a new exploration of (and I
hope Hunter S. Thompson will forgive my stealing his classic phrase)
"Fear & Loathing" -- this time among England's notorious poets, Lord
Byron, Percy Shelley and John Keats.
The viewpoint character is one Dr. Michael Crawford who, on a stormy
night inadvertently marries the poet's muse, la belle dame sans merci,
by putting his wedding ring on the finger of a statue. This mightn't be
such a terrible thing -- who knows, it could even have made a poet out
of Crawford, if things went well -- except that this is a Powers book
and anyone familiar with his work will realize that nothing goes the
way it should when it's his hand that's stirring the brew.
For -- and here we come to the heart of the matter -- what if the Muse
was actually a vampiric creature who, while inspiring poets and artists
to great works, also feeds on them? And if muses are jealous creatures
to boot.... Well, you can see where this might become complicated,
especially as the day after Crawford's unintentional wedding to the
Muse, he goes on to marry his flesh-and-blood fiancee.
What follows is an inspired trip through western Europe in the latter
part of the nineteenth century that's as much a romp as it can be
serious. Powers's settings are vividly brought to life -- enough so
that you're almost certain that he was creeping about in the shadows,
notebook in hand, as he spied on the events. And while I'm not sure how
closely Powers's story relates to the real lives of his historical
characters, the bits of Byron's, Shelley's and Keat's lives that I am
familiar with, fit quite readily into his skewed version of their
histories and I was willing to take the rest of it on trust.
The Stress of Her Regard is easily Powers' best book to date -- on a
par with The Anubis Gates, which isn't to denigrate the books that have
appeared in between. It's just that every creative person has high
points in their career, and this pair of books just happen to mark two
in his. That he is one of those few writers with an utterly unique
voice and sense of vision makes it a hard call, but I don't think I'm
far off the money. And I don't doubt -- considering the driven sort of
a man that he is -- that this won't be the last such high point in
Powers's career, either.
The only bad news this time around is that, while Ashbless gets a couple
of mentions, he never does actually make it on stage, more's the pity.
On Spec; The Canadian Magazine of Speculative Writing
The Copper Pig Writer's Society, Spring 1989; 84pp; Cdn$5.00,
Periodical; ISSN 0843-476X
I'm making a brief mention of this new magazine, simply because a lot
of readers south of the forty-seventh parallel might otherwise not know
it exists.
It's difficult rating a magazine on only one issue, but this one comes
in a nice five-by-seven package and the writing's pretty good
throughout, particularly in Rhea Rose's "Duty Free" which has some very
evocative prose. Fans of Dave Duncan -- who writes a number of popular
fantasy series published by Del Rey -- will be interested to note that
his first short story ever also appears in this issue.
The Snake Oil Wars
Parke Godwin
Foundation, 212pp, $18.95, 0-385-24772-9
Much as I like Parke Godwin's work, and as good a novel as this sequel
to Waiting for the Galactic Bus is, I have to tell you it's as much a
failure as a success.
Let me explain.
The Snake Oil Wars is about Coyul, one of the two aliens who basically
gave the human race their kick-start to sapience in the first book and
then went on to take care of their souls in the afterlife. This time
around Coyul is forced to defend himself in a heavenly court against
the charge that he is the Devil of the Christian mythos, rather than
the alien he claims to be.
The premise makes it possible for Godwin to further the basic thematic
thrust of both this novel and its predecessor which is that the blind,
unthinking zeal of organized religion -- and other such "concerned"
institutions -- are the real root of the world's problems. We're never
going to treat each other, or our world, any better until we realize
that we're all entitled to an informed opinion and no one has the right
to try to make everyone else follow the same "party line" that they
themselves hold.
I've got no problem with that. And I doubt many of you reading this
will either.
And that's where the book fails. Godwin's book isn't going to find the
audience that needs it -- those intrepid souls who really could use a
bit of a shakeup in their narrow-mindedness. Don't kid yourself, these
people are dangerous. But they're not going to read this book. You and
I are going to read it. Most of us will nod in agreement to the
arguments Godwin presents through the black humor that underlies The
Snake Oil Wars, but nothing's going to change. And that's a shame,
because Godwin's book is a lucid, bitterly funny argument that one
wishes could make a difference.
Frost & Fire
Roger Zelazny
William Morrow & Co., 288pp, $16.95, 0-688-08942-9
As far as I'm concerned, there are two Roger Zelaznys: the one who
whips off things like the Amber books, and obviously has great fun in
doing so; and the one who's responsible for more serious works such as
Eye of Cat. I like them both -- the latter more than the former, I have
to admit -- and they're both represented here in Zelazny's latest short
story collection.
The stories and essays will mostly be familiar to the Zelazny
enthusiast, but the introductory essays are new and well worth reading
on their own, and its also nice to have such brilliant stories as
"Permafrost" and "24 Views of Mt. Fuji, by Hokusai" (the "frost and
fire" of the book's title) collected together in a cloth edition. And
if you're not a Zelazny convert -- shame on you -- then this is as good
a place as any to get your introduction to his work.
Strange Invasion
Michael Kandel
Spectra Special Edition, 152pp, $3.95, 0-533-28146-1
I've been quite impressed with this new series from Spectra -- both
with the new titles like those by McDonald and McQuay, and the older
titles they're adding to it, such as the Geary and Bishop. And this one
looked good. We have a guy suffering from a disease that makes him see
constant hallucinations who is drafted by one bunch of aliens to fend
off a series of invasions by some other aliens. The latter aren't
looking to conquer the world; they're tourists -- and we all know the
kind of mess tourists leave behind.
The impression was that it was going to be a tongue-in-cheek romp --
along the lines of Frederick Brown's Martians, Go Home, but updated.
Unfortunately, while there's nothing exactly wrong with the book -- the
prose is clean, the humorous bits are funny enough -- nothing really
clicked for me. And I can't help but feel that Brown did it better --
thirty-four years ago.
Hidden Turnings
edited by Diana Wynne Jones
Methuen, 183pp; #8.95, 0-416-11272-2
This anthology is worth buying just for Emma Bull's "A Bird That
Whistles". It's a wonderful exploration of coming of age in the
turbulent protest years (late sixties/early seventies) that explores
unrequited love, friendship, anger and all the emotional ups and downs
in between. It's got a thorough knowledge of music in it -- what makes
it work and why -- and its got the Daoine Sidhe as well, so what more
do you want?
Well, Bull's story isn't the only good piece in the collection. Terry
Pratchett turns in a change of pace story that shows that he too
understands music, while editor Jones has a fascinating piece that
explains just enough and then lets the reader finish it. Then there's
also Roger Zelazny, Garry Kilworth, Tanith Lee....
In other words, some good stuff. But the Bull's worth the price of
admission all on its own.
The Craneskin Bag
Robin Williamson
Canongate Publishing, 157pp, #9.95, 0-86241-218-8
If you're at all familiar with my novels, you'll have noticed numerous
acknowledgments to, and epigraphs by, one Robin Williamson, who is, to
my mind, one of best wordsmiths we've got working on the planet today.
Say, who? you ask.
Quick history: born in Scotland; recorded some fourteen albums with the
Incredible String Band; plays umpteen instruments, but concentrates a
lot on the harp these days; has written a mystery novel (a
collaboration under the name "Sherman Williamson") and numerous musical
tutors, poetry collections and the like; has recorded any number of LPs
and cassettes as a solo artist and with his one-time "Merry Band"; has
written music for theatrical and film productions; and is currently
touring the UK and the States as a harper, storyteller, poet, singer --
in short, he's a contemporary bard.
(One word of warning: I'm incredibly biased towards his work, so take
that into consideration as I rave on.)
Over the years, Williamson has been moving more and more into the field of
collecting and retelling the old tales, be they folk stories, myths or
simply excursions into silliness. If you haven't caught him in performance,
you can find much of this material available on cassette -- wonderful
stories and poems, told with harp accompaniment and delivered in a
voice that stretches the ear, that encompasses any voice necessary for
the telling, and spills it out, each word note true.
Those of you familiar with the oral storytelling tradition won't find
this particularly innovative (although undoubtedly entertaining), but
what's odd about Williamson is that he has the same knack when it comes
to the written word. His prose and poetry doesn't just sit there on the
page, dead black ink on the white paper; instead, the words rise up
with the same medley of voices that one hears in his oral performances.
His newest collection, The Craneskin Bag, is no exception. The stories
and poems, drawn from the Celtic tradition, read as though a bard were
sitting at your side, speaking the words into your ear. Some of the
grand tales are here -- "The Wooing of Isolde" and "Deirdre of the
Sorrows", for example -- but there is also a great deal of obscure
matter: the original Arthur stories from the Borderlands, Wee Jack
tales, poetry and conversation with Taliesin and Ossian....
In short, it's a treasure trove of Celtic matter -- not watered-down
versions, but material that cuts close to the original heart of the
verses and tales; not dryly laid out before us like dead history, but
brought alive by the Williamson tongue and the Williamson wit.
Needless to say, I highly recommend you give him a try. The Craneskin
Bag, as well as other poetry collections, LPs and story cassettes are
available from Robin Williamson Productions, P.O. Box 27522, Los
Angeles, CA 90027. For Celtic material, this new collection's the best
place to start. For his own stuff, I'd recommend the book and cassette
collection, Selected Writings, 1980-83 which is only $15.00 for the
pair, or his poem history of the British Isles, "Five Denials on
Merlin's Grave", which is available as a book with copious notes, and
also appears on the album A Glint at the Kindling (Flying Fish, FF096).
And no, I don't get a cut of the action, but do tell them that
OtherRealms sent you.
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