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OtherRealms Issue 26 Part 05
Electronic OtherRealms #26
Winter, 1990
Part 5 of 8
Copyright 1990 by Chuq Von Rospach
All Rights Reserved.
OtherRealms may be distributed electronically only in the original
form and with copyrights, credits and return addresses intact.
OtherRealms may be reproduced in printed form only for your personal use.
No part of OtherRealms may be reprinted or used in any other
publication without permission of the author.
All rights to material published in OtherRealms hereby revert to the author.
Past Imaginging: These are a few of my favorite things
Lawrence Watt-Evans
Copyright 1990 by Lawrence Watt-Evans
Okay, folks, I've written on forgotten classics that I remember fondly
from my youth; but I haven't pointed out some of my not-so-forgotten
favorites, books that I think everybody should read. Most of these are
neither obscure nor particularly famous--they're just good. I'll say a
few words about each, so you can pick the ones you think will match your
own tastes (though they're all fine).
First off, there's The Whole Man, by John Brunner. Brunner became famous
when he wrote Stand on Zanzibar, but he'd been working steadily in the
field for years before that, and my very favorite of all his work is The
Whole Man, the story of Gerry Howson, a lame, humpbacked hemophiliac,
one of the most miserable creatures on Earth, born and raised in a
slum--and the most powerful natural telepath who ever lived. Expanded
from "Curative Telepath", The Whole Man is somewhat episodic, starting
with Howson's birth, following through his formative years and his
discovery of his talents, then describing a few cases handled in his
career, a job that consists of pulling other telepaths out of fantasy
worlds they've created, before winding up with a personal search for
fulfillment and a happy ending reminiscent of Heinlein's "Waldo"--only
more satisfying.
And while you're reading Brunner, Stand on Zanzibar remains the best
overpopulation novel I've ever read, and The Sheep Look Up, while almost
unbearably downbeat and depressing, is the best ecological disaster
novel I've ever read.
The rest of Brunner's work--except for the magnificent fantasy The
Traveller in Black--ain't much by comparison with these three.
Engine Summer, by John Crowley, is a long-after-the-holocaust novel that
does about the best job I've ever encountered of putting the reader
inside the head of a protagonist with a genuinely different way of
thinking. Rush that Speaks is entirely human--at least, throughout most
of the novel--but a member of a culture that bears little resemblance to
our own, even though it's descended from modern-day California. Rush
wants to be a saint, which in his society means a person whose life is
transparent, so that through it, others may see their world and
themselves. If that sounds too metaphysical or mystical, you may not
like Engine Summer--but you should try it, as the mysticism is not the
contrived occultism of most SF or fantasy novels with mystic elements,
but an alternate worldview, a part of a different culture. Anyone
interested in anthropology has to read this.
Dying of the Light, by George R.R. Martin, I think everyone will
like--except maybe for the ending, which even one of the editors hated.
It's a story of culture shock, love, war, and action, with something for
everyone. The hero has been summoned to the dying festival world of
Worlorn by a message he believes comes from his former lover, now
married to one of the men of High Kavalaan--except that the lover won't
tell him why he was summoned, and things grow ever more complicated as
Dirk t'Larien gets further and further embroiled in the internal
conflicts and culture of High Kavalaan and the other societies that set
up the festival on Worlorn. This book has some of the best chase scenes
ever written, a well-thought-out alien culture or two, sex, romance,
friendship, treachery, all that good stuff--and an ending that infuriates
people because it stops a paragraph sooner than it ought to, leaving it
open for the reader to figure out the outcome of a duel.
Another of my favorite books is, believe it or not, Star Rogue, by Lin
Carter. Okay, I know what you're saying--"Lin Carter? Gimme a break! All
he ever wrote was junk!"
Well, yeah, that's mostly true. Most of his fiction was bad imitations
of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Robert E. Howard and others. A lot was
sword-and-sorcery, a genre that's usually pretty bad anyway, and Lin
Carter wrote some of the trashiest ever.
How can anyone write well, when imitating Howard, or Burroughs, or
Lovecraft, all of whom were basically second-rate writers? Sure, they
wrote nifty stuff, but stylistically, most of their work was horrible.
In Star Rogue he was trying to imitate Heinlein. The result is actually
quite tolerable. The story involves an adventure of Saul Everest,
Earth's only immortal man and the galaxy's top freelance secret agent,
semi-retired. The star rogue of the title--a gravitational anomaly
cruising the galactic rim--is totally irrelevant to the plot and
explained away in a single sentence near the end. It's all free-form
space opera, with terraformed asteroids, telepathic aliens, , galactic
empires, attempted coups, and all sorts of fun stuff going on. It's a
lot of fun. Not great literature, but one of the best space operas I've
read.
Makes you wonder how he'd do if he didn't imitate anyone, doesn't it?
I just thought of something--you have all read Fredric Brown's stuff,
haven't you? I have in mind What Mad Universe and Martians, Go Home.
Brown's specialty was humorous SF, usually gently mocking the cliches of
the genre--some of which are extinct now, but Brown's been dead for a
quarter of a century, so you have to bear with him on that.
In What Mad Universe, the mild-mannered editor of a science fiction pulp
is visiting the estate of his wealthy publisher in upstate New York,
working on the letter column for the next issue-- specifically, trying to
answer the latest LoC from Joe Doppleberg, an unbearably fannish
space-opera lover--when he's hit on the head by an unsuccessful unmanned
moon rocket. The rocket carries a device designed to make a flash on the
lunar surface that would be visible on Earth; instead, it transports our
hero into a parallel universe, where Earth is in a war with
Arcturus--just the way Joe Doppleberg would like it.
In Martians, Go Home, Earth is invaded by ten zillion little green men
from Mars, who can turn invisible, see through walls, and so forth, and
who haven't come to take over--just to make everybody's lives utterly
miserable through petty harassment. What sort of harassment? Oh, well,
for example there's the honeymoon couple who find a Martian sitting on
of the bed demanding to watch their disgusting mating rituals.
Pure fun throughout, both of them.
Scattered Gold
Charles de Lint
Copyright 1990 by Charles de Lint
Allow me a slight digression, if you will. While attending Silicon in
San Jose this past Thanksgiving weekend, my wife MaryAnn and I had the
good fortune to finally meet the faithful editors of OtherRealms--yes,
none other than the charming Chuq Von Rospach and the equally charming
Laurie Sefton. Not only did they put up with my having a cold (and
coughing disagreeably throughout most of the weekend), but they also
took MaryAnn and I to some wonderful galleries in Palo Alto. Except for
a couple of hours of touring San Francisco in a van, said tour being
conducted by Katherine Kerr and the brave Alis Rasmussen (I say brave,
because she had her three-and-a-half-month old twins in tow), and Tom
Whitmore's ferrying us about the freeways whilst regaling us with
welcome conversation, this visit to Palo Alto's University Avenue was
about all that we saw of California this time out.
Some, the unkind among you, might say that was plenty, but MaryAnn and I
love toddling about new cities, and weren't in the least bit ready to
get back onto a plane for the ten-and-a-half hour flight back home when
the weekend was done. But at least we took home more than just memories
of freeways and the convention hotel, for which thanks are hereby being
publicly rendered.
None of which has anything to do with books or reviewing, except that
the folks mentioned are all involved in those very endeavours, in one
way or another--in fact, I think we run the gamut of writers, reviewers,
editors, publishers and booksellers--and I felt that their cheerful
hosting did not deserve to go unremarked.
Yes, but what about the books? I can hear the more disgruntled among you
muttering as you scan the page looking for the business that's supposed
to be at hand rather than your reviewer's reminiscences of his
Thanksgiving weekend. (Great dinner, by the way, Donya and Allen--thanks
again.) So without further ado:
Luck of the Wheels
Megan Lindholm
Ace, December 1989; 256pp; $3.50, 0-441-50436-1
The trouble with trilogies and series, as you're no doubt tired of
hearing, is that far too often the volumes subsequent to the first
become merely paler and paler imitations of what seemed so
invigoratingly fresh at first. Happily, there are always exceptions to
the rule, as can so aptly be seen in the works of writers such as Parke
Godwin, Judith Tarr and a handful of others.
Like Megan Lindholm.
Ki, the Romni trader, and her companion Vandien, a storyteller and
swordsman, are once again the protagonists of her latest novel, and they
remain as likable and full of life as they did when we were first
introduced to them in Harpy's Flight. And Luck of the Wheels, rather
than being a repetitive parade of the previous books, moves the
characters into new territories--both literal, as they travel across an
unfamiliar landscape and the problems inherent therein and interior, as
they are forced to re-evaluate their relationship with, and perceptions
of, each other.
Lindholm's prose is the kind that won't let go; the story just swallows
you whole and the writing sings. As has always happened when I start one
of her books, I was hooked from the opening page--by the sheer warmth of
her characters and her stylistic charm. Luck of the Wheels is as
satisfying a fantasy as you could hope for, except for one thing: how
does the story of "The Pot of Jam and the Bird of Life" end anyway?
Gate of Darkness, Circle of Light
Tanya Huff
DAW, November 1989; 272pp; $3.95, 0-88677-386-5
I'm a little shocked at how quickly the subgenre of contemporary fantasy
has settled into certain stock character types and plot situations not
all that different from high fantasy. Wandering thieves, rogues, elves,
wizards and bards have been replaced with artists, bagladies, punk
elves, Wicca and street musicians. The focus of Light against Dark is
still present, there are quests and talisman...in fact, all that's
really changed is the setting.
There should be a good reason for using a contemporary setting--not
simply a transfer of high fantasy elements into modern times for the
sake of another "same, but different" stories. The contemporary fantasy
should only work in a modern setting, illuminating present day concerns
through the use of its fantastical elements. One shouldn't be able to
take the story and place it in a mock-medieval setting with no real
seams showing, like so much space opera is merely a western in space.
Tanya Huff--after a pair of entertaining light high fantasies--gets about
half of it right as she moves her storytelling into contemporary Toronto
with her recent Gate of Darkness, Circle of Light.
We've seen much of this before, in one guise or another. There's the
wise force of good (Light) and the utterly evil antagonist (Dark). Mrs.
Ruth the baglady takes on the role of the wandering wizard. There's the
traditional apprentice in the street musician Roland who is going to be
a Bard and the occasional point of views from the local police's
perspective. And we have some magical illogic in that the magic is set
up as Light versus Dark, with some little faerie grey folk in between,
but the whole resolution of the tale comes with a "pull out of the hat"
of the Mother Goddess, who's affiliated with none of the above until the
plot requires it.
But happily, Huff has also added some touches that are all her own. One
of her principal characters is a mentally disadvantaged woman named
Rebecca; the sweet innocence of her point of view is refreshing. Another
fascinating character is Rebecca's social worker, the East Indian woman
Daru, which gives Huff a chance to make some pertinent points about
current sociological problems (without preaching, I should add).
Unfortunately, these characters aren't on stage nearly enough and
Rebecca's warm simplicity is somewhat marred by another "pull out of the
hat" when we discover the truth behind her origin.
The other strength of Huff's latest novel is how she brings her
contemporary setting to life. Her prose ranges from evocative to
workmanlike, but all in all, the potential is present in her work for a
very fine contemporary fantasist--one capable of taking on the challenge
of making her own mark in the fantasy field. If it seems that I've
dwelled a little too long on the stereotypical side of this book, it's
only because I believe Huff is capable of far more than what we have
here--a competent and entertaining fantasy that could have been written
by any number of authors.
There are characters, passages of prose and aspects of the plot (such as
Roland's journey through a literary mythic otherworld) in Gate of
Darkness, Circle of Light that are as good as anything the field has to
offer. When Huff moves on from territories already covered by Lindholm,
Paxson, Bull, et al, and presents us with the elements of her own unique
world view, I believe we can look forward to some outstanding fiction,
indeed.
Cowboy Feng's Space Bar & Grill
Steven Brust
Ace, January 1990; 224pp; $3.50, 0-441-11816-X
Steven Brust's new novel is every bit as wild as its busy Jim Gurney
cover purports it to be--even if nothing on the cover actually appears in
the book. The concept is pure Brust: there's a restaurant/bar called
Cowboy Feng's which has the ability to vanish from one planet as it's
about to get nuked and reappear on another one, giving the impression
that it's always been there. The why of this is what the plot's all
about, and I'm not going to get into it for the usual reasons, except to
remark that for all the witty dialogue, neat ideas and the like, that
plot could really have been more to the front.
That's the down side of the book. It rambles about quite a bit, with
much going on, but the plot is furthered at a snail's pace. On the plus
side, as mentioned above, it has all the things that make a Brust novel
so entertaining--enough so that the vague meanderings of the plot don't
really matter. And--I hasten to add, just in case you think that the
author of the Jhereg books has lost his touch--the last quarter of Cowboy
Feng's is just slam-packed with action and, yes, all is revealed.
It's not Brust's best book yet, but I'll take a lesser Brust over much
of what else is out there on the stands--every time, hands down, no
question about it.
Good news from outer space
John Kessel
TOR, August 1989; 402pp; $18.95, 0-312-93178-6
If you've been following this column for awhile, you might have noticed
that this time out I seem a little crankier than usual. I'm not sure why
that is; I suppose it's just that I haven't found anything I can really
rave over these past few months except for some non-genre stuff and Ken
Grimwood's Replay (Arbor House, 1986), neither of which fit in this
column--the former because this isn't the place to discuss such books,
the latter because it's somewhat old for a column's that's trying to
cover more recent work (though that's not going to stop me from telling
you to run out and get it because it's astonishingly good).
And so, preambling along, we come to the new John Kessel novel.
I've been enjoying his short fiction for some time now and was quite
looking forward to this new novel, not having read any of his longer
work before. And it's a good novel. Kessel takes on the absurdities of
TV evangelism and supermarket tabloids and weaves them into a
fascinating exploration of our present culture as it nears the year
2000. The prose is evocative, even striking; the characters are
realistically represented, warts and all; the future speculation--from
technology and its inevitable effects on society through to the changes
in society and its mores as the century nears its end--are well-thought
out and believably tendered; and the plot, though it meanders some,
resolves as it only could--satisfying, yet with a bittersweet edge to it.
But--you knew there'd be a but, didn't you?--I found the way that Kessel
grafted previously published short stories into the text to be
cumbersome and unnecessary to the storyline, for all that they
highlighted effects of the aliens upon normal folks. The characters
appear only in those segments, never to return except perhaps in a
peripheral mention from some television broadcast.
What's wrong with putting those stories in there? For me, they lessened
the initial impact of the material--their presence in the book stole away
their original power. Now perhaps they were always parts of the book and
Kessel merely lifted them out for some extra sales, but they didn't work
in the context of the book. Not for me. Perhaps because I had read them
before. But also, I believe, because they sit there on their own, part
of the novel because they share the same background, but apart from it
because they're never followed up in the context of the greater plotline.
I suppose this is really being nit-picking, but I was moved by the
original appearances of these pieces and don't like the way I'm now left
feeling about them. I'd be interested in hearing from those of you who
haven't kept up on Kessel's short fiction to see what your reactions are.
So yeah, read this book. It's got a thread of despair that cuts deeply
through it, it serves up a warning of where we're letting the future
take us, but it ends with hope. And in these days, we need all the hope
we can get.
------ End ------
