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OtherRealms Issue 29 Part 05
Electronic OtherRealms #29
Winter, 1991
Part 5 of 10
Copyright 1991 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 Imagining
Lawrence Watt-Evans
Reprinted from "Rayguns, Elves and Skin-Tight Suits"
Copyright 1985 by Krause Publications and Lawrence Watt-Evans
Used by permission of the author
"When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I
thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish
things." So said St. Paul (I Corinthians 13:11). You've all probably
heard that quoted before, in all manner of applications. Paul was
talking about "charity," according to the King James Bible, a
mistranslation of the Latin caritas, meaning "caring". He was
explaining how a man without it is nothing but a child.
A good many people, however, seem to live by those words without their
context. They shun anything that's "childish" and deride those who do
not. Anything not fraught with social significance is "kid stuff" and
obviously worthless.
Or for some it's not social significance that matters, but
intellectual content; a work that can be appreciated without careful
study is "Mickey Mouse" and "infantile".
Some have no set criteria, but simply divide the world's pleasures
into "grown-up" and "kid stuff" on an empirical basis -- beer is grown
up, dolls are kid stuff.
This is built into our society; from a very early age we learn to give
up things we've "outgrown". At any elementary school you can hear kids
saying, "Aw, that's baby stuff," about games they enjoyed a month
before.
Among comic book collectors, virtually everyone over the age of
sixteen has encountered derision because of his/her collecting. "You
read funny books? Hey, what's Bugs Bunny doing these days? Gonna be
Spider-Man when you grow up?"
However, take a look; are the people saying this so very mature? If
they say comics are stupid, what are they reading? Most of the time
they aren't reading anything; they're watching "The Dukes of Hazzard"
on TV.
Gosh, how mature. "Dukes" happens to be a big hit with the
four-year-olds I know. TV, however, has not been labelled kid stuff,
while comic books have, even though a good many TV shows require
considerably less intelligence and sophistication than most comics. A
great many other things have been labelled kid stuff. Amusement parks,
for example; nowadays about the only time you'll see anyone over the
age of thirty in an amusement park he/she is there as an escort for
his/her kids. Most of you probably assume that that's always been the
way of the world.
Not so. When amusement parks were first really popular, in the last
decade of the nineteenth century, the clientele was almost entirely
adults. Go look at any of the old photos of the crowds on Coney Island
or at any of the old trolley parks from before the First World War -- do
you see any kids?
Now find a photo of Coney Island or Disneyland from any time after
World War II -- kids everywhere.
Bicycles -- look at bicycles. When they became popular, late in the
nineteenth century, they were ridden primarily by adults. Cycling was
rather adventurous (and if you've ever ridden those poorly-balanced
antiques you'll know why), something that dashing young men and women
did. Then look at any picture from 1950 through 1970 with bicycles in
it, and the odds are that kids are riding them. Nowadays they're
becoming acceptable for adults again, thanks to the energy crises of
the seventies, the revival of serious bicycle racing, and the advanced
technology that's spun off from racing and made top-of-the-line bikes
too expensive for kids, but in the fifties they were strictly kid
stuff, and an adult on a bicycle was something that elicited laughter.
Trading cards -- ignoring the current collectibility of baseball cards
and all the other variations, who buys trading cards these days? Kids,
of course. However, were they originally intended for kids? Does the
fact that baseball cards originally came in cigarette packages answer
that for you?
Cartoons -- nowadays anything animated is assumed to be for kids, which
must frustrate Ralph Bakshi no end; it's a major reason that films
like his "American Pop," or "Heavy Metal," bombed at the box office.
More than a decade after "Fritz the Cat" got an X rating, most
Americans equate animation with kid stuff, but fifty years ago
Disney's Mickey Mouse (before he was watered down) was popular with
all ages, and Betty Boop was racy enough that she had censorship
problems.
Of course, nowadays having something labelled as "suitable for all
ages" is the kiss of death, because that will be interpreted as
meaning "kid stuff". This is stupid, as it's perfectly possible to
produce something that really does appeal to all ages. Look at
"Raiders of the Lost Ark", for example.
Science fiction and fantasy are thought of as kid stuff by a lot of
people; when I tell people what I do for a living, one of the
questions I've learned to expect is, "What age group do you write for,
kids or teenagers?"
Basically, anything that's primarily for fun is considered kid stuff,
except for sex, drugs, liquor, and TV. I've spoken with people who
consider all fiction, or even all books, to be kid stuff! (Remember,
I've lived in rural Kentucky; there are still people around who don't
hold with book learning.)
I don't think that this is what St. Paul had in mind when he spoke of
"childish things".
(Of course, right there I'm sure I'm in disagreement with any number
of hardcore fundamentalists who see Dungeons & Dragons as a Satanic
ritual and comic books as kiddie porn.)
Why on Earth should fun be just for kids? Well, hey, I wouldn't ask
the question if I didn't have an answer. It's a pet theory of mine. I
have a lot of pet theories- -I breed them.
First, let's take a look at what's considered kid stuff, and when it
became kid stuff.
Comic books are considered kid stuff, and except for special cases,
such as soldiers who couldn't get anything better and collectors,
they've apparently been considered kid stuff all along. Certainly Dr.
Fredric Wertham thought of them as being aimed exclusively at children
as far back as 1947, and the comic- book letter columns I've seen back
to 1950 all assume a juvenile readership. The contents of comics from
the thirties seems geared toward kids. Scribbly stories featuring the
Red Tornado, "Comics" McCormick, and Supersnipe all treat comics as
kid stuff. So let's say that they were probably kid stuff in 1933, and
definitely by 1945.
Amusement parks -- in the twenties they were still frequented largely by
adults, going by contemporary literature and old photos, though kids
were present in large numbers, as they had not been at the turn of the
century. However, by the fifties amusement parks were strictly kid
stuff. I don't have much evidence either way from the thirties or
forties, though there are plenty of references to soldiers taking
dates to amusement parks during World War II. Let's say the transition
period was sometime between 1930 and 1950.
Bicycles -- well, they were supplanted as serious transportation in this
country by the automobile, more specifically by the Model T, but
you'll find ads showing young women out for a Sunday jaunt on bicycle
up through the 1920s. By 1955 bicycle ads -- or any other ads -- only showed
kids.
Trading cards -- well, they were pretty silly to begin with, and appear
to have been strictly kid stuff by about 1925, if not sooner. I admit
to not being up on the field.
Animated films -- animators have never given up aiming at an adult
audience, at least in increasingly-rare theatrical releases, but I
know that by 1960, when I started paying attention, adults did not
watch cartoons.
TV, which is usually just as juvenile as comic books or animated
films, came along in 1949 -- that is, that's when it began to catch on
with the public, since it was around for a few years before that. The
great boom in TV began in 1949 and gradually slowed down in the early
sixties, and it's never been considered strictly kid stuff -- except on
Saturday mornings.
So where does that leave us? Well, most of the transitions from
adult-oriented to kids-only seem to have happened between 1930 and
1945. What happened over those fifteen years?
Hey, if you don't know, you shouldn't be reading this; we aim at an
audience that knows at least the basics. The thirties were the worst
economic depression in modern history, and the early forties were
World War II. Rough times. The Depression put incredible numbers of
people out of work, and even those who were still working were often
living in an atmosphere of constant worry and tension for fear they
would be the next to go. Money was tight -- prices dropped steeply, hard
as that may be to believe for those of us who have only lived during
the past forty years of non-stop inflation. And until Roosevelt took
office in 1933, there were no government handouts of the sort we have
today -- no unemployment benefits, no social security, no welfare
payments. If you were retired on a pension and the company went bust,
as many did, you had no income at all. It was entirely possible to
starve to death.
This was not exactly conducive to fun. The birth-rate dropped sharply,
and business at various entertainments did as well. Amusement parks
that had thrived all through the twenties went bankrupt. Movie
attendance leveled off (scholars disagree on whether it actually
dropped or not), and patrons were lured in with gimmicks such as free
dishes -- people who speak of the thirties as the Golden Age of Hollywood
are not talking about box office receipts; film quality went up in
order to compete for the no-longer-growing market. Radio was very
big -- it was free, once you'd bought the set.
Survival was a struggle, and when you're struggling to survive, you
don't go out and spend your money at Electric Park or at the Bijou.
You don't buy yourself a comic book -- if you've just got to spend your
dime on something to read you get a pulp, which will last you a lot
longer.
However, kids were still kids, no matter what the economy did. A great
many parents had the attitude that their lives might be miserable, but
their kids would enjoy life. Just because Daddy's out of work, why
should Junior be miserable?
Take the kid to Coney Island for the day -- you can't afford to play the
games or ride the rides yourself, but you can enjoy it vicariously by
watching the kids. Buy the kid a comic book -- it'll keep him out of the
way while Mother takes in washing, a dime well spent. (Actually, some
older people I've spoken to swear up and down that new comics cost a
nickel during the Depression, not a dime; either all their memories
are wrong, or I've fallen into the Twilight Zone, or they were sold at
discount in some places.)
World War II had something of the same effect; men were in the army,
women in the defense plants, but kids were still at home or on the
streets, and comics or trading cards or whatever kept them busy. There
seems to have been a great acceptance of the idea that the world was
in really lousy shape, but could be improved so that the next
generation would be able to enjoy themselves. When I was growing up,
along with all the other Baby Boom kids, I remember hearing people of
my parents' generation talk about how we youngsters didn't appreciate
what they had done for us, how they had struggled through the
Depression and fought the Nazis so that we could have TV and washing
machines and comic books.
I had assumed at the time that this was just something every
generation had to put up with -- you can find complaints about the
younger generation back to the first century BC, at the very least -- but
now I'm not so sure. I think perhaps the generation that came of age
during the Depression and the war had this attitude far more strongly
than most. I can't imagine anyone born in 1960 telling his kids how he
had to struggle to survive. The Depression generation really did have
more worries and less time for fun than others -- and for that reason
came to think of fun as being something one outgrew.
There are things that one outgrows, certainly -- but fun needn't be one
of them. Just because children enjoy something doesn't mean adults
can't enjoy it as well. There's a growing realization of this, I
think; that's why we're seeing more respect given to the work of Carl
Barks and John Stanley, why George Lucas and Stephen Spielberg are
zillionaires. The people who still sneer at it all as "kid stuff" are
the ones who can't free themselves of their earlier training, or are
unsure of their own maturity and therefore exaggerate it (like the
swaggering macho males who flaunt their manhood because they aren't
really confident of their masculinity). As the Depression generation
ages and fades in importance, I expect "kid stuff" to become ever more
socially acceptable.
So the next time someone sneers at you for reading funny books or
science fiction, just comfort yourself with the thought that you're
part of the wave of the future, free of the dead hand of the past, and
with that charity St. Paul recommended, forgive the poor outdated
slob.
Fantasy in the Mainstream: The Novels of Olaf Stapledon
Chuck Koelbel
Copyright 1991 by Chuck Koelbel
In the past I've talked about authors who are well-known for their
mainstream fiction, but have also written some speculative fiction.
This time I'll be talking about another type of author: a man who is
best known for his SF, but is underappreciated by fantasy and science
fiction fans. That man is the late Olaf Stapledon, a British writer
who wrote his most interesting works between 1930 and 1950. Despite
writing some of the most visionary work of that time, Stapledon is
seldom read today. His works continue to affect SF and mainstream
literature, however; such diverse writers as Ursula K. LeGuin, Arthur
C. Clarke, Gregory Benford, and Doris Lessing have noted him as an
influence. Hopefully his influence will continue to grow. Jeremy
Tarcher is currently reissuing his works as trade paperbacks, with new
introductions and afterwards by prominent writers.
One of Stapledon's hallmarks is the vast scope of his novels. Modern
writers are generally considered to be working on a large canvas if
their work covers centuries and hundreds of worlds. Herbert's Dune
series takes place over several thousand years, while Wolfe's Book of
the New Sun takes place millions of years in the future (although the
main action lasts "only" a few decades). In contrast, Stapledon's
Last and First Men tells the story of humanity's evolution from the
present until the solar system is destroyed, roughly 2,000,000,000
years in the future. I know of no other authors who have attempted a
work of that magnitude, let alone produced a moving work from it.
The framing story of Last and First Men is one of the last humans
telling the history of the species to an ordinary man, circa 1931
(when the book was first published). This is possible because the
Last Men have discovered the secrets of time and can project their
consciousness back to any period they desire. He gives the entire
history of Man, starting with a series of nationalistic wars following
the War to End All Wars. These wars result in a world dominated by
America and China, and eventually by a world state based on America
alone. But this system falls into decadence and finally collapses in
an orgy of self-destruction. All of civilization is effectively
destroyed, and the remnants of humanity are forced back to the stone
age. But finally, after a hundred thousand years, man regains a
measure of civilization, centered this time in South America. And Man
destroys it again, a mere fifteen thousand years later, in a horrific
nuclear disaster. This time Man does not rise for ten million years.
By then, he has physically evolved to a new form, although he is still
recognizable as human. This new species is called the Second Men.
The same pattern repeats throughout the book. On exponentially
increasing time scales, new races of Man rise, reach new heights of
civilization, and eventually fall. In all there are eighteen species
called Man, all of which trace their lineage back to the First Men
(i.e. present-day humanity). The Last Men live on Neptune, forced
there by an unfriendly sun making the inner planets uninhabitable.
Through it all, Man strives to understand the universe and his place
in it, and to perfect himself.
Rating Last and First Men is not easy. For breadth of scale, it
certainly rates [*****]. For scientific and historical accuracy, it
probably rates [*-]. Of course, it is hard to blame Stapledon for not
predicting the next 50 years of world history correctly, or for not
foreseeing the actual form of nuclear power. There are few
individuals, so characterization is basically non-existent. Despite
this, there are stereotypes of many groups (Americans, Chinese, and
Jews, for starters) that may be offensive to some readers. This is
mainly a problem in the first few chapters, before First Man has
evolved into Second Man. In fairness to Stapledon, part of what he
was trying to do was to show the Man's progression over time; in doing
this, it is natural for the first generations to look crude. Still,
for believable characters give this book a [*]. Likewise, there is
little direct action. The story reads like a history book, with
events described from a distance. What action there is, however, is
fascinating. For pure plot, the book rates about [***]. Stapledon's
writing style is deliberately like a textbook, setting out the facts
of humanity's future. It is also somewhat dated; in that way, it
reminds me of Wells. While this style fits the subject matter, it
isn't terribly interesting to the casual reader. For prose style, rate
the book [*]. Where the novel really comes into its own is in the
realm of ideas. Stapledon is using this book to dramatize his
philosophy of existence. Things like the perfectibility of humanity
and constantly striving for higher goals are recurring motifs that are
nicely illuminated by the plot. In short, Last and First Men has a
great vision. As food for thought, I give it a [*****]. Overall,
then, I rate the book at [****].
Stapledon's philosophy gets even greater scope in Star Maker, an
indirect sequel to Last and First Men. Here, the framing story is an
ordinary man who has what might be called an out-of-body experience.
One night he is gazing at the stars when suddenly he is mentally
soaring through interstellar space. After some time he enters the
body of an alien on another planet, and begins exploring that world.
Eventually, he and the host alien mentally leave that planet and
travel even further through the cosmos. They can also travel in time
using the same mechanism. Over time they meet other explorers and
witness the evolution of the cosmos. The fate of the Last Men is
glimpsed, hardly significant in the great scheme of the universe.
Other species evolve to dominate the stars; it should come as no
surprise that eventually they also fall into decline. Cultures come
to dominate the cosmos in a sort of galactic-scale survival of the
fittest. At the same time, nebulas, stars, and galaxies evolve
according to the laws of astrophysics. All this happens on a time
scale of roughly 500,000,000,000 terrestrial years, after which our
cosmos has completely dissolved. There is also a glimpse of the Star
Maker, the creator of our universe, involved in his (its?) own cycle.
The ratings for Star Maker are much like those for Last and First Men.
The action of Star Maker is generally more direct, since the story is
one man's recollections. At some points, however, the narrator starts
losing words to express his experiences, and must fall back on
indirect descriptions. The prose is much less stilted, since the
narrator is an ordinary man rather than a superhuman from the far
future. For modern readers, this is somewhat counteracted by the
book's age; patterns of speech have changed since 1937, when it was
written. Stapledon also showed more imagination in the alien races in
this book than in the human races in its predecessor; probably this
was intentional, to emphasize the continuity of humanity in Last and
First Men. The science is, if anything, less convincing in Star
Maker, however, and the descriptions of the aliens, while imaginative,
are somehow less involving than the history of humanity in the first
book. Overall, I would rate Star Maker as [****].
There is also another sequel to Last and First Men entitled Last Men
in London. Unfortunately, that book is out of print and I haven't
been able to track down a copy for review. Anybody knowing where I
can find a copy, please let me know.
By and large, Last and First Men and Star Maker showed evolution from
the viewpoint of its end product, a race of fittest survivors.
Stapledon also wrote two books looking at individual leaps in
evolution. The first of these, Odd John, tells the life story of a
Nietzschean superman trying to survive in the world of inferior men.
John is the mutant son of an ordinary doctor and his dull-seeming
wife. John's mental abilities are awesome, including extremely fast
learning, astounding insight into difficult topics, and telepathy.
His physical appearance, however, is frail and in some respects
inhuman. The novel traces his life from being a child prodigy through
his search for others of his kind to his death. Throughout, John must
fight the conventional world to achieve his goals. Those goals
pointedly do not include world domination. John has little use for
ordinary homo sapiens; he simply wants to prepare a place for his own
race, homo superior. Eventually, he gathers a colony of fellow
mutants around him on an island in the Pacific. The world at large,
of course, misunderstands the colony and moves to destroy it. In
short, Odd John is the prototypical story of a superman battling the
world's prejudices. Stapledon does a good job of characterization in
this novel, suggesting John's abilities quite convincingly. The
narrator, a friend of John's father who falls under John's influence,
suggests the enigma of John by alternately admiring and being
disgusted by John's actions. This ambivalent reaction distinguishes
Odd John from many other oppressed superman novels, which tend to have
unbelievably good or bad characters.
Overall, I rate Odd John as a [****-]. The basic plot, while probably
fresh when the book was written, has been overused by generations of
writers since Stapledon. (I'm getting tired of big, bad governments
automatically mounting military expeditions against peaceful, remote
colonies. Why don't any generals ever say, "Look, we've got better
things to do with our battleships"?) The science is again speculative
at best, although everything hangs together pretty well if you allow
for a little mysticism. I also wasn't terribly convinced by the young
John's actions, although I suppose I shouldn't expect normal human
child development in homo superior. Balancing these weaknesses,
Stapledon obviously thought out the ramifications of a superhuman
better than many other authors who have tackled the subject. The
relatively balanced view of superior beings is a nice antidote to the
usual power fantasies in the genre.
The other portrait of a superior individual is Sirius. The title
character is an dog, deliberately raised to supercanine levels by
controlled breeding, genetic manipulation, and training. Sirius has
the intelligence of a normal (probably above-average) human, and the
physique of a German Shepard. This combination makes him much prized,
first as a sheep dog and later as a research subject and researcher at
the university. Because he can't be satisfied as an ordinary dog and
won't be accepted as an equal by humans, Sirius must struggle his
entire life to find his identity. Even when he finds a workable
self-image, the people in the local town cannot accept him and his
"sister" (the daughter of the scientist who created him). Again,
Stapledon provides good characterizations. Sirius in particular is
well-imagined, with both canine and human aspects to his character.
The atmosphere of distrust near the end of the book is also quite
believable. I rate this book a [****+].
In summary, I recommend Olaf Stapledon to anybody interested in
speculative fiction. No other author has approached the scope of Last
and First Men and Star Maker. These books should be required reading
for anyone thinking about large-scale evolution, either biological or
astrophysical. Odd John vividly describes the struggles of a superior
being to escape his inferiors. Sirius is a tragedy of a being with no
place to call home. I won't say these books are the most exciting
adventures on the market, but they are among the most
thought-provoking stories in SF.
A Bibliography of Walter Jon Williams
Walter Jon Williams
Copyright 1991 by Walter Jon Williams
Historical Novel
(written as "Jon Williams")
The Privateer, Dell, 1981
The Yankee, Dell, 1981
The Raider, Dell, 1981
The Macedonian, Dell, 1984
Cat Island, Dell, 1984
SF Novels
Ambassador of Progress, Tor, 1984
Knight Moves, Tor, 1985.
Hardwired, Tor, 1986
Voice of the Whirlwind, Tor, May 1987.
The Crown Jewels, Tor, Sep 1987
House of Shards, Tor, Nov 1988.
Angel Station, Tor, July 1989.
Elegy for Angels and Dogs, Tor Double, (w/ Roger Zelazny's The
Graveyard Heart,), Aug 1990. (An abridged version was
published in Asimov's, May 1990.)
Days of Atonement, Tor hardback, Feb 1991.
Collection
Facets, Tor hardback, Mar 1990. (Contains Surfacing, Video Star, No
Spot Of Ground, Flatline, Side Effects, Witness, Wolf Time, The
Bob Dylan Solution, Dinosaurs, and an introduction by Roger Zelazny)
Stories
"Side Effects," F&SF, June 1985. Reprinted in Year's Best SF, 3rd
Annual Collection, 1986.
"Sarah Runs the Weasel," Omni, serialized (!) March-April 1086.
"Panzerboy," Asimov's, April 1986.
"Video Star," Asimov's, July 1986. Reprinted in Year's Best SF, 4th
Annual Collection, 1987.
"Wolf Time," Asimov's, January 1987.
"Witness," Wild Cards, Bantam, 1987.
"Unto the Sixth Generation," Aces High, Bamtam 1987.
"Dinosaurs," Asimov's, June 1987. Reprinted in Year's Best SF, 5th
Annual Collection, 1988, and the Wollheim Best of the Year for 1988.
"Ligdan and the Young Pretender," Guns of Darkness, ed. J.E.
Pournelle, Tor 1987.
"Surfacing," Asimov's, April 1988. Reprinted in Year's Best SF, 6th
Annual Collection, 1989.
"Consequences," Call to Battle, ed. Jerry Pournelle, Tor 1988. Written
for, and also available in Liavek: Festival Week, ed. Shetterly &
Bull, Ace, May 1990.
"Flatline," Asimov's, Aug 1988. Reprinted in Year's Best SF, 6th
Annual Collection, 1989.
"The Bob Dylan Solution," Aboriginal SF, Sept-Oct 1989.
"Mortality," Wild Cards: Down and Dirty, Bantam, Dec 1988.
"Solip:System," (special edition hardback novelette), Axolotl Press,
Oct 1989. Reprinted in Asimov's, Aug 1990.
Wild Cards: Aces in the Hole, (collaborative mosaic novel w/ Martin,
Snodgrass, etc.), Bantam, Feb 1990.
"No Spot of Ground," Asimov's, Nov 1989, also in What Might Have Been
Vol 2, Benford & Greenberg, Bantam, 1990.
Game Titles
Privateers and Gentlemen (age of sail RPG), Fantasy Games, 1981.
Pride and Prejudice, Baen Software, 1986.
Hardwired (SF RPG), R. Talsorian Games, 1989.
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