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OtherRealms Issue 29 Part 09
Electronic OtherRealms #29
Winter, 1991
Part 9 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.
Words of Wizdom
Reviews by Chuq Von Rospach
Since last issue I've read a fair amount of stuff, much of it unusual
or weird. If you're looking for trends in all of this, good luck -- but
please don't tell me if you find one. I'm not sure I want to know.
First, a quick discussion not of a book, but of a publisher. I've
lauded (and occasionally ranted) about Pulphouse publishing before,
and I'm sure I'm going to do it in the future. But when I pulled the
books in my "to be reviewed" pile together, I realized that there were
five separate books from Pulphouse in there. Pulphouse is a
limited-edition small press, not a major publisher. Unlike many small
presses, they turn out work of a consistent high-quality, both in
content and craftsmanship. They do so at a reasonable price and (even
more surprisingly) while keeping to a schedule. They are making a
success (critical and financial) of it in a field littered with good
intentions. They're doing this while publishing a lot of what I think
is the leading edge of the field today.
Their flagship is Pulphouse, a quarterly 'magazine' of short fiction.
These are really hardcover books of about 250 pages each with specific
flavors of fiction. Issue 8 (Summer 1990) was Science Fiction, while
Issue 9 (Fall 1990) was Dark Fantasy. They also cover Horror,
Speculative Fiction and Fantasy. It's limited to 1,250 copies per
issue, so this isn't something that's going to show up in Crown Books
any time soon. On the other hand, if you're not reading this book,
you're missing the place where the authors of the field are showing
off their most interesting works -- these are not only good, but
they're the experimental, innovative or simply different pieces of
fiction that can't find a home in larger, more conservative and
mainstream magazines. They feature people like Charles de Lint, Jane
Yolen, Michael Bishop, John Brunner, Lisa Goldstein, S.P. Somtow, Joe
Lansdale -- you're going to find the people you want to read, doing the
stuff they want to write.
There's a downside to this. Issue 12 is the last issue of Pulphouse
-- but only because after that they plan on publishing a regular fiction
magazine. On a weekly basis (these folks are not only horribly
prolific, but they somehow pull it off AND can walk around conventions
without looking completely exhausted. Sometimes I hate them. Mostly I
look forward to whatever they publish). The magazine will be edited by
Dean Wesley Smith, who is the publisher of the hardbacks (and
co-founder of Pulphouse). The current editor of Pulphouse is Kris
Kathryn Rusch, who has just been hired to become the new editor for
Fantasy & Science Fiction magazine to replace the retiring Ed Ferman
(see? I told you you were missing something. It'll be fascinating to
see what Kris does with a real budget).
If all they did was Pulphouse, they could be proud of the results. But
they do a lot more. They've taken over Axolotl press, which puts out
limited edition novellas by major writers, including Westlin' Wind by
de Lint, Bully! by Mike Resnick, Solip:System by Walter Jon Williams
and more. Many people feel that the novella length (25,000-40,000
words) is the optimum length for SF. It's long enough to build detail,
but not long enough to get flabby. When you read some of these works,
you'll see why. Another series of theirs is the Authors Choice
Monthly, collections of short stories chosen by an author for this
collection. Collections have already been published for authors as
varied as George Alec Effinger, Lisa Goldstein, Karen Joy Fowler and
Spider Robinson, with Michael Bishop, Kate Wilhelm, Damon Knight, Mike
Resnick and others scheduled for the next year. It's a good place to
read hard-to-find works by favorite authors. They're also doing a
series of special projects, including MONAD, a new series of
magazine/books of SF criticism edited by Damon Knight (the first issue
just came out and it's fascinating stuff), a new edition of the
Science Fiction Writers of America Handbook (stuffed full of useful
information for the writer or the hopeful writer) and Ellison Under
Glass, a three volume set of new works by and about Harlan Ellison.
They're busy folks, and most important, everything they publish is
worth reading. If you're interested in reading where the field is
going before it gets there, the Pulphouse people should be on your
shelf. Do yourself a favor and write them (Pulphouse Publishing, Box
1227, Eugene, Oregon, 97440) and ask for a catalog. You're sure to
find stuff in there that you'll want -- and enjoy.
Since I'm now writing book reviews for Amazing Science Fiction (see my
editorial for more details) not everything I read or review will make
it into this column. This does not imply, however, that what's left
over is either bad or forgettable. The schedules for Amazing (and
limitations I have on number of books and the timeliness of reviews)
means that even if I wanted to, not everything will fit over there.
One such book is Alan Rodger's book Fire (Bantam, September 1990,
505pp, $4.95, 0-553-28777-X). This is Rodger's second novel, and it's
a dilly. Fire is not Science Fiction -- it's Horror, but it's got a
strong SFnal background. The end of the world is coming -- sped along
by a President who believes he was brought to power to spawn
Armageddon and a scientist who invents a bug designed to rebuild the
body of extinct animals for which enough DNA can be found to make the
decoding possible. This (unfortunately) works far too well and when it
accidentally gets free, it not only starts reconstructing all sorts of
interesting DNA, it takes it one step further -- it brings it back to
life. The dead start rising from the graves. Fire starts out very
strongly rooted into the realm of the possible (it's easy to mistake
it for SF, in fact) and slowly makes the transition towards the
ultimate conflagration -- taking the user on a ride from hard-core
genetic manipulation to the Final Battle between Good and Evil (who
wins? I won't tell).
If this book was straight SF I might quibble with some of the
technical details. but within the context of the book any problems I
might raise really don't matter and don't impact either the book or
the reader's enjoyment of it. Things a hard SF writer might get jumped
on for aren't as important in Horror, and what is important is that
Rodger's has written a very good, tightly written and horrific book --
one that will not only please Horror readers, but which will be
accessible to the readers of SF that don't normally wander far from
their favorite genre. A trip to the side shelf is definitely in order
here. [****].
Another Horror book you probably want to track down is Razored
Saddles, the ultimate "Cowpunk" anthology edited by Robert McCammon
(Avon, October 1990, 285pp, $3.95, 0-380-71168-0). What's cowpunk?
Take a Western, mix in some Horror and then twist things around a bit.
Cowpunk ranges from McCammon's own "Black Boots", told from the point
of view of a gunslinger who's primary enemy won't stay dead -- much to
the dismay of those around him to "Gold" by Lewis Shiner, which was
the search for Lafitte's gold in a Galveston of yesterday, to
"Stampede" by Melissa Mia Hall, a story of a modern-day rodeo using
large, genetically engineered rattlesnakes.
It's the sort of book that pretty much defies description. I think
it's also the sort of book that you'd tire of quickly if you were
reading it regulary -- but this collection is a fascinating set of
weirdness and horror with a Western motif (and not a little SF and
Fantasy tossed in for leavening) and it set just fine with me,
pardner. [****]
The latest Miles Vorkosigan book is out, and The Vor Game by Lois
McMaster Bujold (Baen, September, 1990, 345pp, $4.50, 0-671-72014-7)
doesn't disappoint. Vorkosigan is a dwarf who maintains a double life,
simultaneously being the heir to the crown and (in his secret
disguise) the head of a major mercenary space fleet -- without anyone
noticing. This may sound silly, but Bujold pulls it off and has
written a series of enjoyable and interesting stories about Miles and
his development. This one takes Miles through an early part of his
training and his first post after graduation from the Academy --
official weatherman in an arctic outpost in the middle of nowhere. As
unsensational and boring a post as any military person could hope for,
right?
If you think so, you don't know Miles.
There isn't a lot to say about this series I haven't already said.
Bujold is one of the best of the younger writers in the field and her
books have yet to disappoint -- and Miles Vorkosigan is one of the more
interesting semi-comic characters to show up in the last ten years.
Bujold never takes him too seriously and you know he's going to come
out on top in the end, but she always leaves you wondering exactly how
she's going to pull his fanny out of the fire without faking it. And,
somehow, she always does. [****]
After a long delay, Michael Moorcock has returned to one of his
classic venues and written a new novel about Elric of Melnibone, his
albino prince. I must admit I'd never read the Elric books, so The
Fortress of the Pearl (Ace, December 1990, 212pp, $4.50,
0-441-24866-7) is my first exposure. I have a mixed history with
Moorcock -- his Behold the Man is one of my favorite works in the
field, yet I found both Gloriana and his Dancers at the End of Time
series completely unreadable. So it was with both interest and
trepidation that I wandered into this book -- to be swept away into one
of the most interesting and distinctive worlds I've read for a while.
Elric is a Hero, and The Fortress of the Pearl is Heroic Fantasy,
written in a style that makes most of the other Heroic works like
Howard's Conan seem like pale parodies. If someone ever wants a my
definition of heroic fantasy, I'll give them this book (as well as
Leiber's Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser works).
I really can't recommend this highly enough. [****+]
In case you're beginning to think I liked everything I read, let me
tell you a bit about C.S. Friedman's The Madness Season (DAW, October,
1990, 495pp, 0-88677-444-6). I loved her first book, In Conquest Born
and was really looking forward to this one. Although you won't see it
mentioned anywhere on the book, this is a vampire novel, and perhaps
even a horror novel (although is Fire is a horror novel with delusions
of SF, this is an SF book with delusions of horror) but the lead
character is a vampire, survivor of five centuries on an earth under
conquest by an alien species. His immortality is found out, and he's
sent off-planet to be studied further, and because he's a threat to
the Tyr.
What happens to a vampire that not only leaves its native soil, but
leaves its solar system? Well, frankly, I don't know, because I gave
up before I found out. Friedman has put together a number of really
interesting items -- she's got some unusual biological ideas on
vampirism, some really interesting aliens in the Tyr and their
friends, a premise with great potential and an interesting lead
character. At about page 60, I put the book down, frustrated because
while things were happening, nothing really seemed to be going on --
whatever action there was seemed to be so remote from anything
resembling a primary plotline that I felt we were just running in
place. I do so like Friedman's work that I opened it up and tried
again -- and when I hit page 150, I gave up for good.
You may well pick up this book and really enjoy it -- my problems with
The Madness Season are definitely in the "your mileage may vary"
areas. There's a lot of interesting stuff in here, but none of it
really seems to matter. There's a very fine line between a leisurely,
complex tapestry of a story and a plot that's been tranquilized. I
really wanted to enjoy it, but this book kept dancing just out of
reach, dropping hints here and pieces there, but never letting me get
my fangs into it until I decided it simply wasn't worth the effort.
[*]
Last issue I ripped apart The Zork Chronicles by George Alec Effinger
as being a cute idea sloppily implemented. The second book in the
series has been published now, and Robin Bailey's The Lost City of
Zork is definitely better. Better, however is about the only word that
comes to mind. In this book, Caspar Wartsworth, would-be adventurer
and barbarian, goes adventuring, more or less to free Quendor from the
rule of King Duncanthrax.
Bailey is a good writer, but funny writing is hard to do and this
book, while it has its moments, just isn't consistently humorous.
Jokes drop to the ground with a dull thud too often for my tastes --
this book just doesn't compare to the works of Craig Shaw Gardner,
Esther Friesner or Terry Pratchett. The thing that bothered me more is
the tenuous link to the Zork game itself. While the first book in the
series at least tried to follow the story of the computer game, here
Bailey has written a straight adventure story and tossed in a few
names and places. A few swipes with the global change of of word
processor and it's no longer a Zork book.
This is not a bad book, but it's not a particularly great or notable
one, either. It might be an enjoyable evening's escape (it was for me)
but I found myself thinking that the time could have been better spent
elsewhere. Zork fans (like me) are also likely to be disappointed.
[**]
Another book you probably want to miss is The Red Tape War by Jack
Chalker, Mike Resnick and George Alec Effinger (Tor, April 1991,
288pp, $17.95, 0-312-85151-0). With powerful talent like this, you'd
think something interesting would pop out of the word processor, but
this book is one of those things that authors love to play with but
which rarely get published -- it's a "screw you" book. The idea is to
get a bunch of authors together, and they write chapters in series,
with each author leaving the poor sap starting the next chapter by
leaving them in as impossible a situation as you can so you can watch
them squirm while they write an even more implausible escape. It's a
lot of fun to write this stuff, but I think they're very tedious to
read (I keep hearing chortling snickers of authors from underneath the
pages) because the "screw you" aspects and the necessary deus ex
machina recoveries tend to both screw up continuity and stretch the
reader's disbelief beyond the breaking point.
This book is no exception. It was a lot more fun to envision these
three plotting to screw each other over than it was to actually read
the results. Even so, I probably could have tolerated it until the
book started speaking to me -- seriously. Chapter 3 starts out with the
book filling in some of the detail and explaining the situation. I
wasn't a fan of people dropping the fourth wall when Groucho started
talking to the audience in his films, and I'm not a fan of it now.
This kind of device rips me out of whatever environment the book has
built to date and reminds me that, damn it, it's only a book. By the
time the book was done nattering at me, I simply didn't care. I tried
again, but whatever disbelief I had was gone for good.
You might find the jokes in the book funnier than I did, but even so
they're weak giggles at best. Even if you don't mind authors popping
out on stage and explaining the jokes, this is the kind of work that's
a lot more fun to write than it is to read. Either skip it completely
or save your cash and wait for the paperback. All three of these
authors are capable of much better. Watching them pimp each other over
is not my idea of fun. []
Finally a couple of oldies -- one definitely qualifies as a closet
classic, but the other....
I finally was able (through a friend) to track down a copy of Ted
Sturgeon's Some of Your Blood. The copy I borrowed (I can't find my
own copy, after months of searching) is a 1961 edition (ISBN
0-345-25712-X-150), and I'd been told by a number of people that it
was one of the best things Sturgeon had ever written. They're right.
Some of your Blood is one of the best books I've ever read, period. It
is also long out of print and likely to stay so. Why? Because it's
really not SF, and Sturgeon is an SF writer, so this book is hard to
pigeonhole. It's also a very disturbing, emotionally draining book
that will leave you simultaneously fascinated and revulsed. The story
is fairly simple -- George Smith is a patient in a military hospital,
sent there as a psycho for hitting an officer. The military
bureaucracy wants the situation resolved and George on the street
before he figures out they're liable for a lawsuit over this, but the
doctor in charge is sure something isn't kosher and won't let go. The
novel is structured as a series of letters, notes by the doctor
interspersed with journal entries from Smith -- very similar in
structure to Flowers for Algernon, but designed to push very different
buttons in the reader's emotional structure. There is something very
wrong with smith, and it's the reader's growing realization that the
doctor is very right without really being able to put a finger on why
that gives this book it's power.
I'll be very honest. This book gave me nightmares, which simply
doesn't happen much any more (not since I went through puberty, at
least). By the time I finished it, I felt very disturbed and drained
for days. This book touched me at a level that most fiction can't even
see today -- but I doubt I'll ever want to re-read it, either. Being
affected doesn't necessarily mean I enjoyed the trip. This is a very
important book -- but I'm not sure whether it's commercially viable
these days, or whether a lot of people could cope with reading
something this powerful today, having been brought up on safe,
commercial fiction. It is, however, an important part of science
fiction, since Sturgeon is a key (but under-appreciated) part of our
past. If you can find a copy of this book, you ought to give it a
chance -- but don't be surprised if you run screaming out into the
night. Such stuff as this is nightmares made of. [*****]
Not quite so intense and a little easier to find is a very early book
by one of my favorite writers, Mike Resnick. Redbeard (Magnum books,
1969) is one of his early works, and mention of it is usually
guaranteed to drive Mike screaming out into the night. It is, in his
eyes, one of those early works best forgotten, the kind of thing that
you wish was under a pen-name. Now, Redbead is no Ivory or Paradise,
but I also don't think it's nearly as bad as Mike remembers it. What
it is is a rip-roaring action-adventure that lands somewhere between
an homage to and a pastiche of Conan the Barbarian. It's after the
war, and the mutants in the tunnels are fighting it out with the
normals up on the surface. Leading the troops for the mutants is Red
Will Donahoe, aka Redbeard, a non-mutant barbarian who seems to be
half Conan and half Groo. A rather deadly combination for enemies and
friends alike.
Redbeard isn't an award quality book, but even in his (relative) youth
Resnick could write good, engaging and enjoyable prose. If this book
is a bit high-strung and enthusiastic, it's still better than some of
the stuff being put out today by people with lower standards of
quality. [**]
This is another book that's going to be somewhat hard to find, so I'll
tell you what I'll do. I just happen to have two copies of it in my
collection, so I'm going to put one of them up for auction. I will
accept bids until June 1, 1991, with the book going to the highest
bidder (send no money now, just the bid. We'll make final arrangements
later). All monies will be donated to TAFF (the Trans-Atlantic Fan
Fund), and if I keep Mike from killing me over this, I might even be
able to get it autographed. If you want a copy of Redbeard, by Michael
Resnick, mail a bid to me C/O OtherRealms and we'll see what happens.
------ End ------
