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. ------ End ------