Science Fantasy #70, March 1965

ISFDB link

Other reviews:1
John Boston and Damien Broderick, Strange Highways: Reading Science Fantasy, 1950-67 (p. 239 of 365) (Amazon UK)
Graham Hall, Vector #31 (March 1965)

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Fiction:
The Outcast • novelette by Harry Harrison ∗∗
Song of the Syren • novelette by Robert Wells
Moriarty • short story by Philip Wordley
Bring Back a Life • novelette by John T. Phillifent [as by John Rackham]
The Jennifer • short story by Keith Roberts
A Cave in the Hills • short story by R. W. Mackelworth
Hunt a Wild Dream (Part 1 of 2) • short story serial by D. R. Heywood

Non-fiction:
Cover • by Agosta Morol
Interior artwork • by Keith Roberts
Editorial • essay by Kyril Bonfiglioli

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In this issue R. W. Mackelworth joins the roster of regular names with the first of five stories, and we again see contributions from Harry Harrison, Philip Wordley, John Phillifent (Rackham) and Keith Roberts.
The Outcast by Harry Harrison is set on board a civilian spaceship. The first scene is on the planet of departure and has the captain and another crew member watch a man struggling through a mob to get on board. This is Origo or ‘Butcher’ Lim, a doctor who turns out to have been responsible for the deaths of over two hundred people.
Initially the captain treats him coolly, but he later discovers that the deaths weren’t Lim’s fault. When there is friction between Lim and the other passengers he agrees to let him use the officer’s mess. Lim finds the crew accept him readily enough and he eventually relaxes.
Subsequently, one of the passengers, the High-Duchess Marescula, develops a disease that requires the immediate amputation of her hands and feet; however, if Lim operates on her, having been stripped of his medical qualifications, it means a death sentence for him . . . .
This is really only SF by virtue of its setting but it is an entertaining enough yarn.
Song of the Syren by Robert Wells is another solid SF novelette, and is set on an alien planet where there is a scientific research team from Earth. Their prize asset is a collection of singing plants. After some scene setting the story kicks off when Sorenson, the chief scientist, finds that the plants have been destroyed.
Sorenson’s boss Barbera arrives and together they interview a number of the station’s personnel to find out what happened. It becomes clear that access to the restricted section where the plants were kept may have been compromised by male affections for the two woman among the station’s personnel.
This is well-told and assuredly developed but the ending is a convoluted and contrived affair.
Moriarty by Philip Wordley is the second of this writer’s four contributions to the magazine and it is a rather schmaltzy story that could have easily appeared in the 1940s pulps. The story is about a telepathic and teleporting female cop who repeatedly prevents a safecracker she likes from robbing banks: she doesn’t want him to become a criminal. During one thwarted attempt she enlists his help to clear out another bank which she knows it is going to be robbed. When the gang arrive (spoiler) he is supposed to make the call to the police but things go wrong and he ends up being the (surprise!) telekinetic hero.
It’s not a bad story, it’s just old-fashionedly naff, albeit in a pleasant enough way.
Bring Back a Life by John T. Phillifent is a real curate’s egg. It starts with a really creaky setup that has Raynor, the narrator, awakening to find that he has been abducted by some near-future parliamentary types. Long story short, vital negotiations with Mars and the lunar colony are in jeopardy as Sir Herbert Fremantle, the Prime Minister, has fallen ill. The only way he can be cured is if they send Raynor back in time to get a sample from a non-diseased ancestor.
After this nonsense (British PM negotiating interplanetary deals indeed!) the rest of the story improves considerably as Raynor travels to several historical periods, occupying someone of a similar somatype on each occasion, and having a number of engrossing encounters with ancestors of Fremantle’s. Each time he arrives he meets a woman called Jasmine, who he falls in love with. Eventually he gets back far enough in time to an uninfected Fremantle and discovers that the sample he needs is from Fremantle’s wife. The personality occupying the wife is the Prime Minister’s granddaughter—who has also travelled back in time, but from Raynor’s future. Still with me?
After Rayner completes his mission and he is back in the present recovering, he meets the Prime Minister’s sister and finds that she is going to be his Jasmine. The woman he has lusted after through time is actually his granddaughter. Ewgh!
The Jennifer by Keith Roberts is another in his series about Anita the teenage witch, and has a rare piece of interior art to go with it (I can’t think of any other illustrations in the Compact Books version of the magazine until they became a regular feature in mid-1966):

It’s a pity that Bonfiglioli didn’t commission interior art as well as covers from him.
Roberts also produced a cover for the story but, for whatever reason, it was used last issue:

This story doesn’t really have much in the way of a plot, but I can’t say I was that bothered as I like spending time in the company of Anita and Granny Thompson. It starts with the pair on holiday at the beach after Granny Thomson has had a small win on the pools2:

Her Granny glanced up fleetingly at the huge blue dazzle of the sea. “’Ell of a lot o’ worter” she pronounced grimly. That seemed to sum up her opinion . . . She went off on another tack. “Orlright fer you ter talk. Gooin’ on at yer indeed. Never ’eard nothink like it . . . You’re bin orf ’ooks with me ever since we started. Jist acause I wouldn’t ’ave nothink ter do wi’ that siv idea. Sailin’ down in sivs, very thought on it sets me rheumatics a-gooin’ . . . ‘No me gel’ I ses, ‘The train fer me or nothink at orl’ . . . an’ rightly too. Very idea . . .
“Well, witches do sail in sieves. I’ve read about it.”
“Not in my expeerience” snapped the old lady. “And I dunt goo much of a bundle on them there old fangled ways neither. They ent ’ygenic . . . I only ever ’alf believed that one anyways. I dunt reckon there’s a spell as ’ud ’old, not fer no time any’ow. Wadn’t nuthink ter stop you tryin’ . . .”
“I did try. I got one floating on Top Canal, you know I did.”
“Yis, an’ come ’um in ’Ell of a stew—”
“It was all right till Aggie’s nephew opened the lock . . .”
“Molecular tensions” explained Granny a little more kindly. “You ’adn’t put enough be’ind the spell. Orlright chantin’ uvver summat but if yer wants a spell ter take yore gotta work it right inside . . . I expects things got uwer-stressed when yer got in the race . . .”
“I know I got overstressed. I was nearly drowned.”
“Stuff” said the old lady firmly. “Wunt ketch no sympathy orf me.”  p. 99

Later, in an underground cave on the shoreline, Anita meets a mermaid, or Jennifer. The next day, during their second meeting, the Jennifer suggests to Anita that she should come and visit the depths, and that she can arrange for a huge Serpent to take her. This eventual encounter provides the story’s ending:

Anita called again, louder this time, conscious of all the black water beneath her.
Serpent . . .”
There was a rumbling that grew to a roar, a burst of phosphorescence that looked a mile long, and he was there. Anita soared and dropped in the great waves that rolled back from him. But he was so big, she’d never dreamed he would be as big as that . . . he was like a reef in the night sea, the swell of his back was curving against the sky and all the length of him was alive with rivulets of turquoise light . . . His skin was craggy and knobby, wrinkled and rough, his flat head rose towering, his tail stretched away for ever. The sea touched him softly, muting itself because he was so old. Anita paddled towards him and the head snaked down till the eyes could see her and those eyes were a yard across, bulging and smooth as black mirrors, and there was everything in them, everything there had ever been in the world. Anita wanted to hug him but he was so huge, so huge . . .
He nuzzled at her and she saw a harness, the great stems of tangle-weed knotted and twisted to make a handgrip behind his head. She took hold, winding the fibres round elbow and wrist. He rumbled and began to move, circling out from the coast. His speed increased; Anita’s hair streamed, elbow and shoulder cut swathes in the sea, water flew yards in the air to fall back twinkling into the huger turbulence of his wake. Anita screamed to him and his head dipped, the surface of the sea rushed past her and there was a void, cold and noisy with bubbling. The monster’s body canted; pressure rose, like hands squeezing Anita. She chanted mechanically, drowning a little; at a hundred feet she gasped with relief and began to breathe again. Her gills opened, trailing back from her neck like pink chiffon scarves.
The Serpent’s body wagged like a metronome, pulses flowing along it seconds apart. Anita sensed the sea bottom dropping away, peaks and hill-ranges flicking beneath, wide curving valleys of grey silt. Then there was no bottom that she could detect. Instead far below was a pulsing, a greenish glow like city lights seen through a coloured fog. It lit the white throat of the Serpent and his long belly. Reflections sparked in the great dish of his eye. The speed was gone; he was sinking slowly and Anita knew from the surface he would already look frog-small, a speck falling into a hugeness of light . . .
And his voice sounded in her mind like an organ as he began to tell her how the hills were made.  p. 107-108

A Cave in the Hills by R. W. Mackelworth starts with a malcontented woman in a future society finding out her husband is in “Debtors”. After contacting Accounts, they tell her an Arbitrator will call. What happens next is that an attractive neighbour visits and takes her husband’s valuables: his books, paintings and papers. During this there is commentary about him being a subversive, and that this is the reason he was bankrupted. I didn’t really have much of an idea what this one was about.
Hunt a Wild Dream by D. R. Heywood is about three white hunters in East Africa (presumably Kenya) at the time of the Mau Mau uprising. They load up their vehicles and go on a long drive to a plateau they intend searching. As this section proceeds we are introduced to a mythical creature known as the Nambi bear or Chemosit. Needless to say when the three men hack their way on through the bamboo at the base of the plateau they encounter this creature and shoot but don’t kill it.
After they take the Chemosit back to the camp Cullen, the expedition leader, sits and watches it. Later (spoiler) he drives off from the camp, is ambushed by the Mau Mau, and escapes into the jungle. He then finds he has become the Chemosit and the encounters the three men and is shot . . . .
This time-loop ending to the story isn’t at all convincing but this is probably worth reading for the local colour (albeit colonial colour where black characters hardly feature):

Cullen stepped out of his tent and looked critically at the unpretentious hills, which looked so easy to climb. He knew how deceptive appearance could be from previous experience in similar country. This gentle range of hills presented a climb of over two thousand feet, through a bamboo forest. The most treacherous type of forest that man could wish to penetrate. Where seemingly solid canes would collapse at the slightest touch; where fallen bamboo crossed each other in a lattice work barrier; and, where the unwary could crash through the apparently solid ground formed by years of fallen and decaying canes. . . .   p. 119 (Science Fantasy #71)

There is a short glossary of the native expressions used at the end of the story.
Although I’ve reviewed the entire story here, its sixteen pages are actually split across this issue and the next. I can only presume this serialisation was a blunder, because if they had dropped the Roberts or the Wordley story, and added a couple of pages to the editorial, they could have fitted all of it into this issue.

This month’s Cover is a distinctive contribution by Agosta Morol, the first of three he would produce for the magazine.3
There is a new addition to the masthead of the magazine: assistant editor James Parkhill-Rathbone joins the editorial staff. He had previously published a story, The Poachers in #66:

In this month’s Editorial Kyril Bonfiglioli doesn’t have much to say as shown by the anecdote he relates:

People discussing wit usually end up by pointing out that brevity is its soul. Perhaps that is why the telegram4 lends itself so well to humour. My favourite example is the interchange between a newspaper editor and a dilatory journalist who had been sent abroad as a special correspondent. After a fortnight without receiving a single news story the editor cabled: EXPLAIN UNNEWS.
The reporter, a man of spirit who disliked “cablese” replied UNNEWS GOOD NEWS.
The editor, however, had the final word, as editors usually do, with UNNEWS UNJOB.
What I am working around to saying is that there is rather little to say this month, except that I hope readers will agree that our contents continue to show steady improvement.  p. 2

Bonfiglioli goes on for another paragraph or so, mentioning a number of new novels and stories written by various writers.

This is a comparatively lacklustre issue.  ●

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1. Graham Hall begins his review by stating that the appearance of Roberts, Rackham and Harrison “help maintain the high standard [. . .] reached in recent issues.”
He describes the Harrison and Wells stories as “readable” and “well-handled”, and thinks the Wordley “amusing”, noting, “His easy style leads me to think that he may have had more writing experience—either in a different field or under a different name.”
The Rackham is “a competent time travel story [. . .] which proves his ability for conjuring up a different society and environment”. The Roberts is “a beautiful tale of Mermaidland”. He adds that these two are among the best British writers in the field today.
The last two items “spoil a good collection”. The Mackelworth is “unconvincing and obscure” and Hall is irritated to find that the Heywood is “to be continued”.
He concludes that “the odds a subscription would be good value have considerably shortened”.

2. The ‘pools’ was a pre-Lottery gambling activity that involved the selection of eight score-draws from a list of fifty odd football (UK soccer) matches every Saturday. Top prize was around half a million pounds, a huge amount of money at the time. Actually, a huge amount of money now. My grandmother did the pools religiously for years.

3. Agosta Morol’s ISFDB page.

4. A ‘telegram’ was a sort of printed out email delivered to your door before the advent of the internet.  ●

Edited 16th July 2018: formatting changes, image changes, addition of review link/synopsis, text revisions.

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