{"id":13377,"date":"2020-11-21T14:04:28","date_gmt":"2020-11-21T14:04:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/?p=13377"},"modified":"2020-11-21T14:04:28","modified_gmt":"2020-11-21T14:04:28","slug":"the-magazine-of-fantasy-and-science-fiction-249-february-1972","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/?p=13377","title":{"rendered":"The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction #249, February 1972"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Summary:
\nThis is one of the best issues of F&SF<\/em> I\u2019ve read. Not do you get the Hugo and Nebula winning Goat Song<\/em> by Poul Anderson, but also The Elseones<\/em> by Dennis O\u2019Neil, and good work by Kit Reed, Pamela Sargent, Dean R. Koontz, and James Tiptree Jr (her first F&SF<\/em> appearance). Recommended.
\n[ISFDB link<\/a>] [Archive.org copy<\/a>]<\/p>\n

_____________________<\/p>\n

Editor, Edward L. Ferman; Assistant Editor, Andrew Porter<\/p>\n

Fiction:
\nGoat Song<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 novelette by Poul Anderson \u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>+
\nDog Days<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 short story by Kit Reed \u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>
\nGather Blue Roses<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 short story by Pamela Sargent \u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>
\nThe Elseones<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 short story by Dennis O\u2019Neil \u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>+
\nCosmic Sin<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 short story by Dean R. Koontz \u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>
\nPainwise <\/em><\/strong>\u2022 novelette by James Tiptree, Jr. \u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>
\nEcce Femina!<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 novelette by Bruce McAllister \u2217<\/strong><\/p>\n

Non-Fiction:
\nCover <\/em><\/strong>\u2022 Bert Tanner
\nBooks <\/em><\/strong>\u2022 by James Blish
\nComing Soon
\nCartoon<\/em><\/strong> by Gahan Wilson
\nFilms <\/em><\/strong>\u2022 by Baird Searles
\nThe Asymmetry of Life<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 science essay by Isaac Asimov
\nEditor\u2019s Note<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

_____________________<\/p>\n

I stumbled upon this issue while reading one of the stories (Painwise<\/em> by James Tiptree Jr) for my last review (Terry Carr\u2019s second \u2018Best of the Year\u2019 volume) and noticed it also contains one of the year\u2019s best stories, the Hugo and Nebula winning Goat Song<\/em><\/strong> by Poul Anderson (which Carr overlooked or just didn\u2019t like\u2014it\u2019s not even in his \u201cHonorable Mentions\u201d list). I was curious about the story and, before I knew it, I\u2019d read not only the Tiptree and the Anderson stories, but the entire issue. It helped that they are an almost uniformly good bunch of tales and, in particular, those who liked the mythical parts of Anderson\u2019s previous contribution to the magazine, The Queen of Air and Darkness<\/em> (F&SF<\/em>, April 1971), will probably like the Anderson even more, given that Goat Song<\/em> is even more of a myth-story than Queen<\/em> (I originally described the story as a Greek myth, until I realised I know little if anything about that subject\u2014but, according to Wikipedia,1<\/sup> it seems my guess was correct).<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The story itself opens with Harper, a poet and bard who is mourning the death of his partner (variously named in the story, \u201cBlossom-in-the-Sun,\u201d etc.) with his friends in the wilderness, while waiting for the Dark Queen to pass by. She is the immortal representative of a computer called SUM, which rules this far-future Earth, and also stores the souls of the dead for resurrection in the far future:<\/p>\n

The car draws alongside and sinks to the ground. I let my strings die away into the wind. The sky overhead and in the west is gray-purple; eastward it is quite dark and a few early stars peer forth. Here, down in the valley, shadows are heavy and I cannot see very well.
\nThe canopy slides back. She stands erect in the chariot, thus looming over me. Her robe and cloak are black, fluttering like restless wings; beneath the cowl Her face is a white blur. I have seen it before, under full light, and in how many thousands of pictures; but at this hour I cannot call it back to my mind, not entirely. I list sharp-sculptured profile and pale lips, sable hair and long green eyes, but these are nothing more than words.
\n\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d She has a lovely low voice; but is it, as, oh, how rarely since SUM took Her to Itself, is it the least shaken? \u201cWhat is that you were singing?\u201d
\nMy answer comes so strong that my skull resonates, for I am borne higher and higher on my tide. \u201cLady of Ours, I have a petition.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy did you not bring it before Me when I walked among men? Tonight I am homebound. You must wait till I ride forth with the new year.\u201d
\n\u201cLady of Ours, neither You nor I would wish living ears to hear what I have to say.\u201d
\nShe regards me for a long while. Do I indeed sense fear also in Her? (Surely not of me. Her chariot is armed and armored, and would react with machine speed to protect Her should I offer violence. And should I somehow, incredibly, kill Her, or wound Her beyond chemosurgical repair, She of all beings has no need to doubt death. The ordinary bracelet cries with quite sufficient radio loudness to be heard by more than one thanatic station, when we die; and in that shielding the soul can scarcely be damaged before the Winged Heels arrive to bear it off to SUM. Surely the Dark Queen\u2019s circlet can call still further, and is still better insulated, than any mortal\u2019s. And She will most absolutely be recreated. She has been, again and again; death and rebirth every seven years keep Her eternally young in the service of SUM. I have never been able to find out when She was first born.\u00a0 p. 13-14<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

In their ensuing conversation Harper tells her he wants SUM to resurrect his partner; she tells him that is impossible but agrees to take him to see the computer.
\nThe middle part of the story takes place in SUM\u2019s underground fortress. Here, Harper is put to sleep for a time while the The Dark Queen is subsumed into SUM and her gathered data downloaded. Later on Harper is woken and given an audience with the computer and, after some back and forth, he gets SUM to agree to the resurrection of his lover in exchange for his service as its prophet. There is one condition however: he must walk out of the complex without looking back at his beloved, who will join him at some point in the journey.
\nThere is an excellent and suspenseful passage that tells of this journey and (spoiler), of course, he fails at the last hurdle:<\/p>\n

Was that a footfall? Almost, I whirl about. I check myself and stand shaking; names of hers break from my lips. The robot urges me on.
\nImagination. It wasn\u2019t her step. I am alone. I will always be alone.
\nThe halls wind upward. Or so I think; I have grown too weary for much kinaesthetic sense. We cross the sounding river, and I am bitten to the bone by the cold which blows upward around the bridge, and I may not turn about to offer the naked newborn woman my garment. I lurch through endless chambers where machines do meaningless things. She hasn\u2019t seen them before. Into what nightmare has she risen; and why don\u2019t I, who wept into her dying senses that I loved her, why don\u2019t I look at her, why don\u2019t I speak?
\nWell, I could talk to her. I could assure the puzzled mute dead that I have come to lead her back into sunlight. Could I not? I ask the robot. It does not reply. I cannot remember if I may speak to her. If indeed I was ever told. I stumble forward.
\nI crash into a wall and fall bruised. The robot\u2019s claw closes on my shoulder. Another arm gestures. I see a passageway, very long and narrow, through the stone. I will have to crawl through. At the end, at the end, the door is swinging wide. The dear real dusk of Earth pours through into this darkness. I am blinded and deafened.
\nDo I hear her cry out? Was that the final testing; or was my own sick, shaken mind betraying me; or is there a destiny which, like SUM with us, makes tools of suns and SUM? I don\u2019t know. I know only that I turned, and there she stood. Her hair flowed long, loose, past the remembered face from which the trance was just departing, on which the knowing and the love of me had just awakened\u2014flowed down over the body that reached forth arms, that took one step to meet me and was halted.
\nThe great grim robot at her own back takes her to it. I think it sends lightning through her brain. She falls. It bears her away.
\nMy guide ignores my screaming. Irresistible, it thrusts me out through the tunnel. The door clangs in my face. I stand before the wall which is like a mountain. Dry snow hisses across concrete. The sky is bloody with dawn; stars still gleam in the west, and arc lights are scattered over the twilit plain of the machines.\u00a0 p. 26-27<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Another robot stops him battering his head to a pulp on the closed door. SUM tells him that, now he is the computer\u2019s sworn enemy, he will be a source of useful information.
\nThe last section tells of Harper\u2019s madness, and then the revolution he starts during the Dark Queen\u2019s next visit: he cuts off his resurrection bracelet, smashes it with an axe, and encourages others to do the same.
\nThis lyrically written tragedy is a very good, near excellent piece, and I can see why it won Hugo and Nebula Award\u2014but not why Terry Carr left it out of his anthology. (PS I found it surprising that, as per the introduction above, (a) this was written several years previously and (b) was bought by a men\u2019s magazine. I would have thought it was far too literary a piece for that latter market.)<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

One of the more offbeat stories in Harry Harrison & Brian W. Aldiss\u2019s Best SF: 1971<\/em> was The Cohen Dog Exclusion Act<\/em>\u00a0by Steven Schrader (Eco-Fiction<\/em>, 1971), an \u2018if this goes on\u2019 story about dog fouling\u2014so it was a bit of a surprise to come across another piece about the same subject from the same time period: Dog Days<\/em><\/strong> by Kit Reed:<\/p>\n

He found it hard going; traffic had stopped moving some weeks before, which meant he had to vault rusting Volkswagens and climb over taxi bumpers to get to the other side. Abandoned automobiles took up so much room that the dogs were confined to the sidewalks, and by this time they were thick with ordure, studded with an occasional carcass and whorled with traces of scenes of gallantry or carnage, depending.
\nSince the mayor\u2019s announcement, Sanitation had been put on the extermination detail, and there seemed to be no keeping up with the problem after that. The program was in its fifth week now, and the damnable thing was that conditions seemed to be not better but worse. The strays had mushroomed in number, and in addition to everything else, a number of humans had taken to using the sidewalks and the parks as toilets as part of a radical movement designed to prove some kind of point.\u00a0 p. 45<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

This odd, dark satire goes on to show us more of this dystopian society, and also limns the husband\u2019s ambivalent attitude towards the couple\u2019s dog. In a surreal ending (spoiler) the extermination teams arrive at their house one evening, and the wife has a choice to make . . . .<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Gather Blue Roses<\/em><\/strong> by Pamela Sargent is a slow burn piece that has the narrator remember her childhood as the daughter of a concentration camp survivor who would occasionally leave her family to be alone for short periods of time:<\/p>\n

By the time I reached my adolescence, I had heard all the horror stories about the death camps and the ovens; about those who had to remove gold teeth from the bodies; the women used, despite the Reich\u2019s edicts, by the soldiers and guards. I then regarded my mother with ambivalence, saying to myself, I would have died first, I would have found some way rather than suffering such dishonor, wondering what had happened to her and what secret sins she had on her conscience, and what she had done to survive. An old man, a doctor, had said to me once, \u201cThe best ones of us died, the most honorable, the most sensitive.\u201d And I would thank God I had been born in 1949; there was no chance that I was the daughter of a Nazi rape.)
\nBy the time I was four, we had moved to an old frame house in the country, and my father had taken a job teaching at a small junior college near by, turning down his offers from Columbia and Chicago, knowing how impossible that would be for mother.\u00a0 p. 48-49<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

As the story progresses the narrator and her brother start school, and we find out that (spoiler) she experiences other people\u2019s pain\u2014she is an empath of sorts, to put it crudely.
\nThis is a short, minor piece, but a quietly evocative and effective one.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The Elseones<\/em><\/strong> by Dennis O\u2019Neil3<\/sup> is about a man who meets a woman called Elvira at a religious Crusade at Madison Square Gardens. As their relationship develops we find out that the narrator is an \u201cElseone,\u201d someone who has the ability to get things from people without payment (as Elvira notes when they get free hotdogs from a vendor shortly after they meet). During the story we also see various people tell the narrator that his \u201cB\u2019raja\u201d is damaged. He also has strange dreams:<\/p>\n

Then sleep, and another alien experience, a dream.
\nWarm sand between my forked toes, I squatted on the marge of a crimson sea, a vista of breakers capped with pink foam dwindling to a horizon hidden in ocher mists. And I was saying in a language native to me a word meaning both serenity and soon, a strange, garbled syllable\u2014chanting it in rhythm with the beat of the waves . . .
\nI was awake: without being conscious of it, I had been staring at the splash of light on the ceiling from the mercury vapor lamp outside my single window, a bluish rectangle like a phantom television screen. In it, I saw\u2014and recognized\u2014a vast, savage wilderness, and I saw and recognized people I\u2019d never met in cities I\u2019d never been to\u2014Atlanta, London, Budapest, Shanghai: people sitting and lying on beds in dank, anonymous chambers. I blinked: the vision vanished.
\nI got up, crept into the chill, foul-smelling hall, down the stairs. From somewhere on the bottom landing came a crooning of garbled syllables, meaningless yet recognizable, similar to my dream-chant.\u00a0 p. 56<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

It soon becomes apparent (spoiler) that the narrator is an alien who has been stranded on Earth for some considerable time, and who is waiting for collection\/rescue by \u201cServants\u201d long after a conflict that exiled him and his kind to Earth (one of his interlocutors remarks at one point that \u201cthey\u2019re close, well within this universe\u201d). The story climaxes with a scene of thwarted transcendence.
\nThis latter passage, and the story\u2019s general description of his mental and emotional state (feelings of dissociation and detachment that will probably be familiar to city dwellers) prove to be an effective mix, and I enjoyed this a lot. It has some similarities with Moore\u2019s The Children\u2019s Hour<\/em>, and if you like that, you\u2019ll probably like this.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

After a run of more serious stories there is some light relief in the fast-moving and wise-cracking Cosmic Sin<\/em><\/strong> by Dean R. Koontz (a jobbing SF writer at the time, not the superstar he is now). This has as its hero Jake Ash, who has a body chemistry that makes it possible for him to function as a \u201cdoorway between probability lines.\u201d The story begins with a Probability Policeman and two aliens jaunting into his bathroom:<\/p>\n

They looked like two enormous heads of cabbage, each somewhere near four foot in diameter, though one was slightly larger than the other. They were leafy and gray, with eyes, nose and maw half hidden in greener clumps of leaves. The larger of the two hung from my shower rail by two ropy tentacles while its other two appendages waved quietly at me, like seaweed stirred along the floor of the ocean. Creepy. You know? The smaller one stood on the closed lid of my toilet, its four tentacles bunched and stiffened beneath it, like legs. Both of them watched me with the prettiest blue eyes I\u2019d ever seen and made\u2014as I listened more closely\u2014very soft, gentle mewing noises, like kittens.
\nThey didn\u2019t seem to want to eat me, strangle me, or suck my blood. If anything, they appeared to want to be cuddled and petted.
\nJust the same, I kept my eye on them.\u00a0 p. 72<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

The policeman explains that the aliens are two of a breeding quartet, and that the other two have disappeared to make pornographic sensie films. This is considered a sacrilegious act by their species, so they want his help to find the pair. The story continues with an aeroplane flight to the house of another \u201creceiver\u201d like Ash, and the eventual rescue of the cabbages, although they are further complications at the house of a local \u201csender.\u201d The plot is ramshackle and on the light side, but the enjoyment here is in the story\u2019s breezy style, one liners, and general humour.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Ecce Femina!<\/em><\/strong> by Bruce McAllister begins with an Army veteran called Mac returning from the war in \u201cCam\u201d (Cambodia?) to his home in Emerald Hills. There are various hints that the relationship between men and women has profoundly changed in this future:<\/p>\n

I kept walking and staring at the sign. When my neck started aching, and I finally looked down, I was at the tract\u2019s eight-foot cinder-block wall.
\nIt was covered with writing in red spray paint.
\n.<\/span>
\nWHOS GOT OSCAR MEYER CLASS? WE DO! YOUD BETTER!
\nCHAPTERS UNITE SHOOT E9 TONIGHT!
\nBEWARE OF DOGGIES AND
\n.<\/span>
\nI kept walking. The writing seemed endless.
\n.<\/span>
\nSEE ORGAN LA FAY ON SATURDAY!
\nRALLY YOU MOTHERBROTHERS!
\nWE ARE THE WOMEN\u2019S LEAGUE
\nTHE RIDERS OF THE NIGHT
\nWERE ORNERY BROTHERMUCKERS
\nWED RATHER BITE THAN\u2014<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Mac is then accosted by a chapter of female Hells Angels, who question him on the outskirts of town, and laugh at his plans to return to the garage\/filling station he once owned.
\nWhen he finally gets to his destination he meets the new owner, Jack, who turns out to be a physically intimidating, cigar chomping woman who eventually wrestles and bear hugs him into submission (her and the Hell\u2019s Angels apparently use a\u2014presumably steroid\u2014drug called E9).
\nThe rest of this piece is a tedious and overlong tale that has the Hell\u2019s Angel\u2019s gang repeatedly turn up with men they have captured (and possibly castrated\u2014there is talk about \u201cOscar Meyer\u201d patches gained by the Angels for unspecified acts). One of the men is eventually kept by Jack (after a few more wrestling matches) and (spoiler) the end of the story sees her and the captured man leave the area. Mac later receives a photograph of them together with a baby.
\nI have no idea what this story supposed to be about or what the message is, and I note in passing that this is the only piece in the issue that squarely fits into \u201cthe future as present\u201d category described by James Blish in his book review2<\/sup> (see below). It is also the worst. When I think about the sub-optimal nature of much current SF (often concerned with the political, cultural and personal concerns of the present), I suspect there may be a link between this subject matter and the general quality of the work produced.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I\u2019ve already read the Tiptree in the Carr \u2018Best of the Year\u2019 volume for 1972, so the following comments are a cut and paste for the convenience of anyone that hasn\u2019t read that review previously.
\nPainwise <\/em><\/strong>by James Tiptree, Jr. (F&SF<\/em>, February 1972) has a great hook opening (and one similar to John Baxter\u2019s The Hands<\/em> in New Writings in SF #6<\/em>, also reviewed here):<\/p>\n

He was wise to the ways of pain. He had to be, for he felt none.
\nWhen the Xenons put electrodes to his testicles, he was vastly entertained by the pretty lights.
\nWhen the Ylls fed firewasps into his nostrils and other body orifices, the resultant rainbows pleased him. And when later they regressed to simple disjointments and eviscerations, he noted with interest the deepening orchid hues that stood for irreversible harm.\u00a0 p. 350<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

The protagonist is wired to experience pain as colour and, as he completes his repeated missions to observe aliens (who variously mutilate or torture him), a boditech mechanism called Amanda puts him back together again.
\nEventually there is a battle of wills between him and Amanda\u2014he wants her to provide conversation\u2014and he eventually realises that their mission is overdue and she is faulty. At this point Amanda malfunctions and he is marooned in space.
\nThe second part of the story sees him picked up by a starship occupied by three aliens, a bushbaby like creature called Lovebaby, the butterfly-like Ragglebomb, and the python-like Muscle. None of them can stand the pain experienced by the universe\u2019s creatures (they are empaths\/telepaths) so they use him to go and get them the foodstuffs they desire. Initially he complies, but then stops helping them when he realises they are not going to take him back to Earth.
\nIn the final part of the story (spoiler) he hears the phrase \u201csnap, crackle and pop\u201d from their descriptions of the sounds picked up on one of the planets. He knows this is Earth, so he recites a long list of enticing foodstuffs to encourage them to go there.
\nThe story ends with him back on Earth, where he suddenly experiences a massive amount of pain. When he empathically transmits this to the other three they all try to get back to the shelter of the ship. For whatever reason, he makes the decision to stay rather than leave with them.
\nThis is an original, entertaining, and trippy piece, but it appears to get off to a false start (the Amanda section), and I\u2019m not sure that any of the rest of it bears close examination.<\/p>\n

\u2022\u2022\u2022<\/p>\n

This issue\u2019s Cover<\/em><\/strong> is by Bert Tanner, another good piece from this impressive artist.3<\/sup>
\nBooks<\/em><\/strong> by James Blish opens with a review of Science Fiction: The Future<\/em> by Dick Allen, and a categorisation similar to one I\u2019ve seen earlier (made by P. Schuyler Miller in his review of Terry Carr\u2019s Best Science Fiction of the Year #2<\/em>):<\/p>\n

Part two, \u201cAlternative Futures,\u201d is subdivided into \u201cThe Present as Future\u201d and \u201cThe Future,\u201d which neatly separates works exaggerating current dilemmas from stories which, for the most part, offer real alternatives or have no sociological significance.\u00a0 p. 36<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

He also reviews Tactics of Mistake<\/em> by Gordon R. Dickson:<\/p>\n

I would guess [that Tactics of Mistake<\/em> and The Genetic General<\/em>] were responses to the late John W. Campbell\u2019s final new policy for his magazine, which was to emphasize heroes who set out to accomplish something and by gum succeeded at it.\u00a0 p. 37<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

. . . and The Flame Is Green<\/em> by R. A. Lafferty:<\/p>\n

Like this author\u2019s Fourth Mansions<\/em>, the intent of the work this far seems to be that of a spiritual pilgrimage through symbolic events, another journey toward the Grail; but unlike the previous novel, the symbolism does not seem to be systematized, the protagonists and antagonists don\u2019t fall into well-defined groups, and their motives are either cloudy or are not given at all. The net effect is that of a writer hypnotizedly beating his way deeper and deeper into a purely private world which threatens in the end to become entirely meaningless to anyone else, and perhaps even to himself.\u00a0 p. 39<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

I see I\u2019m not the only one who sometimes bounces off of Lafferty.
\nThe final review is of the collection The Lost Face<\/em> by Josef Nesvadba, which Blish discusses in some detail:<\/p>\n

More characteristic is the volume\u2019s title story, the gimmick of which is the discovery and use of a technique of plastic surgery which allows a dead man\u2019s face to be superimposed upon that of a living man. Inexorably, the recipient finds himself driven, mostly but not entirely by circumstances, into living the life of the donor.
\nSuperficially, this might be taken as a parable of the fatal power of the assumption that things are what they seem, but I think also that Nesvadba is re-using here the theme of Kafka\u2019s Metamorphosis<\/em>, that contrary to Nineteenth Century assumptions, the brain is at the mercy of the body (as concentration-camp experiences and the later development of brainwashing have since gruesomely proved). It is powerfully and circumstantialy told, and also brings off a difficult technical feat: The author tells you the ending first of all, and then leads you back to it, by which time it has completely changed from ordinary melodrama to a situation packed with irony.\u00a0 p. 40<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Blish concludes by saying that Nesvadba is \u201cwell worth your attention.\u201d Given that I\u2019ve had this book sitting on my shelves for forty years, I\u2019ll take his advice.
\nComing Soon<\/em><\/strong> promises Love is a Dragonfly<\/em> by Thomas Burnett Swann (a novella or \u201cshort novel\u201d) in the next issue (he had previously published The Manor of Roses<\/em> and the novel The Goat Without Horns<\/em> in the magazine), and a number of big names in future issues: John Christopher, Frederik Pohl, Gene Wolfe and Anthony Boucher, plus a special James Blish issue in April.4<\/sup>
\nThe Cartoon<\/em><\/strong> by Gahan Wilson is an amusing one about tombs and Egyptology.
\nFilms <\/em><\/strong>by Baird Searles begins by dismissing a movie called The Peace Game<\/em> (which sounds like a pretentious bore) before going on a Trojan kick with two movies, The Trojan Women<\/em> and Helen of Troy<\/em>, both of which sound like they are worth a watch.
\nThe Asymmetry of Life<\/em><\/strong> by Isaac Asimov, like most of his essays, starts off with a good anecdote:<\/p>\n

Only yesterday (as I write this) I was on a Dayton, Ohio talk show, by telephone; one of those talk shows where the listeners are encouraged to call in questions.
\nA young lady called in and said, \u201cDr. Asimov, who, in your opinion, did the most to improve modern science fiction?\u201d
\nI answered, after the barest hesitation, \u201cJohn W. Campbell, Jr.\u201d
\nWhereupon she said, \u201cGood! I\u2019m Leslyn, his daughter.\u201d\u00a0 p. 106<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Following this there are six deadly dull pages explaining mirror-image molecules (I assume this is another way of describing optical isomers). If ever an essay called out for diagrams this one does\u2014half my degree was in chemistry and I could barely follow some of this:<\/p>\n

All enzyme molecules are proteins. Protein molecules are made up of chains of amino acids which come in some twenty varieties. All twenty varieties are closely related in structure. In each case there is a central carbon atom to which are attached: 1) a hydrogen atom, 2) an amino group, 3) a carboxyl group, 4) any one of twenty different groups which may be lumped together as \u201cside-chains.\u201d
\nIn the case of the simplest of the amino acids, \u201cglycine,\u201d the side-chain is another hydrogen atom so that the central carbon atom is attached to only three different groups. For that reason, glycine is not asymmetric and is not optically active.
\nIn the case of all the other amino acids, the side-chain represents a fourth different group attached to the central carbon atom, which means that the central carbon is asymmetric and that each amino acid, except glycine, can exist in two forms, one the mirrorimage of the other. And, in fact, each amino acid exists in living tissue in only one of the two forms; and the same form is found, in each case, in all living tissue of any kind.\u00a0 p. 113<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

I hope no-one was driving or operating heavy machinery while reading that.
\nThe article finishes by discussing enzymes, the stuff of life, and a possible non-conservation of parity (if I recall correctly, Asimov states all enzymes are all levo- and not dexorotatory, left not right handed).
\nThe short Editor\u2019s Note<\/em><\/strong> at the end of the Asimov article mentions that, unknown to the magazine, and as the result of a misunderstanding with his agent, Fritz Leiber\u2019s The Price of Pain Ease<\/em> (F&SF<\/em>, November 1971) had previously been published in book form before it appeared in the magazine.<\/p>\n

\u2022\u2022\u2022<\/p>\n

This is one of the better issues of F&SF<\/em> I can remember reading. Not do you get the Hugo and Nebula winning Anderson story, but all the other fiction bar the McAllister is good or better.\u00a0 Recommended.\u00a0 \u25cf<\/p>\n

_____________________<\/p>\n

1. Goat Song\u2019<\/em>s Wikipedia page<\/a> says the \u201cstory has strong parallels to the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice\u201d<\/p>\n

2. Kit Reed\u2019s Dog Days<\/em> superficially fits into the \u201cfuture as present\u201d category but the ending is so surreal that it also fits the \u201cno sociological significance\u201d criteria of the other category.<\/p>\n

3. As the introduction to his story hints, Dennis O\u2019Neil went on to be a big wheel in the comics industry. Our loss. His Wikipedia page is here<\/a>.<\/p>\n

4. Bert Tanner did some striking artwork for a number of other issues of F&SF<\/em>, most of which were double page spreads like this:<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

He also did a number of single page covers for Venture<\/em>, F&SF\u2019<\/em>s sister magazine, which, oddly enough, were not up to the same standard. His ISFDB page is here<\/a>.<\/p>\n

5. The James Blish special issue is reviewed here<\/a>.\u00a0 \u25cf<\/p>\n\"rss\"<\/a>\"rss\"<\/a><\/span>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Summary: This is one of the best issues of F&SF I\u2019ve read. Not do you get the Hugo and Nebula winning Goat Song by Poul Anderson, but also The Elseones by Dennis O\u2019Neil, and good work by Kit Reed, Pamela Sargent, Dean R. Koontz, and James Tiptree Jr (her first F&SF appearance). Recommended. [ISFDB link] […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-13377","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fantasy-and-science-fiction"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6Pcj7-3tL","jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13377","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=13377"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13377\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":13412,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13377\/revisions\/13412"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=13377"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=13377"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=13377"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}