{"id":5465,"date":"2018-07-13T11:23:28","date_gmt":"2018-07-13T11:23:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/?p=5465"},"modified":"2018-07-13T11:23:28","modified_gmt":"2018-07-13T11:23:28","slug":"new-worlds-sf-148-march-1965","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/?p=5465","title":{"rendered":"New Worlds SF #148, March 1965"},"content":{"rendered":"

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ISFDB link<\/a><\/p>\n

Other reviews:1<\/sup>
\nGraham Hall, Vector<\/em> #31 (March 1965)<\/p>\n

_____________________<\/p>\n

Editor, Michael Moorcock; Assistant Editor, Langdon Jones<\/p>\n

Fiction:
\nAll the King\u2019s Men <\/em><\/strong>\u2022 novelette by Barrington J. Bayley \u2217\u2217<\/strong>
\nSunjammer<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 reprint novelette by Arthur C. Clarke \u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>
\nFirst Dawn<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 short story by Donald Malcolm \u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>
\nDune Limbo<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 novel extract by J. G. Ballard \u2014
\nEscape from Evening <\/em><\/strong>\u2022 novelette by Michael Moorcock \u2217<\/strong>
\nThe Uncivil War<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 short story by Robert J. Tilley \u2217<\/strong><\/p>\n

Non-fiction:
\nCover<\/em><\/strong>
\nInterior artwork<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 by Thomson, uncredited
\nSymbols for the Sixties<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 editorial
\nVoyage to the End of the Universe<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 film review by Alan Dodd
\n\u201cThat Is Not Oil, Madam. That Is Jellied Consomme\u201d<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 book reviews by Langdon Jones
\nStory Ratings No. 146
\nLetters to the Editor
\nAmateur Magazines<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

_____________________<\/p>\n

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The fiction in this issue leads off with the first of two novelettes. All the King\u2019s Men,\u00a0<\/em><\/strong>by Barrington J. Bayley, takes place on a future Earth where Britain, Brazil and parts of Africa are controlled by\u00a0alien invaders while the rest of the globe remains unaffected. The story is narrated by Smith, one of the alien King\u2019s advisors, and tells of the events leading to a rebellion, the climax of which occurs\u00a0in the Atlantic between the opposing alien-directed navies of Britain and Brazil.
\nThe story is principally concerned with describing the intellectual and cultural differences between the aliens and humanity: one example of this is when a human delegation arrives at the court to petition the King for a reduction in the length of the working week (which is sixty hours due to preparations for the looming war). The King listens to their concerns and then deliberates:<\/p>\n

He spent a little while in the throne room, peering through thresholds, no doubt, gazing at pools and wondering about the mountainous. Then he returned and offered the petitioners a concession of ten minutes off the working week. This was the greatest check he thought he could allow on his big industrial drive.
\nThey argued angrily about it, until things grew out of hand and the King ordered me to dismiss them. I had to have it done forcibly. Any one of the alien courtiers could have managed it single-handed by mere show of the weapons on his person, but instead I called in a twenty-man human bodyguard, thinking that to be ejected by their own countrymen might reduce their sense of solidarity.
\nAll the humans of the court exuded uneasiness. But they needn\u2019t have worried. To judge by the King and his men, nothing might have happened. They held their positions with that same crystalline intelligence which they had carried through ten years of occupation. I was beginning to learn that this static appearance did not wholly result from unintelligibility, but that they actually maintained a constant internal state irrespective of external conditions. Because of this, they were unaware that the scene that had just been enacted comprised a minor climax. Living in a planar mentality, the very idea of climax was not apparent to them.\u00a0 p. 15<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

There are several sections like this which are of interest but the story spends a lot of its time going nowhere, making it slightly dull at times.
\nSunjammer<\/em><\/strong> by Arthur C. Clarke first appeared in Boy\u2019s Life<\/em> (March 1964), the magazine of the American Boy Scouts organisation, and it provided a high quality reprint for the New Worlds<\/em> to use (few if any UK readers would have seen the\u00a0original publication). There aren\u2019t any illustrations in New Worlds<\/em> for the story, a tale of interplanetary sailing ships taking part in a race to the Moon and back, but it got the cover on Boy\u2019s Life<\/em>, and was lavishly illustrated by Robert McCall inside. I\u2019ve included a few of these illustrations below as a respite from my maunderings:<\/p>\n

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Clarke\u2019s story starts with this:<\/p>\n

The enormous disc of sail strained at its rigging, already filled with the wind that blew between the worlds. In three minutes the race would begin, yet now John Merton felt more relaxed, more at peace, than at any time for the past year. Whatever happened when the Commodore gave the starting signal, whether Diana carried him to victory or defeat, he had achieved his ambition. After a lifetime spent in designing ships for others, now he would sail his own.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

The rest of the story is a skilful example of lucid and integrated exposition:<\/p>\n

[He] was checking the tension in the rigging. The needles of all the dynamometers were steady; the immense sail was taut, its mirror surface sparkling and glittering gloriously in the sun.
\nTo Merton, floating weightless at the periscope, it seemed to fill the sky. As well it might\u2014for out there were fifty million square feet of sail, linked to his capsule by almost a hundred miles of rigging. All the canvas of all the tea-clippers that had once raced like clouds across the China seas, sewn into one gigantic sheet, could not match the single sail that Diana<\/em> had spread beneath the sun. Yet it was little more substantial than a soap-bubble; that two square miles of aluminised plastic was only a few millionths of an inch thick.\u00a0 p. 27<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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There is more detail in a radio interview with Merton:<\/p>\n

\u201cHold your hands out to the Sun,\u201d he\u2019d said. \u201cWhat do you feel? Heat, of course. But there\u2019s pressure as well\u2014though you\u2019ve never noticed it, because it\u2019s so tiny. Over the area of your hands, it only comes to about a millionth of an ounce.
\n\u201cBut out in space, even a pressure as small as that can be important\u2014for it\u2019s acting all the time, hour after hour, day after day. Unlike rocket fuel, it\u2019s free and unlimited. If we want to, we can use it; we can build sails to catch the radiation blowing from the Sun.\u201d
\n[. . .]
\n\u201cOf course, its acceleration will be tiny\u2014about a thousandth of a g. That doesn\u2019t seem much, but let\u2019s see what it means. \u201cIt means that in the first second, we\u2019ll move about a fifth of an inch. I suppose a healthy snail could do better than that. But after a minute, we\u2019ve covered sixty feet, and will be doing just over a mile an hour. That\u2019s not bad, for something driven by pure sunlight! After an hour, we\u2019re forty miles from our starting point, and will be moving at eighty miles an hour. Please remember that in space there\u2019s no friction, so once you start anything moving, it will keep going forever. You\u2019ll be surprised when I tell you what our thousandth-of-a-g sailing boat will be doing at the end of a day\u2019s run. Almost two thousand miles an hour!\u00a0 p. 28<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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The rest of the story details the various incidents that occur during the race (some sailships manoeuvre to put others in the shade, an updated equivalent of old ocean-going ships becalming each other; other sailships fail due to design problems, etc.). Then, before the race can be completed there is the warning of a potentially fatal solar storm, which means the competitors must\u00a0be rescued by the escort rockets. This sets the scene for a sense of wonder ending (spoiler): rather than jettisoning the sail to avoid fouling the approaching rescue craft, Merton dons his space suit and abandons ship. Diana<\/em>, with its sail still deployed, will continue to accelerate past the Moon and out of the solar system.
\nA very good piece of modern SF.<\/p>\n

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Regardless of how good or otherwise First Dawn<\/em><\/strong> by Donald Malcolm is it was almost inevitably going to be\u00a0becalmed by the Clarke. In Malcolm\u2019s story, a mole-like alien on a non-rotating planet watches humans build massive rocket engines on its world. Once they are finished building them they start the engines, and the mole\u2019s dark world begins turning towards its first dawn. I wasn\u2019t entirely convinced about the mechanics of this, or the speed with which the world starts turning, but the ending is okay in a poetical sense of wonder way.<\/p>\n

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Dune Limbo<\/em><\/strong> by J. G. Ballard is an extract from his new novel The Drought<\/em>. It has a very long and quite boring synopsis (see above) that eventually places its protagonist at a series of immense salt drifts beside the coast. After a couple more dull descriptive pages from the extract itself, it finally gets going with scene where\u00a0Ransom and his tribe steal tidal water (and the associated fish) from another group.
\nThere are some striking passages in this, such as the description of Ransom\u2019s home, a beached ship:<\/p>\n

Overhead the sunlight shone on the curving stemplates of the wrecked lightship, giving the portholes a glassy opaque look like the eyes of dead fish. In fact, this stranded leviathan, submerged beyond sight of the sea in this concentration of its most destructive element, had rotted as much as any whale would have done in ten years. Often Ransom entered the hulk, searching for pieces of piping or valve gear, but the engine room and gangways had rusted into grotesque hanging gardens of corroded metal.
\nBelow the stern, partly sheltered from the prevailing easterly winds by the flat blade of the rudder, was Ransom\u2019s shack. He had built it from the rusty motorcar bodies he had hauled down from the shore and piled on top of one another. Its bulging shell, puffed out here and there by a car\u2019s bulbous nose or trunk, resembled the carapace of a cancerous turtle.\u00a0 p. 60-61<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Or this one, which limns the mental space these post-apocalyptic survivors inhabit:<\/p>\n

Ransom gazed around the drab interior of the shack. The decline in his life in the five years since Judith had come to live with him needed no underlining, but he realized that this was part of the continuous decline of all the beach settlements. It was true that he now had the task of feeding them both, and that Judith made little contribution to their survival, but she did at least guard their meagre fish and water stocks while he was away. Raids on the isolated outcasts had now become more frequent.
\nHowever, it was not this that held them together, but their awareness that only with each other could they keep alive some faint shadow of their former personalities, whatever their defects, and arrest the gradual numbing of sense and identity that was the unseen gradient of the dune limbo. Like all purgatories, the beach was a waiting ground, the endless stretches of wet salt sucking away from them all but the hardest core of themselves. These tiny nodes of identity glimmered faintly in the grey light of the limbo, as this zone of nothingness waited for them to dissolve and deliquesce like the few crystals dried by the sun.\u00a0 p. 64<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

In the latter part of this you almost feel the language (\u201cunseen gradient of the dune limbo\u201d, etc.) forcing you into the same mental space as the characters.
\nAfter the first couple of pages I rather liked this, and am surprised that Moorcock didn\u2019t serialise the whole novel (I assume that Moorcock would rather have used this than Tubb\u2019s novel which starts next issue).2<\/sup> I\u2019ll have to reread it.<\/p>\n

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Escape from Evening<\/em><\/strong> by Michael Moorcock is either the second and last \u2018Scar-Faced Brooder\u2019 story, or the sequel to The Time Dweller<\/em> (New Worlds<\/em> #139, February 1964), depending on your point of view. It starts on the Moon with Pepin Hunchback, a malcontent unsuited to the artificial environment of lunar society, boarding a rocket to the dying Earth so he can live a natural existence.
\nWhen he arrives at the Earth city of Barbart he tells the natives that he wants to settle there. However, he cannot fit in and, before long, becomes restless once more. When he hears tantalising hints that the citizens of another city called Lanjis Liho can time travel he decides to go there, hoping he will be able to return to a more suitable Golden Age.
\nHe rather foolishly elects to journey alone to Lanjis Lho\u2014there are blood sucking oozers to contend with, as well as other perils\u2014and, sure enough, has to be saved by the Wanderer (a character from the previous story). Pepin later encounters Tall Laughter, Scarface Brooder\u2019s sister (Brooder was also a\u00a0 character in the last story, and is now the Chronarch of Lanjis Lho).
\nOnce they arrive at the city, Tall Laughter takes Pepin to see Scarface Brooder so he can ask him about time travel. Brooder tells Pepin it is impossible for him to go back in time, and Pepin leaves, frustrated. Later, in Tall Laughter\u2019s house, she tells Pepin that even if it was possible for him to travel in time he would not be satisfied:<\/p>\n

\u201cYour yearning, Pepin Hunchback, is not for the past as it was,\u201d she was saying softly. \u201cIt is for a world that never existed\u2014a Paradise, a Golden Age. Men have always spoken of such a time in history\u2014but such an idyllic world is a yearning for childhood, not the past, for lost innocence. It is childhood we wish to return to.\u201d
\nHe looked up and smiled bitterly. \u201cMy childhood was not idyllic,\u201d he said. \u201cI was a mistake. My birth was an accident. I had no friends, no peace of mind.\u201d
\n\u201cYou had your wonderment, your illusion, your hopes. Even if you could return to Earth\u2019s past\u2014you would not be happy.\u201d
\n\u201cEarth\u2019s present is decadent. Here the decadence is part of the process of evolution, on Moon it is artificial, that is all. Earth\u2019s past was never truly decadent.\u201d
\n\u201cOne cannot recapture the past.\u201d
\n\u201cAn old saying\u2014yet your ability disproves that.\u201d
\n\u201cYou do not know, Pepin Hunchback,\u201d she said almost sadly.\u00a0 p. 90<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Tall Laughter goes on to reveal the existence of a disused Time Ship, which Pepin later steals. He finds (spoiler) that the past is a formless limbo and the future an acid trip.
\nAfter he is rescued by Tall Laughter and Scar Faced Brooder, there is an explanation of the structure of time that is little better than gobbledygook:<\/p>\n

[Tall Laughter said,] \u201cTell him why he found only limbo in the past.\u201d
\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Pepin, turning to stare at the Chronarch. \u201cTell me.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019ll try. Imagine Time as a straight line along which the physical universe is moving. At a certain point on that line the physical universe exists. But if we move away from the present, backward or forward, what do we find?\u201d
\nAgain Pepin shook his head.
\n\u201cWe find what you found\u2014for by leaving the present, we also leave the physical universe. You see, Pepin, when we leave our native Time stream, we move into others which are, in relation to us, above Time. There is a central stream along which our universe moves\u2014we call this the Megaflow. As it moves it absorbs the stuff of Time\u2014absorbs the chronons, as we call them, but leaves nothing behind. Chronons constitute the future\u2014they are infinite. The reason you found nothing in the past is because, in a sense, space eats the chronons but cannot replace them.\u201d
\n\u201cYou mean Earth absorbs this\u2014this temporal energy but emits none herself\u2014like a beast prowling through Time gobbling it up but excreting nothing.\u201d Pepin spoke with a faint return of interest. \u201cYes, I understand.\u201d\u00a0 p. 97<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

I wish I did.
\nThis story is all over the place. It rambles in multiple directions for thirty or so pages, trots out the above and then sputters to a stop. Having enjoyed its predecessor, I was a bit disappointed with this one.3<\/sup>
\nThe Uncivil War<\/em><\/strong> by Robert J. Tilley (the cover designer for a couple of recent issues) is back with a short story that has what I have come to describe as a \u2018Big Sigh\u2019 beginning:<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s nothing in the star-littered universe,\u201d said the old space-dog, genially, \u201cthat sets a body up like a dram of gleeb-juice. True, eh, lad?\u201d\u00a0 p. 99<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

It continues in this vein with the man\u2019s pirate\/sailor speech contrasting with the mannered tone of the narrator, who is interviewing him. The interviewee tells the reporter about a spaceship on which he served and, in particular, of one journey that involved ferrying diplomats to trade talks.
\nDuring this trip an unplanned landing on an unknown planet to effect repairs saw the diplomats going off in an air car, and they\u00a0stumble upon the planets\u2019 inhabitants. The latter are engaged in conflict with others of their kind, and want to know what side the diplomats are on:<\/p>\n

\u201cThey are at present waiting for us to identify ourselves as the emissaries of either Mif, the God-of-Strength-through-Deadly-Insult, come to teach them the ultimate insult that will strike the enemy a mortal blow, or those of his opposite number, Fungoo, the dreaded God-of-Treachery-and-Deceit, come to destroy them from within. It seems\u2014\u201d\u00a0 p. 108<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

The story then turns into a quest for the greatest insult (spoiler: it is to be ignored).
\nThis is all played for laughs but suffers from several deficiencies in this respect. First, and key, is it is not that funny; second, it isn\u2019t apparent it is a comedy (as opposed to badly written) until a couple of pages in; third, it is too long; and, finally, the comedy is draped over a story that is weak and, in places, confusing (I\u2019m thinking here of when they communicate with the missing diplomats, and how they get back to the ship\u2014but maybe I was skimming by this point). It does, in its defence, raise the odd smile (the last line, etc.) but this doesn\u2019t entirely compensate.<\/p>\n

There is an uncredited Cover<\/em><\/strong> for this issue and little in the way of Interior artwork<\/em><\/strong> (perhaps a result of the change of publishing schedule to monthly). The Thomson piece for the Bayley story is one of his better efforts. The other piece looks like it may be by Gilmore.
\nSymbols for the Sixties<\/em><\/strong>, an uncredited editorial, though probably by Moorcock, starts with this:<\/p>\n

In this issue you will find perhaps the widest variety of stories we have published at one time. They are stories representative of most of the forms taken by present-day SF\u2014Clarke\u2019s clear, factual speculation on a possible development in space-travel, Ballard\u2019s fascinating surrealistic allegory, Bayley\u2019s abstract and philosophical view of an alternative system of thought, the baroque Escape from Evening<\/em>, and good variations on the conventional space story by Malcolm and Tilley. The first four are set on or near our own planet, yet they are all undoubtedly SF. They illustrate an increasing tendency in modern SF to stick close to home and deal with aspects of human life set against humanity\u2019s natural background. The day of the space-story in serious SF seems all but over, the day of planetary exploration is waning and writers appear to be deciding that exploration of the human mind, its capacities and defects, is more rewarding.\u00a0 p. 2<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

The beginning of \u2018Inner Space\u2019?
\nThe rest of this editorial, a \u2018manifesto\u2019 one, has some interesting passages:<\/p>\n

[SF] must be reshaped and new symbols found to reflect the mood of the sixties [. . .] too many of today\u2019s stories are using the terms of the thirties, forties and fifties, terms which are becoming increasingly unrelated to present-day society. They feel that a good story, no matter what form it takes, is best when it applies to Now and that a story intended to apply to Now cannot do its job if written in terms applying to Then.
\nPart of the trouble could be that the young writer studies the work of a past generation and concludes that this is how to write a story. It was; it isn\u2019t now.\u00a0 p. 2-3<\/p>\n

We need more writers who reflect the pragmatic mood of today, who use images apt for today, who employ symbols gathered from the world of today, who use sophisticated writing techniques that can match the other techniques of today, who employ characters fitted for the society of today. Like all good writing, good SF must relate primarily to the time in which it is written; a writer must write primarily for his own generation.
\n[. . .]
\nHe can learn from his predecessors, but he should not imitate them.\u00a0 p. 3<\/p>\n

We feel that, in many ways, the image of North Country born Fred Hoyle driving a huge Buick convertible through a Californian summer, talking of the significance of quasars, is much more up-to-date that an image of a space-ship bearing a military-technician bending over a bench on which reposes a new secret electronic device for foxing the alien invaders.\u00a0 p. 3<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

It ends with a comment about the \u201csense of wonder\u201d controversy that \u201coccasionally rages in the Guest Editorials and the letter columns\u201d. Whether this refers the absence of a sense of wonder in the reiteration of earlier work, or whether it is absent in new work because of its content, I am not sure.
\nVoyage to the End of the Universe<\/em><\/strong> is a positive film review by Alan Dodd about a film that does not sound at all promising.
\n\u201cThat Is Not Oil, Madam. That Is Jellied Consomme\u201d<\/em><\/strong> by Langdon Jones is a three page review of the collection The Weird Ones<\/em> (Dobson, 1965).4<\/sup> He reviews each story in some depth, apart from one or two (irritating) examples:<\/p>\n

Sentiment, Inc.<\/em> by Poul Anderson has much the same fault [\u201cThere were many interesting ethical problems and emotional situations that are merely skirted round, when they should have been gone into much more fully.\u201d]. This seems a characteristic of a lot of American SF. The really interesting ideas that come out of a situation are often referred to obliquely, if at all. In this story the \u2018villain\u2019 turns out\u2014almost predictably\u2014to be a Russian spy. Still, the Soviets are not called \u2018Reds,\u2019 which I guess is something.\u00a0 p. 118-119<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

What are the \u201cinteresting ethical problems and emotional situations\u201d that are ignored in this story? What should be done with them? Give us a clue.
\nHe points to the Mack Reynolds story, The Hunted Ones<\/em> (Science Fiction Stories<\/em>, November 1959), as the best in the book before ending with:<\/p>\n

The general standard of most of the stories in this collection is equivalent to that of an average SF magazine. I don\u2019t think that this justifies the hard covers or the 15s. price tag.\u00a0 p. 120<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Or the three page review in your magazine.
\nI commented on Story Ratings No. 146<\/em><\/strong> when I recently reviewed that issue.5<\/sup>
\nLetters to the Editor<\/em><\/strong> has an interesting batch of correspondence. It leads off with a letter from Edward Mackin (of \u2018Hek Belov\u2019 fame) who writes in about Moorcock\u2019s recent serial The Shores of Death<\/em>: he wonders where the rest of it is and provides a plot skeleton.
\nThe next letter, from A. D. P. Cornelius, Cambridge, makes some interesting points about the difference between British and American SF:<\/p>\n

Thank you\u2014and the editor of Science Fantasy<\/em>\u2014for excellent reviews of Brian Aldiss\u2019s Greybeard. Sadly not everyone has your discrimination. I am thinking particularly of certain reviews that have appeared in the United States\u2014and especially of Ron Goulart\u2019s recent review in Fantasy and Science Fiction<\/em>. When will these literal-minded dimwits cease reading everything that comes in front of their eyes on the level of a boys\u2019 adventure story? Goulart seemed to see the novel purely as \u2018yet another cataclysm-novel of the kind the English specialise in\u2019. Didn\u2019t he realise that, as in certain other British novels that begin with some sort of cataclysm, the cataclysm was simply a starting-point to a book which discusses, among other things, the poignant problem of childless old-age?
\nThis, and other reviews, reminded me that it was high time we in this country stopped looking to America for our SF standards. Apart from a few honourable exceptions, the American scene has become barren in the last few years, whereas the British scene has suddenly become alive and dynamic\u2014leading the field. From Swift onwards it has been a tradition among British writers to make use of imaginative concepts and landscapes in order to discuss whatever point they wish about human behaviour in some form or other. H. G. Wells, Wyndham Lewis, C. S. Lewis, Aldous Huxley, George Orwell, Angus Wilson\u2014and Brian W. Aldiss\u2014have all written in this tradition. The similarity between their work and the stuff appearing in American pulps for the last forty years is merely superficial. Anyone with the ability to see past the merely superficial must surely accept that?\u00a0 p. 123<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

The editor offers a copy of Introducing SF<\/em> to anyone who \u201ctakes up the gauntlet\u201d.
\nThis is followed by another interesting letter from Elizabeth French Biscoe, Dublin, continuing the recent discussion about Langdon Jones\u2019 I Remember Anita<\/em> (New Worlds<\/em> #144, September-October 1964):<\/p>\n

I suggest that the story cannot be made right because it is based on an unawareness of one of \u201cthose solid principles for the criticism of SF\u201d which are mentioned in the Editorial.
\nThe principle in question is defined by Kingsley Amis in his New Maps of Hell<\/em>. He says that ordinary fiction can be compared with portrait painting, while SF can be compared with landscape painting. This pictorial comparison explains what puzzles many of us\u2014why SF and sex rarely get on together. While no personal experience (portrait) may be complete without sex, in a landscape sex is detectable only as a pair of distant lovers beneath the trees. It is the trees (non-human forces) that are important.
\nConsider Gainsborough. He kept his portraits and landscapes utterly separate. When he painted a lady in a big hat she filled the whole picture, but in his landscapes human beings are of the same value as bushes or cows: dots to emphasize the height of his spreading trees.
\nThe tremendous (and as yet unlived) imaginary experiences on which SF is based are the trees beneath which man and his sex life are dots, and if an artist (author) makes his dots too big he gets his picture (story) out of proportion. That is what happened in I Remember, Anita<\/em>.
\nBy contrast, the proportions are right in Tunnel of Love<\/em> in NWSF 146. The mystery of the tunnel (not love) dominates the story.\u00a0 p. 124<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Thought provoking, but I\u2019m not sure I entirely agree (where does Frederik Pohl\u2019s Gateway <\/em>fit into this?)
\nP. Johnson, Kent, comments on the review columns:<\/p>\n

Congratulations on the monstrous book reviews plus the superabundance of reviewers! I notice, however, that SF reviewers have to work on two planes. It reminds me of a mainstream review of SF which described the latest Heinlein novel as a rattling good adventure yarn of its kind, and Miller\u2019s Conditionally Human<\/em> as not up to the standard of A Canticle for Leibowitz<\/em> which left you guessing where the Miller stood in relation to the Heinlein. I feel you do the same. You describe The Dark Light Years<\/em> as a failure, and then slip gear and recommend The Paradox Men<\/em>. This is an admirable ability, and fulfils the spirit of the Aldiss extract from SF Horizons<\/em>, but am I wrong in thinking that you preferred the Aldiss \u2018failure\u2019 to many other less ambitions successes?
\nJames Colvin lets politics intrude into his reviews . . . and I would feel happier about Colvin if he would use adjectives other than \u2018reactionary\u2019 to condemn Anderson and Heinlein . . . p. 125-126<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

He finishes by saying they should leave Analog<\/em> to do the science articles.
\nThere is an editorial response:<\/p>\n

About The Paradox Men<\/em>, we don\u2019t think we slipped gear there\u2014Dark Light Years<\/em> was a failure (we felt) but\u00a0Paradox Men<\/em> fulfilled its author\u2019s intention.\u00a0 p. 126<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

The column finishes with an earnest letter from Malcolm E. Wright (14), of Basildon. The editor encourages him to send his short stories in to the magazine.
\nAfter the Letters<\/em> there is a review of\u00a0Amateur Magazines<\/em><\/strong>. Two are from future New Worlds<\/em> authors, Charles Platt and Graham M. Hall.
\nThere is this comment about Ed Meskys\u2019 Niekas<\/em> #9:<\/p>\n

Much larger and more substantial than most of its British counterparts, Niekas<\/em> 9 contains some good stuff by Anthony Boucher, Philip K. Dick (on The Man in the High Castle<\/em>), John Baxter and others.
\nTolkien fans will be interested in the long glossary of names, terms, etc. used in Middle Earth. Production is clean and readable\u2014again superior to most of the British SF fan magazines.\u00a0 p. 127<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

And this on Peter R. Weston\u2019s Zenith<\/em> #6:6<\/sup><\/p>\n

Still has an excellent standard of production and the material seems to be improving, although the magazine-reviewer appears rooted somewhat in the past. If you\u2019re rooted in the past and proud of it, then you\u2019ll probably enjoy the reviews. This one\u2019s worth watching\u2014it shows promise.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

A better issue than usual, thanks to the Clarke and Ballard pieces (not a phrase I expect to be using again).\u00a0 \u25cf<\/p>\n

_____________________<\/p>\n

1. Graham Hall\u2019s review in Vector #31 gives the line-up of authors and then says, \u201cOne is tempted to leave the review at that\u201d, but goes on to describe Clarke\u2019s story as \u201ctypically excellent\u201d, that Malcolm is \u201ca master of the pen\u201d, and that he finds Ballard\u2019s piece \u201chard to judge\u201d as he \u201cis an avid Ballard anti-fan\u201d. He adds that \u201cmore bumf is written about Ballard than almost anyone else writing SF today\u201d, and that \u201cthis piece is easily as good as most of The Drowning World<\/em> with its unsymbolic symbolism, first-rate imagery and colossal obscurity\u201d. I was a little surprised at these comments as, given the artistic leanings of Hall\u2019s later story Sun Push<\/em> (New Worlds<\/em> #170, January 1967), I would have thought he would have been a fan.
\nHe says of the Moorcock story that \u201cit\u2019s hard to say whether it is bad or good\u201d but that he \u201cdidn\u2019t like it\u201d. He adds that Moorcock \u201cpaints beautiful backgrounds and then neglects his main characters\u201d.
\nThe Tilley \u201cstands on its own feet as a fair yarn\u201d, and ATom\u2019s one illustration is \u201cway above average\u201d.<\/p>\n

2. Perhaps the magazine serial rights for The Drought<\/em> were not available, or perhaps it was something to do with the fact that the first three chapters of the novel were published in Ambit <\/em>#23, Spring 1965, Ballard\u2019s first publication in Martin Bax\u2019s long running literary magazine.<\/p>\n

3. The Time Dweller<\/em> (New Worlds<\/em> #139, February 1964)\u00a0starts with Scar Faced Brooder riding his seal across the surface of an Earth in its twilight years. He has left\u00a0the city of\u00a0Lanjis Lho after a\u00a0disagreement with the ruling Chronach, and is making his way to one of the inland cities. En route he meets another man called the Wanderer. They eat and drink (during which it becomes clear that human body chemistry has changed significantly) and then, after sleeping for a while in the Wanderer\u2019s tent, Scar Faced Brooder moves on to Brabart.
\nHe is taken on a tour of the town by one of the locals:<\/p>\n

The Barbartian introduced himself as Mokof, took the Brooder\u2019s arm and led him through the series of squares,\u00a0<\/span>triangles and circles formed by the buildings, to come at length to the great central plaza and stare up at the pulsing, monstrous machine of burnished bronze.
\n\u201cThis machine supplies the city with its life,\u201d Mokof informed him. \u201cAnd also regulates our lives.\u201d He pointed at the disc which the Brooder had noted earlier. \u201cDo you know what that is, my friend ?\u201d
\n\u201cNo. I am afraid I do not. Could you explain ?\u201d
\n\u201cIt\u2019s a <\/span>clock. <\/span>It measures the hours of the day,\u201d he broke off, noting the Brooder\u2019s puzzlement. \u201cThat is to say it measures time.\u201d
\n\u201cAh ! I am with you at last. But a strange device, surely, for it cannot measure a great deal of time with that little circular dial. How does it note the flow . . .?\u201d
\n\u201cWe call a period of sunlight \u2018day\u2019 and a period of darkness \u2018night.\u2019 We divide each into twelve hours\u2014\u201d
\n\u201cThen the period of sunlight and the period of darkness are equal ? I had thought . . . \u201d
\n\u201cNo, we call them equal for convenience, since they vary. The twelve divisions are called hours. When the hands reach twelve, they begin to count around again . . .\u201d
\n\u201cFantastic !\u201d the Brooder was astounded. \u201cYou mean you recycle the same period of time round and round again. A marvellous idea. Wonderful! I had not thought it possible.\u201d<\/span>\u00a0 p. 91-92<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

This cognitive dissonance forms the crux of the story.
\nLater, he is arrested for eating at a prohibited time and imprisoned, but is asked the next day to repair their clock. On examining it Scar Faced Brooder realises it will shortly fail in a lethal blast of radiation, and this forces him to learn to time travel, after which he repairs the mechanism. After this he returns home to tell the Chronarch about his ability to time-travel.
\nThe final scene involves another conversation with the Wanderer, where\u00a0Scar Faced Brooder realises that humankind\u2019s journeys in space are coming to an end and will be replaced with journeys in time.
\nAlthough this probably doesn\u2019t sound that attractive a proposition when reduced to its constituent parts, the time concept and exotic far future setting make for an interesting piece.<\/p>\n

4. The editorship of The Weird Ones<\/em> is the subject of some uncertainty according to its ISFDB page<\/a>.<\/p>\n

5. The story ratings for this issue were published in #150:<\/p>\n

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

No great surprises there. The Moorcock presumably did better than it should have because of its length.<\/p>\n

6. Niekas<\/em> #9 is available on Fanac.org here<\/a>. Unfortunately their page<\/a> for Zenith\/Speculation<\/em> doesn\u2019t have a copy of #6, just (thanks to John Boston) #9 and #12.
\nIn Zenith<\/em> #9 there is a response (in the magazine review column Brickbats and Roses<\/em>) to the New Worlds<\/em> comments that their magazine reviewer (Terry Jeeves) \u201cappears rooted somewhat in the past\u201d:<\/p>\n

Firmly rooted in the past as I am, and needing no acting-assistant-under-paid-deputy to scratch by back when it itches, I am not pandering to the gallery when I say that I welcome ANALOG\u2019s return to the digest size.\u00a0 p.3<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

There is more argy-bargy about various subjects in the letter column, Point-Counterpoint<\/em>, as well as various comments about the magazines of the time, both pro and con. Jim Groves says, \u201cNew Worlds<\/em> and Science Fantasy<\/em> are now the worst of the magazine crop\u201d.
\nIvor Latto gives a considered view of the differences between New Worlds<\/em> and Science Fantasy<\/em>:<\/p>\n

It isn\u2019t quite fair to say that New Worlds<\/em> is superior to Science Fantasy<\/em>; the relative quality of the stories published is much the same. But Moorcock\u2019s crusading zeal has certainly given NW a new lease of life, not entirely because of the stories he publishes, but also because of the way his philosophy is backed up in editorials, articles, and reviews. Either Bonfiglioli has no similar urge to convert, or he has been persuaded to accept NW as the dominant half of the Compact twins.
\nMaybe the publishers feel that they can\u2019t afford to fund reviews, articles and letters in both mags. Whatever the reason [probably Bonfiglioli\u2019s reportedly relaxed attitude to work] SF certainly suffers for it in a certain purposelessness. It\u2019s always been like that, for some reason, a weak sister to NW in its departments, although usually superior in the stories it prints.\u00a0 p. 19<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

There is more about Moorcock and New Worlds<\/em> and how they are probably, in their own way, seeking after a \u201cSense of Wonder\u201d.
\nPeter Weston replies:<\/p>\n

The trouble is that science fiction fans are \u2018hooked\u2019 on the type of SF current in a particular period, and when the bias of SF storytelling changes, the readers don\u2019t change. This is the reason for the dissatisfaction expressed by some readers because of \u2018modern\u2019 SF. They cannot assimilate a diet lacking in the essential vitamins supplied by \u20181950\u2019s SF\u2019.
\nBut there is hope yet….many readers are attracted to the style of \u2018action SF\u2019 introduced in such magazines as Space SF<\/em>, Infinity<\/em>, and SF Adventures<\/em>, and they really should try the Galaxy<\/em> twins Worlds of If<\/em> & Worlds of Tomorrow<\/em>. The latter magazine especially is, in the editor\u2019s opinion, the best SF magazine (of its type) on the market today. The January & March 1965 issues are really excellent, introducing also a new writer, Larry Niven, a real \u2018find\u2019.\u00a0 p. 19<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Peter Weston also comments more generally about the current magazine scene in his editorial (as part of his argument that the SF field\u2014circa 1965\u2014is in the middle of a \u201cGolden Age\u201d):<\/p>\n

Magazines have lost ground in the battle to keep their reader\u2019s interest, but they are to a large extent now on the upswing in readability and science-fictional appeal (even to older fans). Analog<\/em>, since the reversion to the small size has shown a staggering increase in the quality of material, Galaxy<\/em>, long much-abused, is now producing roughly one good issue in two, while companion magazines If<\/em> and Worlds of Tomorrow<\/em> are producing science fiction that is among the best ever written. There is still rubbish in good measure, but Editor Pohl\u2019s policy of straightforward action with a respectably science fictional treatment, is paying remarkable dividends. The recent trend towards amorphous and meaningless stories may have been greatly overrated; certainly this looks to be one of the \u2018blind alleys\u2019 explored by speculative fiction.\u00a0 p. 2<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Worth a look. \u00a0\u25cf<\/p>\n\"rss\"<\/a>\"rss\"<\/a><\/span>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

ISFDB link Other reviews:1 Graham Hall, Vector #31 (March 1965) _____________________ Editor, Michael Moorcock; Assistant Editor, Langdon Jones Fiction: All the King\u2019s Men \u2022 novelette by Barrington J. Bayley \u2217\u2217 Sunjammer \u2022 reprint novelette by Arthur C. Clarke \u2217\u2217\u2217\u2217 First Dawn \u2022 short story by Donald Malcolm \u2217\u2217 Dune Limbo \u2022 novel extract by J. […]<\/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":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5465","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-new-worlds"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6Pcj7-1q9","jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5465","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=5465"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5465\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5498,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5465\/revisions\/5498"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5465"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5465"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5465"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}