Today I’ve reviewed the 30th and 31st story in my series on the science fictional media landscape of the future. In Edmond Hamilton’s “Requiem” (1962), the newsmen and women of the far future descend en masse to witness Earth’s death. And in John Anthony West’s snarky satire “George” (1961), the titular character’s body slowly atrophies while ensconced in the living room watching TV.

Previously:  Sydney J. Van Scyoc’s “Shatter the Wall” (1962).

Up Next: Russell Bates’ “Hello, Walls and Fences” (1973) and “Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined…:” (1977)

3.5/5 (Good)

Edmond Hamilton’s “Requiem” first appeared in Amazing Stories, ed. Cele Goldsmith (April 1962). You can read it online here.

In 2020, I read Hamilton’s brilliant “What’s It Like Out There?” (1952) which obliterated my ignorant view of his fiction. I asked some of my readers for other ruminative Hamilton works (i.e. not the pulp cosmos-exploding adventures he’s best known for) and “Friend of the Site” Brian Collins mentioned “Requiem.” And onto the queue, it went as it fit this series. Thank you!

Kellon, commander of a starship that normally would be “pushing astrographical knowledge ever further into the remote regions of the galaxy, must ferry a legion of newsmen and women and their equipment to the dying planet Earth — the origin of it all (49). The reason? Two thousand years earlier the last inhabitants fled when the sun collapsed into a white dwarf. plunging the planet into an ice age. The arrival of a “dark wandering body” pushed the inner planets into decaying orbits towards the sun melting the ice caps (50). At least until the planet burns up entirely… Cue science that even I know is fishy.

The news reporters put on “multifarious and continuous broadcasts gauged” to pull in as many viewers as possible (54). Roy Quayle, a young fashion designer, puts on a semi-humorous program about Earth fashion. A wannabe politician gives a speech calculated to promote his “Wide-Galaxy Party” (54). Famous teleplay producers show clips of old giggle-inducing Earth films. Kellon sees through the hysteria: “famous people, seizing the opportunity given by the accidental end of a forgotten planet to posture in the spotlight like smart-aleck children” (55). He only respects the “scientists and historians” who throw themselves with clock ticking on Earth’s survival into their passionate and real passions for knowledge.

Bored with the charade that he must experience onboard every day, Kellon wanders off across the countryside of Earth’s last spring (with the warmth grass seeds begin to sprout despite the passage of thousands of years). He discovers the decaying remains of a small family home. Something inside him changes. He wonders about the inhabitants’ lives: “Had they had children, did their blood still run on the far worlds?” (60). He begins to brood “on such shadowy things” and returns day after day (60).

“Requiem” reads like a moment of calm rumination and reflective character study that interrupts a classic adventure of humanity’s great achievement reaching outwards. Kellon’s frustration with the interruption of his mission to conquer the unknown gives way to a quiet introspection on the origins and experiences of the progenitors in the far past. The media hysteria is all charade, an attempt to cash in on the hype. Despite its pretensions to unveil the historical importance of the long-dead world, their programs manipulate and target an audience rather than delve into the meaning of things. The far future premise is the perfect vehicle for a scathing expose of the media’s melodramatic tendency to exaggerate and sensationalize.

Recommended if anything I said above sounds intriguing. If you haven’t read “What’s It Like Out There?” (1952), track that one down first.

Tangent: The same April 1962 issue of Amazing Stories, under the tutelage of Cele Goldsmith, contained Ballard’s brilliant “Thirteen to Centaurus” (1962).

2.5/5 (Below Average)

John Anthony West’s “George” first appeared in Mel Hunter’s cover for The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, ed. Robert P. Mills (June 1961). You can read it online here.

John Anthony West (1932-2018) published seven genre short stories between 1961 and 1980. His first SF publication “The Fiesta at Managuay” (1961) received a Best Short Fiction Hugo Award nomination. His early career as an F&SF editorial assistant and SF author gave way to publications on various Ancient Egypt-related conspiracy theories. You can read more about the idiotic fringe Atlantis-justifying Sphinx Water erosion hypothesis, and West’s contribution, on Wikipedia if you want your brain to partially turn to mush.

“George” places a feuding modern couple—the titular George and Marjorie–on a couch in their living room “reaching for peanuts, watching TV—as they did most weekday evenings” (35). George’s body, limb by limb, slowly falls asleep. Of course, his wife alternates between ignoring his plight and hysterics. George begs her to believe his condition: “I’m serious. Look! I can’t move it. My foot is stiff somehow” (37). As the mysterious atrophy moves from his feet to his head, George relives his desperate dreams, failed ambitions, and fond memories.

The story’s underlying current suggests the couple’s deep sense of inertia, abandoned paths, and projected hopes of achievement. There’s the sense that George’s wife wanted him to serve in WWII: “You could have been a war hero” (38) she laments as the atrophy sets in. In another instance, Marjorie mutters “President Roosevelt had to go around in a wheelchair and that didn’t stop him” (39). Marjorie meets with the doctor. George isn’t the only one. “Plain, common atrophy,” the doctor said implying a surfeit of cases (41). Every time George mentions what they could have done together if he could move, Marjorie responds: “you never did any of those things” (43). They discuss finances. The benefits of disability. George settles down. He reminisces fondly of his late-night snacks while watching TV after Marjorie falls asleep (45). Marjorie talks briefly of their inability to have sex: “I hadn’t thought of that” George admits (46). They revise the past and imagine how passionate they were: “Whatever the day, the nights were all soft and tender in your arms I was a princess at Dawn, George, beside my sleeping prince (47). He becomes engrossed in the TV program to wait for the end. There are other interludes but George has resigned himself to his fate.

The story is a wide-ranging satire that pokes and jabs at media, materialism, modern gender roles, and the welfare state. I am unsure how I divined “George” as fitting my series. I suspect I skimmed through this issue of F&SF and noticed “TV” crop up a few times and on the list it went. While far from a memorable reading experience that verges on tedium, “George” riffs on common themes I’ve explored so far in this series–future media as a drug-like apparatus that creates damaging desires and papers over society’s real problems. Humans in this near future are far more interested in televised fantasies (and slowly dying) than in pursuing their own dreams.

For better examples of family drama in front of the TV-style ruminations on future media, check out Sydney J. Van Scyoc’s “Shatter the Wall” (1962), Kate Wilhelm’s “Ladies and Gentlemen, This Is Your Crisis” (1976), Kit Reed’s “At Central” (1967), Carol Emshwiller’s “This Thing Called Love” (1955), and Brian W. Aldiss’ “Panel Game” (1955).

Recommended only for diehard fans of the theme.

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