Back in 2021, I reviewed and adored George H. Smith’s “The Last Crusade” (1955), a scathing take-down of modern war (replete with confused soldiers in mech suits). While a good portion of Smith’s science fictional output was comedic smut with titles like Those Sexy Saucer People (1967) and Flames of Desire (1963), he clearly could craft an effective short fiction in the best genre magazines of the day.

I appeared recently on a podcast about Philip K. Dick’s masterpiece “Foster, You’re Dead” (1955) and felt the urge to track down story about nuclear terror. Smith’s drunk whirlwind of a story “The Last Days of L. A.” (1959) fits the bill. In addition, I selected “In the Imagicon” (1966), an intriguing take on a personal virtual reality machine, as the 34th story in my series on media landscapes of the future.

Previously in my future media series: Russell Bates’ “Hello, Walls and Fences” (1973) and “Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined…:” (1977)

Up Next: Izumi Suzuki’s “Terminal Boredom” (1984)

Let’s get to the stories!

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4/5 (Good)

“The Last Days of L. A.” first appeared in If, ed. Damon Knight (February 1959). You can read it online here.

A nameless character (“you”) wakes from a recurring dream: “the dream that has haunted the whole world since that day in 1945” (60). A dream of apocalyptic annihilation, in infinite variations. A narrative repetition takes form: Nuclear nightmare. The waking moment. The aimless quest for understanding. Communing with other lost souls. The retreat to the bottle. Fragments of the news suggest a world unraveling: “U.S. REJECTS NEW RUSS NOTE. MOON GUNS CAN DESTROY CITIES. […] BURMA LEADER KILLED IN FRESH UPRISING” (62). “You” are plagued by the recurrent image that only the “rats and the fish will carry on and build a better world” (62).

Intermixed with visions of the rat, “You” interact with a variety of new cults and “churches” that spring up across Los Angeles inside “big old nineteenth-century houses” or under “tents in vacant lots” (64) There’s the Church of the New Cosmology, with its demonization of modern science. There’s the Church of Christian Capitalism, “Christ was the first capitalist, dear friends” (65). “You” join another nameless congregation that shuffles from wall to wall as if affirming the existence of the material world: “‘Yes, we can see the wall.’ ‘Is there a wall behind you?’ ‘Yes, there is a wall behind us'” (66). Soon “you” start to believe that “you” have the answer to the world’s problems. “You” take your new theology to the streets. But no one wants to listen.

“The Last Day of L.A.” is one of the more effective stories told in the second person that I’ve encountered! The “You” becomes the stand-in for every member of a society slowly driving itself insane in an attempt to find meaning in a world moments from nuclear annihilation. It’s a hallucinatory whirlwind of a tale, the stumbling of a soul flailing for meaning as the very tendons of society detach. It manifests, and comments upon, that disturbing desire implicit in so many post-apocalyptic stories that the incinerating END will allow all to be made anew. The use of “you” doesn’t overstay its welcome. The gimmick utterly works to channel the hysteria of the age.

Recommended.

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3.25/5 (Above Average)

“In the Imagicon” first appeared in Galaxy Magazine, ed, Frederik Pohl (February 1966). It made the first ballot of the 1967 Nebula Award for Best Short Story. You can read it online here. In 1967, both nominated stories and those that made “first ballot” were reported. I assume that’s essentially like the long list released for the Hugo Awards.

Dandor spends his days in a clichéd utopia of male fantasy–various young women, a blonde, “cuddly redheaded twins,” and a brunette, attend to his every need (140). They manicure his toes and pop grapes in his mouth. But Dandor is bored. He forgets their names. He ponders “why were they all so damn worshipful and always so eager to please?” (140). His mind turns to the Imagicon, “the greatest of all man’s inventions” (140). The women beg him not to leave. He resists his urge to be cruel to his adoring harem. He “tries to be kind” (141). But the Imagicon, an immersive virtual reality device, beckons.

He comes out of the Imagicon in an utterly different world. Nestrond, a mining colony, is a nightmare of a world. Dandor must fight ice wolves, extricate peat from under snowdrifts for heating, and content with a nagging wife. Nona, “God but she’s ugly” (142), is in high demand Nestrond due to the 20-1 ratio of men to women. He accuses her of visiting her boyfriends. Nona accuses him of abandoning her to the Imagicon, that beckons, again, from the corner of the room. Unfortunately, a horrific injury threatens his ability to escape back into the black box.

A slick little satire that serves as a metafictional commentary on SF stories that posit virtual reality as a way to escape the mundane existence. It all depends on the society’s conception of the mundane! Humanity will always want a way to escape whatever reality exists. Somewhat recommended if snarky/polished Galaxy-style satires are your bread-and-butter. It’s a bit slight in its final summation. Unsure why it appeared on the Nebula first ballot.

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