Which books/covers/authors intrigue you? Which have you read? Disliked? Enjoyed?
Finally acquired a new scanner!
1. The Memory of Whiteness, Kim Stanley Robinson (1985)
Fred Gambino’s cover for the 1999 edition
From the back cover: “In the 33rd century humanity is scattered among the planets of the Solar System. Millions of lives depend on the revolutionary physics of Arthur Holywelkin; millions of hears are moved by the music created by the strange, eerie instrument he built in the last years of his life: the Orchestra. Johannes Wright is the Ninth–and youngest–Master of the Orchestra. But as he sets out on his first Grand Tour of the Solar System, unseen foes are at his heel, ready to reveal all but the meaning of their enmity. In confronting them, Wright must redefine the Universe–for himself and all humanity.”
Octavia E. Butler’s Clay’s Ark (1984) is the final published volume of her Patternist sequence (1976-1984).1 It is the third novel according to the internal chronology of the series. Clay’s Ark is, without doubt, the most horrifyingly bleak science fiction novel I have ever read.2 It’s stark. It’s sinister. It’s at turns deeply affective before descending into extreme violence and displaced morality. The moral conundrum that underpins the central problem, the spread of an extraterrestrial disease, unfurls with an unnerving alien logic. Butler’s characters are trapped by the demands of the alien microbes, scarred by the pervasive sense that their humanity is slipping away, and consumed by the fear of starting an epidemic. A true confrontation of the moment cannot lead to anything other than suicide or the first steps towards an apocalyptic transformation.
What pre-1985 science fiction are you reading or planning to read next month? Here’s the August installment of this column.
The Power of the List. I adore lists. I’ve compiled lists of science fiction stories on my site about generation ship stories, immortality (abandoned), overpopulation (abandoned), and sports and games (abandoned). I religiously update my SF Novel and Short Story Review index and the Best SF Novels I’ve reviewed index. In your exploration of genre, I imagine you’ve encountered a “Best Of” list that horrified you — they tend to generate controversy, argument, and all sorts of impulsive takes. Lists can be dangerous. Lists can suggest canon. Lists exclude. Lists can be incomplete. Lists can motivate. Ian Sales, a long-time critic, author, and visitor to my site, created the SF Mistressworks (unfortunately, also abandoned) website in response to an egregious list that demonstrate utter ignorance about the wonderful SF written by women.
Paul Orban’s interior art for George H. Smith’s “The Last Days of L.A.” in If, ed. Damon Knight (February 1959)
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.
Note: My read but “waiting to be reviewed pile” is growing. Short rumination/tangents/impressions are a way to get through the stack before my memory and will fades. My website partially serves as a record of what I have read and a memory palace for future projects. Stay tuned for more detailed and analytical reviews.
1. Joe Haldeman’s All My Sins Remembered (1977)
Peter Jones’ cover for the 1978 UK edition
4/5 (Good)
The vast Confederación is comprised of radically distinct worlds ruled by the entire spectrum of political systems with both alien and non-alien inhabitants. There are few rules: don’t take advantage of indigenous populations and don’t wage wars on neighboring planets. At 22, the naive Otto McGavin, an Anglo-Buddhist, joins the Confederación as an agent to “protect the rights of humans and non-humans” (1). But there’s a twist. Under “deep hypnosis” (6) a “construct” of Otto McGavin will be created for each mission. He’ll take on the identity–under a sheath of plasticine flesh–of whatever person he needs to be depending on the task. Otto, and all his training, will only kick in when his life is at risk.
What pre-1985 science fiction are you reading or planning to read next month? Here’s the July installment of this column.
One of my favorite forms of SF scholarship is careful identification of a intellectual genealogy–tracing what an author read and engaged in dialogue with. Authors are readers. They also can’t escape references and textual traces of what they’ve consumed (or, of course, engagement with the world in which they lived).
I’ve read two interesting examples recently. The first, Carol McGuirk’s “J. G. Ballard and American Science Fiction” in Science Fiction Studies, vol. 49 (2022), is the perfect example of this type of scholarship. She traces Ballard’s engagement with SF, his earliest stories, and the various parallels an interactions between his work and American SF that he read (Galaxy Magazine, Theodore Sturgeon, Fritz Leiber, Robert Heinlein, Frederik Pohl, C. M. Kornbluth, Ray Bradbury, Judith Merril, Federic Brown, Henry Kuttner, C. L. Moore, etc.). She argues that Ballard engaged in “retelling with a twist” (476). She writes that “early Ballard stories rework prior sf in moods ranging from measured homage to barbed repose to parodic photo-bomb” (483).
Alien sex dolls. Carpet stain entities constructing love-nests. Underground retirement community entertainment. Jack Dann’s stories obsessively chart the new rituals of survival in a blasted, irradiated, and decayed future. His characters attempt to identify their place in the world, or, at the very least, stay alive as the world shifts. If you do not care for anti-heroes, a good dose of dystopian perversity, and moments of metaphysical descent, Timetripping (1980) might not be for you. Four of the fourteen stories in the collection were nominated for the Nebula Award.
If you are a fan of the New Wave (and Barry N. Malzberg and Robert Silverberg in particular), and haven’t yet explored Dann’s nightmares, don’t wait as long as I did. Also, go ahead and snag a copy of his later masterpiece The Man Who Melted (1984). I’ve acquired copies of two early fix-up novels Junction (1981) and Starhiker (1976).
My 20 best short story reads of 2025 will undoubtedly include a handful of stories from Timetripping (1980). I found his best works—“The Dybbuk Dolls” (1975), “A Quiet Revolution for Death” (1978), “I’m with You in Rockland” (1972), and “Camps” (1979)—remain cohesive despite moments of metaphysical rumination and deluge of surreal image. Even at his least effective moments of narrative wander, Dann adeptly conjures image and turn of phrase.
Jack Gaughan’s interior art for Arkady and Boris Strugatsky’s “Wanderers and Travellers” in International Science Fiction, ed. Frederik Pohl (November 1967).
Today I’m joined again by Rachel S. Cordasco, the creator of the indispensable website and resource Speculative Fiction in Translation, for the fifth installment of our series exploring non-English language SF worlds. Last time we covered Kathinka Lannoy’s strange (and unsuccessful) Dutch language story “Drugs’ll Do You” (1978, trans. 1981).
Please note that Rachel and I are interested in learning about a large range of authors and works vs. only tracking down the best. That means we’ll encounter some stinkers! Unlike our last entry, this one isn’t a stinker.
The first translated edition of Boris and Arkady Strugatsky’s “Wanderers and Travellers” appeared in Path Into the Unknown, ed. uncredited (1966). Unfortunately, the translator and editor (I assume Judith Merril as she wrote the intro) is unknown. You can read it online here. You can also read it in International Science Fiction, ed. Frederik Pohl (November 1967) online here.
Enjoy!
Richard Powers’ cover for the 1968 edition of Path Into the Unknown, ed. uncredited (1966)
Rachel S. Cordasco’s Review
Arkady and Boris Strugatsky, two of the greatest science fiction authors of the twentieth century, really should be read more widely in the Anglophone world. Thankfully, the Chicago Review Press has been trying to make this happen, reissuing many classics like Roadside Picnic (1972), Hard to be a God (1964), The Inhabited Island (1971), and more. Together, the Strugatsky brothers wrote an astonishing number of novels, short stories, essays, plays, and film scripts, stretching from the 1950s through the 1980s, many of which have been translated into English.
Frank R. Paul’s cover for Wonder Stories, ed. Hugo Gernsback (September 1934)
The following review is the 36th installment of my series searching for “SF short stories that are critical in some capacity of space agencies, astronauts, and the culture which produced them.” Some stories I’ll review in this series might not fit or are poor quality. And that is okay. I relish the act of literary archaeology.
Why John Wyndham? I snagged a copy of David Seed’s new book John Wyndham (2025) out via University of Liverpool Press and realized how little I knew about his pre-War science fiction.1 This story, among a few others, jumped out to me due to its critical stance on human exploration.
Uncredited banner for the Table of Contents in Wonder Stories, ed. Hugo Gernsback (September 1934)
3.5/5 (Good)
John Wyndham, writing as John Benyon Harris, published “The Man from Beyond” (variant title: “The Man from Earth”) in Wonder Stories, ed. Hugo Gernsback (September 1954). You can read the story online here.
Science Fiction and Other Suspect Ruminations 