I read 11 books last month, 10 from my Avon Equinox project and one unrelated. I also squeezed in five chapters (with lots of footnote reading, too) of the 1,000 page Beethoven biography. 28 chapters to go! The unrelated book was the first SF novel written by Vernor Vinge, called Grimm's World. From the 1960s, it was quite a good and unusual planetary adventure/romance, written on a big scale. Lots of room for sequels, but there were none. An interesting ending for the main character, too.
I managed to get through a full cycle of Avon Equinox novels, though I began the month at #2 author Piers Anthony. As of November 1st I am back where I started, again beginning the month with one of his tales. I began the October session with his restored 532 page Mute, a novel that ends up being a bad imitation of a cross between Wizard of Oz and a James Bond adventure. When Anthony is on, he is one of the best SF writers out there. But when he goes off, he can really spoil things. Often a victim of his own ego, he delights in carrying things far beyond the material's ability to be stretched any further. The story feels like a writer's exercise, as he delights in putting his hero in danger, then seeing how he can get him out of it. And he puts him in danger about every 3rd page, so after several dozen of these situations, this reader gets glassy-eyed. So, not a good start to the month.
Next came the usually reliable Harry Harrison. I read Homeworld, the first book of his To The Stars trilogy. Harrison is a fabulous writer, and his sense of humour is unparalleled. But this story is dark and without humour. Way too dark. I was quite surprised at how much he put his hero through, only to have him suffer even worse at the very end. To end the first book of a trilogy in this manner is not to encourage sales of book 2, in my opinion. I don't mind darkness and horror, but there should be a little bit of light at the end of a story. Not this one. The darkness becomes so overwhelming that I am not looking forward to the 2nd novel very much. There is nothing that could happen now that would make amends to the lead character of book one; Dickens did this quite often, too. Most of his characters would have been psychological basket cases before the happy ending, and so it is with Harrison's hero. He is toast, shattered, no matter what the author might do to save him.
Next came Kandar, by Kenneth Bulmer, his homage to Edgar Rice Burroughs and Robert E. Howard. It is a sweeping sword and sorcery epic that also reminded me of works by Fritz Leiber and Michael Moorcock. I really enjoyed this original take on a familiar theme, and wish there had been more Kandar stories. Bulmer hit a bullseye with this one, and displays his sense of humour nicely!
Temple of Death by E. C. Tubb was also a good read, in the tradition of the best pulp novels. An Earthman is hired to investigate the secretive religion of native Martians, who do not allow any trespassing onto their religious areas by colonists from Earth, and no questions about it, either. This is a good adventure story, with a hair-raising ending. Bad Martians! Good humans! Great fun!
Next up was the first book of yet another SF trilogy, this one written by Jack Williamson and Frederik Pohl. The Reefs Of Space is the first novel in their Starchild trilogy. Similar to the later Harrison trilogy mentioned above, this one also features a bleak future world, where people are totally controlled and dominated by an oppressive government. Some very nasty things are going on in this good but very dark story, not all of them making me very happy at all. Unlike Harrison, however, some light is allowed to enter near the end of book 1. It is not a fast paced novel, but takes its time to develop the characters and setting, allowing the reader to do some thinking along the way. I am very much looking forward to book 2 later this month.
The Ice Schooner by Michael Moorcock was next, a tale that takes place in a bleak arctic future. The atmosphere of perpetual winter is beautifully handled by the author, and joins other great wintry novels by such writers as John Christopher and Robert Silverberg, among others. If you like cold adventures, then this one is for you. A really great story and setting.
Millenium People by J. G. Ballard is one of his best novels, recounting the ridiculous but sincere rebellion of some middle class people in London. The story opens with a devastating bomb blast at Heathrow Airport's baggage claim, killing the ex-wife of the novel's hero. He spends the rest of the nearly 300 pages trying to track down the bomber, and coming to terms with his own psychological problems. One of the great themes of the novel is violence for the sake of violence. Nothing unnerves people more than a vicious act that has no motive. We can come to terms with evil acts a bit better once we know why they were done in the first place. But what if there is no rational reason? Excellent reading and highly recommended.
The Men Inside by Barry Malzberg may be the weirdest novel I have ever read. Believe me when I say that is quite something. In the future, medical advances have allowed for early detection of cancers and the ability to rid the body of them. But only if you are rich enough to afford the procedure. What is the procedure? It involves shrinking a technician to miniature size to get inside the victim and remove the cancer. The technician/hero of our story is quite mad to begin with, but is completely driven over the edge by what he has become since taking on this job. Strange, strange, strange writing. But quite fascinating.
Next came James Blish's Welcome To Mars, my 2nd visit to the red planet this month (not counting my real visits via my telescope). Written for late high school readers, the first part of this novel gets quite technical, thus making it fodder mostly for science geeks. However, once the story gets off the ground, so to speak, things get really entertaining. A 17 old boy discovers an anti-gravity drive and leaves for Mars. He becomes stranded, and his very smart 17 year old female friend attempts a rescue, which leaves them both stranded on Mars. Some witty conversations between the teenagers enliven this fun SF novel, in the tradition of Rex Gordon's First On Mars and Andy Weir's The Martian. I doubt kids today would read it, but I really enjoyed it.
Lastly, I began again at the beginning of my pile of awaiting books, and read Robert Silverberg's The Masks of Time. A man from 2999 AD returns to Earth in 1998 AD, in Silverberg's attempt to write a literary book (according to his foreword). No harm in trying, but I found the book quite boring, the hero like a piece of damp cardboard, and it took some doing to finish it up. It becomes a basic Messiah story, but nowhere near as good as Farmer's Jesus of Mars, or even Spinrad's later take, called He Walked Among Us.
I'll save movie news for next time, but as promised here is a much beloved piece of cat art from the DIA.
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