I polished off another author from the Avon/Equinox original 24, reading my last book by James Blish. I am down to Silverberg, Anthony, Harrison, Bulmer, Tubb, Williamson, Moorcock, and Malzberg. Thus, if I continue to read one book per month by these authors, I will have more time in the latter days of the month to read any other books on my list. So besides the above 9 authors, including, Blish, I managed to read three other books last month. Let's get started.
Silverberg's Book of Skulls has been hailed by many as a very fine story. Truth be told, I found it more than slightly boring to read. Four college boys, representing a wide spectrum of white boys (again, the author mostly excludes girls from his narrative, except for sex), set out for Arizona, in search of a cult that promises everlasting life. A chapter at a time is devoted to each boy, with the narrative seldom repeating, but marching on toward the desert. None of the boys are the least bit likable, and I hardly cared what happened to any of them. The old scrolls say that four must set forth, but that two will be sacrificed. No problem; it'll be somebody else, not me. It takes a long time to arrive at the monastery complex, where very old but hearty priests await them eagerly. The boys begin to under rigourous training, which some take to and one doesn't. The book is classified as SF, even though it really isn't, and was nominated in the early 70s for a Hugo! I was not impressed at all.
I continue, for now, to waste some time each month reading Piers Anthony, hoping that someday he will recover his senses and write a great book once again, like he used to. His writing has become so obviously commercial that virtually every new book of his I read causes me pain and frustration. Hard Sell is a supposedly comical story that juveniles might find fun to read, though I doubt there is any appeal for adult readers. I found myself skimming through a lot of this story about a man who can't seem to hold onto a job. As usual, he is honest and moral, and will not go one millimeter against his beliefs. Anthony's main characters are all exactly the same in each and every novel he now writes, and their blandness and lack of any common sense in real world situations is, at best, grotesque.
Rescued once again by Harry Harrison, who can be one very funny writer, I read his follow-up novel to one of his better non-serious books. Bill The Galactic Hero: (see first book on this page) The Planet of Robot Slaves is one giant joke from start to finish. As ridiculous as the story is, Harrison always has something worthwhile to say, and his ongoing digs at life in the military (as a private) are as pointed as they are hilarious. This book spawned a series that Harrison planned out but that others actually wrote, which I will not be pursuing.
I read Prince of Scorpio by Kenneth Bulmer, the 5th book of his nearly endless Dray Prescott series. The book completes a 5-novel series called The Delian Cycle. At this time I have no plans to continue reading the series, so will stop here and try another of his endeavours. Bulmer will likely be the next author I will be able to wrap up permanently on these pages, but I still have a few things of his to try. The present series is a somewhat lackluster retelling of Burroughs, Haggard, and Howard. I would much rather read books by those authors.
Virtually everything written by E C Tubb is been published on Kindle, and unpublished, unknown work continues to emerge. This month I read another early, very short work called Dynasty of Doom a title that has nothing to do with the story. Tubb has written several works that deal with a star ship trapped in a kind of non-space, and the events and landscapes described are always quite fascinating. It's an action-packed pulp SF adventure, and though not one of his better works, is still fun to read.
Jack Williamson teamed up again with Frederik Pohl, this time for Land's End, a post-apocalyptic adventure that I quite enjoyed, despite a few weighty problems. A comet is heading for Earth, but is broken up using atomic warheads. However, the destruction comes anyway, in the form of millions of comet parts raining down mercilessly, and killing most of the surface life. There are a few undamaged underwater cities, and the surface is trying to also make a small comeback. The plot is spoiled by an alien presence that's been sleeping in the ocean for millions of years, and awakens during the mess, as well as a family of bad guys that are nothing but cartoons of themselves. Still, there are many scenes that will remain with me a long time.
A City In the Autumns Stars is Moorcock's second Von Beck novel in his short series. It takes place beginning in 1794, following a more modern Von Beck this time, as he flees Paris for his life, disillusioned by The Terror, the direct sequel to the revolution itself. Moorcock creates some wonderful settings, often in taverns, and the secondary characters we meet are fleshed out and fascinating on their own. Prince Miroslav, Lord Renyard (the scholar fox), and Red O'Doud are only a few of the fascinating people encountered in this magical and mystical journey. Well worth reading, and possibly even rereading.
Galaxies by Barry Malzberg is a rather brilliant concept for a SF novel, as the author, instead of writing a SF novel, narrates it to us from his notes regarding the possible novel. It concerns a lone woman commander of a space ship that is captured by a black hole, and what might or could happen to her as a result. One of his best SF works, this one is a gem.
And sadly I come to my final Blish novel. It was my second reading of Fallen Star, from 1957. A polar expedition sets out to do some research at the North Pole, and I think I enjoyed it even more second time around. It is one of the best novels, of any type, I have ever read. Blish can write characters, action, adventure, and thoughtful plots, this one involving the breakup of a planet that became the asteroid belt, as well or better than almost anyone else. A huge piece of the broken up planet was thought to have crashed at the pole, lying hidden for millions of years. This really is a must read novel, which also shows off the author's wonderful and sophisticated sense of humour, despite the devastating finale.
And cover of the month goes to Harrison's Bill novel. Congratulations to the artists.
Turning to other books read, there were three, all excellent in their own way. Kate Chopin's 23 short stories that make up her Bayou Folk, is from 1894. These are tales from a small, isolated parish in central Louisiana, where the author lived for a time. The stories are often brilliant in their piercing look into simple local lives and the complications that arise as they go about their business. Some stories are tragic, a few are humourous, some are psychological portraits, and some are adventurous. But they all are told with warmth and sympathy. Known mostly for her shorter fiction, Chopin also wrote two novels. I hope to be able to read all of her works, which I now possess on Kindle. Most of the stories are worth rereading, too.
Next came a book I was given by Jenn G., a good friend who works at a bookstore, and who also gave me last month's Guy Gavriel Kay novel, one of the best things I have ever read. This time it was the memoirs of Philip Glass, called Words Without Music. And that's just what the book is; it is not written for musicians, but for anyone to read. He has led a rather fascinating life, and though much of his music does not interest me that much, some of it does to an extraordinary degree. We saw and heard him perform with his ensemble in Detroit many years ago (A Thousand Airplanes On The Roof, and other works), and of course we more or less worship his scored film Koyaanisqatsi, among other works. We are planning a Solstice Day and New Year's Eve tribute to Glass and his music. The book is endlessly fascinating, and I will be checking out several more of his music creations as a result. I also gleaned some pretty good performing ideas from him, ones I've never heard before from any teacher.
Lastly came a book I've wanted to read since I was immersed in the Ballantine Adult Fantasy series, several years ago now. Lin Carter frequently mentioned a book of stories by Robert Chambers called The King In Yellow, which was published in 1895 (a year later than Bayou Folk), a book that used to be impossible to find. Those stories pretty much got H P Lovecraft going on his way, though he does not write nearly as well as Chambers. The Chambers book contains ten short stories and novelettes, four of which concern The King In Yellow, which is a fictional play that, if read, drives a person mad. The book has been outlawed and banned, but underground copies abound. In addition to the four loosely related stories concerning this play, there are two others of supernatural interest, also very good, and four more or less regular short stories. Chambers was an artist before he turned to writing, and the remaining four stories tell tales of artists living in Paris. One story is a harrowing vision of life in Paris during the Franco-Prussian War, during the bombardment of Paris in 1870-71. There are some unforgettable moments in that story. The last tale is unexpectedly very funny, about a young American artist who manages to capture the attention of a beautiful young Parisian woman that wouldn't even glance at any of the other male art students. He gets his big chance, and completely ruins it, to his eternal shame. I'm sure many guys can relate well to this story. Again I now have his complete works on Kindle.
Mapman Mike
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