March saw us do a week of travelling, and though I managed to read some at airports and at night in hotels, I did lose a lot of reading time overall. There were also several astronomy nights in there, where I traded my night time reading for star gazing. Despite this, I managed to get through 11 books, one of them a slim volume of poetry. So here they are....
This month included my last Silverberg SF reading. All done. Tout fini, as they say in Montreal. This time I read the last volume of his short stories, published in chronological order. So these were stories from the late 90s up to around 2010. VOLUME 9: THE MILLENNIUM EXPRESS 1995-2009 contains 16 stories, each one introduced by the author. Several are novellas, which was Silverberg's preferred length of story (70-90 pages, usually). Many of the stories are quite poor and not really worth reading, but there were a few gems. "A Piece of The Great World" is from 2005, and is 72 pages long. This novella is directly related to Silverberg's brilliant full length novel series told in At Winter's End and The New Springtime.
He had plans to write a third novel in the series, but it never came to
be. However, a detailed outline was written, and this novella relates
one part of that unfinished trilogy. Though a good enough story, it
cannot replace the missing epic novel we all hoped would be forthcoming
one day. The story takes place 200 years after people have left the
long winter cocoons. Readers get to fly across the country this time, and then
visit part of the southern coast of the Mediterranean Sea, on an
anthropological expedition to find the last remaining group of a
vanished race. The entire premise of the story is quite sad, though. Well worth reading for fans of the two novels. "Defenders of The Frontier" is from 2010, and is 40 pages long.
A depressing but well told tale that Silverberg wrote for an anthology
of stories about warriors. This would make a great little film, or even
a theatrical live stage production. 11 men at a frontier outpost have
lost contact with their home city over the years. When no other
enemies can be located, they contemplate leaving their fort and attempt
to return home. Well done!
Savage Scorpio is the 16th book of Kenneth Bulmer's Dray Prescott series, and the second one in the Valian Cycle. Bulmer
is now so comfortable with his Dray Prescott hero, as are we, that we
can enjoy seeing his character trying to grapple with his own character
development. He considers himself a peaceful man, even as he goes about
chopping up enemies with his sword. These enemies, however, are
usually asking for it, and attack first. The ones who survive an
encounter with Dray are usually conked on the head and put to sleep
while he carries out various clandestine actions. There is usually some
form of humour on nearly every page, which also helps keep the pages
turning. In this adventure, the Emperor of Vallia, Delia's father and
Dray's father-in-law, is being poisoned by enemies, and Dray and Delia
must get him to the sacred pool in time to save his life. There is no
love lost between the two men, and Dray only helps because of Delia.
This adds to the frustration level of things for readers, for Dray is
never thanked for his life saving heroic deeds, but it also adds to the
humour, as the tense scenes between the two men are often quite funny.
As usual for each successive volume, we learn a bit more about the Star
Lords, those mysterious figures who seem to control Dray as if he were
their puppet. This is another solid entry in the series.
From
1956 comes E. C. Tubb's Trail Blazers the kind of story that most
people would recognize as a 'true' western. It concerns a cattle drive
from Texas to Cheyenne, Wyoming, before there were any cattle trails to
follow. Besides natural obstacles such as desert, gullies, rivers,
mountains, etc. there were also Indians to consider, and an evil bunch
of gangsters in Kansas called the Jayhawkers. Once again Tubb's very
enlightened view of Indians comes through loud and clear in the voice of
his hero. But that doesn't stop a lot of Indians from getting killed,
as well as whites who get in the way of the drive. One of my favourite
TV shows as a kid was called Rawhide. It starred a very young
Clint Eastwood as the assistant head drover, and Eric Fleming as the man
in charge. It ran for 8 seasons and a total of 217 50 minute episodes. The
unforgettable theme song was by Dmitri Tiomkin. Tubb's novel predates
the series by 3 years, but is so close to the Rawhide series in spirit
that it's hard to believe that it wasn't part of it. As usual with
Tubb, this is a good read, and not far from the truth of what the early
west was like.
From
1995 come the first book in Michael Moorcock's Second Ether Trilogy. It is called Blood: A Southern Fantasy, is 336
pages long, and is a truly awful book. Mixing SF pulp fiction (the
really bad kind) with some kind of avant garde style of writing, there
isn't a single redeeming page in this unholy mess of a novel. This
isn't the first Moorcock novel this reviewer has panned, but I hope it
will be the last. There are four main characters, two men and two
women. They are gamblers, after the Earth has pretty much been swallowed
up by a vast black hole sort of thing near Biloxi, MS. After all, what
else do people in Mississippi do but gamble. Our heroes inject themselves
into the Game of Time, and play for stakes that only Moorcock might
understand. As usual, it's Chaos against Law, and the gamblers are
hoping to keep a balance in the multiverse. So what. Many reviewers of
Moorcock are truly afraid to call him out when he goes off the rails
and wastes our time. This novel goes way off the rails (deep into the
muddy Mississippi River) and wastes our time. I dread the thought of
reading the two sequels, and may not...
Lastly from the Avon/Equinox stable of writers comes the next book, Havana Hit, from 1974, in the exciting
series of adventures undertaken by Burt Wulf, vigilante. It is 154
pages and is book #5. Formally of the NYPD narcotics squad, and before that a Vietnam
veteran, Wulf is out to single handed take down the drug trade in
America. So far he is doing a pretty good job, too. Though this one
has its share of murder and explosions, and even a sort of car chase, it
is a much more restrained story than the previous ones. Leaving Las
Vegas for New York with his valise of recaptured heroin, Wulf's plane is
hijacked to--where else--Cuba. Virtually everyone there who comes in
contact with the valise becomes instantly corrupted by the financial
possibilities. Wulf wants his captured valise back, where he has plans
to take it to New York, where it had been stolen from the evidence room
at the precinct by a bad cop. But he has his work cut out for him in
Havana. There is a lot more introspection and existentialism in this
novel, mostly involving thinking about death. Wulf is helped by an
American freelancer, before ultimately being betrayed by him. For the
second time we see Wulf getting close to someone, but this relationship
goes sour at the end. As usual, Malzberg's writing can get the reader's
blood flowing quickly and the heart pounding at times. Chapters often
fly past without readers even knowing they have begun a new one. A good
series so far, and definitely a guilty pleasure. Still, it's not that
much different from a good samurai tale.
Now we can move on to my collection of Delphi Classics writers, which seems to grow each month. Moving alphabetically through the list of writers use to take about a year before I'd be back at the "A" authors. Now it's more like a year and a half. I began with a collection of 40 poems by Rabindranith Tagore. Called The Crescent Moon, it is from 1913. Several poems, each one about a page long, are accompanied by watercolour images done by friends, harkening back to the tradition of Indian miniature painting. The earliest poems express feelings towards a new baby (which he compares to a crescent moon), while later ones give a child's perspective looking out towards mother and father. "Authorship" is quite charming, as the child questions his mother as to why father is always writing at the desk. They are easy to read, but offer no hint as to what is to come from this man's pen.
Next is Olaf Stapledon's third novel. Odd John is from 1935, and purports to be a case study of a rare and unique child growing up in England. The author acknowledges the influence of another British writer. J. D. Beresford's The Hampdenshire Wonder is from 1911, and it's genius child, Victor Stott, is mentioned in Stapledon's book more than once. Beresford in turn credits Jules Verne for influencing his writing. Now we just need to establish who influenced Verne. John's life is short (he will die at 23, we are told near the beginning). After 11 months he is finally forced from the womb, but is still premature and only just manages to survive. He finally decides to walk at six years, and his talking starts late, too. By ten he is a criminal and murderer, but manages to get his life back on track, though his 'experiments' continue on Homo Sapiens. The narrator is a journalist, a friend of the family, and becomes John's companion in many of his adventures. The book becomes much more interesting in the final chapters, as John and others like him establish a colony on a remote South Sea island. Many races are represented, including two Africans, something I cannot recall from any other novels until recent time. All are telepaths, and far beyond humans in most things. In addition, these people are not just freakish in their intelligence, but also in their physical features, which are more than somewhat grotesque. The main thing that the book makes clear is that a very few people are so far beyond being human in intelligence that they find it impossible to remain sane while living among them. Stapledon, so far as I have read (first 3 novels) is not so much a storyteller, but a chronicler. The difference between an author telling us a story and a journalist, if you like. But he is a pretty amazing journalist. This book is an odd one, like its main character. It's difficult to put it into a category of SF, as like his two previous books, it pretty much stands alone. Worth a read, especially if you sometimes feel like you don't really belong to society.
Jules Verne's From The Earth To The Moon was published in 1865. Like other novels by Verne, this story is filled with the latest up to date science from its day, as well as geographical knowledge of America. But it's not all about the science; the satire is priceless. Parts of this book, especially the early chapters, are among the funniest things I have ever read. Largely poking fun at Americans and their love of guns (some things never change), many other countries also take a hit, especially Britain. But the author also pokes fun at France, Switzerland, Spain, and many others. Having recently visited the Florida State Highpoint (345'), it is amusing to see the giant gun built atop a Florida hill over 1800' high. Also at the time, the highest point in the American Rockies was 10,600', where a large telescope was needed to build to see the projectile once launched (!). And that mountain was in Missouri! But geography and science facts aside, Verne hits a home run with this fanciful tale of three men launched to the moon from Earth. Great fun! The sequel came later, and will be reported upon here someday.
Next came another great old classic, H. G.Wells' The Island of Dr. Moreau, from 1896. This is much more a horror story than a SF one, and indeed becomes quite horrifying at times. Some of the atmosphere comes through well in the 1930s Charles Laughton version, but the book itself provides all the necessary inner pictures necessary to imagine the island, the doctor, and the native inhabitants. There have been so many novels set on uncharted Pacific islands, but this must remain as one of the best of them. What the storyteller has to go through by the end of the novel has to be one of the most harrowing adventures ever told in fiction. Permanent damage is done to his pysche; even once back safely in London he can no longer view people as harmless and with the ability to love one another. Moreau's vivisection experiments and his alteration of beasts into men would likely drive anyone mad. Some parts are actually difficult to read. A completely amazing and original novel, and one that I would likely read again.
The Duchess of Padua is a five act play from 1883, and was Oscar Wilde's 2nd play. It was written for a specific actress, who refused it. The play has never done well, though in the late 1890s it played in New York for 3 weeks. It reads like a weak Shakespeare entry. The action centres around a young man who is groomed to avenge his father's death at the hands of a cruel duke, and the duke's wife, who falls in love with the young man. It's all been written before, and there are no new lines of any value here, despite a bit of Wilde's wit coming through in the later acts. It certainly shows promise, however, as the events, action, and writing show the writer to have been very well read and able to maintain a certain tradition and uphold its values. But we must be patient. Soon the Wilde we all know and love will be ready to show his stuff.
I finished up with an early Edgar Wallace crime novel called The Four Just Men, from 1905. The story is about a small group of vigilantes who carry out assassinations of people worthy of being murdered. In this case, an unjust law (in their humble opinion) is about to be passed in the British House, and they threaten to kill the minister in charge unless he retracts the bill. Wallace stretches credibility somewhat in his attempt to make the four men super intelligent and infinitely resourceful. However, in the end, while they do achieve their goals, they barely manage it, and one of them gets killed. This is pretty good writing, and the pages turn almost on their own. It helps that the novel isn't overly long.
Mapman Mike
