Gutenberg Sci-Fi 5
Abraham Merritt
Not the earliest writer on this list, but Abraham Merritt predates Fifties Sci‐Fi by thirty years. His work is often categorised as a source of the boom. If The Moon Pool is typical, then that’s a claim that needs to be explained. See, this is a hidden world story. It’s true that, while describing it’s hidden world, the text shows a concern to reference scientific plausibility. It would take more knowledge than mine to tell you if Mr. Merrit’s science was good for the time. Or how much scientific reference was a feature of the time, though I know the idea of social class was making it’s way everywhere. Anyway, Mr. Merrit spins and weaves stuff like,
I took out the two Bequerel ray‐condensers… I had found them most useful in making spectroscopic analysis of luminous vapours… had found them most useful… splendid results… in collecting the diffused radiance of the nebulae…
On the one hand, that is a reference to science of the time. On the other, it’s pebbledash to avoid investigation of rough fantasy. I’m not holding this against Merrit’s work, because much early Fifties Sci‐Fi was ‘hidden world’, except the ‘hidden world’ was outer space. But then the Fifties work, at it’s most terse and involving became more—scientific speculation—which Merrit’s work is not. Merrit’s lost world is Empire fantasy, all silk, marble, and dangerous natives—though with a view generous that there may be also knowledge unknown and human drama. Readers will get this kind of writing,
I turned and faced an immensity of crimson waters… A breeze blew, the first real wind I had encountered… the surface, that had been a molten laquer, rippled and dimpled. Little waves broke with a spray of rose‐pearls and rubies. The giant Medusae drifted—stately, luminous kaleidoscopic elfin moons.
Merrit’s work is, it is said, ‘Not much read now’ but he was a bestseller of the age. I say he’s good style, that the characters of Goodwin and O’Keefe are nicely set against each other—Goodwin is a scientist with some hazy superstition, O’Keefe believes superstition as fact, but has no time for the inexplicable. I’d say also that Merrit’s stream of drama and image has invention—impressive—but The Moon Pool shows how basic premises have weight—this book’s love/slavery drama has no modern resonance.
Sam Merwin
Considering he lead a long career as author and editor, there’s not much information on Sam Merwin. Admittedly, he was an earlier writer, WWII into Fifties, which will reduce information. And The Final Figure will not explain why. The story is only vaguely Sci‐Fi and perhaps better for that, as it’s a story with a mild twist, modest characters, involves war‐models and is well‐assembled. Arbiter is one of those jolly lets‐fix‐this American types, with a more‐than‐usual complex background and subtle solution. You know, spaceships, they crash… and whose fault is that?
There’s maybe seven Sci‐Fi stories by Sam Merwin on Project Gutenberg. If you find mystery and romance stories by ‘Samuel Merwin’… not the same person.
Catherine L. Moore
Usually disguised as ‘C. L. Moore’. Also a university lecturer in creative writing, and for a while television scriptwriter. As noted not only here, but every public mention, prising her work from Henry Kuttner is still a subject today. The editors of Gutenberg must know or suspect something, because Juke‐Box is credited to C. L. Moore, yet the transcription credits to ‘Woodrow Wilson Smith’, a cover‐name for Henry Kuttner. Bewildered?! Anyway, the story starts with ok character and action, low‐key, in a scenario that is not SciFi, about a communicative jukebox. Then detonates a small bomb, before reaching the end it should. I found myself hovering, especially until the bomb arrives, over a story loaded but not explored with potential for allegory and fantasy. Still, a well‐made story about something other than interplanetary flight.
Edgar Pangborn
A writer who somewhat predated the sci‐fi boom, and who published some of it’s first novels. I’ve not read enough, but truth is his writing seems tangential to sci‐fi, but firmly in a position of wonderous fantasy. I read West of the Sun, an alternate planet setup, which is written in a home‐brew style I found likable. His work is not pulpy in scenario, only concept.
If it helps, one of Mr. Pangbourn’s stories, pretty famous, is the title of an album by the rock group Gong—‘Angel’s Egg’. And it’s on Gutenberg. I recall someone saying somewhere that Angels Egg was hugely popular. Not sure what that means. Angel’s Egg is presented as science fiction, but is fantasy. As usual, the utopian future is pastoral. Is it well‐turned and does the author earn his charm, not trade it it? Yes.
H. Beam Piper
A lesser‐known writer from the early SciFi age (1950’s), H. Piper was a working man, self‐taught and thoughtful. Graveyard of Dreams uses the common stock of planetary travel and American can‐do with unusual subtlety of personal and political thought, which makes for drama. A story of the impossible dreams that support common life, a journey that doesn’t work out, and a resolution that is at least practical. If short of Poul Anderson’s towards‐realism, it’s a tightly‐written example of the rise in pulp fiction standard without stepping from it’s origins.
Reportedly through copyright loss, but also likely archival enthusiasm, there are thirty‐nine entries for Piper work on Gutenberg—I can’t vouch for it, but surely worth a look.
Frederik Pohl
Mentioned elsewhere, it’s curiously difficult to find anything about Frederik Pohl. He must be as well‐archived as anyone—I think there’s an autobiography somewhere. And he was an editor and frequent collaborator—maybe that tells you something about him? Anyway, My Lady Greensleves had me checking the date, which is 1957. The date, why is the date a riddle? Because the story fully meets my Sturgeon/Dick definition of SciFi, a plausible scientific/technological ‘if’ used to create key components of the story. On this list, only some of the work of Fritz Leiber and Philip K. Dick, in their own ways, meets this definition. As for this one, it’s a tale of a prison break, set in the future. The story is extended, the telling neat and, guesswork but I think probable, it was written with research. The story also gains from not having the modern obsession with physical demonstration. Ironic, given that this is pulp fiction so the story moves on a physical conflict or two. Yes, but not obsessing over the physical conflict lets the teller concentrate on drama and moving the story along. Clearest example yet of a new form.
The Hated is a psychological dig, with only the trappings of space exploration. I find it’s premise unconvincing (not the sci‐fi, the psychology). But if you can live with the premise, this is a story told well, a casual introduction and tidy end. It’s on the boundary of styles from the culture of Sci‐Fi—with no mention of other planets, it would pass as a good short story.
Frederik Pohl and Cyril M. Kornbluth
Frederick Pohl and Cyril Kornbluth collaborated now and then, through perhaps seven years. I tried a short story The Engineer. Hard to prise apart at this distance, but an easily sketched and vaguely symbolic future environment occurs in other writing by Cyril Kornbluth, yet the not‐a‐twist end, which is low‐key and a conclusion of drama, may come from elsewhere. Good story.
M. Pohl and Kornbluth together wrote a handful of novels. Of these, Reach For The Stars (magazine‐serialised as Gravy Train) is famous—it shifted maybe 10 million copies. That book is not available on Gutenberg, but to this day is recommended as one of the best SciFi novels. A later novel, Search The Sky is available, and is impressive even now. Ok, the characters are sketchy, but they exist; and the character interaction is melodramatic, but amusing and inventive. The density of exploration in scenario is remarkable, beats near anything listed here. However, liking the book could depend on the plot—a ramble through three or four speculative societies. The end relies on a dubious biological premise, though it could be reworked as an argument for multi‐culturalism.
WolfBane is the last novel M. Pohl and Kornbluth wrote together. It’s usually called a novel, and after serialisation was published as such, but with a central character and shorter length I make it more of a long‐short story or ‘novella’. At base it has a common theme of the time, the importance of American Entrepreneurialism. France‐wise, as America is, this is individualistic. But the first chapters stick out from other writing here because of point‐of‐view writing in opposition. It’s rare enough to see this technique here, let alone in work convincing, sympathetic and inventive. The following chapters suffer from a problem I recall Damon Knight talking about in The Chrysalids by John Wyndham—a creepy beginning, with submerged wrongness, is exposed as plot, which kills the effect. However, Alfred Bester‐like, the authors then make a spectacular set of turns, leading to other moments and images that verge on horror. I’d also note that, despite the reputation of Sci‐Fi writing, this is only the third story on this list with aliens. Aliens way spookier and convincing than anything I have seen in film—script‐writers take note. If you want your Sci‐Fi weird, but can’t get on with Philip Dick, strongly recommended.
Five of the collaborations are available.
Fletcher Pratt
Damon Knight—short story writer, fan, and critic of 1950’s sci‐fi—noted Fletcher Pratt. As I recalled, he listed one of Fletcher Pratt’s books as one of six or so classics of the movement. A later check showed that as not correct, but Knight did devote a chapter to The Blue Star. To get this straight, the book is not science fiction. Damon Knight knew this, and was happy to review what he called Fantasy books, which were part of the same publishing uplift.
Anyway, The Blue Star proposes witchery and magic exist. It also, as these stories often do, throws back to a maybe 1700’s mentality, in 1500’s costume. However, the book takes a turn that is rare, as it holds to a level of social realism. Witchery, as the text sets up, is under control, and in most places illegal. So the book is not of superpowers, and neither is it the outstanding fantasy of, say, The Wizard of Oz. It’s an investigation, or speculation, on an alternative society, much as News from Nowhere by William Morris, or Animal Farm.
To build his world, Fletcher Pratt uses a language distorted from the common. This can be excruciating, but Mr. Pratt has cooked up a modest and inventive stew. To pull a page, the language uses backwards query “”Have you the Blue Star…?”, Anglo‐Saxonism, “She is my sweetheart”, and active verbs, “gripped”. Though there are no language figures, Mr. Pratt is alert to the sound of words in a way nobody else here is. For example, an obvious, “…showed this first visitor to be holding a naked sword, that dripped, plash, plash, on the stone.” And the drama is uncommon, as you know why the people are to do something, but often do not know what they will do. There’s only one pulp fiction move in the plot, and it’s no worse than, and as necessary as, any number of good writers might turn out.
I can’t think who I would recommend The Blue Star to. If it’s Swords and Sorcery you like, there are no dragons or mountains. If you like pulp opera there are no armies or nation‐saving. If you like grand literature, you may get a little fretful about a swim through a world of tall ships and boarding houses. Strangely, a personal response, the book brought to my mind the idea of a light‐hearted Honour Balzac. Lengthy, but I’m glad I read this one.
The Onslaught from Rigel is an early work that pre‐dates the Golden Age of SciFi. Initially, the story irritated, as the proposal is a comet—fantasy pitched as science fiction. Once I got past that, this small novel sticks to it’s proposals. It’s written in a mannered but likeable style—the talk between characters is especially odd but entertaining,
“Who touched off the pineapple, boyfriend?”
A long sequence about weapon conception and building sounds more plausible (for it’s time) than anything else I’ve read. The plot is built from war scenes admirable in their terseness and variety. The author mildly speculates from the bases to work up some dreamy scenes. All in all, it’s perhaps the most enjoyable early sci‐fi effort I’ve ever read.
Fletcher Pratt wrote reams about history and military, but only a few sci‐fi or fantasy works. It is said he shifted concept radically on each one. There’s a handful of works available on Gutenberg.
Lester del Rey
Editor and writer, who invented nonsense about his name (‘Leonard Knapp’) and life. …And It Comes Out Here is the usual illogic generated by time travel. The author good humouredly steps through and about this, salvaging a happy future for all mankind. The social drama is amiable, feels historical even for the time, and in every dimension the thing is twaddle.
I’m going to hand over to an abbreviated quote from Algis Budrys, from Wikipedia,
The typical del Rey character is an individual who is trying to do the decent thing… The typical… problem is that of a good and faithful being trying to understand a complex situation… When he writes a story whose problem becomes apparent only in the last paragraphs, this is frequently the nature of his “trick” ending — the mood is not shock but sorrow…
Could be the plot summary of Victory. Victory is only 70 pages or so, but the shifts of identity is an original form—a mini novel, not a short story. Not for the first time, I say this may be 50’s Sci‐Fi, but it’s not hard‐core—it’s a cultural drama with with a little war strategy thrown in. This story taught me something—this is the first on the list where I felt the text sprang from something the author wanted to say. If you like that more elusive feel, delivered by aliens whose heads look like chickens, recommended. Dead Ringer is an aliens story of ready‐mades well‐assembled (which could be re‐imagined in many styles), with an ending that would bring humanity, so to speak, to many other texts.
Anna Sewell
Long before the Sci‐Fi uplift, the 1870’s, Anna Sewell wrote a book. An uncredited comment from Wikipedia,
The book is considered to be one of the first English novels to be written from the perspective of a non‐human animal, in this case a horse.
I’m in no position to say if Black Beauty was the first story written from an animal’s outlook. However, it was and remains a popular work. Though often regarded as a book for children, it is good also for adults. The book is written in a calm, verbose style which starts like this,
The first place that I can well remember was a large pleasant meadow with a pond of clear water in it. Some shady trees leaned over it, and rushes and water‐lilies grew at the deep end.
Modern writers may assume some of the thing‐words, and drop the join‐words. But the writing is always precise and vivid. And M. Sewell convinces she knew horses and their lives. As the story progresses, there is a wealth of detail and incident, perhaps of drama low‐key for modern tastes, but drama nonetheless. The story of Beauty’s injury, disfigurement and later treatment is fired by a passion that could only have come from a writer who was herself lamed early in childhood. The submerged appeals for kindness and charity may seen a little naive to modern life, but are gentle and it’s still a compelling argument that good husbandry will lead to good nature.
Now, let me propose this book had been written, perhaps in slightly different style, then released ninety years later? Would it not have been classed as Sci‐Fi? Perhaps not hardcore Sci‐Fi, but projection into the outlook of a horse could be classed as Fantasy. One of the bases of Cardwainer Smith’s Game of Rat and Dragon is to see from the mind of a cat. Plenty of others, for example Robert Sheckley, put readers into alien outlooks or beholding wondrous views. The generality that all fiction attempts this is an assertion towards the banal. But if restricted to the alien view, Black Beauty raises questions about book classification and the cultural status of categories of fiction. Try switching this discussion to multi‐culturalism, then hear the fires explode and rage.
Black Beauty was the written near the end of Anna Sewell’s life, and the only fiction she ever published.