Bewilderment by Richard Powers (W. W. Norton, November 1, 2022); Orbital by Samantha Harvey
(Grove Press, October 29, 2024), and Cahokia Jazz by Francis Spufford (Faber & Faber, April 4, 2024)
I just finished Richard Powers’ Bewilderment, from 2021. It’s a really intriguing and powerful novel, that I argued with at times, but still loved. It’s got a great ending, tremendously moving.
And it is absolutely science fiction. Way more so than most SF books these days, even hard SF. But, somehow, it didn’t even get a sniff at either the Nebula or Hugo shortlist.
Mind you, I didn’t read it until now, so I’m part of the problem. And, to be fair, both Ian Mond and Paul di Filippo reviewed it for Locus, so it wasn’t ignored.
The Nebula that year went to The Master of Djinn, and the Hugo to A Desolation Called Peace. Both are fine books, and A Desolation Called Peace is science fiction. But they are not at the level of Bewilderment.
We — the SF community — are missing important SF books. We missed Orbital, a Booker winner. (Bewilderment made the Booker shortlist.) We may be missing Cahokia Jazz.
I think we need to come to terms with the fact that writers who are not part of our “SF community”, if you will, are doing some great science fiction anyway.
Rich Horton’s last article for us was a review of The New Atlantis, edited by Robert Silverberg. His website is Strange at Ecbatan. Rich has written over 200 articles for Black Gate, see them all here.
We do not have a Hugh for you today. It’s been a very challenging week.
My desk broke, and I bought a new one. I remember when standing desks were $3,000. I bought a height adjustable desk for $100. Then, when I finally decided to decompress and fire up Avowed, it helpfully warned me that I needed to update BIOS, because intel 13/14 has issues. I hate updating BIOS. I usually chicken out. This time I did it, and my system fans shot into the overdrive. For some reason the BIOS update set one of them to dc instead of pwm. Ask me how long it took me to figure that out. Way too damn long.
There are last minute Maggie-related things that had to be taken care of, like maps and extras, Sookie’s surgery, and anyway, life. Gordon came into the kitchen today to help me as I was washing up some pans I left soaking overnight and said, “It’s finally Friday. Long week.”
I thought it was Wednesday, BDH. Maybe Thursday.
Hugh’s book is going very slowly. This is going to sound very woo-woo, but as a writer, you kind of sink into your project. You live it, you’re deep in it. I keep bouncing from Hugh 2 for some reason. This book needs more thinking.
So there is no Hugh. But we got this email from Tor.
Just wanted to check in and see how many galleys you would like to order! Can you let us know how many author and agent copies you’d like us to reserve by Friday, 3/28?
Thank you!
Galleys are very basic ARCs. No frills, no covers, just the story in a super-plain binding. This is the very first batch, the first printing, probably pre-copyedit. We do not have an ETA on when the galleys will arrive, but this is your chance to get one just like our Grand Prize winner of the holiday giveaways.
This will be a US only giveaway. The giveaway will run for one week. Winner will be chosen on Friday, March 28th, 2025.
If you were transported into a book, which book would that be? Doesn’t have to be one of ours. Any book you’ve read. To enter, tell us your answer in the comments. One comment per person. You must enter on the blog. Facebook ands other social networks will not count.
Good luck!
The post A Secret Giveaway first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.
Take a look at this stunning cover for the 4th Elven Kingdom book, STORM WOOD, designed by the amazing Hang Le! It will be out in the world May 13th. Deepest loyalty. Fiercest defiance. I never wanted to fall in love. My sister’s disappearance damaged me for such things. I’ve devoted my life finding her—no...
The post Cover Reveal – Storm Wood appeared first on Donna Grant.
An Earthman on Venus (Avon, 1950). Cover by Raymond Johnson
Ralph Milne Farley (1887 – 1963) was a pseudonym for Roger Sherman Hoar. Hoar was a Massachusetts senator and an attorney general, so I can understand his use of a pseudonym to write his SF stories under, but I can’t imagine why he’d choose one just as long and awkward as his real name, and even less memorable.
At any rate, Farley was friends with Edgar Rice Burroughs and wrote his own series of Sword & Planet adventures sometimes called the Radio series, since most of the books featured the term radio in their titles.
[Click the images for non antmen-sized versions.]
As far as I can see, there are about ten titles in this series, but I’ve only read the first two (covers shown above and below):
The Radio Man (or An Earthman on Venus): Avon Books, (Raymond Johnson cover), 1924/1950
The Radio Beasts: Ace Books, (Ed Emshwiller cover), 1925/1964
In The Radio Man, an Earth scientist named Myles Cabot invents a transmission device that uses radio and accidentally transmits himself to Venus, where he finds human-like beings — including a princess — who are enslaved by intelligent, horse-sized ants who use radio waves for communication. Cabot uses his technical know how to create guns for the humans and leads a revolt.
The story was inventive and fun but without nearly as much action and derring-do as ERB’s John Carter stories.
The Radio Beasts (Ace Books, February 7, 1964). Cover by Ed Emshwiller
The sequel, The Radio Beasts, was also readable but didn’t seem to add much to the overall story, and the writing doesn’t have the flair and color of ERB.
I don’t, at present, have any intention of reading the rest of the volumes, which — as far as I’m aware — consist of:
The Radio Planet
The Radio Flyers
The Radio Gun-Runners
The Golden Planet
The Radio Menace
The Radio Man Returns
The Radio Minds of Mars
The Radio War
Charles Gramlich administers The Swords & Planet League group on Facebook, where this post first appeared. His last article for Black Gate was Of Men, Monsters, and Little People.
Fish Tales, by Nettie Jones, is a lost classic taking its rightful place in the…
The post Spotlight on “Fish Tales” by Nettie Jones appeared first on LitStack.
I received a review copy from the publisher. This does not affect the contents of my review and all opinions are my own.
White Line Fever by K.C. Jones
Mogsy’s Rating: 3.5 of 5 stars
Genre: Horror
Series: Stand Alone
Publisher: Nightfire (March 18, 2025)
Length: 368 pages
Author Information: Website
When it comes to horror stories, a girls’ weekend road trip meets a haunted highway sounds like it would be a match made in heaven. This is essentially the premise of K.C. Jones’ White Line Fever, which made me very excited to read it. But while the book is brimming with terrifying potential and starts off on the right track, it struggles to maintain that momentum, and by the end, I found myself more frustrated than thrilled.
The book follows Livia and her lifelong friends Ash, Mo, and Becka, who have affectionately called themselves “The Scoundrels” ever since their childhood days of adventure and mischief. As the story begins, Livia is passing another normal day doing laundry when she makes a devastating discovery while emptying her husband’s pants pockets—an unfamiliar condom wrapper, torn open. The shocking revelation of his infidelity immediately plunges Livia into a dark place. After growing up in an abusive home and eventually escaping her cruel and violent father, she’d thought she finally found happiness. Alas, it was not to be. Needing to get away, Livia turns to her old trio of friends, who suggest taking a road trip into the Oregon wilderness where they can all benefit from some quiet time away from life’s ugly realities.
However, their trip takes a dark turn when an unsettling encounter with an aggressive driver in a pickup truck forces them to take a shortcut through the backroads, onto County Road 951—known to locals as The Devil’s Driveway. Short as it may be, countless tragedies have occurred on this road, spawning dozens of urban legends about it and earning it its sinister nickname. Initially unfazed, the group is just glad to be back on schedule, but after a while, strange things start happening that make them question their sanity. All of them experience losing time and begin having nightmarish visions, and after driving for what seems like hours, they never seem to make progress off this lonely stretch of blacktop that’s only supposedly 15 miles long. Desperation and panic set in as they eventually realize they are trapped with no way to escape.
As this surreal ride unfolds, the novel shifts between past and present, allowing readers a glimpse into the characters’ traumatic pasts that have shaped each of them. Especially prominent are flashbacks to Livia’s childhood, which was spent in the small, insular town of Newberry. There, she and her mother lived in constant fear under the brutal authority of her father, who ran an auto shop and fixed up junk cars. For relief, Livia often sought the company of her friends, including sisters Ash and Mo, and hung out secretly in the junkyard. At some point, though, all of them have come up against the threat of Livia’s father, whose shadow looms over them even after all these years.
At first, this back and forth proved generally effective at creating an unsettling atmosphere and establishes reasons for Livia’s breakdown following the implosion of her marriage. The flashbacks were also welcome breaks in the present timeline in which the intro mainly featured the women driving and talking. However, this pattern quickly became repetitive, resulting in a long, drawn-out buildup period that ruined the eventual payoff. For one, the plot repeatedly teases the horror elements, then pulls back just as they start getting interesting. For another, the characters gradually reveal themselves to be frustratingly dense, doing more bickering than solving problems even as their situation went downhill. Simply put, after a while I just got tired of being jerked around and spending time with these moronic ladies.
Don’t get me wrong. Annoying characters and wonky pacing aside, the book is still pretty solid. But I do think the best parts came too late, especially towards the end when the group meets up with another character whose part in the story was actually introduced in the prologue. Still, while this connection brought the cohesion which had been lacking back to the book, it wasn’t enough to redeem all its earlier missteps. In fact, here the story veered into even weirder, more confusing territory, making for an interesting but somewhat disjointed conclusion.
In the end, White Line Fever is a flawed horror novel which excels in certain areas but falls short in others. But although the thrills didn’t live up to the premise, it is still worth checking out if you enjoy unsettling character-driven stories, and the concept of an all-female cast trapped in a supernatural horror predicament makes me think this would appeal to fans of Rachel Harrison.
So, Amazon is offering me to Beta test AI generated Audio Books. (Virtual Voice Narration) To be clear, this is a Beta test, and I don't do audio. I've flirted with it a few times but I never got into it. My 1 time listening to it for myself was in the 90's when I found Anne McCaffrey had produced a tape of Dragonsong. That was... different.
Anyway, I have converted 5 books so far. They are available on Amazon and Audible.
If there is sufficient interest I will convert more. Not all books can be converted. (word count is limited to under 240k so big books are a no)... I'm curious as to how they work out. Obviously there will be issues (possibly funny ones) with pronunciations and such.
At the moment they are using an American female voice. I don't know how to do alternate voices. (it was mentioned that they may extend it to have different voices do different characters at some point) I was tempted to try the British female voice but held off. I'm not sure if you the listener can play with the voice on your own.
Enjoy!
Sitrep:
I have finished 4 books and they are with the Proofreaders:
Jethro 9 Siege
Multiverse 8
To be published June 2025
Shelby 9 Peacekeepers
To be published August 2025
Tales of the Federation Reborn 7 Winds of Change
Before I tell you this story, I will say that everything ends happily.
Sookie is our elderly Ye Olde English Bulldogge, otherwise knows as the orc dog. She is beauty, she is grace, how can you not love that face?
She is going on 13 years old. Her hips and her knees have arthritis. She moves around solely because of the steady regimen of fivovet, gabapentin, and osti, a joint supplement, which Gordon administers to her every morning via a hot dog. We started her on smoked sausage at first, because Sookie, despite eating rocks and random crap, is a master of spitting the pills out. Hiding them first in her favorite sausage and then in hot dogs is the only way we can get her to take it without shoving a hand down her throat. The morning pill ritual became known as sausage time. Occasionally Sookie will drag herself into the kitchen and sit because it’s sausage time and she would like her treat, please.
Several days ago, I woke up at 4:30 am and couldn’t go back to sleep. After rolling around for a while, I checked my phone and it was a good thing I did, because Kid 2’s house had sprung a leak and she was in a panic. That’s a fun story for another time, but to summarize, it turned out that a 2×4 fell because of a faulty nail and dented her AC pan. It ended happily, but threw me into a sleep deficit for a few days.
A couple of days later, I wake up in the middle of the night again. I check the clock. 4:30 am. What is it about the 4:30? I hear a choking sound, which, as any dog owner will tell you, is code for get up and let your dog outside. I open the primary bedroom’s door, let Sookie out, and flick on the lights, resigning myself to cleaning up some dog vomit.
Blood. It’s like a crime scene from a gory police procedural. There is blood on the floor, blood on her pillow, blood, blood, everywhere is blood.
OMG, our old dog is dying.
The other two dogs are like, “Hey, there is blood. How cool.”
I check on Sookie. She is standing in the yard in the dark. I grab peroxide, drown the worst of the blood on the floor – yay, tile, mop it up with paper towels, so no cats or dogs decide to taste it. Then I wake up Gordon, tell him there is blood, and then we both go to get Sookie in.
Sookie walks very slowly because of her arthritis, so it takes awhile. Finally we bring her in and she takes two steps inside the house and collapses. Her paws are bloody, her chin is bloody, everywhere is bloody. I’m sitting on the floor, with peroxide and paper, my hands in latex gloves, and frantically trying to clean her up to see if it’s a wound of some kind.
There is no wound. The blood is coming from her mouth. It must be internal bleeding.
By now it’s past 5:00 am. The only emergency vet in range is on the other side of New Braunfels. It will take almost an hour to get there, and when we do get there, we will have a long wait. She is 80 lbs of dead weight and Gordon, who normally would pick her up and carry her, can’t do it because of his shoulder.
I’m crying because the dog is dying. Cleaning and crying and cleaning and…
Sookie sighs, gets up, and goes to the kitchen to drink water.
We watch her drink and then she sits by the island.
Sookie: Sausage time?
Us: WTF.
Gordon gets a chunk of chicken and tosses it to her. She snaps it out of the air and eats it.
Clearly the news of her demise was greatly exaggerated.
We decide to wait for our regular vet to open. There is no point in going to the New Braunfels vet, because not only will it take forever to get down there with traffic, but she took food and water which means she will be triaged to the middle of the line, so dogs hit by cars and bitten by rattlesnakes can get life-saving care.
Our vet opens at 7:00 am, I call them, they get us in first thing in the morning.
Sookie has infected teeth. There must’ve been an abscess. It ruptured. How did a cup and a half of blood come out of it, I have no idea, but that was the answer.
Sookie was scheduled for the dental surgery. This was very stressful all around. We weren’t sure if she would come through the surgery okay because of her age, but her quality of life was a factor and unchecked tooth decay can lead to gum disease and jaw infections. Cue a week of tense waiting.
She had the surgery yesterday. 13 extractions and almost $3,000 later, here she is back to living her best life on her pillow.
She is very mad at us. She occasionally groans, and right now she is not in the study with us because she chose to lay in the living room by her lonesome. However, she took soft food and water today so we are on the road to recovery.
In other good news, the final edit of This Kingdom was accepted and we are off to the copyedit. Much rejoicing all around.
Here is hoping for a few days of not waking up at 4:30 am because of some crisis.
The post The Story of Orc Dog first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.
Science fiction — what is it, really? What elements place a story firmly in the genre? For any requirement that you can think of, there is probably a great sf story that violates it, and rather than cobble together some dictionary-ready definition, it’s easier to just think of particular books that you would hand to someone unacquainted with the genre with the words, “Here — read this; this is science fiction!”
Everyone would have their own choices for such a list, of course, and those choices would amount to your de facto definition. For me, some of those books would be Rendezvous with Rama by Arthur C. Clarke, The Stars My Destination by Alfred Bester, and Man Plus by Frederik Pohl, but the very first book on my list would be Poul Anderson’s 1970 novel Tau Zero. Why? What does this book have that makes it a quintessential work of science fiction?
Maybe it’s this — it’s a grand voyage, a brave excursion into the great out there, and it also has a grand perspective shift, like a camera pulling back in a movie, a maneuver that radically alters everything that you had previously thought about the story, something that’s not a minor adjustment, but a move that completely explodes the frame. You think the story is this, but it’s really that, you think you’re here, but you’re really there; the here where you thought you were turns out to be the tiniest corner of there, a there that is larger and stranger and more dizzying than you ever could have originally imagined. (In The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, Peter Nicholls calls this kind of maneuver a “conceptual breakthrough.”)
Tau Zero begins as a straightforward story of an interstellar voyage, but it ends as far away from that prosaic beginning (prosaic by the standards of science fiction, I mean) as it is possible to imagine. Farther than that, really, and I think that’s the whole point.
Sometime in the 23rd century, the colonization ship Leonora Christine sets out from earth for a planet thirty light-years away. Unlike many stories of this type, the voyage isn’t prompted by the world coming apart at the seams; generally, things are going quite well, which is largely due to the people of the planet submitting to a global government run exclusively by… Scandinavians. Everyone just handed the reigns to the Nordic folk because of their universally acknowledged rationality, efficiency, impartiality, and lack of any pesky Will to Power. I know, I know — send any complaints to that son of Denmark, Poul Anderson. I guess he figured he would inoculate his readers against all the wildness to come by giving them the nuttiest thing first.
If the interstellar colonization mission is a stock situation, Anderson peoples it with characters that are themselves mostly recognizable types. The Leonora Christine’s Captain is Lars Telander, a solid, stolid, stoic father figure who seems ideal at the beginning of the journey, but who fades (if not wilts) into the background under the stresses of the voyage and the extraordinary emergency that the crew eventually has to deal with. More central to the life of the ship and the story Anderson tells are First Officer Ingrid Lindgren, ultra-competent while still being sensitive and sympathetic, and the book’s real protagonist, Ship’s Constable Charles Reymont, willing to be as much of an unlikable, hard-nosed SOB as necessary in order to hold the crew together and complete the mission. Reymont’s and Lindgren’s on-again, off-again romance and their consciously embraced good cop/bad cop roles form the human core of the story.
Anderson devotes significant time to this pair and to the other crew members whom they alternately coax (Lindgren) and steamroll (Reymont) on the way to their goal. In one sense, the book is a tract on the dynamics of leadership in a uniquely stressful situation, and the author had clearly thought a lot about such problems and had some definite ideas about how to deal with them.
It has to be said, however, that Anderson’s depiction of character rarely rises above a fairly rudimentary level; there’s an off-the-rack feel to most of his people. What we have here isn’t Henry James in space, and stylistically, the book wasn’t written to dazzle; if you’re looking for graceful allusiveness, poetic imagery or memorable turns of phrase, you need to look elsewhere; Anderson’s prose generally doesn’t rise above the level of “workmanlike” (which doesn’t mean that it’s bad — it usually has the far from negligible virtues of efficiency and clarity). So, old Poul is no Nabokov in space, either.
So what? Tab A in Slot B prose and slide-rule stiff characters are hard-sf traditions that go back all the way to the vacuum-busting days of Hugo Gernsback (and Anderson’s work isn’t nearly as wooden as the stuff old Hugo published), which just means that you adjust your expectations when you read this kind of sf story. (Oh, what’s a slide rule? Google it, kid.)
In the long run, Anderson’s deficiencies are perfectly acceptable because what you read Tau Zero for is the writer’s wide-screen vision and the extraordinary crisis his people face, and what a vision! What a crisis!
The Leonora Christine powers itself by collecting hydrogen as it travels through interstellar space and using it for fusion. (Technically this makes the ship a Bussard ramjet, though Anderson never uses the term.) As such a ship can approach the speed of light but cannot exceed it, the vessel’s flight plan is to accelerate up to near light speed during the first half of its voyage and then steadily decelerate down from that halfway point until it arrives at the target planet. Because of the relativistic time dilation caused by its extreme speeds, over thirty years will pass on earth while only five years will pass on board the ship.
Initially, things go smoothly as the crew settles into the routines that will occupy them during their long journey, and as expected, people (half of the multinational, fifty-person crew are male and half are female) begin to pair off in preparation for life as colonists on their new world. Everything seems to be going according to plan, until, before reaching the midway deceleration point, the Leonora Christine collides with an unanticipated interstellar dust cloud; because of the ship’s increased mass (due to its speed) this is potentially a very serious event, more like slamming into a brick wall than strolling through a fog bank.
At first, the ship seems to come through this emergency surprisingly well, but the truth soon becomes apparent. The collision has caused irreparable damage to one vital system — the one used for deceleration. The Leonora Christine is unable to slow down.
Why is the damage irreparable? To make repairs, it would be necessary to exit the ship, but the engines generate radiation that would be instantly fatal to anyone outside the hull, and the engines cannot be shut down because they generate an electromagnetic field which is the only thing protecting the crew from the hard radiation of galactic space. (The darn thing must not have been designed by Scandinavians.)
Reymont, Lindgren and the rest are thus faced with the prospect of an endless, pointless voyage that can only conclude with their own deaths from accident, old age or despair, sealed inside something that began as a ship, turned into a prison, and can only end as a coffin. Such an appalling situation would be bad enough, but the Leonora Christine’s crew soon comes to an even grimmer realization.
Unable to decelerate, the time dilation that was to have initially separated them from their home by a mere thirty years is only growing more extreme. The stunned crew members quickly realize that it is not decades that are passing outside the ship, not centuries, not millennia, even. “Soon”, millions, and then billions of years have passed. The would-be colonists whose aim was to open a new world for people from earth to live on must now accept that earth’s sun has long since burned to a cinder, their planet has vanished, their species has become extinct. The fifty exiles on the Leonora Christine are the last human beings alive in the universe, and unless they can find a solution to their dilemma, they are the last human beings that there will ever be.
How will they respond? Panic? Madness? Suicide? Reymont and Lindgren (especially Reymont) are resolved to hold the crew together, determined that they will all continue to do their jobs in the hope (hope being one of the defining characteristics of the late, great human race) that they will eventually find some way to slow down and locate some world, somewhere, where they can make a new start and keep their species alive.
Despite being more radically alone than any human beings have ever been (at one point, someone quotes Father Mapple from Moby Dick — “for what is man that he should live out the life-time of his God?”), for the most part, the Leonora Christine’s people respond well; the extreme strain sometimes produces extreme effects, but no one commits suicide. (I suspect that Anderson knew that in such a situation, if just one person took that way out, it would likely be the effective end of everyone.)
Soon they have left, not only our own galaxy, but also the supercluster of galaxies that constitute our local “neighborhood”, in the hope of reaching a region in which radiation levels will be low enough to permit them to make their repairs. As these “empty” gulfs are completely uncharted, they are also trusting that chance (or that God whom some of them still believe that they have not outlived) will eventually bring them to a galactic group where they will find a suitable planet.
Unexpected difficulties continue to intervene, however, and by the time they are able to fix the damage and decelerate to begin their search for a new home, there is no longer any potential home to decelerate to; so much time has passed outside the ship that the expansion of the universe caused by the original Big Bang has reversed. The universe is now contracting in a “Big Crunch” in which all matter and energy are forced closer and closer together until the cosmic cycle will restart with another Big Bang.
What is there for the Leonora Christine to do but circle the cosmic seed and attempt to ride out the coming explosion and then try to find a young world to begin again on? That’s just what they are able to do, and the story that began on an old planet in an old galaxy in an old universe ends on a new planet in a new galaxy in a universe that didn’t even exist when the story began, uncounted trillions of years before.
The book closes with Charles Reymont and Ingrid Lindgren, two people who now constitute one twenty-fifth of the entire human race, standing on the soil of the home they have travelled such an inconceivable distance in time and space to reach. “Here was not New Earth”, Anderson says. “That would have been too much to expect.” But it is a place where the stubborn, resourceful, endlessly hopeful human race will be able to start anew, a place where it will have a chance to take root and flourish… and perhaps, avoid some of the mistakes that plagued it long ago in a universe that now no longer exists.
Charles Reymont, the man whose determination saved the entire human race, lightly rejects the suggestion of kingship that Ingrid Lindgren jokingly (but also not entirely unseriously) makes, and then “he laughed, and made her laugh with him, and they were merely human.”
Pardon my French (a language once spoken on the long-extinct planet earth), but… holy shit!
Tau Zero was called by James Blish the “ultimate hard science fiction novel.” It’s certainly difficult to think of one that could go beyond it; every time I finish reading it, I want take my brain out, shake it a little, massage it, and run it under a cold faucet before putting it back in my skull. It’s a book that takes your perspective and stretches it, and stretches it, and keeps on stretching it until you walk around bumping into walls because you’re so far from where you started that you have no idea where you are anymore and can’t even begin to imagine where you’re going to end up when you’re finished.
Even in the science fiction genre, there aren’t many books like that. Even a lemon-sucking, hard line anti-Campbellian anti-sentimentalist like Barry Malzberg grew positively misty whenever he talked about the book. Calling the novel “magnificent”, Malzberg rhapsodized that Tau Zero was “the only work published after 1955 that can elicit from me some of the same responses I had towards science fiction in my adolescence — a sense of timelessness, human eternity, and the order of the cosmos as reflected in the individual fate of every person who would try to measure himself against these qualities.”
This wasn’t just Malzberg indulging in nostalgia; Poul Anderson’s book, which marries a modest nuts-and-bolts style with a beyond-audacious premise, really does what Malzberg says it does, and in doing so it goes beyond the merely mind-boggling; it squares the boggle and keeps on squaring it until you’re so dizzy with infinitely expanding possibility that you have to lie flat on the floor for a while. For me, it’s the wildest, most exhilarating trip in all of science fiction.
I’m not going to return to the definitional task that I disavowed when I began this piece, but I do know that one of the things that we most want from a science fiction story is that when we finish it, we won’t end up back where we started. We want it to take us on a voyage, the kind of voyage that no other kind of writing can accomplish or even attempt.
If you want to know what kind of voyage that might be, I can do no better than to turn you over to one of the genre’s greatest voyagers, Poul Anderson, and commend to you his indeed magnificent novel, Tau Zero. When you’ve finished reading it, you might just feel — along with me — that what you’ve been holding in your hands is nothing less than the beating heart of science fiction.
Thomas Parker is a native Southern Californian and a lifelong science fiction, fantasy, and mystery fan. When not corrupting the next generation as a fourth grade teacher, he collects Roger Corman movies, Silver Age comic books, Ace doubles, and despairing looks from his wife. His last article for us was The Gorey Century
Here are 7 Author Shoutouts for this week. Find your favorite author or discover an…
The post 7 Author Shoutouts | Authors We Love To Recommend appeared first on LitStack.
Isaac Asimov’s I, Robot and the Foundation Trilogy. Robert A. Heinlein’s Sixth Column. Arthur C. Clarke’s first three novels. The entire Conan saga from Robert E. Howard. The International Fantasy Award winner City by Clifford D. Simak. The Hugo Best Novel winner They’d Rather Be Right from Mack Clifton and Frank Riley. Books by L. Sprague de Camp and Fletcher Pratt, A. E. van Vogt, C. L. Moore and Henry Kuttner, Murray Leinster, Frederik Pohl, Jack Williamson, Andre Norton, and James Gunn.
Those would be a solid core of any collection of vintage f&sf. Yet those books and dozens of others appeared in a few years from just one small publisher: Gnome Press.
Fantasy had long been a staple of what we would now call mainstream publishing but before the 1940s American science fiction was relegated to gaudy pulp magazines, critically reviled as among the lowest forms of fiction. The superweapons that emerged from World War II, especially the atomic bomb, suddenly made the field look prescient, a look into the onrushing future.
Windsor [ON] Star, November 2, 1946With mainstream publishers still reluctant to mine magazine back issues, fans of the genre saw a publishing niche. More than a dozen small presses sprang into mayfly-like existence before 1950.
Gnome was founded in 1948 by two members of New York fandom, Martin Greenberg and David A. Kyle.
Run on the proverbial shoestring, Gnome nevertheless outpublished, outsold, and outlasted all their competitors. Greenberg had a knack for making deals and Kyle did everything else, including drawing a half-dozen covers. He was soon obsoleted by young – and cheap – newcomers like Edd Cartier, Ed Emshwiller, and Frank Kelly Freas.
The firm made mistakes – could there be a worse response to the dawn of the Atomic Age than to drop three fantasies as its first three selections? – but quickly caught on to what the public wanted. Greenberg was a disciple of John W. Campbell who, whatever is thought of him today, then towered over the field as the guru editor of Astounding Science Fiction and Unknown Fantasy Fiction magazines. Whatever he touched, sold.
Greenberg used the magazines as his Comstock Lode and cannily offered to republish story series as “novels,” suiting post-war tastes if not the labeling laws. Authors flocked to Gnome’s door, desperately wanting hardback publication.
Well, that and money. Greenberg gave them only the former. He and Kyle split the proceeds fairly. Greenberg got a salary and Kyle didn’t. (Kyle always had multiple jobs and Greenberg had a family. But still.) Nevertheless, Kyle stayed six years and Gnome lasted fourteen, with Greenberg owing money to everyone in sight. He is usually described as a charming rogue with a gift of gab. Asimov once went to him demanding money and wound up lending more.
History is never pretty. Flaws and all, nothing compares to Gnome in the history of vintage f&sf. In many ways, it is the history of vintage f&sf.
I knew nothing about Gnome when I chanced upon several titles in a used bookstore in 1980. I had seen the name in passing, but histories of the small presses were nonexistent. I found a list of all 86 titles, and dove in. A few decades later I had them all. Did I stop there? What fun would that be? Gnome produced about 75 variants, with different boards or different jackets. Nobody knows exactly how many, because new ones keep popping up. Finding all of them is essentially impossible, which means the search never has to end – the perfect collectible.
Moreover, Gnome published a variety of ephemera, from newsletters to catalogs to calendars and I set out to accumulate all that appeared on the market. I even bought the 1951 Fantasy Calendar, which was an unparalleled achievement since it doesn’t exist. (Blame Donald Wollheim.)
Digging for information is infinitely easier today than in 1980, yet Gnome appears to have left virtually no paper trail, an oddity for a publisher dealing every day with paper. Other than a few scraps at Syracuse University, no business records seem to have survived and not even the indefatigable Kyle bothered to talk much about his time at Gnome in the millions of words he wrote for fanzines.
Nevertheless, dogged digging over decades created a repository of everything known about Gnome. Near archaeological level scrutiny of covers, flaps, copyright pages, and back panels yielded a history of each title. Each answered question led to ten additional mysteries. Eventually I wrote an utterly unpublishable 660-page manuscript dump that would require more than a thousand images to elucidate the text.
What’s 150,000 words and 1100 images to the internet? I already owned the URL GnomePress.com. The 113 pages there now comprise the first complete bibliography of Gnome Press (by author, title, and publication date), a separate page for each title with color scans of every variant board and cover I own along with contemporary reviews and previously unknown photos of the more obscure authors, information about a range of associational items, and histories both of Gnome and the f&sf field up to the time of its founding.
For all its literally exhausting coverage, the site remains a work in progress. Gnome collectors continue to provide information that require revision to opinions I previously thought firm. If anyone reading this has even the slightest scrap they want to share, please contact me. Or just ask questions about Gnome. Anything, except how much a book is worth.
By the way, Marty Greenberg’s file copy of I, Robot inscribed to him by Asimov is listed on the internet at $50,000. If you’re the buyer, please contact me. I want to know all about you.
Steve Carper is the author of hundreds of articles on fascinating, if obscure and forgotten, tidbits of history, as well as the seminal book Robots In American Popular Culture. All of his websites are linked at SteveCarper.com.
The UK and US covers are very different, does that mean that the stories are different? With two different editors, is the difference mostly grammar? Or content? Or reference to modern life?
Jim will sadly be unable to attend C2E2 this April as previously scheduled. He sends his best to the attendees and convention and looks forward to seeing fans at future upcoming events!
Rereading this for an online book club.
Ähhh." Cleaver said, but given the way his brow wrinkled, Lisbeth still wasn't certain he was following.
"There's nothing here," Sullivan growled.
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