Van Vogt's Supermind, or, It's Funny How Things Go

I don’t remember when I did it, but at some point in my childhood I gave Dad a book by A.E. van Vogt with a fuzzy green shape on the cover. For years I thought it was called The Green Brain and I carried an inexplicable pride in having given it to him. Mum had probably chosen it and she definitely paid for it, but it was my gift to Dad. He had five van Vogt novels, including that one, and somehow that name became a magnet to me so that when I had disposable income and easy access to second-hand bookstores I began building up my collection of his works. I’ve probably read more books by him than any other SF author, possibly any author, even P.K. Dick who I consider my favourite. Until last week, however, I hadn’t read The Green Brain.

Actually, I still haven’t since there is no A.E. van Vogt novel of that name. The real title is Supermind and it explores a galaxy where humans are a low-level species under the protection of the vastly superior Great Galactics, and under threat from the Dreeghs, a race of “space vampires” who can only survive a mysterious illness by draining the blood and life energy of others.

In typical van Vogt fashion the novel is a “fix-up” where he patched three shorter works together into one. The seams are distinct but he “fixed” it so they seem like logical progressions of one narrative. It would be interesting to read the originals to see how much he had to fix/change. There are some clashes, the first and third parts feature the Great Galactics while the second part declares that they don’t exist per se but are a freaks of the moment, but there are ways to forgive that and move on with the story.

I’d be overstating it if I called van Vogt a great writer, but he never fails to draw me in. The stories are simple, the characters forever trapped in the 1950s despite their futuristic settings, and the ideas can be a tad whacky, but he pulls them all together into a readable and fun package.

I doubt my dad, who loves the hard SF of Asimov and Clarke, was that into it – he did just give me all five of his van Vogt books – but somehow, this book, or its cover, combined with the childish joy of having given it to him myself, led me to read many books by someone I may not otherwise have read at all. Then I would never have travelled on the Space Beagle, visited the Weapon Shops, or marvelled at the many possibilities of the Reflected Men. And if I hadn’t read those books, what other authors might I have not read? Somewhere out there is a reflected version of me who never read any SF, and that is not the best possible me, of that I am sure.

Keep dreaming!

Happy Birthday Mr Verne

It's Jules Verne's birthday so I thought I'd reminisce a little about my experiences with the works of this wonderful creative spirit.

I can't remember a time when his name didn't mean something to me, that's probably a slight exaggeration but not much. Hearing about travelling with Captain Nemo in the bookshop at the beginning of The Never-ending Story became synonymous to me with adventure and the excitement you could have reading. I heard there was the man who went around the world in 80 days, and another who went to the centre of the Earth. These were thrilling concepts to my young imagination.

At some point I must have seen some of the 1950s film of Journey to the Centre of the Earth and the dinosaurs and volcanic eruption stayed embedded in my imagination. (So it was very exciting when I found it on DVD in a garage sale).

Despite these early impressions and the resulting desire I had to read his books, I was in my late teens before I read one. Even then it was his lesser known and quite short Master of the World. It's a sequel, to wrap up how bad a choice it was for a place to start, but in some ways it possibly was actually better than diving straight into the sea for an epic voyage. It was short and had plenty of action right from the start. It also had fantastic inventions and a mad genius hellbent on world domination. Thrilling stuff.

Since then I've read a handful more of Verne's novels, most notably 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and Around the World in 80 Days. The former is a worthy classic, it has scenes of suspense and drama, the action of fighting off cephalopods is breath-taking and Nemo is a brooding antihero ahead of his time. On the downside, Verne does go into some very nitty-gritty details about the technical aspects and the longitude and latitude etc. It is at times stifling and could interrupt the pleasure of some readers.

Around the World in 80 Days has fewer passages which really slow the action and romance. It's an action novel right through, but with a lovely whimsy to it, making it very accessible.

So with all that, what is the legacy of Verne for me? I think it's the sheer creative energy he had. He poured himself into writing his books, he gladly and openly tried to forge a new genre and was quite put out when HG Wells started getting credit for it too. His stories are fantastic yet nailed down with his reasoning, he could bring exciting adventure with serious drama, or send us on a whimsical romp. What he didn't seem to do was small. His stories are so vivid and full of adventure that even their echoes in our culture stirs the imagination. So happy birthday Jules Verne and thank you for the spark of dreams.

Keep dreaming!

The Silkie by A.E Van Vogt

Years ago there was a shop called Lazy Daze in Penrith. It sold second-hand CDs and books and I loved it. The owner had a terrible head for business though, whenever I bought things he'd do a rough adding up then round it down, sometimes quite a lot. I guess he hated giving change. And the stock was under-priced to start with. But he had some good stock, I got a lot of stuff from Lazy Daze.

One such find was The Silkie, one of A.E Van Vogt's short novels, it cost me $2. At the time I'd buy pretty much any Van Vogt novel Lazy Daze had. I read most of them years ago, The Weapon Makers, The Moon Beast, The Voyage of the Space Beagle ... but when I tried The Silkie, for some reason I just didn't get into it. I stopped reading it not long after the prologue I think. So, I finally got around to reading the whole thing (all 156 pages).

I'm not surprised the prologue put me off, for one thing there doesn't seem much point to it. We have this character who has a quest, it seems like that quest is about to start when she meets a new character. End the prologue, flash forward a couple of centuries ... never go back besides some historical references the actual main character makes. I suspect it shows a change in idea or something like that as this reads like one of Van Vogt's stitch-ups. He was very good at taking a number of short works on a theme or centred on a character and putting them into novel form. And The Silkie reads like three short stories put together, so I presume it really is.

In this case the stories follow the life of Nat-Cemp, a Silkie, which is a species which can shapeshift to human-like being, underwater breather or the space dwelling Silkie shape which can live in the vacuum of space and has hugely advanced mental powers and perceptions. The three episodes set Cemp up against three beings of even higher abilities, thus escalating the risks but also the ideas Van Vogt is throwing around.

In that respect it reminded me of The Voyage of the Space Beagle, which is a series of encounters made by the scientific exploratory ship whereby the hero can demonstrate the wonders of his super-science which bridges every field of science into one. That may not sound terribly exciting the way I've put it but it actually is an enjoyable read with some intriguing situations thrown up. The Silkie however didn't, in my estimation, come close to succeeding on the same level.

While the episodes see some escalation they still seem somewhat same-same, although the history of the silkie species makes for a diversion in one of them. Moreover, the ideas being explored are very hard to connect with. It's all a question of higher perceptions beyond the human and the mental 'weapon' of 'logic of levels', where a mentally planted suggestion causes the body to follow through the logical succession of events to that suggestion/perception. It's airy-fairy and treated in a somewhat rambling way. And Cemp is so unemotional himself it's impossible to really care about him - which is the main issue with Space Beagle, but here it's worse.

Not A.E Van Vogt's best by a long shot.

Keep dreaming!

The Kraken Wakes by John Wyndham

As Amanda's book led me to think of giant squids as a sort of personal emblem, it made sense that the next book I read be John Wyndham's The Kraken Wakes. Of course, at the time I thought there was an actual kraken in the story, there isn't.

This was my third Wyndham novel. The first was, unsurprisingly, The Day of the Triffids, which I read for English in Year 9. I loved it and I'd say it was an important novel in shaping my fictional tastes. Years later I read The Midwich Cuckoos, which I enjoyed but is a much slower story that relies heavily on a sense of wrongness and foreboding.

The Kraken Wakes falls somewhere between the two. It follows a couple and their adventures in a bizarre and world-changing alien invasion. This is probably the only alien invasion story I've read where no-one on Earth knows it's been invaded till over halfway through the book. The narration is made by the husband and starts with an introduction that establishes that the invasion is over but not all is right.

From there he goes back to what he believes is the beginning, a mysterious series of meteorites, then progresses through a number of other mysterious phenomena that baffle experts and the media - of which the narrator and his wife are a part. The state of the shipping market is discussed several times and the resultant increase in air transport around the world is also detailed. The pace picks up when the aliens make their first appearance.

It's an interesting take on the invasion theme, and uses the idea that because the aliens - who live in the deepest parts of our oceans - live in very different ways to us we weren't aware of them straightaway and couldn't understand their motives or actions. Nor, presumably, could they understand human reactions to them. The one thing that was clear was the Earth wasn't big enough for the two of us.

There's some debate in the Goodreads reviews about Brian Aldiss's description of Wyndham's novels as 'comfortable disasters'. As I read this one I definitely understood the term. There's undeniably a disaster unfolding, on a global scale, and there are scenes of very uncomfortable action and emotion. Huge numbers of people are killed. However, it unfolds gently, from the perspective of a remarkably cool-headed and rational Englishman and his wife (whom I'm glad to report more than holds her own, it's a real partnership). There are discussions on markets and how events affect such things.

So, while it is a disaster novel worthy of the name and equal to any more dramatically presented member of the genre, there is a certain calmness to the whole proceedings. Then there's the framing device of knowing the disaster is over and that the narrator is presenting his version of events for future generations to consider. We know who wins.

All in all, it's an enjoyable read with some interesting SF ideas and some classic Wyndham action scenes amidst his more thoughtful scientific mystery business. It probably has less appeal than Triffids, it's certainly not its equal in terms of writing or story, but worth a look for fans of the genre.

Keep dreaming!

Rays of Life - some stories in Astounding from 1930

I'm about halfway through the second issue of Astounding (February 1930) and there's been an interesting common thread in a three of the stories so far. While vastly different in approach and atmosphere, they all feature the discovery of a 'Life' ray at their heart. There are some spoilers ahead so if you want to read the stories first they can be found here.

The first was Harl Vincent's Old Crompton's Secret. This story didn't go anything like I expected. The blurb describes a rejuvenated old man with the memory of a crime, the illustration is of a fight scene between Old Crompton and a younger man. Then the story opens with a description of the enigmatic town hermit - Crompton - who has been there so long even the old folk can't remember when he arrived or why he's such a grouch. So at this point I was assuming his dark secret/remembered crime was why he was a hermit. But no, the crime happens three-quarters of the way through the story and turns out to not actually have happened ... as in the murder victim isn't dead.

So from that angle I wasn't a particular fan of the story but in other ways it was an intriguing setup. The old hermit gained a new neighbour, a young scientist who turns as hermetic as he is, and the nature of his experiments result in a three-foot-tall rooster. It is finally revealed that the young scientist has discovered the secret to life itself - which he funnels through electric rays in a particular configuration. Most interesting is his motivation. Having discovered this world-changing technology he immediately thinks of all the money and influence he will make offering the use of his rejuvenating machine to old rich people. It's possibly the most mundane motivation for such a scientist I've encountered. Mad ideals, world domination, saving lost loved ones ... nope, just getting rich and influencing people.

The next story's scientist was less materialistic and was probing the mysteries of life and death for the sake of doing so more than anything else. Interestingly he was also a side character in what was, in the end, a form of locked-room horror story. The story was The Corpse on the Grating by Hugh B Cave and is a first-person account of a mysterious night a doctor has when he and a famous scientist are called to visit a professor who proceeds to explain that he was on the verge of discovering the secret of life itself and restoring it to a dead man. He claimed mild success on a corpse but when the narrator called on him to prove it he said it hadn't proved as successful as he'd hoped so he'd dumped the body.

On their way home the doctor and scientist argue over the possibility of the professor being right, then they discover a dead man in a warehouse gate. It's the watchman and he appears to have died of fright. From here the story becomes the haunted house type, the doctor goes inside on a dare and ends up encountering the corpse the professor had disposed of. It turns out the professor should have been more patient.

The third 'life ray' story in the issue is an altogether different affair again. It's Creatures of the Light by Sophie Wenzel Ellis. It follows the adventure of another young scientist with incredible intellect and stunning looks. He is led to discover another scientist's great work. This scientist is an expert in electricity and has discovered the ray of life. He used that ray to create a tropical paradise in a hidden valley in the Antarctic where he has through use of his ray and a eugenic breeding program, advanced human evolution to the point of 'perfection'.

The story has our hero declaim the ideals of the scientific tinkerer of humanity revolting, primarily because of the manipulation of breeding people and using the ray to fast-track growth and development - at 20 years of age 'Eve' had spawned five generations. Indeed, the central villain is one of the 'perfect' humans who despises the lesser humans, except one woman, and his equals who are perfect and thus boring, so he aims to destroy them all. Of course, that doesn't quite pan out, but the paradise is most certainly lost in the end and shown as a foolish quest.

So three very different stories, all within the Frankenstein galaxy if not solar system. Fascinating concepts. In the middle of these three stories was a very different tale of alien invasion by Charles Willard Diffin, Spawn of the Stars. It had monstrous protozoa in near-perfect flying saucers with hydrogen-based attacks that precede the Manhattan Project by a decade which is interesting in itself. In the end the world is saved by sunlight - and good-old American military bravery and self-sacrifice of course.

Keep reading, keep exploring and thinking. And most of all - Keep dreaming!

Initial Response to Each to Each by Seanan McGuire

I just read the opening story in Lightspeed No 49, the Women Destroy Science Fiction Special. It's Each to Each by Seanan McGuire. I'm torn over it in a number of ways.

It's about a Navy made up of genetically modified women, essentially engineered mermaids, and how the 'modifications' as they're called have unexpected consequences. The women begin to feel non-human, to lose all connection with land dwellers and to have a deep emotional and psychological connection with each other. It's a great idea and well examined in the story which is well written and clearly had an effect on me.

As I come to write this next point I realise I'm not as torn as I first thought. The idea of altered humans and the mysteries of the deeps reminded me of pulp age stories and I was thinking of ways it could have worked better in those terms. I was thinking about its atmosphere and how it could have been built up with a greater sense of fear of the unknown - as with the pulp horror I was thinking of. I even started to think how changing the narrator to the unaltered captain could have helped and thinking of ways the story could still work.

And now I realise that's the problem. The plot could still develop but the story would be irreparably altered. Fear of the unknown was not the point - in fact there's a certain lure to it. The story is about the new type of women, the way they've been shaped by the military which is driven by society, and how in so doing a new community/species/world is created. It does that perfectly. Is it an analogy for how society tries to shape women the way it wants them to look? Yeah I'd say so, there are parts that rather beat the reader over the head with that message, but it also goes beyond that to raise questions of humanity. It doesn't answer them, just raise them.

So it reflects society as it is but peers into deeper issues at the same time - which is the point of science fiction isn't it? I'm not so torn after all, I just needed to adjust my headset. Well done Seanan McGuire.

Keep dreaming!

The Creature from Beyond Infinity by Henry Kuttner

In my last blog I mentioned that I read Kuttner’s first novel, so now I thought I’d quickly write about it. First of all I’d like to say the title isn’t really appropriate – neither is the original title One Million Years to Conquer – and doesn’t give a good idea of what your about to read. I expected some sort of monster story but it’s far from that. The original title is a bit closer to the truth but still off the mark. That said, I have no suggestions for a replacement.

It’s a complex story in some ways and overly simplistic in others. The first half or more is split into two narratives, one telling of an alien seeking super geniuses in humanity by cryogenically sleeping through millennia, the other of a super genius who discovers an extraterrestrial plague he struggles to find a cure too.

Without going into details of the plot, the stories collide when the alien’s timeline reaches our super genius/hero’s, at which point all bets are off and chaos ensues for few pages before falling into what we can see as an oncoming inevitable finale.

Allowing for the concept of the story – which not everyone would do – the real problem with the novel is, it isn’t a novel. It’s far too short and tries to deliver too much. There are too many characters whose emotional developments are naturally forced to fit the length. Of course, at the time Kuttner could hardly have produced an epic. Thankfully his pacing is quick so while you have to make some allowances for depth the story trots along and keeps you entertained.

What I also find interesting is the combination of science fiction and fantasy elements. Earlier I read Kuttner’s The Dark World (possibly co-written with CL Moore but we’ll never know for sure), which was on the face of it a fantasy story, but which used pseudo-scientific explanations to justify its fantastical characters and effects. We saw magic and monsters but the hero/anti-hero explained them as natural forces and mutations.

The Creature from Beyond Infinity, on the other hand, is ostensibly science fiction. Alien technology, evolution and bands of gas in space are the nature of its reality. Yet, it features a barbarian, a queen of Atlantis, an ancient Chinese philosopher and a Roman soldier/general.

So it seems Kuttner was perfectly happy travelling between the genres and throwing in elements of both into his work. And that’s something intriguing enough for me to want to explore further.

Keep dreaming.

Dark Moon by Charles W Diffin

While I was reading Henry Kuttner’s first novel The Creature from Beyond Infinity (originally published in Startling Stories November 1940 as One Million Years to Conquer) I decided to have a look for some more of his work – not necessarily a common response to the book but there you go. I didn’t actually find anything I didn’t already have but I stumbled across a series of issues of Astounding Stories from 1930 and 1931. So of course I downloaded them all. They’re on Project Gutenberg but also a number of ‘free book sites’.

I chose one to read at random the other day; saying that I must admit the classic image of a bug-eyed monster on the cover may have influenced my selection.

It was May 1931 and it opens with a novelette by Charles W Diffin called Dark Moon. As it happens the cover image with the bug-eyed monster is from this story, although I pictured the monster slightly differently when I read the description.

In many respects Dark Moon seemed to me to be classic pulp science fiction. It’s a grand adventure for a billionaire, his friend and a mysterious woman who is of course a mixture of brave heroine and fragile feminine beauty. Yes, the story is sexist, but it could be a lot worse than it is, she isn’t totally helpless no matter how helplessly she falls in love for the hero she just met.

It opens with a business transaction then there’s an earthquake that kills the lawyer whom our hero has known all his life and wipes out most of New York in a monster tsunami, which smashes the hero’s port facilities. In the face of all this death and destruction our hero laments – the loss of all his property. Not the most sympathetic hero in the world but he’s a good guy really.

The cause of this earthquake, which was actually a global phenomenon and cause even more devastation than he originally witnessed, was the sudden arrival of a new moon in our orbit. Apparently it was flying through space by itself then fell into our orbit, causing a momentary shifting of plates and tides.

Our hero immediately sets to work on his amazing flying machine – the world is dominated by helicopters – which he believes will allow space travel. As the finishing touches are done by his friend he goes to sort out his crumbling business fortune. Long story short, it doesn’t go well, luckily for him the world is attacked by mysterious creatures.

These semi-permeable serpents fly around above the Heaviside layer, which is what keeps Earth pilots from going to space apparently, very few ships can go beyond it and only with the best licensed pilots. Their interruption allows a daring escape and our hero and friend head for the ‘Dark Moon’ as the new satellite is known as no light or radio or anything else can penetrate its atmosphere.

En route they rescue the heroine from the serpents and discover that space is like a giant ocean filled with bizarre life. The impenetrable atmosphere is just a strange gas that works like one-way glass so the surface of the moon itself is bursting with life.

That life is of course bizarre, what roaming planetoid with a mysterious gas in its atmosphere wouldn’t have bizarre life on it? There are a number of encounters with various creatures – including primitive ape-men because all evolution leads to humans doesn’t it? – which I won’t detail here but are as fun as they are ridiculous.

After a daring … well, hurried escape, the heroes return to Earth and our billionaire knows he’s redeemed because of the fortune he’ll make mining the new moon. His rival tries to argue with the idea, at which point we learn that the heroine is a wealthy heiress who has been the rival’s ward, but she turned 21 while on the moon and dismisses him.

So yes, it’s absurd, implausible and deals with things very simplistically. It also promotes free enterprise over nationalism and encourages a get-up and go attitude right in the midst of the Depression, while offering excitement and intrigue to brighten things up. Should we therefore write it off as a bad story or accept it as product of its time and a useful story for people in need of escape? (see Neil Gaiman’s comments on escape versus escapism). I think the latter.

Keep dreaming.

Pirates of the Gorm - an initial response leading to a rambling thought

Pirates of the Gorm by Nat Schachner sees a detective/agent go on a dangerous mission, fall (literally) into an enemy stronghold, beat overwhelming odds and win the girl who has no logical reason for being there in the first place. In short, it gave the pulp readers of the time what they wanted. The tropes Schachner employs are really the genre dressing and the method of delivery; the heart of the story is the pseudoscientific concept he wanted to show off – the Gorm.

The Gorm is a beam which can manipulate gravity, allowing interplanetary cruise liners to be captured and pulled in safely and for people to ‘fall’ through space in a direct line without gaining velocity etc. By today’s standards it’s not much of a concept but as the beam was in the hands of alien pirates it made for a fairly exciting story for its time I imagine.

Looking at it like this now though, it raises an intriguing observation. Much of the pulp fiction I read is very similar – be it science fiction, fantasy or horror. It uses a selection of tropes relative to its field to create a story around a ‘concept’. The concept might be a future technology, a fantastic being or a mysterious thing that terrifies and confounds, but it is always an intriguing concept. The hero, the girl – occasionally one in the same but not often – even the plot itself are secondary to this concept.

I think this is where criticism of pulp fiction, at least in Speculative Fiction, goes awry. It looks at the plots and the characters and shows how ridiculous, two-dimensional, clichéd etc they can be. It points out the overuse of tropes, it finds flaws in the literary style, it points out the bleedingly obvious. But it doesn’t consider the ‘concepts’.

Yes, this fiction had to appeal to its audience and at the time they made certain demands we now call ‘juvenile’ and many of them are indeed chauvinist. The stories also suffer from the prejudices of the age – ie if race is involved they’re disgustingly ignorant and racist. That last point can be hard to deal with at times and I know I say that from the position of white privilege. I can’t imagine how anyone of any other ethnicity could deal with some of the stuff these stories say.

I’ve become sidetracked there – but it is a truth that needs to be acknowledged. Fortunately, not all the stories feature such bigotry, although the ones that don’t also don’t feature anyone not white so I guess it amounts to the same. The sad truth is, in being like this the stories simply reflect the general attitudes of the day. Which doesn’t really cut it I know, but as formative elements in today's SF can we just ignore them? I hate the history of our treatment of each other, it really shouldn't be an issue and the stories shouldn't have this problem.

But, back to my point, I think looking at the pulp stories in light of presenting concepts through generic storytelling methods and tropes could explain their appeal and how they went on to forge the SF genre of today. And that is my newest Masters research idea.

Subgenres, Wikipedia and Finding My Geek Niche

I had some free time so I was browsing Wikipedia and ended up reading the articles on Sword and Planet and Planetary Romance. They clearly haven’t been written by the same people as they differ on a number of points. The Sword and Planet article, which I think is a better constructed piece than the other, argues that it is a distinct genre from Planetary Romance, whereas the latter article has a non-committal discussion on ‘sword and planet’.

Once the article on Space Opera is added to the mix things get even more confusing as it had a section arguing its definition in opposition to Planetary Romance – since one happens in space and comes from Westerns and Seafaring epics whereas Planetary Romance happens on a planet and is tied to lost world and lost civilisation tales. Who knows what happens when stories go from outer space to a planet and back again?

Now, I know opponents of Wikipedia will jump on this opportunity to say it’s more proof of its inaccuracy and inconsistency, but that’s not fair. Genres are notoriously difficult to nail down and subgenres like these are even worse and will be described differently by scholars regardless.

As always, genres and subgenres are just broad boxes which inevitably overlap in any given story. But looking at them and some of the authors involved in these and others (Weird, Sword and Sorcery etc) I realise I have a huge interest in the developments of Speculative Fiction (the overarching super-genre) through the first half of last century and the end of the one before it. Particularly in the pulp era when genres were being mashed together all over the place and new territories uncovered.

I think that’s where I’d like to focus my studies and my geekiness. So expect to see more posts on this era and the stories it generated.

Keep dreaming.

Tasmanian Reading, Genre Issues & the Nature of Horror

Okay so I went away for a couple of weeks to explore Tasmania with my wife. I had hoped to do little entries here via the app, but very early on I realised mobile coverage down there is terrible in most places so it never happened. I did keep a journal however and I will sporadically type the entries up and post them here for those who are interested.

For now I just want to mention the reading I did while I was down there. The bulk of it was catching up on Nightmare Reader No 1 and the issue of Lightspeed Magazine I got as a bonus for backing Nightmare on Kickstarter (it was the October 2010 issue). I started with Nightmare and it was more than worth my paltry $3 pledge, which is a bad way of saying it was a solid literary journal with great stories. The one that’s stayed with me the most is Afterlife by Sarah Langan, which uses ghost children and ‘crossing over’ to present a tragic picture of very real woman whose non-supernatural plight was the genuine cause of distress if not horror.

Which leads to the interesting article at the back of the journal, The Other Scarlet Letter by RJ Sevin, discussing just what Horror is as a genre and why so many people shy away from the word. It essentially argued that the word has become tied to the schlock-horror side of the genre so people tend to assume anything else that might be described that way shouldn’t be. It made me think about how I view or have viewed Horror as a genre and I certainly used to connect it with schlock and gore; I only read my first Stephen King novel last year because to me he was the guy behind those B-grade movies I had no interest in seeing. How wrong was I?

I then moved to the idea that Horror was a strange subset of SF and Fantasy as any story within it would belong to one of them. This is further blurred by figuring out where the line between SF and Fantasy actually lies, sometimes it’s clear but others are almost indistinguishable. Hence Neil Gaiman can win major awards for all three genres for the same book. Genre is weird, and infallibly malleable. So now I tend to be a bit more open-minded on the subject.

After all, the stories in Lightspeed are technically SF but the ones in that issue had a bigger impact on me in terms of horror and mental disturbance than the actual horror stories in Nightmare. Particularly the reprint of Tight Little Stitches in a Dead Man's Back by Joe R Lansdale, which was a post-nuclear war story of a man wracked with incredible guilt featuring creatures that cross zombies with Triffids in that the plant kills you then takes over your body … yeah. It gripped me, with both hands and freaked me out. Then there was the man trapped in space forced to rationalise cannibalising his cryogenically frozen crew mates and so slowly went mad (in The Taste of Starlight by John R. Fultz). That was peculiar and chilling but his failure to even consider other options (there was at least one I can think of) weakened the whole impact for me.

On a completely different note the other thing I read during the holiday was JM Barrie’s play A Kiss for Cinderella, which I found at the Salamanca Markets for $2 (a 1937 hardback edition, $2, who was I to pass that up?) I wasn’t really sure what I was in for when I started it but I don’t think I was counting on it being as good as it was nor raising interesting questions in my head. I can’t even decide how to classify it, more problems with the whole question of genre.

It’s about a young woman in London during the Great War who is secretly looking after a group of orphans by scraping away and working at what she can. She’s one of those heart-of-gold waifs with an infectious charm that you expect from the man who gave us Peter Pan’s Wendy. She meets a policeman who is under the suspicion she’s helping Germans (only one, a four-year-old orphan so he doesn’t mind) and of course the two fall in love in that awkward Edwardian British way.

There’s a bit more to it than that including a delightful dream sequence where she fulfils her Cinderella persona, but I don’t want to get into the plot. The interesting thing for me was how Barrie had presented the script. It didn’t simply have dialogue and stage directions, it had narrative within stage directions so anyone reading the script is privy to information not presented to anyone merely watching a performance of it. We’re told of how the policeman met JM Barrie and discussed with him the question of true love for instance. We also understand why the dream sequence goes the way it does which would not be evident without his comments.

Of particular importance is the end however. It could be taken to be the expected happy ending but for one of these comments in the stage directions which is almost entirely ambiguous but seems to imply a very bitter twist to the whole thing. Which would give anyone mounting the play a big decision to make. It’s not a method I think I’ll ever employ but it’s certainly an interesting one and kept me thinking about something I might otherwise have glossed over as a light entertainment.

Keep dreaming!