Davidson Reunion Trip to California, 2017

I've been chronicling our trip to the World Fantasy Convention in San Antonio, but I should also mention the vacation trip we took just a couple of weeks before that, a family reunion for the two branches of my wife's family.

This trip took us to Northern California, most especially to my wife's half-sister's house. The sister in question is Myrna Courtney, who is a number of years older than my wife. Perhaps this needs some explanation, a bit soft-pedalled. My wife's father, who bore the unexpectedly significant name Harley Davidson, was born in Missouri in about 1914, to a family of 10. A couple of his brothers moved to California in the '30s, looking for work (lots of people were looking for work in those days), and Harley followed. He married Myrna's mother, and had four children: Carl, Myrna, Linda, and a girl who died very young. Harley was by all accounts brilliant with his hands, but he had a drinking problem, and that was severely exacerbated when his youngest child died. That tore apart his marriage, and he left Myrna's mother and returned to Missouri, in the early '50s I think. He married Mary Ann's mother (whom, apparently, he had known slightly before moving to California) in 1954 or so, and they had five children. The youngest of these, a twin to my brother-in-law Mark, also died as an infant. The endgame is clear, I suppose -- Harley's drinking problems, and concomitant employment issues, led to some pretty awful living conditions for Mary Ann and her brothers, and her mother, who died quite young in about 1970. The four kids went to live with their maternal aunts, as Harley wasn't really able to care for children. He died in 1980 (having married one more time). (I met Mary Ann in 1984.)

Myrna (who spent years with her husband Gerry traveling the country in an RV, doing articles for magazines) made it to St. Louis a couple of times to visit her half-siblings. But only recently have we become closer, on social media and with a couple more visits. This was Mary Ann and my first visit to Myrna's home, in Grass Valley (an hour or so from Sacramento. in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas). We flew into Oakland on Thursday the 12th, along with Mary Ann's brothers Mark, Dwight, and Scott, Mark's wife Becky, and Dwight's wife Terri. (Scott's wife Brenda wasn't able to make the trip.) We rented a minivan, and the first night we drove to Lake Tahoe. I ought to mention the obvious -- the fires north of San Francisco were still active when we arrived, and the air was noticeably smoky that first night -- we could smell it and see it. We ate at an In'n'Out, California's iconic fast food joint. This was my second time eating there, and I was as unimpressed as the first time -- it's just another burger joint, darnit.

We got to Lake Tahoe late, of course. Our hotel was right on the water. We went out to the lakeshore first thing in the morning -- it was 21 degrees Fahrenheit. Between the altitude and (I suppose) the humidity the temperature gradients are remarkable. That said, the lake is quite beautiful. We ate at a local breakfast place called Bert's, which I can recommend. In particular, the omelettes, and the biscuit/egg dish called the Cowboy, are immense. We drove around the west side of the lake, stopping at a few places, notably Emerald Bay and Tahoe City. The former is as pretty, I think, as anywhere on the lake. The latter has a dam, where the Truckee river issues from the lake.

We then headed in the direction of Sacramento. Our one planned stop was at Donner Memorial State Park, near the town of Truckee. The park includes the area where the Donner Party camped when snowed in. There is a museum with presentations about the Donner expedition, as well as about the Transcontinental Railroad, which passed through the area, and the Lincoln Highway (U.S. 40 in this area, though it's U.S. 30 near my hometown of Naperville, IL). Donner Lake is a really pretty lake. The main remnant of the Railroad is some tunnels, and a stone wall called the China Wall (as it was built by Chinese immigrants). The men climbed up to the railroad tunnels, close enough for a good look at the wall, and we walked through a couple of tunnels to meet the women, who picked us up by a restaurant called after the Donner Party. They had pie, so we decided to buy one. (We didn't get the Fried Green Tomatoes though.)

We finally made it to Grass Valley, after a detour caused by our GPS not knowing the way very well. Myrna has a really lovely place, a large property with the main house and two smaller houses. Myrna's sister Linda and her husband Steve live in one house, and Myrna's daughter Robyn and her husband Keith live in the other.

Dwight, Terri, and Scott were staying with Myrna. Mark and Becky and Mary Ann and I rented an Airbnb perhaps a couple of miles away. This house was really nice as well, in a small neighborhood in the woods. There is a lot of wildlife around, and apparently fencing is important to keep the bears out. There was a wraparound porch/balcony, which proved to be a good place to look at the stars from as well -- there weren't too many city lights.

That night Myrna treated us to dinner at a pretty good local restaurant called, unpromisingly, the Dine n Dash Cafe. It turned out to have a pretty impressive menu. We ate in the bar, because that's where they had room. (This much to the amusement of Myrna's brother-in-law Steve (Linda's husband), who likes the bar -- Myrna thinks it's too loud.) I had the prime rib, a popular selection, and it was good.

Saturday we planned to explore Grass Valley. We headed into the town, which has a nice downtown area, full, as expected these days, of boutiques and restaurants and antique shops. We ate lunch at Tofanelli's, again good. They are an Italian place, also known for offering 101 different omelettes. Before we went downtown we found the house in which Myrna grew up, and we also saw the building that housed the bar Harley used to frequent.

For me, however, the highlight was the used bookstore, Booktown. I don't suppose that surprises anyone. But it really is a very good used bookstore, built on the model of antique malls, with a number of different sections owned by different booksellers. A couple of these featured good selections of SF books, and one of those also included a number of old SF magazines. I bought an Ace Double or two and several issues of Amazing from Cele Goldsmith's time as editor. I'd say that this is definitely worth a side trip if you are anywhere in the area.

In the afternoon we visited the Empire Mine, a played out gold mine near Grass Valley that is now a state park. We toured the park, which featured an impressive house where the owners once lived,

a selection of the machinery used in the mining, a brief descent in one of the tram carts the miners used, and a demonstration by a blacksmith. There was also a small museum, with some details about the history of the mine, including a three dimensional model showing the various mineshafts, which extended down as deep as 11,000 feet. The shafts, now flooded, riddle the depths beneath Grass Valley itself. The mine itself was discovered in 1850, opened as a mine in 1854, and closed in 1956. The museum claimed that the area was all but unaffected by the depression because of the jobs provided by the mine. Many of the miners were Cornish immigrants, which reminded me of the copper mines on the Keweenaw Peninsula in Northern Michigan, where my maternal grandparents came from. Many of those miners were Cornish as well, and my mother used to make Cornish Pasties, a recipe she got from her mother, who doubtless got it from her mother and her Cornish neighbors. It turns out there is a Pastie restaurant in Grass Valley, though we didn't go there.

Afternoon and evening were family reunion time. We mingled with the two branches of the Davidson family -- the St. Louis branch, represented by Mary Ann, Dwight, Scott and Mark and we spouses; and the California branch, represented by Myrna, her sister Linda and her husband Steve, and Myrna's daughter Robyn and her husband Keith, as well as Robyn's middle daughter Christy and her nephews (whose mother was away on an anniversary cruise). Carl, who lives in Montana, had also intended to be there, but his wife Sandy fell just a week or so before and wasn't able to travel. This was a shame, because Mary Ann has never met Carl.

(Back: Becky, Mary Ann, Linda, Myrna, Terri
Front: Mark, Rich, Scott, Dwight)

Keith cooked dinner (and Christy brought dessert), which was really good -- tri tip, a cut of beef I had only seen in California until recently, done slowly wrapped in foil on the grill.  Very very good.

I spent much of my time on two pursuits. The first won't surprise anyone. Myrna likes books about as much as I do, and she had inherited several boxes of old books, just the sort of books I read and review here often. I looked through all the boxes, looking for particularly interesting books. One of the coolest things I found was a little tourist pamphlet of St. Louis, of all places, from early in the century, featuring pictures of many of the still famous buildings made for the 1904 World's Fair. Of the old books I only took a couple (on Myrna's urging) -- a Bulwer Lytton novel, Zanoni; a G. A. Henty novel, The Lion of St. Mark; and a very obscure magazine, The Quiver, May 1891, a Christian-themed publication which featured some fiction.

The second pursuit involved Myrna's interest in genealogical research. She has spent considerable time ferreting out her ancestry, all the way back to a Davidson from Holland in the 17th  Century. She had done all this with a program from Ancestry.com, but Ancestry.com was recently bought by someone else, and their program had been superseded, and all Myrna's files were unreadable. I was able to find a way, involving two or three different versions of the original program Myrna used and the different, newer software that has replaced it, to convert Myrna's old data to the new format. One result was a printout of the Davidson family tree from around 1650 to about now.

Dinner featured, of course, a lot of conversation, and a lot of stories about the history of both sides of Harley's family. Particularly fun was Steve's long description of his courtship of Linda, which involved him taking advantage of the absence of a fellow Navy man who was also sweet on Linda. Steve's reminiscences at one point prompted Myrna to tell Linda to "Muzzle your man!". Steve is an interesting guy -- a football player in High School who had a chance to play at Oregon State, until he realized that lots of schoolwork might be involved. Currently he's fascinated with You Tube videos about military technology, which led to him asking me some questions about some of my projects for Boeing -- questions that I couldn't answer if I didn't want to go to jail.

We learned a lot, most of it fairly personal, and all quite interesting. Family histories may only be of interest to the family, but in that scope they really are cool. One detail that surprised Mary Ann and her brothers was that Myrna had offered to adopt them after their mother had died. Harley had demurred, saying (falsely) that things were fine, and so they ended up with their aunts, which in the end worked out very well. But it's interesting to think how different things might have been had they all moved to California in 1970 or so -- of course, all of us spouses would have been wholly out of the picture! (An example of the contingencies of Alternate History that were discussed at the World Fantasy Convention!)

On Sunday we came over to Myrna's again for breakfast, and some more conversation, but soon it was time to head back to San Francisco. We planned this time to take a slightly different route, that would bring us into the city from the north, so we could go over the Golden Gate Bridge. On the way we passed Davis, and I pointed out that that was where Karen Joy Fowler lived -- only to learn, on meeting Karen slightly later at World Fantasy that she has moved to Santa Cruz. Not to worry -- we made our way to Santa Cruz soon enough!

On Highway 37 north of SF we drove through some striking evidence of the recent fires -- hillsides burned completely black, road signs mangled and melted, etc. But overall the fires and smoke had diminished quite a lot. Then we drove over the Golden Gate Bridge, then turned aside to park, and we took the time to walk onto the bridge and take some pictures.

Dwight and Terri and Scott had a plane to catch, so we took them to the airport, and then Mark and Becky rented a new car, because they planned to stay the night in Monterey. We were headed to Santa Cruz. We did meet for a very nice dinner at The Crow's Nest, on the oceanfront in Santa Cruz.

Our hotel was a couple of blocks from the Santa Cruz boardwalk, so we went down there. Frankly, it's a bit on the cheesy side. There are some nice views of the ocean, though. Across the street from our hotel there was construction going on -- I asked the desk clerk what they were building His rather rueful answer: "Another hotel." Santa Cruz, by the way, was the setting (under a different name) for the good vampire movie, very early in Kiefer Sutherland's career, Lost Boys.

Monday we were heading back to Oakland. We began by visiting a couple of Santa Cruz antique stores (one of them, alas, closed despite hours that claimed they should be open), and also by visiting the oceanside again, including a walk on the pier, with sea lions.

Then we decided on the scenic route, and we head up the Coast Highway. This has long been one of my favorite roads, from Huntington Beach through Santa Monica, Oxnard, Santa Barbara, Carpenteria, up the coast to Bug Sur and Monterey -- and now for the first time farther North. We stopped in Davenport to eat, at the Whale City Bakery Bar and Deli. We were able to eat outside. A Norwegian couple happened to sit at the table right across from us, and we talked for a bit -- they were headed the other direction, to Carmel. After lunch we made kept going North and stopped for a bit at the Pigeon Point Lighthouse, which is now a state park. Some very pretty views here. Finally we headed up to Hwy 92, where we turned inland, then crossed the San Mateo bridge into Oakland.

Our next goal -- the last, really -- was to visit the Locus offices. I had never been there, although I've been writing for the magazine since 2002 (and for the website even longer). Alas, editor Liza Groen Trombi had a school function to attend and left early, but I was able to meet Arley Sorg for the first time, as well as Carolyn Cushman and Josh Pearce and Fransesca Myman, and I think one or two more folks whose names I am forgetting. (I have met Fransesca before, to be sure, and of course Liza, and I saw Liza and Arley again just a couple of weeks later at World Fantasy.) I also got to see the book collection -- and the Hugo collection -- and believe me I could have stayed there for quite a while. (I'd probably still be there!)

Not much more to tell. We went to the hotel, and we were too tired to go out again so we ordered pizza in. It was OK, nothing special. We decided to turn the car in a day early, and take the shuttle to the airport the next day. And that was fun! NOT! Avis was a mess. The Avis Preferred desk was unattended, so we waited in line at the regular desk. I let a guy go ahead of us who had a plane to catch -- I hope he made it, it was getting pretty late. The first thing the guy at the counter asked was "Why didn't you go to the Preferred desk?" "Because there was no one there, you dolt!" is what I wanted to say, but I left off the last two words. (At about this time I saw a couple of folks from Avis returning to the Preferred desk with cups of coffee.) Then he charged me for filling up the car, even though I had filled it up on the way to the rental car return. (I didn't realize that until later.) They also put the charges on the wrong credit card -- my company card instead of my personal card. He did change that successfully. Oh well.

The next day was just the trip home, which was uneventful.

All in all, a delightful trip. I think everyone had a great time. I really enjoy this area of California, though I think on balance I still prefer the Central Coast (Santa Barbara, Carpenteria, etc.). If we could afford it (not likely!) that would be a good place to retire to.

World Fantasy Convention, 2017, Part III: Day 2

World Fantasy Convention, 2017, Part III: Day 2

For breakfast on Friday we had the brunch buffet at the hotel restaurant. Waffles, bacon, omelettes, all the usual stuff. It was OK, nothing all that special. But convenient.

I was particularly interested in Friday's "Engaging Our Theme" panel, entitled "What is Alternate History?". This mainly because one of the panelists was Damien Broderick (who lives in San Antonio). I've known Damien online for quite some time, and I've really enjoyed his fiction (and I've reprinted a few of his stories, and even wrote the introduction to one of his collections), but I'd never met him in in person. The other panelists were Fred Lerner, Daryl Gregory, and S. M. Stirling. The discussion was stimulating. The panelists considered things like overfamiliar jonbar points; the notion that in reality even small changes would likely mean that there would be no common people -- that is, that most people would even be born in alternate histories, due to their parents' not meeting (Stirling described in this context the very unlikely events leading to his parents and grandparents all meeting each other), or even if their parents met, changes in, oh, when they happened to conceive their children; favorite Alternate Histories, etc. Damien mentioned Vladimir Nabokov's Ada, one of the most interesting and different (and problematic!) literary alternate histories. Afterward, I did get a chance to meet Damien, and he gave me a copy of his latest novel, his revision of one of John Brunner's more ambitious 1950s novels, Threshold of Eternity (a novel which I read and reviewed in its Ace Double edition a few months ago). He also introduced me to another Australian writer, Russell Blackford (and later I met Russell's wife Jenny, whose work I had read and reviewed previously, which she remembered).

Our Noon panel was "My 12 Favorite Works by Karen Joy Fowler". Brian Attebery moderated the panel, and the other participants were Eileen Gunn, Elizabeth Engstrom, Rachel Neumeier, and Gordon van Gelder. As you might have guessed, the discussion centered around a whole bunch of Fowler's works. There wasn't any real consensus on the "best" (nor did I expect one!) -- though a fair amount of people seemed to pick We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves as a favorite. Rachel Neumeier's approach was interesting, and, it seems to me, a good reaction to being placed on a panel for non-obvious reasons. For, she confessed, she had not previously read Fowler. (I don't actually know if Rachel requested this panel or just got stuck there.) So she read a whole bunch of Fowler's work in the past couple of months, which gave her a pretty fresh perspective.

I did introduce myself to Brian Attebery after the panel, and we discussed -- at this time and on a couple further occasions where we could talk at greater length -- a variety of things, including Brian's major current project, curating the Library of America editions of Ursula Le Guin's work.

Next was a reading by John Crowley, from his new novel Ka. The reading was certainly interesting, though really I'm just waiting to get the novel (which I already have). John went over time a bit, because he had assumed that he had an hour, but readings at this con were only 30 minutes. I introduced myself to John afterwards -- I've known him for a while on Facebook, but this was the first time we'd met in person. Crowley is absolutely one of my favorite writers, but I restrained myself from gushing (I assume writers get tired of that, as it doesn't seem to me to lead to actual conversation). Instead I mentioned my friend Will Waller, who was one of John's students, and Will's admission that John found his work frustrating. John laughed a bit ruefully, and agreed that he had found Will a bit frustrating as a student, but said that his more recent work has gotten a great deal better.

I skipped the David Mitchell reading at 1:00. Which leads to one of my real regrets -- this convention featured three of my absolute favorite writers: Crowley (as noted), Fowler, and David Mitchell. I had no problem introducing myself to Crowley and Fowler. But I never did speak to Mitchell. Partly, no doubt, that's because I have corresponded with both Crowley and Fowler, and bought stories from them for reprint. But partly I think that's because I know they are both embedded in our field -- in a sense, they are "one of us". That said, they straddle the genre lines quite the same as Mitchell does. (On reflection, that may be a reason I like all three!) Really, that's on me. I did hang around the dealer room by the Small Beer table on Sunday, as we were about to leave, because Mitchell was there. But he was in what looked like an absorbing conversation with Ted Chiang, and I felt like it would have been terribly rude to butt in.

There was one more panel, "History: Secret, Hidden, or Otherwise", featuring Fran Wilde, Ian Drury, J. L. Doty, John Crowley, and Mary Anne Mohanraj. I will confess I don't remember the panel well, but I did take the time to introduce myself to Fran Wilde, whom I had missed at Boskone earlier this year.

Mary Ann and I went to a nearby Mexican restaurant, the original Blanco, for lunch. It was OK, but didn't really strike me as special. I have two favorite Mexican restaurants in St. Louis -- when I want Americanized Mexican food, I like Chevy's, which advertises itself as Tex Mex. This was for a while the most popular Mexican chain in St. Louis, but they are down to perhaps two stores now. When I want more authentic Mexican food, I go to Pueblo Nuevo, which was opened by a couple from Guadalajara in 1982, shortly after I came to St. Louis. I first went there that year, I think, for lunch (it's fairly close to where I work). For many many years, a group of us went every Thursday for lunch, and we got to know the owners -- the husband has died, alas, but his son took over -- I remember him as a child, sitting at one of the tables and doing his schoolwork. That stopped a few years ago when the day job got too intense to take long lunch breaks, plus a couple of our regulars retired. And on another visit just recently, one of the regular waiters greeted me by wondering where I'd been -- it had been three or four years, and I had a beard I hadn't had back them. Which is just to say, sometimes places become like home.

Diversion over. Back at the hotel, after some time in the Dealers' room (I'll discuss the Dealers' room in a later post), we ran into John Joseph Adams, the chief editor at Lightspeed (where I am the reprint editor). John was meeting his sister Becky, a teacher now living in North Carolina, who was coming to her first World Fantasy. Becky's daughter lives in San Antonio, and she was providing a convenient base of operations for both of them. They were heading to dinner soon, and we went along with them. To another Mexican place, as it happens -- Acenar. Actually, it was just fine to go to another Mexican place -- Acenar had more of an upscale vibe, with some interesting takes on "Street Tacos", for example. (Reminds me a bit of a visit to Chicago several years ago, when Mary Ann and I met up with my brother Pat, who lives in the city. He took us to a fancy Mexican place, and when we blanched at the notion of paying $25 for an enchilada, he said that's fine, I made a couple of different reservations, and we left and went to the other place ... Acenar wasn't as expensive as that! (And John actually picked up the tab -- thanks again!)) And, I should say, the food was really nice. Probably stands as the best food we had in San Antonio. The conversation was good as well, with some family stuff -- comparing Becky's teaching experience with our daughter Melissa's, for example; and some discussion of things like John's publishing ventures include the Best American SF anthologies he does.

Back at the con, it was time for the signing session, which at World Fantasy is a mass event, with everyone lined up at tables in a big event space (that turned out to be beneath the hotel's parking garage, so a bit of a walk). I thought that really worked out nicely. I didn't realize that I could have grabbed a name "tent" and sat down myself -- I thought it was by invitation only. No matter -- I don't think I'm a particularly hot name for signatures, and I was glad to wander around meeting people. I got just one thing signed, a chapbook of "An Earthly Mother Sits and Sings" by John Crowley. I talked to quite a few folks, though, including James Alan Gardner (who finally has a new novel out); Darrell Schweitzer, whom I had not previously met; Alex Irvine; Bill Crider; Christopher Brown, whom I bumped into a few more times -- I have been familiar with his interesting fiction for a while, but I was intrigued to realize he's a lawyer who spent some time working with Congress (for example, as one of the "behind the scenes" guys at the hearings you see on CSPAN); Joe McDermott, whom I had met at Boskone, and who, as he's local, gave us a good recommendation for an ice cream place on the Riverwalk; Kij Johnson, whom I've known for a little while now (I had bought her novel The River Bank at the Small Beer Press table but was too clueless to remember to bring it to the signing session); and Steve Rasnic Tem.

After that was over, it was back to the bar, which meant quite a few more stimulating conversations. Keeping in mind that my memory will confuse which night a particular conversation took place -- I remember meeting Sarah Pinsker, and we had a really good talk about music, particularly as I recall Tom Petty, and how fortunate Mary Ann and I feel that we got to see him on his last tour. I had just read Sarah's very strong novelette "Wind Will Rove" in Asimov's, which is about music (and a generation ship!), and a sort of music I like a great deal (old-timey folk, basically). That conversation was with other people, and I'm being an idiot by not remembering who -- was it Scott Andrews? Or Derek Künsken? And somebody else too? I know I did spend some time talking to both Scott and Derek. (I finally remembered who else was in the conversation: Michael Damian Thomas.)

I also ran into Arin Komins, whom I had met (along with Richard Warren) at a previous Windycon. Arin and Rich were at that time winding up their bookselling business, so I was surprised to see them in the Dealers' room -- but they were helping out another Chicago bookseller, Dave Willoughby, from whom I have bought a number of books over the years. I did discuss with Richard the fact that his name is the same as that of my ancestor who came over on the Mayflower. With Arin we recalled our dinner at Windycon at an Indian restaurant, which everyone enjoyed except Mary Ann (she hates Indian food!)

I spent considerable time talking to F. Brett Cox too, whom I had known online back in the SFF.net days. We talked about Maine, and about Joy Division -- Brett had a Joy Division t-shirt on, and they are a band I have liked since my college years -- among numerous other subjects.

And I recall talking a bit to Peter Halasz as well, and reminding him to keep an eye out for a new novel next year from a new Canadian writer -- Todd McAulty. I really liked Todd's stories for Black Gate back in the day, and I got a chance to read an advance copy of his first novel, The Robots of Gotham, which is due from John Joseph Adams' imprint next June. (Check out advance notice about it here.)

More on next rock ...


Here are links to all five installments of this con report:

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Old Bestseller Review: That Girl From New York, by Allene Corliss

Old Bestseller Review: That Girl From New York, by Allene Corliss

a review by Rich Horton

This was not a major bestseller, but one of a number of novels -- at least 15 -- by a writer who seemed a fairly successful producer of reasonably sophisticated romance novels between about 1930 and the early '60s. Allene Corliss was born Senath Allene Soule in Vermont in 1899 (though some sources say 1898), and seems to have lived there her whole life. She married Bruce Corliss, a businessman originally from Kansas, and they had three children (her daughter Jane died as recently as 2016, still in Vermont). She published regularly in magazines such as the American Magazine and Women's Home Companion. Her 1936 novel Summer Lightning became a movie in 1938: I Met My Love Again, starring Joan Bennet and Henry Fonda. (Despite that star power, it does not seem to have been a success.) She died in 1979.

She is all but forgotten now, but I found a few contemporary reviews from Kirkus, and they were generally positive, if in a slightly condescending way: "Ardent, amatory amusement in the best manner", "A complex plot fairly well manoeuvred, with facile dialogue of the smart type. Allene Corliss is building a good rental library following, of the Faith Baldwin type of reader. This won't disappoint them.", "Allene Corliss has a facile style and a pleasant gift of story telling. She's not important, but she is a safe circulating library bet for women readers." Condescending those may be, but they are probably pretty much correct.

That Girl From New York was her second novel, after Marry for Love. It was published in 1932 by Farrar and Rinehart. My edition is the A. L. Burt reprint. I believe it was published in the UK under the title Eden. The novel opens in New York, as Jerry Evans meets Eden Lane at a slow party. Jerry is from Vermont, the son of a banker, and he is working at a bank in New York. Eden is in advertising. The two are quickly in love, Eden more desperately so, despite that she is the stronger character: extremely beautiful, more intelligent than Jerry, more honest and straightforward. This section comes off a bit flat -- there is little tension. Eden does have a friend, Jake, with whom she had been involved a few years previously. He's still in love with her, but he has married unhappily, and now his wife is dying. Eden had one previous indiscretion, with, coincidentally, a college roommate of Jerry's. All this, though is setup.

For, it turns out, Jerry's mother is a rather evil woman, and she has plans for Jerry. She is quite upset at his quick marriage to Eden -- she senses that Eden could remove Jerry from her influence. She wanted him to marry a local girl, Elizabeth, who is plain and a bit dull, and who is desperately in love with him. So she arranges for Jerry to be fired (her husband is dead and she controls the local bank, and so she has a relationship with Jerry's boss). Jerry and Eden have been spending a bit beyond their means (mostly Jerry's fault), and Jerry does not want to live on his wife's earnings. So they are forced to move to Vermont, and to Jerry's rather ugly childhood home.

Jerry takes a position at his mother's bank, but she doesn't pay him a salary, to prevent him moving out. She is coldly vile to Eden, objecting to her smoking, her makeup, and any attempts by her to decorate, even such things as putting flowers in the living room. Her plan, quite obviously, is to drive Eden to leave him -- he can't initiate a divorce, because his mother wants him to become Senator eventually. Eden begins to decline, and then becomes pregnant, but loses the baby after a particularly bad fight. Jerry, a very weak man, cannot see how badly his mother is behaving. And he begins to see Elizabeth innocently, while Eden associates with some of the more intelligent and independent local wives. All comes to a head, though, when Jerry's old roommate visits, and they go out drinking (to Canada, as this is during Prohibition), and it comes out that Eden and he had, er, misbehaved some years previously. Jerry is hypocritically furious, and before long the marriage seems over, and Eden returns to New York.

Meanwhile, Jake's wife has died, and so in New York he and Eden begin to see each other, but he is noble enough to realize that she will never love him, so he takes no steps to get truly closer to her. Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Jerry are seeing each other -- but, again, good girl Elizabeth, after a close call, realizes as well that much as she would love to be with Jerry, that would be wrong. But Eden and Jerry are both convinced the other wants a divorce, so ...

Well, of course you know how this will end. The novel is indeed, as Kirkus says, "not important". And its flaws are many. For one thing, the Depression is barely acknowledged. You would think that might have impacted the banking business. For another, Jerry is so weak compared to Eden that their romance doesn't always really convince -- though Corliss is well aware of this, and papers it over fairly well. (Though, really, the two differently strong women leads -- Eden, and Jerry's mother -- are less convincing characters -- Mrs. Evans is a bit cartoonishly evil, and Eden in some ways too perfect -- than Jerry and some of the other lesser characters.) The opening chapters, as I suggested, drag somewhat, but the novel does find some momentum. Some of the descriptions of Vermont society are pretty convincing, and the characters of Eden's friends among the wives are pretty well depicted. The ending is just a tad contrived. This novel indeed is what it is, and while I have no particular reason to seek out more novels by Allene Corliss, nor to think she needs revival, I enjoyed it enough on its own terms, and she surely deserved the apparent modest success she enjoyed.

World Fantasy Convention, 2017, Part II: Day 1

World Fantasy Convention, 2017, Part II: Day 1

The convention didn't really start until the afternoon on Thursday. Thus we had the morning free. One thing we like to do when traveling is find local breakfast places. You can usually find a good breakfast at hole in the wall joints most anywhere. We settle on Pancake Joe's, a ways northwest of downtown, in a typical looking residential neighborhood, near Thomas Jefferson High School. It was quite satisfactory.

Next on the agenda was antique malls. We found one not too far from Pancake Joe's, Ironside Antique Mall. It was an odd sort of place -- it seemed that many of the booths were operated independently from the mall itself, and several of them were closed. In the end, not terribly satisfying. The other one was downtown, Alamo Antique Mall, only a couple of blocks from the Alamo. This was convenient, because a visit to the Alamo was another objective. We were able to park in front of the Mall, and we went through it -- a fine three story antique mall, fairly typical, worth visiting. We decided to walk to the Alamo  from there, reasoning (correctly) that parking would be dicier close to it. We walked through the Alamo -- which was a bit smaller than in my mind. We watched the short film they have on the history of the place, done in collaboration with the History Channel, and done fairly well (though they did kind of skate over the fact that a major motivation for the then-Texans to want independence from Mexico was that they owned slaves and Mexico might have outlawed that practice). The site itself is interesting too. We also of course visited the gift store and bought a couple of souvenirs.

Back to the hotel. We had picked up our registration materials that morning when I just wandered up to the area and found that they were happy to give me our folders. The first panel we attended was the Introducing Our Guests forum, at 2:00 PM. The guests were, I should mention, Toastmaster Martha Wells, writers Tananarive Due, Karen Joy Fowler, and David Mitchell, artist Gregory Manchess, and editor Gordon van Gelder. A pretty distinguished guest list, I thought. The intros included some discussion of what the Convention's theme meant: Secret Histories and Alternate Histories. The most noticeable theme, that kept popping up in panel after panel, was the sort of meta version of Secret History -- the history of people who have been either ignored or forgotten in the official historical accounts. Another subtheme is histories -- especially personal or family histories -- that our sort of suppressed, even by the people most involved (like the gay uncle, or the embarrassing family problems such as perhaps abusive behavior). These are important threads, and very much worth discussing, but I kind of felt that the more traditional "Secret History" got short shrift -- that is, stories that try to offer complete alternate (often bonkers, often conspiracy-oriented) explanations for acknowledged historical events.

Next up was a panel designed to directly "Engage our Theme": "Is Our History True?", with Jack Dann, Greg Bear, Joe Haldeman, and Karen Joy Fowler, which continued to some of the same central ideas, not surprisingly I suppose: What lies do well tell about our own family histories? And what do we suppress about our true national or world history? Not at all uninteresting, I suppose, and perhaps the best way to deal with the specific question raised.

Our final panel for the day was "Exceptional Characters in Horrible Times", in essence about how to create characters that are believable but still sympathetic, when they hold views that were essentially universal to their time but which we disapprove of now. The panelists were David Mitchell, David B. Coe, Christopher Brown, and Howard Waldrop. I will say that I personally think some (a lot) of the burden here is on the reader: if you can't sympathize with a character with some unpleasant views, you have a personal problem, I'd say -- and you should shudder to think what future people will think of some of your views. That said, there are some views that are really hard to stomach. Still, I recall for example stories about characters in the Aztec Empire who unhesitatingly supported human sacrifice, and writers of sufficient skill still made them sympathetic and indeed heroic. The panelists suggested things like giving the characters particular personal burdens so we'd sympathize anyway, which seems like a) a copout; and b) the sort of thing you do to your main characters anyway. But there was universal disdain for the all too common practice of giving one's historical character convenient 21st Century attitudes.

Three panels in a row is a lot, and we actually ducked out early on this one. And here's where I confess that I was wrong in my part I report -- we didn't eat at Waxy O'Connor's on Wednesday night. Instead we ate there Thursday night, with the unfortunate wrong turn on the Riverwalk I had mentioned.

On Wednesday we actually weren't that hungry -- the barbeque in Waco had been in the middle of the afternoon, so we just snacked -- and, of course, watched Game 7 of the World Series. San Antonio, of course, is not terribly far from Houston, so we can assume a lot of locals were quite thrilled with the Astros' victory, but in reality no such partisanship was obvious at the Con, of course because the guests came from everywhere. Mary Ann and I were both mostly agnostic, but slightly in favor of the Astros, perhaps mostly because they had never previously won a World Series. For my part, I'm a big fan of Jose Altuve, and also of Justin Verlander, so on those grounds alone I'd cheer for the Astros. (That said, I think Clayton Kershaw easily the greatest pitcher of our time, and I'd like to see him win a championship some time, though of course not at the expense of the Cardinals.)

I'm going to mention various people I met and talked to over the weekend, but I will admit up front that I'll probably totally mess up the chronology. I spent significant time in the bar (mostly that!), and  a couple of room parties, and the con suite, and the autograph session, each of Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night. And I met a whole lot of people, not to mention saw a lot of people I already know. I'm certain I'll forget to mention some folks.

So. I did spend some time at the bar Thursday night, as well as at the Con suite, and maybe in a room party or two -- things have gotten blurred. I spent some time talking to the very impressive Canadian writer Derek Künsken, whose work I have reprinted. He's just finished his first novel, and he told me it was soon to be serialized in Analog (and on coming home, the new issue of Analog announced the serialization in its forthcoming issue preview). Derek also mentioned a forthcoming trip to China, and, if I recall, his novel is also being published quite soon in China.

I also talked to another Canadian writer, Alexandra Renwick, who thanked me for reviewing one of her early stories in Locus. I was briefly puzzled, until she revealed that her early stories were published as by "Camille Alexa". I do remember those stories well, mostly in some of Eric Reynolds' fine anthologies for his Hadley Rille imprint. Alexandra is also married to an old online friend of mine, Claude Lalumiere. Alexandra has roots in Austin, in California, and in Canada, if I recall, and she and Claude live in Ottawa, very close to another brilliant young Canadian writer, Rich Larson. I got an invite to CanCon, and to their apparent mansion (grin) ... which I would be delighted to accept, but now it looks like my most likely convention in Canada next year will be Jo Walton's Scintillation, in Montreal next October.

I also talked to Gavin Grant, of Small Beer Press, on a variety of topics, most notably, to my memory, the closeness of my Dad's hometown of Hadley, MA, to Northampton, where Gavin (and Kelly Link) live. Gavin noted that Hadley happily hosts the big box stores such as Walmart that Northampton (and also Amherst) are too snooty to allow.

I ran into Ellen Datlow, whom I've known, it seems, forever, and we discussed among other things the Omni relaunch, which features a really impressive set of authors. I also met Jenn Reese for the first time, though we really had no chance to talk. Likewise Caroline Yoachim. I did get to talk to Daryl Gregory for a while -- we discussed his wonderful new novel Spoonbenders, and also my unfortunate failure to get to his signing of that book in St. Louis a few months ago. Liza Groen Trombi (Locus editor) was there as well. Jim Minz. Mary Anne Mohanraj. David Levine.

That's enough for now, I hope. Much more to come in future installments!

Here are links to all five installments of this con report:

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

World Fantasy Convention, 2017, Part I: Before the convention

World Fantasy Convention, 2017, Part I: Before the convention

This year I could not afford the trip to Helsinki for the World Science Fiction Convention, so I decided to go to World Fantasy instead. I've been told for years that World Fantasy is a lovely convention -- smaller, more literary in focus, more professional in tone. Many people say it's their favorite. And, indeed, I thought about going last year to Columbus, but two things intervened -- 1) I thought about it rather late and I think it was already full; but, anyway -- 2) my day job was incredibly busy at that time and I ended up spending much of the last quarter of 2016 traveling for business. (Why that is no longer an issue is a rather bitter story that I can't really address in a public forum.) All that said, I signed up me and Mary Ann for World Fantasy in San Antonio in plenty of time.

Things were simplified to an extent because my brother Paul lives just north of Dallas. It's a longish ride, but not undoable, from our house in St. Louis to Paul's house. We left on Halloween, with our daughter Melissa staying over with her dog to keep our dog company. We chose a slightly slower route, for a change from our usual Dallas trip -- this time we went through Arkansas, mostly US 67, then I-30 over to Dallas. This was pretty worthwhile, though it did, in the end, take about an hour extra. For one thing, Arkansas is basically prettier than Oklahoma -- at least, the parts we went through. For another thing, we spent some time on the "Rock and Roll Highway", which was supposed to be called the "Rockabilly Highway", except that the politicians didn't want the implied "hillbilly" association. That was in commemoration of some of the early rockabilly stars -- Arkansas native Johnny Cash being the most obvious -- who played in that area. Most interesting, actually, was Walnut Ridge, AR, where we found a sculpture inspired by the brief visit of the Beatles to the local airport -- on the way to a vacation in Missouri. A local sculptor created a version of the Abbey Road cover in steel, with lots of Easter eggs referring to Beatles songs.

Anyway, we did finally make our way to Dallas, and to Paul and Diane's house. They treated us to a nice dinner at a local upscale burger joint (name alas forgotten). We saw their son David as well, and his twin Christopher a couple of days later. Benjamin and Thomas are away at college (SMU and Georgia Tech respectively), so we missed them. Diane served us (as she does!) a spectacular breakfast the next day, and then we headed for San Antonio. On the way we stopped at Waco, to visit Magnolia at the Silos, the little shopping/food area that Chip and Joanna Gaines have. Mary Ann bought stuff. Then we drove through the campus of Baylor, just to say we saw it, and we found a place to eat, a barbeque place called Coach's XXX Smoke. We thought it no better than ordinary.

The rest of the drive was uneventful enough, though we did take the lesson that traffic through Austin is insufferable. (On the way back, with the help of the GPS, we took a loop around Austin and saved 10 or 15 minutes.) The convention was at the Wyndham Riverwalk Hotel, which is on the one had right on the San Antonio river, on the Riverwalk, but on the other hand on the unoccupied end of the Riverwalk -- all the restaurant action is a good hike away. We got parked and situated, up in our room. We couldn't find the closet. There was a door with a handle that wouldn't move. We figured it was a connecting door to the next room. Only later did somebody tell me that they had the same problem, until they yanked on the handle, and found that it opened to a typical hotel closet. Ah well.

A number of people were already at the Con, but it didn't officially start until Thursday. We decided to walk to the part of the Riverwalk where all the restaurants are. It looked like the quickest way was overland, and it probably is, but I mishandled the map of downtown we found and managed to get us rather lost. Eventually we corrected the wrong turn I'd made, but that turned a merely "good hike" into something of a trek, and we kind of settled for the first restaurant we encountered. This was Waxy O'Connor's, which, not surprisingly, turned out to be a standard issue touristy fake-"Irish Pub". I had the lamb stew, which was, at any rate, decent.

On getting back to the hotel, Mary Ann, feeling rather tired, opted for the room and some TV, and I went to the bar, and sat down at a table in the restaurant area, with Ellen Klages, Karen Joy Fowler, Walter Jon Williams, Peter Halasz, Jack Dann, Janeen Webb, and several other people that I feel foolish for not remembering offhand. They strongly recommended against having the ribs at the restaurant. This was only a continuation of a theme about Texas barbeque that I feel horribly misrepresents the state in that area.

To wit: the first time I ever had barbeque in Texas was when we were driving Melissa to her first post-college job in Phoenix. We drove a long way that day, eventually staying the night in Tucumcari, NM (which I thought was cool because it's mentioned in Lowell George's great song "Willin'"). We had had a late dinner in a small town in the Texas panhandle. (I honestly can't figure out which town -- Adrian? Boise? I just don't know.) It was a barbeque joint, looked liked it was in an old gas station. I remember the food being just fine, and that we had to wait for our waitress to finish singing karaoke before she served us. But, the next day, as we continued across New Mexico, Melissa got violently sick. We had to take her to the emergency room in a hospital in Grants, NM. Turns out it was appendicitis, and I'm sure it had nothing to do with the previous night's barbeque, but it's stuck with us. And since then, despite Texas' reputation, we have yet to have really good BBQ in that state!

Speaking of Tucumcari and "Willin'", I spent some time on our trip thinking about geographical songs to play that had to do with our itinerary. For example, "Choctaw Bingo", by James McMurtry (as he puts it, "about the crystal meth business of southern Oklahoma and northern Texas" (granting that we came through Arkansas on the way there, and that the song is originally by Ray Wylie Hubbard)); "Dallas", by the Flatlanders; "Cross the Brazos at Waco", by Billy Walker; and, of course, "Is Anybody Going to San Antone?", by Charlie Pride. (Fortuitously, the Texas Tornados' version of "Is Anybody Going to San Antone?" popped up on my Pandora station on the way down there.)

And, finally, a place not on our itinerary: Lake Charles, LA. "Lake Charles" is the title of a Lucinda Williams song, one of her most heartbreaking pieces. (She has a habit of writing songs about people close to her who died.) (The song does mention a town in Texas, Nagacdoches.) Anyway, the key lyric in that song goes: "Did an angel whisper in your ear/And hold you close and take away your fear/In those long last moments." I wanted to figure out who the song was about, so I used Google, and found an article by Margaret Moser, an Austin-based music writer. The person in the song is Clyde Woodward, once Lucinda's boyfriend and manager. The kicker is that Margaret Moser herself seems to have perhaps been the angel in the song (though she doesn't actually make that claim). I don't know why, but I just found that really moving. Listening to the song can do that, though.


Here are links to all five installments of this con report:

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

A Lesser-known Novel by a Great Writer: The Ordeal of Gilbert Pinfold, by Evelyn Waugh

A Lesser-known Novel by a Great Writer: The Ordeal of Gilbert Pinfold, by Evelyn Waugh

a review by Rich Horton

As I have mentioned before, I sometimes dip a toe into the work of a major writer, trying something shorter than their most significant works. And here I am again, with Evelyn Waugh. The Ordeal of Gilbert Pinfold is quite short, something shy of 50,000 words. I have read one other Waugh "novel", and it is even shorter: The Loved One.

Evelyn Waugh (1903-1966) came from a literary family -- his father Arthur was a critic and biographer, his brother Alec was a writer, and his son Auberon wrote five novels himself, though he was best known for his journalism. Evelyn was one of a cluster of major English novelists born around the same time -- Anthony Powell and Henry Green are two others. Evelyn Waugh was educated at Lancing College and at Oxford, though he failed to take a degree. After a couple of false starts at other careers, Waugh published a book on Dante Gabriel Rossetti and then his first novel, Decline and Fall. This novel and the rest of his early work (Vile Bodies, Black Mischief, A Handful of Dust, Scoop) was fiercely satirical; but beginning with his 1945 novel Brideshead Revisited, and especially in his later Sword of Honour trilogy his novels turned more traditional, less comic.

Anong his work, then, The Ordeal of Gilbert Pinfold is a bit of an outlier, a lightish short novel, somewhat comic but not satirical, published in 1957 in the midst of his writing of the Sword of Honour books. My edition seems perhaps the first, from Chapman and Hall.

The book, subtitle "A Conversation Piece", is explicitly based on a scary event in Waugh's life, in which he experienced a series of hallucinations. Gilbert Pinfold is a reasonably successful novelist, about 50, happily married and living in a secluded provincial village. The Pinfolds are Catholic, Gilbert having converted, much as Waugh did. Pinfold has trouble sleeping and takes a disconcerting variety of drugs to combat this condition. At loose ends on his latest novel, he decides to take a trip to Ceylon. (Many of these details are entirely consistent with Waugh's own life.)

The rest of the novel concerns the trip. First there are some mild misadventures on his way to boarding. Once on board things get very strange. Pinfold is convinced there is a church group holding services on board; or a band; or that he can hear some sort of radio communications from the officers of the ship. Some of this convinces him that a sailor has been murdered and thrown into the sea, Then he decides that the Captain and some of the others have determined that Pinfold himself is a spy. The radio or intercom is full of diatribes or jokes about him. A woman seems to come on to him ... and so on.

This is very odd, and sometimes quite funny. The prose is clear and elegant. Some of what happens is really quite scary, mainly because Pinfold's mental state is obviously thoroughly messed up. But, really, though I'm glad enough to have read the book, it seems in the end rather a trivial thing. Not to say there's anything wrong with that. But I do come away feeling that sooner or later I've got to read Decline and Fall or Vile Bodies or something to really engage with Evelyn Waugh.

Old Bestseller: Under the Red Robe, by Stanley J. Weyman

Old Bestseller Review: Under the Red Robe, by Stanley J. Weyman

a review by Rich Horton

One of those Old Bestseller writers I fully expected to get to in the course of this series of reviews was Stanley J. Weyman, because his was a name I knew. I had heard of him, as a very successful British writer of popular historical fiction. That's perhaps my favorite category of "Old Bestseller" -- throw in enough derring-do and enough nods at actual true historical details, and I'm usually pretty happy. So I'm glad I finally ran across a Weyman novel at a good price. And I'm glad that it pretty much met my expectations

Stanley John Weyman was born in 1855. His father was a solicitor, and Stanley was expected to follow in the family footsteps, so indeed he read for the Bar after taking a Second in History at Oxford. In 1881 he joined the family firm (Weyman, Weyman, and Weyman!). And his performance was at best lackluster. His lack of success left him sufficient spare time to try writing, and he began publishing short fiction, followed by a serial, The House of the Wolf, in 1888-1889. He became a full-time writer in 1891. Early in his career, his prime interest was France in the 16th and 17th Centuries, and he wrote 15 novels between 1890 and 1904 set in that place and period. Later novels were often set in contemporary England. He died in 1928. (For most of this information I am indebted to a website devoted to Weyman, maintained by Donna Dightman Rubin.)

Under the Red Robe was first published in 1894. My copy is from the sixth printing of the American edition, from Longmans, Green. It is illustrated copiously by R. Caton Woodville, a British artist (and close contemporary of Weyman's) best known for his paintings of battle scenes.

The story opens with Gil de Berault gambling at a tavern in Paris. A young Englishman accuses him of marking the cards -- I'm sure Berault was guilty, but he challenges the young man to a duel and severely wounds him. But Cardinal Richelieu is trying to stamp out dueling, so it is a capitol crime, and Berault is arrested. Richelieu, however, owes him a favor, and instead of having him hanged, he offers an out: if he will undertake a dangerous mission and arrest the Hugueonot rebel Cocheforêt in the South of France, Berault's crimes will be pardoned.

Thus Gil heads to Cocheforêt. He quickly finds (as he expects) that the locals are very protective of their lord, even though Gil has pretended to be a partisan of the rebel cause. So he decides to go directly to Cocheforêt's chateau. There he does not find his quarry, but he is taken in by a woman he had seen in the town, who he is sure is Madame de Cocheforêt, and another woman who must be Cocheforêt's sister. Berault spends some days there, and he finds himself, to his distress, falling for Madame. He knows this is impossible -- not simply because she is married, though indeed that is a serious problem, but because he knows himself to be unworthy of any good woman.

So the story continues. Berault's quest is complicated by the arrival of a Commandant and a group of soldiers, who wish to make a more forceful attack on Cocheforêt. Berault also discovers a lost set of diamonds meant to help finance the rebels. And he discovers that he has mistaken the two women -- the woman he has fallen for is in fact Mademoiselle Cocheforêt, his quarry's sister.

What will he do? How can he retain his honor -- either he betrays his oath to Richelieu, or he betrays the cause of the woman he now loves. Indeed, any step he takes must increase Mademoiselle de Cocheforêt's contempt for him ... And too he must deal with the interfering group of soldiers.

The resolution depends in part on a key historical event: the Day of the Dupes, in which the Queen, who hates Richelieu, gains enough influence to threaten Richelieu's position. This, I gather, was one of Weyman's specialties, to have his books turn on significant but perhaps not overwhelmingly famous situations. Nothing here really surprises, but it's an enjoyable book, a fun read, nicely plotted, with a worthwhile solid finish.

An Obscure Ace Double: Times Without Number, by John Brunner/Destiny's Orbit, by David Grinnell

Ace Double Reviews, 108: Times Without Number, by John Brunner/Destiny's Orbit, by David Grinnell (#F-161, 1962, 40 cents)

a review by Rich Horton

This isn't entirely a new review -- I covered the 1969 edition of John Brunner's Times Without Number some time ago here. But I felt like it was time for another Ace Double review, and I had just found this book.

Both writers are actually major figures in SF, though many people won't recognize the name David Grinnell. "David Grinnell" was in fact a pseudonym used by Donald A. Wollheim for most of his later fiction. Wollheim of course was the science fiction editor at Ace Books for nearly two decades, and perhaps he felt that when he published his own fiction the fig leaf of a pseudonym was prudent.

(Cover by Jack Gaughan)

Both these books were originally published in magazines as a series of stories. Times Without Number comprises three novellas about the Society of Time, specifically Don Miguel Navarro. They appeared in issues 25, 26, and 27 of the UK magazine Science Fiction Adventures (a sort of descendant of the American magazine of the same name) in 1962. This Ace edition appeared the same year, and seems to have been close to the same text. The 1969 edition, which I previously covered, was somewhat revised -- some slight expansions and a fair amount of smoothing of the prose.

Destiny's Orbit comprises four novelettes from the magazine Future Combined with Science Fiction Stories, October 1942 ("Pogo Planet"), December 1941 ("Destiny World"), April 1942 ("Mye Day"), and August 1942 ("Ajax of Ajax"). I haven't seen those stories, so I'm not sure if they were revised for the novel, which was originally published by Thomas Bouregy in 1961. The original novelettes were published as by "Martin Pearson".

As noted, I've already discussed Times Without Number. I think it's a very good book, perhaps the best of Brunner's early novels. The final section in particular, "The Fullness of Time", is one of the great time travel novellas ever. The general story concerns an alternate history in which the Spanish Armada prevailed, and the world of 1988 is still Catholic dominated. (The same idea, pretty much, is at the center of two other great alternate histories, Keith Roberts' Pavane and Kingsley Amis' The Alteration.) Times Without Number adds time travel, with the goal (as in Asimov's The End of Eternity and Anderson's Time Patrol stories) of preserving their timeline.

As for Destiny's Orbit, it's a considerably lesser novel. And its 1940s pulp origins show. In particular, the science is beyond laughable. That said, it is, on the whole, tolerably enjoyable, at least in spurts, though Wollheim really wasn't much of a writer.

(Cover by Ed Valigursky)

Ajax Calkins is a rich young man, heir to his father's fortune, which is based on inventing a system of compressing stores to make them easier to ship through space. (Don't ask -- it's scientifically too stupid for words.) But his character was formed by his mother, a night club singer and an aficionado of adventure stories. Ajax wants to explore new worlds, plant his flag, and be King of his own domain. And, alas, the Solar System is too constrained for him -- Earth, Mars, and the asteroids are under strict EU -- er, EMSA (Earth Mars Space Administration) -- control, and Saturn is ruled by the native Saturnians.

But how about Jupiter? Or, more specifically, the asteroids in the Trojan orbits. Ajax is contacted by a group of miners of the Fore-Trojan asteroids, who want his help (i.e., his money), and in exchange, will let him be their King. Ajax is ready to go, but there is one problem -- a distractingly pretty young woman, Emily Hackenschmidt, a new recruit of the EMSA, who is using the legal powers of the EMSA to try to stop him.

This whole section is presented in fairly amusing satirical terms. And it works OK that way. But from then on, the satire is pretty much abandoned, and the cliches increase. Ajax escapes Emily, and heads to Mars, where he gets attached to a spider-like Martian, the Third Least Wuj, who becomes his loyal sidekick. They head off, with the miners' representative, Anton Smallways, to the Fore-Trojans, particularly the asteroid conveniently named Ajax. They are pursued by the pesky Emily Hackenschmidt ... but Ajax manages to plant his flag (literally) on Ajax.

Complications ensue, particularly involving the Saturnian threat. In addition, Emily continues to try to establish EMSA control. And Ajax the asteroid seems very strange indeed. Could it be a special construct of the inhabitants of the fifth planet, the one that exploded to create the asteroid belt? For that matter, could Ajax' inconvenient attraction to Emily be significant? And why does Anton Smallways look and act so strangely? Could he be a Saturnian plant?

Well, you know all the answers to those questions. Not surprisingly, Ajax turns out to be key to Earth's resistance to the Saturnian threat. And of course the Third Least Wuj -- and Emily Hackenschmidt -- are important as well. There are no real surprises remaining. But, as I said, the book does entertain, in a minor way. I've read worse, at any rate -- a lot worse.

There was, oddly, a sequel, Destination Saturn, written in collaboration with Lin Carter, and published by low end house Avalon in 1967. I have not seen that book, and I must say I don't think the original needed a sequel.

Ace Double Reviews on this blog

Over time, I have made this blog a host for a number of reviews of Ace Doubles. These have long been an interest of mine. Starting about 15 years ago I did quite a few reviews of Ace Doubles on the great old Usenet newsgroup rec.arts.sf.written, and I put these on my old personal website. Alas, that website was hosted by sff.net, which closed down early this year, and I haven't got a new website yet. So in the interim I have resurrected some of those old reviews here, as well as adding several new reviews.

I still really like to look at and read the old Doubles. They were almost always a bit declasse in reputation, though some truly excellent novels and novellas were either reprinted in Ace Double editions, or first appeared as Ace Doubles. A great many of SFWA's Grand Masters had books printed as Ace Doubles, often early books (such as several of Samuel Delany's and Ursula K. Le Guin's early novels) that helped get their careers going. Ace Doubles are most remembered in the Science Fiction Field, but there were also Westerns and Mysteries and even some general fiction Ace Doubles. The format debuted in 1953, and the last true Ace Doubles appeared in 1973.

Here are those that have appeared at this blog, 39 so far (out of something more than 100 I've done to date):

The Green Queen, by Margaret St. Clair/Three Thousand Years, by Thomas Calvert McClary;

Maigret Has Scruples/Maigret and the Reluctant Witnesses, by Georges Simenon;

Times Without Number, by John Brunner/Destiny's Orbit, by David Grinnell;

Bow Down to Nul, by Brian W. Aldiss/The Dark Destroyers, by Manly Wade Wellman;

Ring Around the Sun, by Clifford D. Simak/Cosmic Manhunt, by L. Sprague de Camp;

Stepsons of Terra, by Robert Silverberg/A Man Called Destiny, by Lan Wright;

Space Captain, by Murray Leinster/The Mad Metropolis, by Philip E. High;

The Paradox Men, by Charles Harness/Dome Around America, by Jack Williamson;

Big Planet, by Jack Vance/Slaves of the Klau, by Jack Vance;

The HEROD Men, by Nick Kamin/Dark Planet, by John Rackham;

Sea Siege, by Andre Norton/Eye of the Monster, by Andre Norton;

Threshold of Eternity, by John Brunner/The War of Two Worlds, by Poul Anderson;

Time Thieves, by Dean R. Koontz/Against Arcturus, by Susan K. Putney;

Alien Sea, by John Rackham/C.O.D. Mars, by E. C. Tubb;

The Sun Smasher, by Edmond Hamilton/Starhaven, by "Ivar Jorgenson" (Robert Silverberg);

The Prism, by Emil Petaja/Crown of Infinity, by John M. Faucette;

Who Speaks of Conquest?, by Lan Wright/The Earth in Peril, edited by Donald Wollheim;

The Rebellious Stars, by Isaac Asimov/An Earth Gone Mad, by Roger Dee;

The Man With Nine Lives, by Harlan Ellison/A Touch of Infinity, by Harlan Ellison;

200 Years to Christmas, by J. T. McIntosh/Rebels of the Red Planet, by Charles L. Fontenay;

Mask of Chaos, by John Jakes/The Star Virus, by Barrington J. Bayley;

The Ultimate Weapon, by John W. Campbell/The Planeteers, by John W. Campbell;

Empire of the Atom, by A. E. Van Vogt/Space Station #1, by Frank Belknap Long;

The Genetic General, by Gordon R. Dickson/Time to Teleport, by Gordon R. Dickson;

Sanctuary in the Sky, by John Brunner/The Secret Martians, by Jack Sharkey;

The Games of Neith, by Margaret St. Clair/The Earth Gods are Coming, by Kenneth Bulmer;

Falcons of Narabedla, by Marion Zimmer Bradley/The Dark Intruder, by Marion Zimmer Bradley;

Our Man in Space, by Bruce W. Ronald/Ultimatum in 2050 A. D., by Jack Sharkey;

Rocannon's World, by Ursula K. Le Guin/The Kar-Chee Reign, by Avram Davidson;

Conan the Conqueror, by Robert E. Howard/The Sword of Rhiannon, by Leigh Brackett;

The Plot Against Earth, by "Calvin M. Knox" (Robert Silverberg)/Recruit for Andromeda, by Milton Lesser;

Warlord of Kor, by Terry Carr/The Star Wasps, by Robert Moore Williams;

The Sun Saboteurs, by Damon Knight/The Light of Lilith, by G. MacDonald Wallis;

The Seed of Earth, by Robert Silverberg/Next Stop the Stars, by Robert Silverberg;

Message from the Eocene, by Margaret St. Clair/Three Worlds of Futurity, by Margaret St. Clair;

Wandl the Invader, by Ray Cummings/I Speak for Earth, by "Keith Woodcott" (John Brunner);

Clash of Star-Kings, by Avram Davidson/Danger from Vega, by John Rackham;

Empire Star, by Samuel R. Delany/The Tree Lord of Imeten, by Tom Purdom;

The Blank Wall, by Elisabeth Sanxay Holding/The Girl Who Had to Die, by Elisabeth Sanxay Holding;

Old Bestseller Review: Mr. Fortune's Maggot, by Sylvia Townsend Warner

Old Bestseller Review: Mr. Fortune's Maggot, by Sylvia Townsend Warner

a review by Rich Horton

Sylvia Townsend Warner (1893-1978) was a British novelist and poet who often wrote fantastical stories -- most significantly perhaps in her very late collection Kingdoms of Elfin (1977). I think I saw a story or two of her in anthologies edited by Terri Windling. She was a notable Lesbian writer (or perhaps bisexual, as she did have at least one significant relationship with a man), living with the poet Valentine Ackland from 1930 until Ackland's death in 1969; and her novels often feature characters of ambiguous sexuality. That is surely the case with the novel at hand, Mr. Fortune's Maggot.

Warner's father, George Townsend Warner, was a housemaster at Harrow School, and indeed the school's prize in History is named after him. Warner was an expert on Church music, one of the editors of Tudor Church Music. She spent some time in the Communist Party, then became disillusioned (as, one would like to think, who couldn't?), but remained politically involved from the Left.

I don't know that Warner ever had a major bestseller, but at least her first, and still best-known, novel, Lolly Willowes (1926), sold very well. Mr. Fortune's Maggot was her second novel, published in 1927. My copy is the second printing of the first edition. Much of her work had as a theme a rejection of Christianity, though, based on Mr. Fortune's Maggot, the Christianity being rejected is a conventional and unthinking version. The book is quite short, something shy of 50,000 words.

Mr. Fortune is a curious case -- he spent most of his adult life as a clerk for a bank. Finally finding a vocation -- and a fortuitous inheritance -- he attended seminary (or "training college") and upon ordination went to an archipelago in the Pacific as a missionary. Alas, his skills were quickly noticed, and he spent years managing the mission's finances. Finally he insisted upon a more active missionary role, and went to the isolated island of Fanua.

On Fanua he makes a single convert, an adolescent boy named Lueli. He finds the rest of the island's inhabitants not terribly interested in his preaching. They find their life easy, and their habit of each having a personal god, or idol, has worked just fine for them. Mr. Fortune and Lueli live together, in a hut somewhat isolated from the primary village.

This relationship has rather obvious homoerotic aspects, though Mr. Fortune seems mostly unaware of them. He is rather obviously a gay man who is closeted even to himself. It's made clear that his past relationships with women were tepid and obligatory, and his love for Lueli, and Lueli's for him, is made obvious, though it is never consummated. Mr. Fortune continues to attempt to convert Lueli to a full commmitment to Christianity, but with little success. And after a crisis -- an earthquake and volcanic eruption -- Mr. Fortune realizes the error of his ways, and loses his faith. More importantly, to him, Lueli has lost not his faith, such as it was, but his will to live. Most of the rest of the novel concerns Mr. Fortune's efforts to restore Lueli's will.

The novel proceeds then to a fairly obvious resolution. The ending is rather bittersweet, though unavoidable. I have to say, on balance, that I really wasn't all that impressed. The Christianity that Mr. Fortune rejects is a rather weak version of Christianity. And Mr. Fortune, though very believable as a character, is in the end not terribly interesting. Neither, really, is Lueli. There are some intriguing characters among the other islanders, but they get short shrift. Mr. Fortune's Maggot is a short book, with some nice passages, and I'm not sorry I read it, but it seems quite a minor effort to me.

Newsy posts on this blog

My latest organizing effort is a list of the posts that aren't reviews of one book or another. These consist mostly of commentary on the SF award nominations, and of posts about my convention trips. I add in a couple of other miscellaneous posts.

Davidson Family Reunion;

World Fantasy Convention 2017 (all posts include links to all the others):
   1. Preconvention
   2. Day 1
   3. Day 2
   4. Day 3
   5. Day 4

Literary Wonder and Adventure Podcast;

Hugo Ballot Reviews, Short Story, 2017;

Hugo Ballot Reviews, Novelette, 2017;

Hugo Ballot Reviews, Novella, 2017;

A First Look at the Hugo Shortlist, 2017;

Best Book Ever!;

Boskone 54: A Quick Con Report;

Nebula Nominees, 2017;

Hugo Nomination Thoughts, Long Fiction, 2017;

Hugo Nomination Thoughts, Novella (Revised), 2017;

Hugo Nomination Thoughts, Short Story, 2017;

Hugo Nomination Thoughts, Novelette, 2017;

Quick Look at Midamericon II;

My Retro-Hugo Votes, 2016;

The 2016 Short Story Hugo;

The 2016 Novelette Hugo;

The 2016 Novella Hugo;

My Best of the Year Book, 2016;

My First Post on the 2016 Hugo Final Ballot;

More on the Best Editor, Short Form, Hugo 2016;

Hugo Nomination Possibilities, Short Ficton, 2016;

Some Hugo Nomination Suggestions, 2016;

Eulogy for my Father;

Convention and Vacation Report, Sasquan 2015, Part IV;

Convention and Vacation Report, Sasquan 2015, Part III;

Convention and Vacation Report, Sasquan 2015, Part II;

Convention and Vacation Report, Sasquan 2015, Part I;

Old Bestsellers: Availability;

Old Bestseller Review: You Shall Know Them, by Vercors

Old Bestseller Review: You Shall Know Them, by Vercors

a review by Rich Horton

Vercors was the pseudonym adopted by French artist and engraver Jean Bruller (1902-1991) for his writing during the French Resistance to German occupation in World War II. Bruller had been invalided out of the French Army prior to the war, then quickly injured when he returned to action, so he turned to writing an inspirational novella, The Silence of the Sea (1942). His work was published by a clandestine press he cofounded, Les Éditions de Minuit -- which was dangerous in itself: his editor for the press was executed by the Nazis. He also served as a messenger for the Resistance.

After the war he continued writing fiction, and continued to publish as Vercors. He published in the neighborhood of 20 books, with a fair amount of success. His name is known to SF fans with some knowledge of the field's history primarily for his 1961 novel Sylva, which became the first work originally published in a foreign language to be on the Hugo shortlist, in 1963 (for the 1962 English translation.) (To this day the only other novels nominated for a Hugo that were first published in another language are Cixin Liu's The Three-Body Problem (which won) and Death's End (jokes about the prose in L. Ron Hubbard's Black Genesis notwithstanding).) Vercors wrote other SF novels besides Sylva, including Colères (The Insurgents), and You Shall Know Them.

You Shall Know Them was originally published in 1952 as Les Animaux Dénaturés. The English translation appeared in 1953. As with most of Vercors books, the translation was done by his wife, Rita Barisse. The English version also appeared under the titles The Murder of the Missing Link (a rather literal representation of the main point of the novel) and Borderline, which also pretty well represents the ideas of the novel. You Shall Know Them, however (from Matthew 7:16) is a much subtler and more serious title. To add yet one more title, the book was made into a 1970 film, Skullduggery, starring Burt Reynolds. (Mark Tiedemann has seen the film, and says it's better than you'd expect, though Reynolds complained that the director ruined a pretty good script.)

You Shall Know Them is a distinctly philosophical novel, with a satirical edge, and some very interesting ideas. It is marred by some quite racist passages, even though its central message is mostly anti-racist. The novel also is centrally concerned with anthropology, particularly the ancestors of modern humans, and as such its science is terribly out of date. That said, I think Bruller gets the science as of 1952 pretty much correct. Alas, he mentions Piltdown Man -- a hoax that was exposed only in 1953!

The book opens with a shocking scene -- a doctor is called to a man's home, where he is shown the corpse of a newborn child. The man tells the doctor that he has killed the child with strychnine, and insists that he verify the death, and call the police. The doctor notices some strange features to the child -- apelike features -- but he writes the death certificate, and calls the police.

We flash back a couple of years, to the romance of the murderer of the newborn child, a journalist named Douglas Templemore, and a writer named Frances Doran. They meet cute, and soon are spending a great deal of time together. (This is in London -- and indeed England is the main setting of the novel (with a significant side trip to Papua New Guinea), despite the author being French.) They convince themselves they are just friends -- they are both too sensible to fall in love -- until Douglas decides to accompany his anthropologist friends the Greames to New Guinea. (Mrs. Greame, significantly, is a girl he grew up with who surprised everyone by marrying a much older man instead of Douglas.) At this time Frances and Douglas abandon pretence and admit they are in love, though now they must wait a year or so until Douglas returns.

They are in New Guinea to investigate some intriguing hominid bones a colleague has found. But they find something much more fascinating -- living hominids, which they eventually call Paranthropus, or "Tropi" for short. These have a language, though very simple, and they make tools (hand axes), and they bury their dead. Over time, indeed, they are portrayed as very nearly straddling any plausible line between "human" and "animal". (To be sure, it is acknowledged that any such line is hard to place.)

The story gets out, of course, and then it turns out that the area the Tropis live in is owned by an Australian mining concern. The mines are played out, but the CEO has another plan -- use the Tropis as very cheap labor, to corner the market for finished Australian wool. After all, by law, his company owns these "animals" outright. Douglas and his company are appalled, and they try to get the Tropis declared legally human. But this seems legally difficult. The next plan is to artificially inseminate some of the Tropi females with human sperm -- all Douglas', as it turns out -- which leads to several live births. But this is not conclusive either -- for what about mules? (Or many other cross-species hybrids.) Douglas' last chance attempt is what we saw at the opening -- to murder one of his children, and confess, so that the legal system will convict him of murder, implying that the Tropis must be human.

This leads to an extended trial, presided over by a wise judge. Numerous arguments are advanced on both sides, all converging on the notion that the Tropis are on the exact dividing line between humans and animals. (Indeed, it is suggested, some Tropis are on one side, some on the other.) This is where the book advances some pretty offensive notions -- suggesting that there is an hierarchy of human races, some of which are more nearly animal than others. (The book is ardently opposed to different treatment of the so-called "lesser races" to be sure, but the distinctions are still quite blithely advanced.) On the personal side, all this is quite wrenching to Frances in particular, who has married Douglas finally, and who supports him despite some misgivings. (Douglas' affair with Mrs. Greame is an issue as well!)

The resolution involves some legal hair-splitting, and a fairly logical resolution to the issue of Douglas' murder charge. (It was the solution I had come up with myself.) Frances' reaction to the whole thing is pretty well portrayed.

It's a pretty interesting novel. The philosophical arguments are intriguing, a mix of wrongheadedness (in my view) with some interesting dilemmas. (Certainly these are the kind of arguments that (understandably, really) drive many people to vegetarianism.) There is a strong satirical side to the depiction of the wider public's reaction to the whole affair. The characters are well-done too. I liked it, and I think it still deserves attention, albeit as rather a period piece.