Review: Norstrilia, by Cordwainer Smith

Review: Norstrilia, by Cordwainer Smith

by Rich Horton

I last read Cordwainer Smith's only novel, Norstrilia, when it was first released in its "full" form, back in 1975, so almost 50 years ago. And I must confess, I remembered almost nothing -- Rod McBan from Old North Australia (Norstrilia), C'Mell, stroon ... that's about it. I had intended to reread it for a long time, and, happily, my book club chose it as one of our readings this year. Which finally got me off the schneid.

I went ahead and bought the NESFA Press edition, which is by a wide margin the best one to get. This version takes the 1975 Ballantine text, and adds some material from both the novella length magazine publications ("The Boy Who Bought Old Earth" and "The Store of Heart's Desire") and the two short novels expanded from those (The Planet Buyer and The Underpeople), in the process smoothing over some discontinuities introduced during the complicated road to publication. This edition also includes an introduction by Alan Elms, and an appendix giving the alternate texts from the other versions, and detailing the way in which the various texts were stitched together. There is also a 2006 Baen collection called We the Underpeople, which comprised the three key stories related to Norstrilia ("Mother Hitton's Littul Kittons", "Alpha Ralpha Boulevard", and "The Ballad of Lost C'Mell"), the novella "The Dead Lady of Clown Town", and Norstrilia itself. I do not know what text the Baen edition uses.

I'll discuss the textual variations between the various versions in more detail later, but first let's get to the novel itself. John J. Pierce put together a speculative timeline for Smith's Instrumentality of Mankind future history. Pierce places Norstrilia at right about the most critical period of Instrumentality history: The Rediscovery of Man. It's part of a cluster of five stories set in about 16,000 A. D. (I use the abbreviation A. D. advisedly -- Smith was a committed (if somewhat heterodox) Christian, and the Instrumentality stories ultimately had quite overt Christian themes -- noticeable in Norstrilia if muted, but more explicit later.) These five stories are "Mother Hitton's Littul Kittons", "Alpha Ralpha Boulevard", "The Ballad of Lost C'Mell", Norstrilia, and "A Planet Named Shayol". Two of these ("Alpha Ralpha Boulevard" and "The Ballad of Lost C'Mell"), along with Smith's first story, "Scanners Live in Vain", are my three favorite Cordwainer Smith stories.

Roderick Frederick Ronald Arthur William McArthur McBan the 151st, hereafter called Rod, is the heir to a wealthy estate on the planet of Old North Australia, or Norstrilia. Norstrilia's wealth is derived from stroon -- the immortality drug that can only be produced there. As the novel opens, Rod is 16, or perhaps 64, as he has lived the first 16 years of his life four times, in the hopes that his congenital defect will be cured. This defect means he cannot "spiek" or "hier", which is to say telepathically communicate. Otherwise he's a pretty intelligent young man. And this is his fourth chance at the test which will determine if he lives or dies -- for on this somewhat inhospitable planet the population is rigorously controlled. It is thought that his handicap will doom him -- but his examination goes in an unexpected direction. However, there are still people who think he ought to be killed. The only solution seems to be to leave Norstrilia -- but those who leave cannot return. But with the help of an ancient computer, Rod finds a sort of loophole -- he plays games with his enormous wealth to buy the entire planet known as Manhome, or Old Earth.

His troubles are hardly over. Such wealth makes him even more of a target, on Norstrilia, on Old Earth, and in between. He does have allies, and they find a way to sneak him to Mars, and then, in the disguise of a C'Man, married to the beautiful girlygirl C'Mell, he gets to Earth, along with a number of robots disguised as him. And here on Old Earth, he will find his heart's desire, meet E'Telekeli, the most powerful of all the animal-derived "underpeople", escape multiple attempts on his life, get psychiatric treatment, live a long life with C'Mell, and finally realize his real destiny.

I don't really want to say more about the plot. There is at the same time a lot going on, but in an odd way not that much. Some of it seems a bit arbitrary, some doesn't quite convince, and some is fascinating. But still it all pretty much works. The novel isn't at a level with Smith's greatest works, but parts of it are. At time it reaches the incantatory heights Smith could achieve, and it hints throughout at a really important story -- the story of the Underpeople (which is also central to "The Ballad of Lost C'Mell", and which perhaps is ultimately key to the entire Instrumentality future history.) But Rod isn't an Underperson (though of course C'Mell and E'Telekeli are), so that story is kind of told in the margins. We like Rod, but he doesn't shake the universe, in a way. This is a good novel, and it's an important part of the future history created by one of the oddest and most powerful SF writers of all time. But to fully grok Cordwainer Smith, you need to read his short fiction -- and for doing so you will be richly rewarded.

I promised a bit more about the textual history of Norstrilia. It was written as a single novel, but Smith couldn't sell it in whole. He divided it roughly in half, and cut versions of each half were published in Frederik Pohl's magazines Galaxy and If. (Pohl was Smith's primary editor.) The two novellas were published in the April 1964 issue of Galaxy ("The Boy Who Bought Old Earth", about 38,300 words) and the May 1964 issue of If ("The Store of Heart's Desire", about 23,300 words.) Paperback editions of both novellas, expanded to short novel length, appeared from Pyramid: The Planet Buyer (1964, about 53,000 words) and The Underpeople (1968, about 42000 words). These books presumably restored cuts to Smith's original manuscript that had been made to fit the magazines' space restrictions, but also included additional material to make each book stand alone to some extent. Alan Elms' introduction implies that Smith's manuscript was about 75,000 words. The combined length of the novellas is almost 62,000 words. The Pyramid paperbacks come to about 95,000 words. The NESFA edition is about 89,000 words, based on an electronic count kindly supplied me by Jim Mann of NESFA, not counting the introduction or the appendices, and the Del Rey edition is about the same. I suspect my estimate for the Pyramid books is off just a bit, and the two books probably are similar to the complete Norstrilia, after accounting for the additional text added to each to smooth out the transition between the two volumes, set against a somewhat restored text from Smith's manuscripts (or so I assume) that is found only in the "complete" version. 

My suspicion is that Smith's original manuscript was about 90,000 words, and was cut significantly for the magazine publication, and mostly restored (plus some bridging material) for the first books. Alternately, Smith wrote a 75,000 word version first (as Elms suggests) but expanded it later to the final 90,000 words, hoping to sell it as two novels. (At Pyramid in particular, novels of 45,000 words or so were not uncommon.) It would be interesting to know for sure which of these two possibilities is true, and if so which parts were added later. It is worth noting that The Underpeople didn't appear from Pyramid until 1968, while The Planet Buyer came out in 1964, just a few months after the novellas. Smith died in 1966, so it is at least possible that he made some revisions after the first publication of The Planet Buyer.

Review: Hope-in-the-Mist, by Michael Swanwick; "Paris", by Hope Mirrlees

Hope-in-the-Mist, by Michael Swanwick; "Paris", by Hope Mirrlees

a review by Rich Horton

A couple of years ago, at a Kaffeeklatsch at Boskone I think, Michael Swanwick discussed (among many other things) Hope Mirrlees, and in particular her poem "Paris". I read Mirrlees' novel Lud-in-the-Mist a couple of decades ago and thought it wonderful, and so I was intrigued by "Paris", which Michael described in part as a modernist poem in the mode of "The Waste Land", and possibly an influence on that poem. (Mirrlees absolutely knew T. S. Eliot well, and it's very plausible that Eliot read "Paris" as he was composing "The Waste Land".) I also discovered that Swanwick had written a short biographical piece on Mirrlees, called Hope-in-the-Mist, and published in 2009 by Henry Wessells' always intriguing small press Temporary Culture. ("Paris", to be sure, was also published by an enterprising small press, Hogarth Press, run by Virginia and Leonard Woolf. So was "The Waste Land", by the way.) So I bought that book, and found a copy of "Paris" online (there are many.))

I finally got around to reading Hope-in-the-Mist. It's a nice looking book (as I expect from Temporary Culture.) There's a delightful foldout illustration by Charles Vess, an introduction by Neil Gaiman, useful endnotes, and "A Lexicon of Lud" -- an explanation of many of the terms used in Lud-in-the-Mist.

But the heart of the book of course is Michael Swanwick's mini-biography of Helen Hope Mirrlees, which is 60 pages long. She was born in 1887, and her family was quite wealthy. She attended Newnham College at Cambridge, and studied Classics. There she met Jane Harrison, a very important Classicist, almost 40 years her senior. They became very close, and in the years after Mirrlees left Newnham, she and Harrison began living together, on and off, mostly on, until Harrison's death in 1928. Swanwick considers the question of whether or not they were lovers, and wisely chooses to be agnostic. Certainly both women came fairly close to marrying men (Harrison at least three times); and there is plenty of evidence that for Harrison, financial reasons might have been sufficient to choose to live with a wealthy and sympatico friend. But we really cannot know one way or the other.

Swanwick's book engagingly follows Mirrlees' life, at first concentrating on her literary efforts, which in essence comprise four significant works: "Paris: a Poem" (1920), and three novels: Madeleine (1919), The Counterplot (1924), and Lud-in-the-Mist (1926). Apparently she was under contract for one more novel, but it's not clear how much of that she may have written. After Harrison's death she worked primarily on two biographies: one of Harrison, which she never finished; and one of Robert Bruce Cotton, of which only the first volume has ever been published. She also privately printed a couple of very short books of poems.

Swanwick is very interesting on Mirrlees' literary work. Madeleine doesn't sound like a novel worth reading, but I admit I'm intrigued by The Counterplot. The Cotton biography sounds excessive, and her late poems seem negligible. But Lud-in-the-Mist is wonderful -- and I really do need to reread it. And "Paris" -- well, I'll get to that in a bit.

Hope-in-the-Mist also discusses the rest of Mirrlees' very long life (she died in 1978 at the age of 91.) Lin Carter, when he reprinted Lud-in-the-Mist in 1970 in the Ballantine Adult Fantasy series, wasn't aware that she was still alive, though he apparently tried to locate her, but published the book anyway, as it was in the public domain in the US. And to be fair, this reprinting was vital to bringing Mirrlees' work back to attention. Mirrlees had moved back and forth between France and England, spending much of the war years in London with her mother -- and also with T. S. Eliot, who boarded with them (and wrote much of the Four Quartets there.) Later, Mirrlees moved to South Africa for a considerable time. 

She seems to have been in many ways a difficult person, but also intriguing. She was quite a beauty as a young woman, but it is repeatedly said that she "lost her looks" as she aged. Swanwick's book includes anecdotes and other testimony from friends and relatives, that present a portrait of an interesting and rather contrary individual. As noted, she largely stopped writing -- certainly stopped writing interesting stuff -- after Jane Harrison's death. Swanwick suggests, plausibly, that her relative financial security, due to her family's wealth, was a reason that she didn't have to write. At any rate, it's a loss for readers that she never wrote anything more after producing something as wonderful as Lud-in-the-Mist. But -- nobody owes us readers anything. Also central to Mirrlees' life was her conversion to Catholicism in the late '20s.

Now, to "Paris". I have read it through a few times. It is a long poem, at about 600 lines. And it is undeniably a work that will remind any reader of "The Waste Land". It is thoroughly plausible that it influenced Eliot, or at least that it sprang from the same wellsprings of inspiration. Which is not to say that it's about the same things, or that either poem is a copy of the other.

"Paris" is a fascinating read, definitely worth the time of any reader of poetry. There are arresting lines:

"Paris is a huge home-sick peasant,

He carries a thousand villages in his heart."

Or this passage, which struck me just now as I am reading Anna Karenina:

"Désouvrement, 

Apprehension; 

Vronsky and Anna

Starting up in separate beds in a cold sweat

Reading calamity in the same dream

Of a gigantic sinister mujik....

Whatever happens, some day it will look beautiful:

Clio is a great French painter,

She walks upon the waters and they are still.

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego stand motionless

and plastic mid the flames."

It's also full of typographical experiments, and experiments with noise. It's a poem that's trying to be special, and new, and often succeeds. I don't think it's the equal of "The Waste Land", but that doesn't really matter.

Review: Peace, by Gene Wolfe

Review: Peace, by Gene Wolfe

by Rich Horton

What to say about Gene Wolfe's Peace? That's a difficult task. The last time I "reviewed" a Wolfe novel my post was called "Random Notes on The Shadow of the Torturer" and I suppose this one might have been called "Random Notes on Peace" except that such a title might easily be misinterpreted. This review comes from my recent reread of the book. I won't reiterate what I have said before about Gene Wolfe, but I will leave this link to my obituary for him.

Peace (1975) is narrated in the first person by Alden Dennis Weer, an old man living in a huge rambling house somewhere in the Midwest. (Feels like northwestern Illinois to me, actually.) But almost everything I just wrote is in question, including the word "person". Not to mention "house", and "narrated" and "old" ... The novel's somewhat famous opening sentence reads "The elm tree planted by Eleanor Bold, the judge's daughter, fell last night." We learn later that Eleanor Bold planted trees on the graves of her friends, and there is an old legend that when a tree planted on one's grave falls, the ghost of the person in the grave is released. One assumes, then, that the elm tree that has just fallen was planted on Weer's grave -- which tells us too that this narration is likely decades if not more after Weer's death, which gives another spooky glow to the book.

So -- and this, I think, is all but inarguable, especially as Wolfe himself confirmed it -- Alden Dennis Weer -- called "Den" (as in "den of the wolf"?) -- tells the many stories in this intricate book after his death, as he wanders through the nearly endless sequence of rooms in his "house". His house, of course, is a sort of memory palace. It is also, a passage late in the novel suggests, co-extant with his skull -- and his skull may be in the hands of a far future archaeologist. I will say that on first reading I missed much about this novel, but I did realize that Weer must be dead. (However, I say "all but inarguable" because I have found people who disagree that Weer is dead.)

Weer tells us his life story, then, from the vantage point of his house -- but this house is as I said a sort of memory palace, containing a vast series of rooms based on rooms from his past -- rooms in his grandmother's house, his Aunt Olivia's house, his apartment later in life, his office at work, doctors' offices, and so on. His narrative moves back and forth through time. He tells us he has suffered a stroke, and indeed he visits, in his memory, a couple of doctors for advice.

His first visit to a doctor's office there are four other people in the waiting room -- all people we will meet again in this novel: Margaret Lorn, Ted Singer, Abel Green, and Sherry Gold. It being a waiting room, there are magazines (Life, Look, Today's Health, and Water World.) Weer says "There is (as a matter of fact) a whole pile of Lifes before me, and I play the old game of trying to arrange them chronologically without looking at the dates, and lose." On first reading that meant nothing to me but on rereading its significance is obvious -- and certainly (among other things) it reflects the structure of the novel. Note too what the Nurse says of the four people in the waiting room, all younger than Alden Weer, when Alden says he must see the doctor, as he is dying. "All these people are ahead of you." Are they -- and some of them are much younger than Den -- all going to die before he does?

Over the course of five long chapters, Alden Dennis Weer tells his life story -- or some of it. At first glance it appears a discursive account of the childhood -- and later adulthood -- of a man living in a small Midwestern town, in the early 20th Century, extending by the end of his life to about the time of writing of the novel. Alden grows up with his parents until about the age of 9, then with his Aunt Olivia, his parents having spent several years in Europe. He goes to college, and at some time gets a job in the orange juice factory founded by Olivia's husband -- and in time takes over management of the factory. We see details of small town life, of working in the factory, of a couple of Den's ultimately not terribly successful love affairs ... 

We also hear numerous stories. Stories told by Aunt Olivia, by her three suitors and by the fourth man (Julius Smart) who ends up marrying her. Fairy stories, particularly from Andrew Lang's Green Fairy Book, which Alden receives as a gift when a boy. Stories about books. Stories about carnivals. Stories about a mysterious Chinese egg. And lots of stories about death.

There are also a great many lacunae. Very few of the stories actually come to an end, certainly including stories Weer tells about himself. There is essentially no information about his life in the couple of decades after he leaves college. We hear nothing about his father. We don't learn why he never married Margaret Lorn, whom he was in love with in high school. We don't learn much about Aunt Olivia's death, except that she was run over by a car. We don't know why Alden's leg is injured. We don't know who some people who seem to be very important, such as Doris, actually are. 

The closer we look, however, we do see how many people close to Den have died. Bobby Black, who fell down the stairs at age 5 in an accident seemingly caused by Alden. Aunt Olivia. Lois Arbuthnot. A co-worker at the juice factory who was locked in a freezer. Doris. Mr. Tilly. Julius Smart. Alden's parents. And in the end, the question arises -- with how many of these deaths was Alden Dennis Weer directly involved?

Definitive answers are hard to come by. Weer was nowhere near Mr. Tilly nor Doris, for example, when they died. What evidence there is points to someone else causing Olivia's death. Alden was only 5 when Bobby Black was injured. But darkness pervades the book, and the Alden Dennis Weer who tells us the story does not seem a happy man, nor a happy ghost. 

Peace is a book that I will need to read again to make more progress comprehending what really happens. But every reading is a joy -- it is mysterious, fascinating, dark but beautiful, and very rereadable. The depths in this novel may be endless -- but they are fruitfully deep. It is a book with a very high reputation among Wolfe aficionados, but in many ways it is not a well-known novel, perhaps partly because of its ambiguous genre status. Most of Wolfe's novels are unambigously, indeed exuberantly, SF or Fantasy, but this novel can be read as general fiction, and even when it is read as a ghost story it does not otherwise (in any overt way) depart from mainstream traditions. It may still be a novel that needs to find its true audience. But it is a book that you ought to try.

Old Bestseller Review: Olivia, by Olivia (Dorothy Strachey Bussy)

Old Bestseller Review: Olivia, by Olivia (Dorothy Strachey Bussy)

by Rich Horton

This book was written in the 1930s but not published until 1949, when it had quite a success. It was made into a movie in France in 1950, also called Olivia. The book was published as by its main character, Olivia, but the author was Dorothy Strachey Bussy (1865-1960), who was connected to the Bloomsbury Group though apparently somewhat tangentially. 

Olivia is a very short novel -- a novella, really, at just over 25,000 words. It tells the story of the title girl, who at the age of 16 is sent to a posh boarding school, Les Avons, in France. It's told by the older Olivia some decades after this time, which seems to have been in the late 1800s, parhaps about 1880. As in fact the author was born in 1865 and went to a posh boarding school, Les Ruches, in France, and wrote this novel decades later (in the 1930s) we can be forgiven for assuming it's a fairly autobiographical novel. 

Olivia had been at English schools for her previous education, and had not liked them. On coming to Les Avons she is delighted by the somewhat freer nature of the tuition.And she is immediately and especially enchanted with one of the two headmistresses, Mlle Julie. She considers her a wonderful teacher, and a gateway to certain sorts of literature (French tragedy seems a lot of it!), and also inspiring in other ways. And before long Mlle Julie quite openly makes Olivia her favorite, placing her in the prlvileged seat next her at dinner, singling her out for notice in class (though Olivia seems but an OK student), reading privately to her in the library. Olivia, on her part, develops an extreme crush on Mlle Julie, which seems to be reciprocated (though it doesn't seem that there is any physical consummation.) 

The other headmistress is Mlle Cara. Mlle Cara is an invalid, doing relatively little actual work at the school. It seems that Julie and Cara started the school together, with Julie's money but Cara's expertise, a couple of decades before, and were partners, certainly in business but surely sexually as well. But there has been a falling out, and as a result the school is divided. Each woman has a very close ally on the staff: an Italian woman called Signorina for Julie, and a German woman, Frau Riesener, for Cara. And the students too sort themselves into camps (and Cara seems to greatly resent that Olivia gravitated to Julie's camp.)

So things go through the school year, Olivia becoming more and more infatuated, being invited on trips to Paris, and eventually hoping that Mlle Julie will come to her bedroom -- but Julie seems aware that to start a physical relationship with a student might get her in real trouble. We meet some of the girls in Olivia's circle, including a very beautiful American (who is angling to marry a Duke and, we are told, eventually does) and, on a visit, Mlle Julie's previous favorite, a level-headed woman named Laura. But things come to a head late in the novel not because of Olivia but rather due to a final break between Julie and Cara, leading to a somewhat melodramatic conclusion. 

It's really a very nicely done slim story -- just about exactly the length it needed to be (it would have worn out its welcome had it gone on longer.) Olivia's 16 year old feelings seem real, and her reactions honest. The prose is graceful and effective. Evidently the book was first written in French, then translated to English for its first publication, and retranslated back into French for French editions. How much of this is directly from the author's life is up for question: Dorothy Strachey, later Dorothy Bussy, was bisexual, married and had a child, and had affairs with both men and women. Bussy herself wrote to her close friend André Gide: "I hope you didn't think that my entire story was true. A large part of it was, but an even larger part wasn’t." (Apparently her letters to Gide were written in French, and his to her were written in English.) The somewhat famous headmistress of her school, Marie Souvestre, seems likely to have been a lesbian (though Wikipedia dances gingerly around that question): she had a partner at her school, and after a breakup started a new school, eventually living with a former student. Indeed, Dorothy Strachey later taught at Souvestre's school in London, Allenswood, and indeed she taught Eleanor Roosevelt there. (Roosevelt kept up a correspondence with Souvestre until the latter's death.) 

The Stracheys are a rather famous family, particularly Dorothy's brother Lytton, who was part of the Bloomsbury Group and wrote respected biographical and critical works, such as Eminent Victorians and a biography of Queen Victoria. One of the earliest Stracheys wrote an account of the shipwreck of the Sea Venture on Bermuda which is regarded as some of the source material for The Tempest, and which for that matter was the impetus for establishing a colony on the till then uninhabited archipelago. The family line includes numerous civil servants, some artists (including Dorothy's daughter Jane Simone Bussy), an important songwriter, a major computer scientist, etc. But they produced surprisingly little fiction. Olivia was Dorothy's only story, and her niece Julia Strachey wrote two (quite good) novels (which I review here) and some short stories, and that's about it. (And so I've read all the novella or novel length fiction the Stracheys have published!)

Old Bestseller Review: The Rocks of Valpré, by Ethel M. Dell

Old Bestseller Review: The Rocks of Valpré, by Ethel M. Dell

by Rich Horton

I had recently read Ethel M. Dell's The Hundredth Chance, and I went ahead and downloaded another of her books from Project Gutenberg. The Rocks of Valpré (1913) was her third novel, and it was a bestseller, and filmed twice, once silent and then in a 1935 talkie. I should note that the Wikipedia one line description of the plot is wrong. (The only correct phrase is "officer wrongly imprisoned" -- everything else is nothing like the actual book. I believe the plot described is actually that of the 1935 film.) 

As I wrote before, Ethel M. Dell (1881-1939) was a writer of romance novels published between 1911 and her death. She was popular enough -- she made up to £30,000 per year -- that she was routinely disparaged in serious books at the time, and even nonserious books like those of P. G. Wodehouse. Her married name was Savage -- curiously appropriate given some of her sexual themes. She is largely forgotten these days, as with many very popular authors of that era who were considered lowbrow. 

The opening section of The Rocks of Valpré is set near the fictional seaside town of Valpré. Christine Wyndham is a teenaged girl (perhaps 16) staying there with her younger brothers, Max and Noel, and her governess, plus her dog Cinders. Chris likes to go play on the beach with Cinders, wondering if she might meet a handsome Frenchman, and wondering about the Magic Cave of which she's heard. And -- voilá -- Cinders goes running off, and in finding him, who does she meet? A handsome Frenchman named Bertrand de Montwille, a soldier, some six years her senior.

In the way of things, they encounter each other some more, innocently playing and talking. And one day they make their way up to the Magic Cave -- and end up marooned there for a night by the high tide. Naturally this is regarded as scandalous ... though of course nothing happened. Chris does learn that Bertrand (whom she calls Bertie) has invented a special new weapon for France, and has vaulting ambitions. And she does encounter Bertrand in a duel with another French officer ... over a woman. (Her, of course.) Chris feels she might be in love, but after all, she's only 16. And Bertrand knows he is in love, but admits it's hopeless. And soon Chris returns to England.

Several years later, Chris is ready to marry the rich, handsome, and quite honest and good journalist Trevor Mordaunt. Chris is a bit skittish -- the memory of Bertrand is still with her, but she has heard nothing of him since then. She agrees to marry Trevor. What she doesn't know is that Bertrand had been betrayed by the very officer he had been duelling, who is jealous of his success, and has been framed for a crime (selling his new weapon to an enemy country) and sent to prison. One of his only defenders is a British journalist who, in reporting on his trial, became convinced of his innocence. That journalist, of course, is Trevor Mordaunt. 

Chris and Trevor get married, and have a honeymoon, but somehow Chris is not fully committed. There are other issues -- her somewhat rackety brothers, for instance, following on her irresponsible father, have left the family home in terrible shape. Trevor buys it, fixes it up, and gives to to Chris, but her older brother and Chris are both spendthrifts, and continue to take money from Trevor, making it worse by being dishonest. And then Trevor rescues a man at the end of his tether, starving, without money, in the rain in London. Of course this turns out to be Bertrand, who has been released from prison but exiled from France. Trevor hires him as his secretary. 

And, of course, Chris and Bertrand meet, and Chris's attraction to Bertrand is revived. Which sets up the (rather protracted) conclusion, involving blackmail, Bertrand's noble determination to renounce his love for Chris (until the afterlife, to be sure), a chance to prove Bertrand's innoceence, more financial issues, and, crucially, Bertrand's health, which has been ruined by his time in prison. Which, really, serves as kind of a cheating way for Dell to write her way out of the actually rather interesting dilemma she'd left Chris in -- her true love for a very good man, Bertrand, set against her true respect for the very good man she has married, Trevor. 

As I said in my previous review of a Dell novel, she's a good enough writer -- if not really a very good writer -- to hold the reader's interest, and to make us care. I did think this novel went on a bit too long, and, as I noted, kind of cheated its way to an ending. And there's a lot of gushing talk about eternal love extending into the afterlife (which presumably means polyamory once all of them get to heaven), and a fair amount of melodrama. For all that, I think Dell earned the money she made as a writer (which was a lot.) 

Anthologies I Never Got to Publish

Anthologies I Never Got to Publish 

by Rich Horton

As happens to most anyone, some books I hoped to publish never happened. I was looking back through my notes and past spreadsheets and stuff and found some interesting (to me!) details.

1. In 2007 I assembled a prospective Space Opera anthology, of the best Space Opera stories from 2006. I had Sean Wallace at Prime Books interested, and there was even a potential cover floated (seen at left), but in the end he decided not to publish the book. Here was the proposed TOC, which became a “ghost anthology” cited in the ISFDB and mentioned in the Science Fiction Encyclopedia:

Paul Berger, "The Muse of Empires Lost" (Twenty Epics)

Jay Lake, "Lehr, Rex" (Forbidden Planets)

Paul J. McAuley, "Dead Men Walking" (Asimov's)

John G. Hemry, "Lady Be Good" (Analog)

R. Garcia y Robertson, "Kansas, She Says, is the Name of the Star" (F&SF)

John Barnes, "Every Hole is Outlined" (Baen's Universe)

Brian Stableford, "The Plurality of Worlds" (Asimov's)

Alastair Reynolds, “Thousandth Night” (One Million A. D.)

Mike Resnick, "Catastrophe Baker and the Cold Equations" (Golden Age SF)

Anya Johanna DeNiro, "Have You Any Wool" (Twenty Epics)

I ought to call particular attention to the anthology Twenty Epics, edited by Susan Marie Groppi and David Moles, an absolutely fantastic original anthology from the very small publisher All-Star Stories – besides the two stories mentioned there were great pieces from Christopher Rowe, Tim Pratt, Yoon Ha Lee, Benjamin Rosenbaum, Mary Robinette Kowal, Meghan McCarron, Sandra McDonald, and others. It’s a jewel of a book, that came out of nowhere.

Not having learned my lesson, I tried again in 2008, and again Sean said no. The prospective TOC for this volume leaked also, though it’s not in the ISFDB, but John Scalzi did complain, saying he never had been asked for permission to reprint his story. Well, of course not – because the anthology never got to the point where we would ask for permissions. (John understood, of course, once that was explained.)

David Moles, "Finisterra" (F&SF, December)

John Scalzi, "Pluto Tells All" (Subterranean, Spring)

Richard A. Lovett, "The Sands of Titan", (Analog, June)

Ken MacLeod, "Who's Afraid of Wolf 359?" (The New Space Opera)

Charles Stross, "Trunk and Disorderly" (Asimov’s, January)

Gareth L. Powell, "Six Lights Off Green Scar" (Infinity Plus)

Jayme Lynn Blaschke, "The Final Voyage of La Riaza" (Interzone, June)

C. W. Johnson, "Icarus Beach" (Analog, December)

Robert Reed, "The Caldera of Good Fortune" (Asimov’s, Oct/Nov)

Jay Lake, "The Fly and Die Ticket", (Subterranean, Fall)

Dan Simmons, "Muse of Fire" (The New Space Opera)

I did reprint some of the stories in both of these volumes in other anthologies, including the Space Opera book I did finally get to publish, in 2014, which reprinted my take of the best Space Opera short fiction of the millennium to that point.

2. In 2009 we combined the SF and Fantasy volumes of my Prime Books Best of the Year series into one, because we had lost our mass market publisher (who preferred the shorter separate volumes) and because it seemed clear the combined book would sell better than the two shorter books together. In the process -- and because one story I'd chosen turned out to have been previously published (that is, before 2008, when all the stories for the 2009 volume were to have been from) I'd also chosen three additional stories from 2008 for the Fantasy volume. In the end, we decided not to add these stories to the final combined volume. These three stories, all excellent, were:

Jessica Reisman, "Flowertongue" (Farrago's Wainscot #6)

Hal Duncan, "The Toymaker's Grief" (Lone Star Stories, October)

William Alexander, "Ana's Tag" (Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet, November)

I actually had a longer list of prospective inclusions, some from the SF volume, that either couldn’t fit, or we couldn’t get permission to reprint, so here are the others:

Terry Bisson, “Private Eye” (F&SF, October-November)

Elizabeth Bear, “Overkill” (Shadow Unit)

Ted Chiang, “Exhalation” (Eclipse Two)

Greg Egan, “Crystal Nights” (Interzone, April)

Philip Raines and Harvey Welles, “Alice and Bob” (Albedo 1, #34)

Robert Reed, “Truth” (Asimov’s, October-November)

James Stoddard, “The First Editions” (F&SF, April)

3. In 2010 I assembled another Table of Contents for a collection of stories from webzines. The previous year I'd published Unplugged, which showcased online=only stories in their first print publication, and I hoped to do that again in 2010, for stories from 2009. However, that book never got published, because by then it was clear that webzines weren't really a novelty any more. (Also, perhaps, the first book hadn't sold all that well. But I still think it's damn good!) Here's the projected TOC for the 2010 book, which would have been called Rebooted: 2010 Download.

Forrest Aguirre, "The Non-Epistemological Universe of Emmaeus Holt", Farrago's Wainscot

John Barnes, "Things Undone", Jim Baen’s Universe

Catherine Cheek, "Voice Like a Cello", Fantasy

C. S. E. Cooney "Three Fancies from the Infernal Garden", Subterranean

James Enge, "Fire and Sleet", Pyr.com

Eric Gregory, "Salt's Father", Strange Horizons

Kij Johnson, "Spar", Clarkesworld

Richard Kadrey, "Trembling Blue Stars", Flurb

Helen Keeble, "A Journal of Certain Events of Scientific Interest from the First Survey Voyage of the Southern Waters by H.M.S. Ocelot, as Observed by Professor Thaddeus Boswell, D.Phil, MSc; or, A Lullaby", Strange Horizons

Lucy Kemnitzer, "Wink", Hub #86

Mary Robinette Kowal, "First Flights", Tor.com

Richard A. Lovett, "Carpe Manana", Abyss and Apex

Sandra McDonald, "Diana Comet", Strange Horizons

Holly Phillips, "Thieves of Silence", Beneath Ceaseless Skies

Tim Pratt, "A Programmatic Approach to Perfect Happiness", Futurismic

Ken Scholes, "A Weeping Czar Beholds the Fallen Moon", Tor.com

Rachel Swirsky "Great Golden Wings", Beneath Ceaseless Skies

Lavie Tidhar, "The Dying World", Clarkesworld

Catherynne M. Valente, "The Radiant Car Thy Sparrows Drew", Clarkesworld

Elliott Wells, "This Must Be the Place", Strange Horizons

4. In 2022 I definitely intended to continue my Best of the Year series. But the 2021 book had been delayed, and was electronic only, because of pandemic issues, both personal (on my part and on the publisher’s) and more general (skyrocketing paper costs, long wait times at printers, etc.) By the time that was straightened out, my publisher had decided (for reasons I definitely understand) to discontinue the anthology series. That’s a darn shame, but it’s life in the publishing business, and I’m by no means the only anthologist to have similar issues. (That said, if any publisher is interested in resuming my series, by all means contact me! 😊 )

However, I had already assembled a list of stories I’d have liked to have in the 2022 volume (stories from 2021.) And looking at this list adds to my disappointment – there were some wonderful stories that I’d really have loved to reprint! So, I’m going to go ahead and list the stories I was considering. Keep in mind – this wasn’t a final list, and I certainly hadn’t received permission to reprint any of these stories.

These first 11 are the Top Ten list I posted at Locus in my year end essay, and I definitely would have wanted all of those in by Best of the Year book, except probably not the William Gass story, which is think is great but not really SF or Fantasy – I listed it only because that issue of Conjunctions was excellent overall (and had a fair amount of SF/F) and because I liked the Gass story so much.

P. Djèlí Clark, “If the Martians Have Magic”, (Uncanny, 9-10/21)

William H. Gass, “The Pattern of a Proper Life”, (Conjunctions:76)

José Pablo Iriarte, “Proof by Induction”, (Uncanny, 5-6/21)

John Kessel, “The Dark Ride”, (F&SF, 1-2/20)

David Moles, “The Metric”, (Asimov’s, 5-6/21)

Sarah Pinsker, “Where Oaken Hearts Do Gather”, (Uncanny, 3-4/21)

Cat Rambo, “Crazy Beautiful”, (F&SF, 3-4/21)

Karen Russell, “The Ghost Birds”, (The New Yorker, 10/11/21)

Sofia Samatar, “Three Tales from the Blue Library”, (Conjunctions:76)

Alexandra Seidel, “January House”, (Not One of Us, 1/21)

Fran Wilde, “Unseelie Brothers, Ltd.”, (Uncanny, 5-6/21)

These are the other stories that were in my spreadsheet as candidates – I couldn’t have fit them all, so I’d have had to cull the list a bit, but I never had the opportunity to do that (agonizing!) work because the anthology was cancelled.

Eleanor Arnason, “The Graveyard”, (Uncanny, 7-8/21)

Tony Ballantyne, “Tail Call Optimization”, (Analog, 3-4/21)

Elizabeth Bear, “A Blessing of Unicorns”, (Asimov’s, 9-10/21)

T. J. Berry, “My Heart is at Capacity”, (Asimov’s, 5-6/21)

Maurice Broaddus, “Babylon System”, (F&SF, 5-6/21)

Octavia Cade, “The Women Who Didn’t Win Nobels, and How World Trees Are Not a Substitute”, (Fusion Fragment, 5/21)

Adam-Troy Castro, “The Silence Before I Sleep”, (Analog, 9-10/21)

Charles Q. Choi, “By the Will of the Gods”, (Analog, 1-2/21)

Greg Egan, “Sleep and the Soul”, (Asimov’s, 9-10/21)

Meg Elison, “The Pizza Boy”, (F&SF, 3-4/21)

Jen Fawkes, “The Story Within”, (Tales the Devil Told Me)

Gregory Feeley, “The Children of the Wind”, (Asimov’s, 7-8/21)

Karen Joy Fowler, “The Piper”, (F&SF, 1-2/20)

Carolyn Ives Gilman, “Nanobojou and the Wise Men”, (Galaxy’s Edge, 6/21)

Alexander Glass, “A Hollow in the Sky”, (Interzone, #290-291)

Liam Hogan, “Six Coins”, (Curiosities, Winter/21)

Nalo Hopkinson, “Broad Dutty Water: A Sunken Story”, (F&SF, 11-12/21)

Alex Irvine, “Glitch”, (Asimov’s, 3-4/21)

Kathleen Jennings, “Gisla and the Three Favors”, (LCRW, 6/21)

Naomi Kanakia, “I Didn’t Buy It”, (Asimov’s, 1-2/21)

Benjamin C. Kinney, “Conference of the Birds”, (Analog, 1-2/21)

Rich Larson, “The World, a Carcass”, (F&SF, 5-6/21)

Jonathan Lethem, “The Crooked House”, (The New Yorker, 3/8/21)

Megan Lindholm, “A Dime”, (F&SF, 11-12/21)

Marissa Lingen, “Beyond the Doll Forest”, (Uncanny, 1-2/21)

Jim Marino, “Acting Tips for Remaining Unknown”, (LCRW, 6/21)

Premee Mohammed, “Those Who Walk on Currents of Earth”, (Alternate Plains)

Lisa Morton, “Antonia and the Stranger Who Came to Los Feliz”, (Speculative Los Angeles)

T. R. Napper, “A Vast Silence”, (F&SF, 11-12/21)

Ray Nayler, “The Shadow of His Wings”, (Analog, 3-4/21)

Yukimi Ogawa, “Her Garden, the Size of Her Palm”, (F&SF, 7-8/21)

Chimedum Ohaegbu, “And for My Next Trick, I Have Disappeared”, (F&SF, 7-8/21)

Heather Osborne, “Groven”, (Seasons Between Us)

Mark Polanzak, “How You Wish”, (The OK End of Funny Town)

Lettie Prell, “Uploading Angela”, (Analog, 5-6/21)

Ranylt Richildis, “Sainte-Noyale”, (Fusion Fragment, 6/21)

Madeleine Robins, “Mannikin”, (F&SF, 3-4/21)

Karen Russell, “The Cloud Lake Unicorn”, (Conjunctions:76)

Erica L. Satifka, “Act of Providence”, (How to Get to Apocalypse)

Bianca Sayan, “Extrasolar Redundancy in the Nova Tortuga Model of Preservation Dermochelys coriacea”, (Analog, 9-10/21)

Priya Shand, “The Yoni Sutra”, (Fusion Fragment, 9/21)

Michael Swanwick, “Huginn and Muninn – and What Came After”, (Asimov’s, 7-8/21)

Rachel Swirsky, “Thirteen of the Secrets in My Purse”, (Uncanny, 5-6/21)

Molly Tanzer, “In the Garden of Ibn Ghazi”, (F&SF, 3-4/21)

Lavie Tidhar, “The Egg Collectors”, (Interzone, #290-291)

Catherynne M. Valente, “The Sin of America”, (Uncanny, 3-4/21)

Caroline M. Yoachim, “Colors of the Immortal Palette”, (Uncanny, 3-4/21)

Marie Vibbert, “The Unlikely Heroes of Callisto Station”, (Analog, 7-8/21)

 

Review: The Lonely Girl (aka Girl with Green Eyes), by Edna O'Brien

The Lonely Girl aka Girl with Green Eyes, by Edna O'Brien

a review by Rich Horton

Edna O'Brien was born December 15, 1930 in Ireland, and died just a couple of weeks ago, July 27, 2024, at the age of 93. She was one of Ireland's most important 20th Century novelists, and was particularly important in bringing a frankness about the sexual life of young women into Irish literature -- an achievement that caused her early work to be fiercely criticized and sometimes banned in her home country. She trained to be a pharmacist and worked at that job in Dublin, but moved to London with her husband in 1959, and never again lived in Ireland. She wrote some 16 novels, four children's books, several plays, and countless short stories, as well as criticism, biographies of Joyce and Byron, and a memoir. After hearing of her death, I decided I ought to finally read her, and I took up the only book of hers I have, a 1981 paperback edition, "in Penguins" as the publisher likes to say, of Girl with Green Eyes. This was Penguin's 1964 retitling of her second novel, The Lonely Girl (1962), presumably to coincide with the release of the movie based on the novel and also called Girl with Green Eyes, starring Rita Tushingham, Lynn Redgrave, and Peter Finch. Kingsley Amis, I note, was an early promoter of her work, which isn't in any way surprising, but it amuses me mildly as both Amis and O'Brien had at least four novels with the word "Girl" in the title (arguably for different reasons!)

The Lonely Girl is narrated by Caithleen (Kate) Brady, who grew up in rural Ireland, as apparently related in The Country Girls (1960), O'Brien's first novel. She and her best friend Barbara (Baba) Brennan have moved to Dublin, and share a room in the house of Joanna, who seems to be a somewhat recent immigrant. The novel appears to be set in the 1950s, approximately the time of writing. Kate works at a small shop, and makes just enough money to get by, though she's been promised a "rise" in the new year. She and Baba have as an active a social life as they can manage, cadging tickets to dances and such when they can, or pulling tricks like posing as reporters for Women's Night. Baba seems the more adventurous, and knows several young men, and seems likely to be sleeping with a married man. Kate is a reader, and quieter than Baba, and somewhat sensitive about her weight.

The novel is primarily built around Kate's affair with an older man, Eugene Gaillard, a documentary filmmaker in his mid-30s. (Kate turns 21 during the novel.) This is her second serious boyfriend -- apparently she had a boyfriend she called Mr. Gentleman in The Country Girls. They go on several dates, and before long Eugene invites her to his house, out in the country a bit. It's a beautiful location, and the house is -- quaint. Kate is very attracted to Eugene, and he to her, and eventually she agrees to sleep with him, indeed to move in with him, but panics when he attempts to have sex. He is tolerant of this, and tolerant of her relative ignorance, and they get along pretty well, even though Kate learns that Eugene has an American wife, and a daughter, though the wife has left him and taken their daughter with her back to the US.

But gossip gets to the ears of Kate's father (her mother drowned when she was 14.) Her father is a terrible man, constantly drunk, but the whole community collaborates as he essentially kidnaps her and takes her back home. She tries to escape and can't, and is lectured by the local priest, but finally manages to get back to Eugene's house. Leading to a terrible confrontation when a posse from Kate's village comes by the next day and is only chased away by the housekeeper brandishing a gun, after Eugene is beaten up. Kate does begin to have sex and enjoy it, but it's clear to the reader that this relationship can't last, between the uneven ages of the two people, and Eugene's marriage (and apparent remaining feelings for his wife), and Eugene's growing impatience with Kate's youth. So the novel moves to its inevitable conclusion.

The plot isn't really what drives the story, though. The characters are extremely well depicted. The book is very funny at times -- Baba is a hoot -- and the portrayal of Kate's young love and developing sexuality is convincing, as is the portrayal of life in general in Ireland. And the prose is wonderful. It's a beautiful novel, and Edna O'Brien certainly deserves her reputation.