Thursday, July 25, 2024

2024 read #87: The Sorcerer’s Ship by Hannes Bok.

The Sorcerer’s Ship by Hannes Bok
205 pages
Published 1942
Read from July 24 to July 25
Rating: 1.5 out of 5

If I had a nickel for every 1940s novel I’d read about an amnesiac man getting shunted from our world to a fantastic realm, I’d have two nickels, etc. With that in mind, how does The Sorcerer’s Ship compare to Henry Kuttner’s The Dark World?

To set the tone, let me summarize the first couple chapters. Our hero Gene finds himself adrift on a raft, with no memories and no supplies. Eventually he gets rescued by a passing ship, but passes out from dehydration and exhaustion. He wakes up to find a dude who is clearly evil-councilor-coded watching over him; this dude orders Gene to murder another man on the boat. When Gene demurs, saying he isn’t sure he’s a killer, the evil guy puts a green liquid in Gene’s wine and tells him it improves the flavor. Gene obediently drinks it. His mouth goes numb! The evil guy keeps bullying him to drink more, drink more, drink it all. Shockingly, it’s poison!

That’s the storytelling caliber we’re dealing with on The Sorcerer’s Ship. It’s a period-standard fantasy pulper without much to set it apart from its contemporaries, unless you count the office clerk passivity of its hero. If you squint, there’s a pro-socialist message in the conflict between poor-but-egalitarian Nanich and rich-but-stratified Koph. At one point Gene says, “The more rich people, the less money to go around,” which shows us that a pulp protagonist can have a sharper grasp of economic realities than any American politician of the last four decades.

The political plot runs out of steam not even halfway through, leading to an abrupt genre shift as the boat lands on an unknown island, its crew finds a monolithic city, and everyone gets mixed up in the business of an ancient extradimensional being and his fish-man apprentice. This second plot is marginally more interesting than the first, but the timeless being is more of a corny old wizard than an unfathomable cosmic horror, and the shift doesn’t break the tedium for long.

I had hoped that Bok’s own queerness would have left more of a mark on the narrative, but sadly, Ship sticks to the cis-het script of its time, complete with an 18 year old princess whom Gene is ordered to woo.

So, all in all, Ship was nowhere near as interesting as The Dark World. Considering how much of an unexpected delight that book was, this one is perhaps closer to what I would expect from a 1940s isekai novel.

Wednesday, July 24, 2024

2024 read #86: The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, May 1968 issue.

The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, May 1968 issue (34:5)
Edited by Edward L. Ferman
130 pages
Published 1968
Read from July 21 to July 24
Rating: 1.5 out of 5

Continuing my project to hop through all the decades of F&SF.

The online PDF archives seem to end at the dawn of the 1960s, so I have to turn to my own collection now, which doesn’t leave me with many sixties issues to choose from. This issue has a novella (a “short novel” in the magazine’s parlance at the time) by Samuel R. Delany, which is a compelling enough reason to pick it. Unfortunately, it’s also all male. The small gains made by women writers in the 1950s F&SF scene clearly got discarded before we reached here.

Halfway through, I belatedly realized that this issue means I have read at least one full issue from every decade of F&SF’s existence! Next goal: one from each year? I’ll have to obtain a lot more physical copies to accomplish that.


“Lines of Power” by Samuel R. Delany. A unique (in my experience) dystopian novella about Global Power, which trundles its massive cables and machines around the globe, and the various hyper-individualistic nonconformists (today, it’s the biker-gang coded “Angels” who ride jet-powered broomsticks) who withdraw to the last unpowered pockets of wilderness to avoid them. The concept feels halfway between Logan's Run and something I could picture getting published in Asimov’s in the mid 1980s. There's some racial, sexual, and gendered stuff that no doubt was radical in 1968 but hasn't aged so well; much of the plot concerns postures of masculinity. Delany’s style has, by this point, evolved into the denser, more elliptical phrasing he would continue to elaborate into the 1970s. Not my favorite Delany piece, but it's vivid and memorable, and interesting for its place in his evolution as a writer. Maybe C+?

“The Wilis” by Baird Searles. A ballet dancer fantasy by an ex-professional dancer? Not an item I expected to find in this era. The prose and storytelling are thoroughly competent, albeit uninspiring (and a tad predictable). The ending, especially, felt a bit out of place in this decade, like something that could have been published in the early 1950s. C-

“Gifts from the Universe” by Leonard Tushnet. Routine “mysterious shop in a rundown back alley” tale, with a Venusian twist straight out of the ’50s. An inordinate percentage of its word count is the narrator charting out his efforts to find full-silver quarters to pay the mysterious (and ailing) Mr. Tolliver. A shrug. D

“Beyond the Game” by Vance Aandahl. This would-be surrealist little number about a grade school boy escaping the horrors of dodgeball feels thoroughly sixties (in a derogatory sense). It has less to say than it thinks it does. Not much to it. D

“Dry Run” by Larry Niven. This tale, by contrast, feels thoroughly eighties (in a derogatory sense). It’s one of those “shitty man dies on his way to kill his soon to be ex-wife, gets judged by the heavenly Powers That Be based on what he would have done had he survived” tales. (Spoiler: It’s okay! He only murders her dog, doesn’t tell her, and it works out between them!) Fuck this. F

“A Quiet Kind of Madness” by David Redd. A proto-feminist fantasy written by a man, published in 1968? I’m gonna be skeptical of that. Especially since it has a guy roaming around trying to sweet talk our protagonist into giving him another chance after he tried to assault her six months before… and she actually finds herself gaslit into considering it. Yeah, this isn’t any feminism I would recognize. I did enjoy the vaguely post-apocalyptic Finnish vibe of the setting, but the rest of the story was on thin ice. (Heh.) F+


And that’s my first issue of F&SF from the ’60s! It started out so interesting, but quickly settled into another Ferman-curated disaster.

Sunday, July 21, 2024

2024 read #85: Songs for Ophelia by Theodora Goss.

Songs for Ophelia by Theodora Goss
Introduction by Catherynne M. Valente
134 pages
Published 2014
Read from July 20 to July 21
Rating: 3.5 out of 5

I’ve been in a writing drought. Since late 2022, I’ve written maybe three short stories and a handful of poems. That’s productive compared to, say, my average writing output between 2002 and 2020, but nowhere near where I want to be as a writer.

In particular, I’ve been wanting to write more fantasy poetry. I’ve been stuck partway through writing two separate full-length collections I hope to self-publish. Inspiration is needed. But it turns out there aren’t many lists recommending “must-read fantasy poetry collections,” even though I know plenty of titles have to be out there.

This book appeared on one of the few lists I managed to find, and I’m quite glad I was able to get a copy. These poems span from 1993 to 2012, and range from tightly ordered rhyme schemes to free verse. I don’t often rhyme in my poetry; I’m clumsy at it. More often than not, Goss makes it seem effortless, as if she merely retrieved songs that had drifted through the wood and along the stream since before the days of broadsides.

Dancers beckon from the oak wood; starlit phantoms bring temptation into bedrooms. Pale creatures lurk in secret pools and wait outside windows, all soft curves and coy glances until their teeth finally show. Arrogant young lords ignore warnings and ride to their doom. It’s all classic stuff, courtly imagery that would make Patricia A. McKillip proud, but told with gleams of malice that add a charm all Goss’s own.

Saturday, July 20, 2024

2024 read #84: The Ballad of Beta 2 by Samuel R. Delany.

The Ballad of Beta 2 by Samuel R. Delany
124 pages
Published 1965
Read from July 18 to July 20
Rating: 3.5 out of 5

This book opens with field recordings of folk music from an interstellar generation ship. That’s one of the coolest hooks to begin a sci-fi novel I’ve ever seen. Like… how is this from 1965 and not 1985? Once again, I must refer to my thesis that SF writers of the global majority (and queer writers, and otherwise marginalized writers) have always been a creative generation ahead (on average) of their more societally privileged contemporaries.

Delany does quick, efficient work at worldbuilding, sketching in not only the culture and language of the generation ships, but also the chrono-drive colonists who leaped over them and beat them by several centuries to the stars.

Reluctant student Joneny picks through the generation ships for clues to the meaning of the folk ballad, uncovering a culture puritanically obsessed with “the Norm,” liquidating those who violate it — whether they deviate by biting their nails, growing moles, or studying history. The narrative isn’t the most gripping, but even by the standards of 1965 sci-fi, the allegory is hard to miss. Conservatism and conformity stifle any chance for the generation-ship culture to adapt and innovate. 

Thursday, July 18, 2024

2024 read #83: The Dinosaurs by William Stout.

The Dinosaurs: A Fantastic New View of a Lost Era, illustrated by William Stout
Text by William Service; edited by Byron Preiss
Introduction by Peter Dodson
160 pages
Published 1981
Read July 18
Rating: 2.5 out of 5 (maybe 3 if I’m generous)

Can we take a moment to notice just how hard Byron Preiss pushed for illustrated dinosaur books for adults? Throughout the decade or so between the Dinosaur Renaissance and the Jurassic Park craze, his name recurs as editorial instigator for a particular sort of publication. We have The Ultimate Dinosaur, Bradbury’s Dinosaur Tales, and this book. Dude was committed to making pop culture dinos happen. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were even more I’ve yet to learn about (especially since he seems linked to Don Glut’s Dinosaur Society, which cashed in on the ’90s dinomania with its own titles).

I forget the context, but I first heard of this book recently from a fellow writer on social media. She grew up paging through William Stout’s artwork and William Service’s accompanying prose vignettes. The cover is absolutely stunning, an art nouveau Parasaurolophus in 1970s kitchen tones. Naturally I wanted it. I was able to find a cheap copy on eBay, and here we are.

Stout’s artwork, inevitably, is the major selling point here. To contemporary eyes, his dinosaurs look lumpy and veiny, perhaps reminiscent of Frank Frazetta’s shadowy barbarians, though the delightful art nouveau influence runs throughout the book. There is a stunning full-page spread of a Leptoceratops beneath a magnolia in full flower that I want framed on my wall. If the book were exclusively composed of Stout’s art, I’d rate it more highly.

Service’s vignettes are, at best, serviceable (heh), a dry run for the fictionalized approach to paleontology that would culminate in Raptor Red. The concepts Service explores, and the pop science terms he deploys, provide a fascinating glimpse of how deep the tropes of ’90s dinomania reach. For example, this is the earliest I’ve ever encountered the usage of “raptor” as a colloquial catch-all for small, fast, sharp-clawed theropods. Even the contemporaneous Time Safari called them dromaeosaurs. Oddly, Service is out of synch with Peter Dodson’s introduction, returning again and again to the trope of cold-blooded dinosaurs stymied by an errant chill.

Some of the vignettes depict speculative behaviors I don’t think I’ve seen touched elsewhere, such as a Styracosaurus instinctively munching tart bark to help purge toxins it had inadvertently eaten. (This is also the only description of dinosaur constipation I’ve ever read: “At times peristaltic waves of contraction passed down the colon; cloacas trembled and everted in vain.”) This treatment of dinos as living animals makes The Dinosaurs a rewarding read even now, with much of its science forty years out of date.

Wednesday, July 17, 2024

2024 read #82: The Mimicking of Known Successes by Malka Older.

The Mimicking of Known Successes by Malka Older
169 pages
Published 2023
Read from July 4 to July 17
Rating: 4 out of 5

I made the mistake of attempting this book during the summer, which is when I find it hardest to read. It’s a highly regarded queer sci-fi mystery, full of cozy touches, nice meals, and a gaslamp aesthetic. It’s about a pair of sapphic exes — one an investigator, one a researcher — who have to collaborate to solve a disappearance. It’s set on platforms high in the atmosphere of Jupiter. It has autistic representation!

As my partner R said, “It sounds like an episode of Doctor Who.” And it really does! I liked it!

But the academic who narrates most of the story uses a stiffly formal voice that, while it complements the quasi-antique vibe, did not suit my summertime brain, which is strained from having my teenage kid here (on top of all The Horrors of contemporary life and climate change). Dialogue like “I nonetheless had the impression that they would have noticed despondency” takes some adjustment when you aren’t in the proper headspace for it. As it is, I found my brain drifting off to other things whenever I read a paragraph, at least until the vibe finally clicked for me. Completely my problem, not the fault of the book.

The characters are dear, and the setting is unique and memorable. I’m indifferent about most mystery stories, but the way Older entwined this one through the long-ago fate of Earth, and the efforts to build a new home for the species above the toxic clouds of Giant, made for an engrossing read.

Saturday, July 13, 2024

2024 read #81: Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 7 by Kamome Shirahama.

Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 7 by Kamome Shirahama
Translated by Stephen Kohler
171 pages
Published 2020 (English translation published 2020)
Read from July 11 to July 12
Rating: 4 out of 5

Reading four volumes in a row? Why not! It’s the hottest summer on record, and the coldest summer any of us will ever know again, and I don’t have the brain space for much else right now.

One thing I love about this series is how creative Shirahama is with her world and its magical contraptions. Atelier's setting is far more creative (and far more downright appealing) than, say, Harry Potter's. There's a particular magical contraption introduced here in Chapter 37, and which takes a central role in Chapter 38, that I don't want to spoil for anyone, but I cannot wait to see more people appreciate in the anime.

Of course, that brings us to the events of Chapter 40, which are notorious amongst the manga readers. I'm curious to see how all of this will resolve. For now, though, I'm fresh out of volumes to read.

Thursday, July 11, 2024

2024 read #80: Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 6 by Kamome Shirahama.

Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 6 by Kamome Shirahama
Translated by Stephen Kohler
173 pages
Published 2019 (English translation published 2020)
Read from July 10 to July 11
Rating: 4 out of 5

My kid is with me for the summer, which (as it always does) makes it next to impossible to read prose for any length of time. I have some fresh poetry books on hand, so it won't all be Witch Hat Atelier. But Witch Hat Atelier sounds good right now. Especially after the trailer for the anime series dropped the other day.

The manga has hit its stride in the last couple issues. The artwork is dynamic and beautiful, the characters have gained some depth, the world Shirahama has set up has grown. The Witch Hat fandom has infiltrated my TikTok algorithm in recent days, which has unfortunately spoiled me on some future developments, but with that in mind, it’s been nice to see, say, the character Olruggio get more of the spotlight. 

Of course, Atelier is first and foremost a manga for younger readers, and that’s particularly evident in this volume, which centers storylines about bullying, loyalty, and learning to work together, in case the artwork and heightened stakes made you forget who the target audience was.

Still, I needed something light and easy to follow, and this is just about the best thing I could think of to fill those requirements while still engaging my interest. A lovely installment.

Wednesday, July 3, 2024

2024 read #79: Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 5 by Kamome Shirahama.

Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 5 by Kamome Shirahama
Translated by Stephen Kohler
189 pages
Published 2019 (English translation published 2020)
Read July 3
Rating: 4 out of 5

To hell with it, we're doing another volume of Witch Hat Atelier. Clearly this is my preferred method of dissociation during this stage of the fall of democracy.

Another fine installment, Volume 5 serves to wrap up the cliffhangers of Volume 4 (which is another good reason to read them back to back). It’s almost all action sequence, with brief moments to breathe and add depth. It doesn’t stand on its own the way the best volumes of this series do, but it’s fast-paced and creative and enjoyable, full of character touches and sweeping, kinetic artwork.

This volume’s ending serves as a natural break in the story, marking the end of the trial on the serpent path. Which is good, because I’ve run out of volumes for the moment. (I may or may not have ordered a couple more, because money is fake but dopamine is desperately needed right now.)

2024 read #78: Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 4 by Kamome Shirahama.

Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 4 by Kamome Shirahama
Translated by Stephen Kohler
190 pages
Published 2018 (English translation published 2019)
Read July 3
Rating: 4 out of 5

It’s hard to do anything but doomscroll these days. SCOTUS is handing imperial powers over to the executive branch, all while the voters, somehow, have forgotten just how miserable the Trump years were. Similar trajectories of fascism are on the rise everywhere around the globe. I want to escape reality, yet it seems impossible to read these silly little books.

I hate this fucking timeline.

Anyway. Witch Hat Atelier! Yay!

Clearly, I’m not in the right headspace. Neither to appreciate a book nor to write a coherent review of it (not that I write many of those around here). Still, this book has penguin gryphons! Serpent paths! Rising stakes! A magical test! A real sense of danger! It’s all really good, coming together in a satisfying installment.

Shirahama’s artwork remains superb; she has more room to experiment here than she did in Volume 3, with chilling flashbacks to magic’s evil days, and action sequences that ripple and flow beautifully. And, because relevance to real-world problems has always been the secret ingredient to fantasy, I had a good cry after Qifrey mused, “Mankind is truly terrifying. As is the fact that so few of us acknowledge how easily terrifying things may come to pass.”

Damn it, I thought this was escapism.

Fuck the fascists. I know that none of this has anything to do with the book in hand, but fuck the fascists. Authoritarian control is the repudiation of humanity, of life and joy and change and meaning. I’m on the side of life, as long as I have it.

Tuesday, July 2, 2024

2024 read #77: The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, December 1951 issue.

The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, December 1951 issue (2:6)
Edited by Anthony Boucher & J. Francis McComas
128 pages
Published 1951
Read July 2
Rating: 2 out of 5

As I mentioned in my review of its first issue, F&SF is in its 75th year. Under the editorial leadership of Sheree Renée Thomas, the magazine’s quality is better and more consistent than it’s ever been. Unfortunately, a number of missteps and accidents on the publishing end of things has left the venerable publication’s future uncertain. It’s July now, and F&SF has only published one issue so far in 2024. This lone issue seems have had a limited print run, perhaps solely for subscribers; rumors suggest the company’s printer broke, a major problem when cash flow is as sparse as it is for modern magazines. In any case, I still haven’t been able to get my hands on a copy, and I’m waiting to see if production issues get resolved before I splurge on a subscription.

My project to read each issue of F&SF as it’s current has been derailed. In its place, I’m proposing to read back and forth across the various decades of its existence. I’ve already finished the only issue from the 1940s, so it’s time to read my first full issue from the 1950s.

There’s nothing special about this issue. I picked it because the TOC offers what looks to be a nice mix of authors and titles. As was the magazine’s style at the time, the contents hop between new stories and selections from earlier publications. 


“When the Last Gods Die” by Fritz Leiber. I’m not normally a fan of the “dispassionate, omniscient author records events from the outside with no emotional attachment” style of first-person perspective; it feels hackneyed at best. Yet Leiber mostly makes it work in this Dying Earth mood piece. In the far future, the titanic figures of pseudo-Greek gods recline motionless in the ruddy light of the aged sun, waiting for their end. A sentient Machine arrives to make one final plea for the gods to reconsider their own demise. Not bad at all. B-

“The Haunted Ticker” by Percival Wilde (1923). A thoroughly Twenties tale about a miser who works out a system to exactly predict the stock market in his last months of life, and then comes back as a ghost orchestrating purchases and sales over the stock ticker. Not exactly thrilling, and rather overlong, but certainly not like anything else I’ve read. C-

“O Ugly Bird!” by Manly Wade Wellman. The first tale of John the Balladeer. It’s a mildly diverting yarn about a holler plagued by a bully who always gets what he wants from his neighbors, and the big ugly bird who may or may not be his familiar. C+

“The Rats” by Arthur Porges. This story is a reprint, yet it was first published in 1951, the same year as this issue. Quick turnaround! Maybe it’s good, right? Alas, as you might guess from its original home in Man’s World, it’s amateurish, stiffly written pulp. A doomsday prepper hides out in the desert near an abandoned atomic testing facility, but the rats are learning and adapting to thwart his defensive measures. There’s some mileage in how banal the threat is; the rats aren’t ravenous mutants, just somewhat smarter than your average rodent. I’m reminded of Elisabeth Melartre’s “Evolution Never Sleeps,” in the July 1999 issue of Asimov’s. D?

“Built Down Logically” by Howard Schoenfeld. Hillburt Hooper Aspasia is an infant prodigy, a genius Harvard lecturer still in a baby buggy. That’s the starting point for this silly little number, which toys with logic and how you can logic away the facts in front of you. I’m reminded of “Hog-Belly Honey” by R. A. Lafferty, which I read and reviewed here. Like that humorous piece, this one doesn’t do anything for me, though I did enjoy its nasty cynicism about midcentury scientists and their role as decorated weapons manufacturers. D

“The Earlier Service” by Margaret Irwin (1935). An early example of a time-slip story, not quite folk horror but perhaps somewhere along the road to it, full of church gargoyles, grinning cherubs, and shadowy presences around the altar. Excellent atmosphere, though like most stories I’ve read from this era, more is hinted at than shown. Enjoyable. B-

“The Universe Broke Down” by Robert Arthur (1941). Humorous eccentric inventor piece, very much of its time. Jeremiah Jupiter uses strange matter found in a meteorite to invent a device that folds space. His reluctant friend, our narrator Lucius, is on hand to discover that the device works perhaps too well. Literal cats-and-dogs humor. A shrug. D+

“Come on, Wagon!” by Zenna Henderson. Henderson’s first adult story, a prototype of the standard “kids can do magic because they don’t know the limits of reality” trope. It doesn’t quite have the deep well of heart and precisely depicted feeling that her best later stories have, but it’s more emotionally authentic than most SFF of this era. B-

“The House in Arbor Lane” by James S. Hart. Spoilers for this one. It wouldn’t be my first choice, but I have to admit that it’s pretty clever — especially at this early date in the genre — to take a tale of a witch, her attempt to sacrifice her niece, and the witch’s defeat, and narrate it in the form of a murder trial in a small New England town. Maybe a shade overlong, but still a respectable C+

“Skiametric Morphology and Behaviorism of Ganymedeus Sapiens: A Summary of Neoteric Hypotheses” by Kenneth R. Deardorf. Now that’s a title ahead of its time! The story, if it can be called that, lives up to that promised postmodern slant, giving us a faux research paper examining cartoonish diagrams as observed through a multidimensional scanner. It’s cute, though I can’t really rate it as a story.

“The Hyperspherical Basketball” by H. Nearing, Jr. Overlong humor piece about a professor who invents a fourth-dimensional basketball. I gotta admit, my eyes kind of glazed through this one. Geometry and midcentury “clever” dialog joined forces to make me snooze. A flat note to end on. D?


And that’s my first full issue of F&SF from the ’50s! It could have been a lot worse, that’s for sure.

2024 read #76: Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne.*

Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne*
Translator uncredited
291 pages
Published 1864 (English translation published 1965)
Read from June 30 to July 2
Rating: 1.5 out of 5

* Denotes a reread

I had hoped for better, revisiting this book.

When I read Five Weeks in a Balloon back in 2015, I learned that Jules Verne had been substantially more racist than I’d picked up on as a child. Journey to the Center of the Earth had been a formative book for me; more importantly, I remembered it as a fun paleontological adventure tale without much opportunity for unhinged racism. I must have read a bowdlerized translation, however, because before his characters even leave the house on Köningstrasse, Verne found ways to be casually racist.

Another adult realization: what an abusive piece of shit the character Otto Lidenbrock is. He verbally and psychologically abuses his nephew and his servant, and subjects them to starvation when he’s fixated on something. The saddest thing to me is to observe how much I normalized all this as a child. With an abusive parent of my own, I didn't even register Professor Lidenbrock’s behavior when I was a kid; that was just what adults were like in my world. Oof.

The story is nothing more than a standard boy’s-life adventure run through a filter of primitive early geoscience. Once the party climbs Sneffels and begins their interminable descent, my nostalgia took over, and I had a decent enough time. Nonetheless, by just about any measure, this isn't quality literature. Verne’s style hews closer to fictional travel guide than to trifles like plot or characterization.

Coming back to the topic of different translations: I can’t be sure, but I think the translation I read as a kid was far better than this one. The prose is amateurish, overly formal, lacking in fluency and flow. Perhaps it’s closer to how Verne wrote in the original French; it does feel an awful lot like antique writing for children.