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.