In this issue . . .
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First off, we have what I hope is the favorite novel of the next Mayor of London: Ursula LeGuin's The Dispossessed. It concerns Shevek, a loyal but disillusioned scientist of the near desert moon Anarres. A world so poor that pure physics research is a luxury that cannot always be afforded, no matter how brilliant the Scientist. And Shevek as a Scientist is brilliant, destined as he is to produce the equations that will be destroy the limitations of relativity and revolutionise communications and allow the creation of the Ansible. A device that appears throughout much of LeGuin's other fiction, and which allows the instantaneous transmission and reception of messages over any distance. However, 'The Dispossessed' isn't a novel of hard science, far from it. It's really a study of idealism, both social and political and maybe a critique of Anarchy as a form of government. A cold hard contrast between the vicious unbridled capitalism of Urras, the planet that Anarres orbits, and the equally uncaring utopia of the moon. A novel which is, at times, dark and worrying, but finally bright and uplifting.
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I've never been a fan of Frederick Pohl so; it was with some trepidation that I began reading Gateway. I need not have worried. I found Gateway to be absolutely riveting. A dark and brooding novel that from the very start has a deliciously claustrophobic feel to it. A feeling which grows and grows throughout the novel until the inevitable climax. By which time I was desperate for release. A not all-together pleasant experience, but a fascinating feeling to get from a novel. The central premise behind the tale is an alien artifact - Gateway. An asteroid shipyard full of interstellar craft built by the alien "Heechee", about whom nothing is known. These cramped and tiny ships can travel by autopilot to distant and unknown destinations. No human can understand the controls though so, exploration using the ships entails a game of Russian roulette. Explorers could come back having found miraculous alien technologies, which make them fabulously rich, or equally likely any number of unknown and unavoidable dangers could destroy them. The story is told in a series of flashbacks, prompted by the unlovable protagonist Brodhead's psychoanalysis. A cunning literary device, which helps draw the reader deeper and deeper into the claustrophobic core of the story. Simply in a different class from all his other work. Highly recommended.
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One of the best aspects of the Millennium SF Masterworks series has been the reprinting of one or two novels that had been, until then, difficult to find. One such is Kurt Vonnegut's 'The Sirens of Titan'. A delightful black comedy, of the manic variety. A difficult story to describe, without sounding insane, it concerns Rumfoord a man who, together with his dog, oscillates throughout time and space. He knows the past and future, but since the future is fixed he cannot even try to change things. Throughout, Vonnegut scatters delightfully crazed ideas everywhere. Gradually but continuously driving home the absolute futility of absolutely everything. Especially religion, which is beautifully ridiculed by the idea behind 'The Church of God the Utterly Indifferent'. Not quite his best work, but excellent all the same.
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If 'The Stars my Destination' isn't Bester's greatest novel then it simply has to be his 'The Demolished Man'. Set in a future where crime is all but unheard of thanks to a telepathic Police force the anti-hero Ben Reich plots and eventually executes the ruthless murder of a business rival. That Reich is brilliant is without question, but as he strives to avoid detection and the personality erasure (Demolition) that would be his punishment it becomes more and more obvious that he is also completely insane. A gripping story which moves at a simply blistering pace, full of delightfully wacky Besterisms like the bizarre typographic patterns which are woven when groups of telepaths converse. This book justifiably won the very first Hugo award, which should be recommendation enough alone. A timeless masterpiece.
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Attempting to review Bo Fowler's second novel 'The Astrological Diary of God' is almost impossible. Any straightforward description will sound like the babbling of tripped out hippy, but nevertheless I will try. A ridiculously overweight ex-Kamikaze pilot reminisces about his earlier life from a camper van in a Fort Knox gold vault where he is being held prisoner by the American Government, whilst he stands trial for the 'murder of time'. A murder, which he has committed by masturbating too many galaxies into existence; because after all he is the 'supreme being' and creator of a religion, based entirely on Astrology. Bizarre throughout, highly amusing at times and very reminiscent of Kurt Vonnegut at his best. That statement should be recommendation enough, but if it isn't then here's a short taster. Barton and Russell could be out of business . . .
After lunch today Colonel Fleming asked God about the raid on Pearl Harbor. God told him that the idea for staging the raid on Pearl Harbor was dreamed up one sunny day in 1939 on the boating lake of Regent's Park in London by Minoru Genda (a Virgo), then assistant naval attaché at the Japanese Embassy, and that God had taken part in the raid.
Virgo males hate blow jobs. Their favorite colour is navy blue. They hardly ever use knives and they always make their own furniture.
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After reading 'The Astrological Diary of God' I felt in the mood for some authentic Vonnegut and unable lay my hand on 'Breakfast of Champions' which it perhaps that book most resembles, I settled for Cat's Cradle. Perhaps my favorite Vonnegut story of them all, it tells of the end of the world and how it accidentally comes about on the impoverished island of San Lorenzo. An island which is in such bad shape that the people can only find pleasure in following an outlawed religion, the punishment for which is a painful death on the hook or
Hy-u-o-ook-kuh! as it is known locally. That the religion was banned deliberately to make it more appealing to the masses is a secret known only to the few, but perhaps explains why it's leader is never caught. A novel that I think is about belief and how people can believe in almost anything despite mountains of evidence to the contrary. Take the Cat's Cradle of the title. It's really just a collection of fingers and string, and as the author testifies 'There's no damn cat, and no damn cradle.' Recommended.
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Colin Bateman's first novel is 'Divorcing Jack'. It is now a major motion picture and a complete mystery to me. Set in early nineties Northern Ireland it is a grim tale of murder and political intrigue . . . only its not, it's a comedy. Albeit one where the hero, if you can call the feckless drunken protagonist a hero, finds his mistress brutally slain. At times amusing, but it too often slips too far into pure farce. By the end of it I just wanted to throttle the author and do the world a favor. Luckily I only paid 50p for it from a charity shop, but somehow I still feel like I've been robbed. Best avoided.
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Finally, I've given Diana Wynne Jones another try by reading her 'A Sudden Wild Magic'. Unfortunately, it has done nothing to help me decide if I like her or not; because the book is excellent and woeful in more or less equal measures. Like last months 'The Dark Lord of Derkholm' the central premise is excellent. Another world, in another dimension, is causing problems on Earth and then importing our solutions back into their world. Amongst the problems are nuclear accidents (Chernobyl) and Global warming, to name but two. So a crack team of Witches and Warlocks are assembled to visit this other world (Arth) and prevent them. Tragically, most of the crew is killed in an accident and only a handful of females and a small child survive to land up in the Men-only research station. Where they cause all kinds of chaos with their womanly wiles and what the dust jacket laughably describes as kamikaze sex. Throughout the female characters are nicely drawn, but the male characters seem lifeless two-dimensional stereotypes. Perhaps this is deliberate on the authors' part and she is trying to write a deeply feminist book, but I doubt it. Still the book is quite readable; it's just a shame that I was left again feeling that the author had squandered yet another one of those golden opportunities to produce something considerably better.
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This park is
MONITORED
by Closed-Circuit PV
You are welcome to enjoy it. Do not pick flowers or fruit. Do not damage any plant.
While visiting, you may eat any fruits which have fallen, to the following limits:
- Grapes, cherries 8 per person
- Other small fruits or berries 6 per person
- Oranges, limes, pears 1 per person
Gravel may not be removed from walks. Deposit all trash of any kind in receptacles.
MAINTENANCE DIVISION
THE GATEWAY CORPORATION
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