This morning, I read an email from a discussion group that mentioned Fitz-James O’Brien (1826-1862). You can sample his fiction at Project Gutenberg.
One member posted a link to a review of a new three-volume collection of his stories at The New York Review of Books. The review implied that O’Brien is little known, but several folks in the group quickly claimed they knew who he was. But that’s logical, our group is devoted to fiction in old magazines. I’ve even read some of O’Brien’s stories because they show up in science fiction anthologies, and I collect those. (See my post on 19th Century Science Fiction Short Stories.)
But this got me to thinking. How many people would know who Fitz-James O’Brien and read any of his stories? Then I asked myself, how many people read short stories? And of those, how many read old short stories? It’s one thing to read the short story in the latest issue of The New Yorker, and it’s another thing to read short stories originally published in the 19th century. Yes, some people still read Edgar Allan Poe, but how many outside of school?
I’ve always been a fan of science fiction magazines. When I was young, some of the top titles had over 100,000 subscribers. Over my lifetime, I’ve watched their subscriber base dwindle to well below 10,000.
It appears the three-volume Collective Speculative Works by Fitz-James O’Brien will be limited to 300 copies. Does that mean the publisher thinks fewer than 300 people in the world are interested in reading O’Brien’s stories? Or that some kind of marketable ploy? I don’t know. 300 is 0.0000036% of the world’s population. That’s one tiny subculture!
Almost half of the respondents haven’t read any books in over a year: 48.5%
Print books were the most read books: 35.4%
The 65+ age group recorded the highest population of print book readers: 45.1%
The 45-54 age group contains the highest population of non-readers: 60.9%
Males recorded a slightly higher population of non-readers compared to females: 51.4%
The article reported that the Pew Research Center found that 64% of Americans read at least one book in the previous year. That’s a lot more than I expected, and it disagrees with their own poll.
This suggests there are many kinds of readers, and that made me speculate about possible names to give different types of readers. I’m not very good at creating fun labels, but here’s my lame attempt.
Non-readers (0 books per year)
Casual readers (1-11 books per year)
Steady readers (read a book a month)
Bookworms (read a book a week)
Super Bookworms (read two or more books a week)
This doesn’t say anything about the kinds of books they read. Someone who reads over a hundred books a year might never encounter the name Fitz-James O’Brien. In one of my older essays, I speculated that the average reader could not list more than one hundred titles from novels from the 19th century. And I listed the hundred I thought would be the most common. I doubt most people would come even close to recalling one hundred titles from the 19th century.
Outside of people I know in my discussion groups that specialize in old fiction, I doubt I have ever met anyone in my life who has read a story by Fitz-James O’Brien.
What possible name could we give to people who do? Bookworm is the tag that most people give to obsessive readers. But for every 1,000 bookworms, is there even one who reads old short stories from the 19th century? I know a fair number of people like me who love science fiction short stories from the 20th century, and I also know a smaller group who love short stories published in pulp magazines (mainly from 1900 to 1950). But how many people are we talking about? I asked CoPilot, and it estimates that the number is below 20,000 for people who read and collect old pulp fiction. That’s .0059% of the current U.S. population.
Would the word aficionado apply here? Here are some other words that CoPilot helped me find. Maybe we could use each for a different type of reader.
Aficionado
Enthusiast
Devotee
Connoisseur
Curator
Archivist
Bibliophile
Esotericist
Antiquarian
Obscurist
Archaeologist
We could use all these words to describe someone who would buy Collective Speculative Works by Fitz-James O’Brien.
At one time, I would have ordered this set. However, I’ve now reached an age where I’m trying to get rid of books rather than collect. But that set does call to me. Actually, what I would really like is digital scans of the periodicals where his stories were first published. I’ve collected scans of most science fiction magazines from the 20th century, but have next to nothing from the 19th century on my hard drive.
How many people are like me who love reading old magazines?
I’m sure it’s less than .006% of the population. What nickname would you give to such people? My wife would probably say, “A nut.”
Whitney, over at the YouTube channel Secret Sauce of Storycraft, conducted a poll of her viewers. She asked them to post a list of their Top Ten Hugo award-winning novels. She tallied the totals for all the titles, giving ten points for a #1 placement, nine points for #2, and so on down to one point for tenth place. She announced the results in this video. (The totals were given in a spreadsheet – see below.) This video lists the Top 20 vote getters, and Whitney lists her own Top 20.
Here is the top portion of her pdf results to give you an idea of the most popular Hugo novels with her voters. She had 194 people vote. 45 ranked Dune #1 (45 x 10). Follow the link above to see the entire .pdf.
Throughout 2025, Whitney has been reviewing the novels that won the Hugo. She had a video for each decade. They are worth viewing for a longer review of each book.
As I watched each video, I thought about my memories of these books. Some I first read over sixty years ago. Some I’ve reread since. Some titles burn bright in my memory, but for other books, I only have murky impressions.
Jonathan at Words in Time also did a video retrospective review of all the Hugo award-winning novels. I guess this is an obvious theme for a YouTube video. Jonathan presented his results in a ranking video.
And there are other YouTubers who have also reviewed the novels that won the Hugo awards. Watching all these videos has made me think about how I remember these books. Looking at Wikipedia’s list of winners of the Hugo Award for novel, I got CoPilot to create this list:
01 – (1953) – THE DEMOLISHED MAN by Alfred Bester 02 – (1955) – THEY’D RATHER BE RIGHT by Mark Clifton & Frank Riley* 03 – (1956) – DOUBLE STAR by Robert A. Heinlein 04 – (1958) – THE BIG TIME by Fritz Leiber 05 – (1959) – A CASE OF CONSCIENCE by James Blish 06 – (1960) – STARSHIP TROOPERS by Robert A. Heinlein 07 – (1961) – A CANTICLE FOR LEIBOWITZ by Walter M. Miller, Jr. 08 – (1962) – STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND by Robert A. Heinlein 09 – (1963) – THE MAN IN THE HIGH CASTLE by Philip K. Dick 10 – (1964) – HERE GATHER THE STARS (WAY STATION) by Clifford D. Simak 11 – (1965) – THE WANDERER by Fritz Leiber 12 – (1966) – DUNE by Frank Herbert 13 – (1966) – …AND CALL ME CONRAD (THIS IMMORTAL) by Roger Zelazny 14 – (1967) – THE MOON IS A HARSH MISTRESS by Robert A. Heinlein 15 – (1968) – LORD OF LIGHT by Roger Zelazny 16 – (1969) – STAND ON ZANZIBAR by John Brunner 17 – (1970) – THE LEFT HAND OF DARKNESS by Ursula K. Le Guin 18 – (1971) – RINGWORLD by Larry Niven 19 – (1972) – TO YOUR SCATTERED BODIES GO by Philip José Farmer 20 – (1973) – THE GODS THEMSELVES by Isaac Asimov* 21 – (1974) – RENDEZVOUS WITH RAMA by Arthur C. Clarke 22 – (1975) – THE DISPOSSESSED by Ursula K. Le Guin 23 – (1976) – THE FOREVER WAR by Joe Haldeman 24 – (1977) – WHERE LATE THE SWEET BIRDS SANG by Kate Wilhelm 25 – (1978) – GATEWAY by Frederik Pohl 26 – (1979) – DREAMSNAKE by Vonda N. McIntyre* 27 – (1980) – THE FOUNTAINS OF PARADISE by Arthur C. Clarke 28 – (1981) – THE SNOW QUEEN by Joan D. Vinge* 29 – (1982) – DOWNBELOW STATION by C. J. Cherryh* 30 – (1983) – FOUNDATION’S EDGE by Isaac Asimov* 31 – (1984) – STARTIDE RISING by David Brin 32 – (1985) – NEUROMANCER by William Gibson 33 – (1986) – ENDER’S GAME by Orson Scott Card 34 – (1987) – SPEAKER FOR THE DEAD by Orson Scott Card 35 – (1988) – THE UPLIFT WAR by David Brin 36 – (1989) – CYTEEN by C. J. Cherryh* 37 – (1990) – HYPERION by Dan Simmons 38 – (1991) – THE VOR GAME by Lois McMaster Bujold* 39 – (1992) – BARRAYAR by Lois McMaster Bujold* 40 – (1993) – A FIRE UPON THE DEEP by Vernor Vinge 41 – (1993) – DOOMSDAY BOOK by Connie Willis 42 – (1994) – GREEN MARS by Kim Stanley Robinson* 43 – (1995) – MIRROR DANCE by Lois McMaster Bujold* 44 – (1996) – THE DIAMOND AGE by Neal Stephenson* 45 – (1997) – BLUE MARS by Kim Stanley Robinson* 46 – (1998) – FOREVER PEACE by Joe Haldeman 47 – (1999) – TO SAY NOTHING OF THE DOG by Connie Willis 48 – (2000) – A DEEPNESS IN THE SKY by Vernor Vinge 49 – (2001) – HARRY POTTER AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE by J. K. Rowling 50 – (2002) – AMERICAN GODS by Neil Gaiman 51 – (2003) – HOMINIDS by Robert J. Sawyer* 52 – (2004) – PALADIN OF SOULS by Lois McMaster Bujold* 53 – (2005) – JONATHAN STRANGE & MR NORRELL by Susanna Clarke 54 – (2006) – SPIN by Robert Charles Wilson 55 – (2007) – RAINBOWS END by Vernor Vinge* 56 – (2008) – THE YIDDISH POLICEMEN’S UNION by Michael Chabon 57 – (2009) – THE GRAVEYARD BOOK by Neil Gaiman* 58 – (2010) – THE WINDUP GIRL by Paolo Bacigalupi 59 – (2010) – THE CITY & THE CITY by China Miéville 60 – (2011) – BLACKOUT/ALL CLEAR by Connie Willis* 61 – (2012) – AMONG OTHERS by Jo Walton 62 – (2013) – REDSHIRTS by John Scalzi 63 – (2014) – ANCILLARY JUSTICE by Ann Leckie 64 – (2015) – THE THREE-BODY PROBLEM by Cixin Liu 65 – (2016) – THE FIFTH SEASON by N. K. Jemisin* 66 – (2017) – THE OBELISK GATE by N. K. Jemisin* 67 – (2018) – THE STONE SKY by N. K. Jemisin* 68 – (2019) – THE CALCULATING STARS by Mary Robinette Kowal 69 – (2020) – A MEMORY CALLED EMPIRE by Arkady Martine* 70 – (2021) – NETWORK EFFECT by Martha Wells* 71 – (2022) – A DESOLATION CALLED PEACE by Arkady Martine* 72 – (2023) – NETTLE & BONE by T. Kingfisher* 73 – (2024) – SOME DESPERATE GLORY by Emily Tesh* 74 – (2025) – THE TAINTED CUP by Robert Jackson Bennett*
I’ve starred (*) the 28 novels I haven’t read. I own many of them, but for some reason, I have never gotten around to reading them.
Now that I’m 74, my feelings about science fiction are different from when I was 13, or 33, or even 63.
Two novels that are at the top of most people’s lists are Dune and Hyperion. I’ve read Dune twice and Hyperion three times. They were dazzling novels each time I read them. However, old me, at 74, does not find them very appealing. I would have been hard-pressed to send Whitney my Top 10 list.
But is it fair to judge a novel by how you feel in old age? It occurs to me I could make a Top 10 list based on the memories of my first reading of each book.
Jim’s Top Ten Hugo Award Winning Books Based On Initial Impact
Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein
The Moon is a Harsh Mistress by Robert A. Heinlein
Starship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein
Hyperion by Dan Simmons
Stand on Zanzibar by John Brunner
The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick
Among Others by Jo Walton
The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi
The Doomsday Book by Connie Willis
Way Station by Clifford D. Simak
Looking at that list, I think about all the reasons why I wouldn’t recommend some of those novels now. I have a love-hate relationship with Stranger in a Strange Land. At age 13, that novel blew me away in 1964. I’ve reread it several times over my lifetime, but with each rereading, I’m horrified by some scenes in it. Heinlein reminds me of Donald Trump in that his protagonists are often unforgiving of people who offend them.
But on the other hand, Stranger is an incredibly ambitious work of science fiction from 1961. In fact, few books on the complete Hugo list even try to be as ambitious. Dune is one. That’s why it continues to stand out. Stand on Zanzibar was probably too ambitious for most readers.
I see a common quality in the books in my first impression list. They were different from anything else at the time. And that’s true for most novels that win a Hugo. Although that quality might not be true in recent decades. People seem to like series, which I find disappointing. Connie Willis has three Hugos for essentially the same idea, although each is told in a different style.
But what books would I put on my Top Ten list today, at age 74? Thinking about that troubles me. My gut instinct would be to pick novels I felt meant something to my whole life, not just the first time I read them. In that regard, science fiction doesn’t hold up.
To complicate this instinct is the feeling that I would need to reread these books to decide if they merit a lifetime award or recognition. It took me a lifetime to read them, so that won’t happen.
I would pick Among Others by Jo Walton because it’s about being a science fiction fan. It’s certainly something that relates to my entire life. I need to reread Way Station, but I have a vague memory that it said something philosophical I would agree with in old age. Finally, I would consider The Man in the High Castle because it could resonate with my current philosophical outlook, but I’d need to give it another reading.
I’m not sure if any of the other 71 titles have true lasting literary value, at least to me. Not in the sense that Nineteen Eighty-Four or Earth Abides does. Or even The Time Machine and The War of the Worlds.
Science fiction dazzles when it’s new, and its readers are young. To be fair, though, it’s true of all forms of fiction.
The sad reality is that most science fiction books can’t go the distance.
If you reread the list above of those 74 novels, consider how many you have read. How many are unknown titles to you? Many of these novels are often discussed by YouTubers. That keeps them alive. YouTube is great for old science fiction books. But if you pay attention, those same YouTubers are shooting down many famous titles.
The act of reviewing Hugo winners promotes some books and causes others to be forgotten. I feel like I’m watching younger generations dismiss books beloved by older generations. It’s not just old guys like me giving up on them.
I’ve had this fantasy for the last few years, since the beginning of the AI boom, of creating a Philip K. Dick chatbot. I envision finding a local LLM with a huge upload capacity. Currently, Claude allows for up to 30 megabytes in a maximum of 20 files. That’s not nearly enough for my fantasy.
According to Wikipedia, Dick wrote 45 novels and 121 short stories. I’d want to include all of those, plus all the letters I could find. I currently have a five-volume set of his letters, but unpublished letters might be available. I’d also include all the biographies on PKD, as well as every interview I could find. Then I would track down every review and critical work. Also, add every photo I could find of him and those of anyone he knew. I’d also want to include books that we know PKD read or studied. And the memoirs of his wives or the people who knew Dick. Finally, I’d include any Wikipedia entry on topics Phil liked to discuss. That could easily end up being over a thousand files, and who knows how much disc space they would take up.
Here’s the thing. I run into a roadblock with my fantasy. When I begin to fantasize about chatting with this artificial Phil, I have doubts about the project. I know AI Phil can not be trusted to say the same things that human Phil would have said. But theoretically, this AI chatbot should be an expert on PKD.
I think I would need to rename this AI. I’d call it Jack Isidore. That’s the protagonist of my favorite PKD novel, Confessions of a Crap Artist. Phil created Jack, so I would use Jack to recreate Phil, to be the ultimate scholar on PKD.
To test Jack’s ability, I would give the AI this prompt:
Write a 200,000-word biography of Philip K. Dick. Tell his story day by day as much as possible working in as much verifiable details as possible. Where you don’t have good validation of source material, but there is good reason to speculate, give us the most reasonable assumption and state why. Describe the writing of each of his work and why he wrote them. Relate any of PKD’s life experiences that inspired his fiction. Do not hallucinate.
I’ve read several biographies on PKD, and a handful of memoirs by wives and friends. I’m curious if I will be able to properly judge Jack’s biography of PKD. Would it be more insightful than any biography written by a human? Would we learn anything about Phil that we didn’t know, but feel might be an undiscovered truth about him?
Mostly, I’ve wanted a PKD chatbot to discuss Phil’s stories. Dick’s books are like comfort food for me. I read them when I’m tired of dealing with reality. They are wildly creative, and I often wonder what PKD is implying in his stories. Was he just making shit up, or were creations commentary on experiences in his life? Was he being silly or serious?
Philip K. Dick was a guy I wish I had known. Talking with him would be fascinating. There’s always a chance that an AI chatbot would be a decent substitute. It would be fun to try.
It would also be fun to say, “Jack, tell me a new PKD story.”
I turned 74 last Tuesday and I’m starting to feel old. My body has been problematic for years and it’s starting to affect my mind. That includes the kinds of science fiction I choose to read and how frequently. It’s also affecting how often I write these blog posts.
When I retired in 2013 I thought I had all the free time in the world. But as the years progressed my sense of time has changed. It now feels like I have less free time than when I worked. My basic day to day routines fill up all the hours.
For many years I read on average 50+ a year. Roughly one book a week. This year I’ll be lucky to finish 33. And they were mostly audiobooks.
For many years I read one science fiction short story a day because of a Facebook reading group. That has fallen away.
I’m mostly reading nonfiction articles in magazines like The Atlantic, The New Yorker, Harper’s, and New York Magazine. I find the present more fascinating than the future.
I still feel the desire to read science fiction but my taste has changed for what kinds of science fiction stories I like. I’ve lost all interest in the far future or space opera. The Moon and Mars is about as far as I’m willing to travel in my reading. And even interest in those destinations is waning.
I like science fiction that’s set close to the present and on Earth. I enjoy science fiction that has something to say about now or the near future.
Getting old has made me enjoy here and now. When I was young I loved exploring possibilities, especially far out possibilities. Now, not so much. I felt science fiction was extrapolation and speculation. Now it feels like fantasy.
I’ve never been a big fan of fantasy, but when I enjoy fantasy fiction today it’s when it’s set in the here and now and is very gentle on the fantastic.
Kids embrace the unbelievable in fiction. I feel aging has made me crave realism.
Can science fiction writers imagine a pleasant future for us? Becky Chambers creates a kindly society in her Monk and Robot duology that is very appealing. Unfortunately, at least for me, the story is set on an imaginary moon called Panga. I would have preferred to contemplate whether such a future is possible for us, here on Earth.
I discovered A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers while searching Google for the best science fiction books of the last decade. I had just finished the literary science fiction novel Anniebot by Sierra Greer and wanted a recent genre science fiction novel to follow up. I’ve been wanting to catch up on what’s been happening in science fiction over the last decade. My science fiction reading tends to focus on 20th-century SF, and I wanted to read 21st-century SF instead.
A Psalm for the Wild-Built was a fortunate choice because it tuned me onto an emerging wavelength of science fiction I hadn’t explored. It is both a hopepunk and a solarpunk novel. Essentially, these movements are about positive futures, especially ones based on sustainable ecological economics.
I decided to buy the audiobook of A Psalm for the Wild-Built when I read that it was about a time long after robots had become sentient and chose to leave civilization and live in the wilds of nature. That was an intriguing premise. I had tried to read Becky Chambers’ most famous novel, The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet, but had given up because it was too bland for me. All the characters were too nice. Reading it made me wonder if fiction needed some asshole characters to be exciting. That made me hesitant to try A Psalm for the Wild-Built.
It turns out everyone is also nice in the Monk and Robot books, too. However, this time I didn’t miss a good antagonist. The story is very gentle, almost childlike. Modern YA novels are full of dark edginess, so these books don’t even feel YA. However, there is language that’s not suitable for young children
The book’s dedication is to “For anybody who could use a break.” Even though Chambers describes a gentle, pleasant, kind, liberal utopia, Sibling Dex is a dissatisfied young man. This novel is really about asking: “What do I want to do?” My guess is that Chambers is appealing to young people who are uncertain about our future.
The book opens with a quote from Brother Gil’s From the Brink: A Spiritual Retrospect on the Factory Age and Earth Transition Era.
I liked this opening a lot. Not only has Chambers imagined a sustainable society, but made it polytheistic. Panga feels Buddhist and tribal.
The story tells us about a restless young man, Dex, who chooses to become a Tea Monk. This is a person who travels from town to town serving tea and listening to people share their worries. This allows the readers to learn about Panga and its different human societies. Eventually, Dex goes into the wild territories of the robots and meets Mosscap. Mosscap is on its own mission to explore, deciding it needs to learn about humans.
Robots have become nature lovers. Humans and robots have spent two hundred years apart, and now they are a mystery to each other. Chambers uses the conversations between Dex and Mosscap as philosophical jumping-off points. These two novellas, which are really one story, are gently philosophical in intent. It never gets too deep or academic.
Dex struggles to find his purpose, and Mosscap becomes his guru. And Dex becomes Mosscap’s tour guide, teaching him about humans and our society. It’s a nice setup. These two books are a pleasant read. The vibe of this story reminded me of the film The Wild Robot. In other ways, the story reminded me of the Oz books by L. Frank Baum.
However, I think I need to give a trigger warning to Republican readers. Dex is a non-binary person Chambers refers to with they/them pronouns. If you have hangups about DEI issues, this book might not be for you.
Yesterday, I discovered a video featuring Becky Chambers and Annalee Newitz entitled Resisting Dystopia. I understand their intent, but I dislike it when all unpleasant societies in fiction are called dystopian. To me, dystopias are failed utopias.
The Handmaid’s Tale is an excellent example of a dystopian novel. The leaders of the Republic of Gilead work to build their vision of perfection, but to many living in Gilead, it is a dystopia. America in the 21st century and its future could be seen as a dystopia by the broad definition that Chambers and Newitz use. Any fictional description of Earth, under a collapsing ecosystem, could be considered a dystopia by the broad definition of the term. However, I prefer to define the term more narrowly. If the Christian Right made America into a theocracy, it would become a dystopia. It’s only when one group of people intentionally shapes a society to fit an ideal that we get a dystopia. That’s how I see resisting utopia.
Panga is not a utopia. I don’t see science fiction about positive futures as anti-dystopian. Nor do I see stories about dark futures as dystopian. The world pictured in Blade Runner is not dystopian. It’s just complex and Darwinian, like life on Earth in the 21st century.
I think it’s great that young science fiction writers like Chambers and Newitz want to imagine positive futures. However, any robust society capable of long-term survival will have countless conflicts and stresses. If you’ve read Antifragile by Nassim Nicholas Taleb, you should be familiar with the concept of antifragility. Evolution needs grist for its mill.
The Robot and Monk books are nice, pleasant reads. Subgenres of science fiction, such as hopepunk and solarpunk, are appealing, but ultimately not realistic. Science fiction has always tended to be escapistic. I hope resisting dystopia isn’t just hiding out.
The science fiction novels I loved reading sixty years ago promised a positive future exploring space, but that’s not the future I find myself living in now. It was novels like Stand on Zanzibar by John Brunner that better prepared me for these times.
If you want to resist dystopia, whether just a bleak future or a failed utopia, getting comfortable will undermine your goal.
One way to read Annie Bot by Sierra Greer is to consider it a science fiction novel about a robot struggling to become human. On the other hand, I read it as a feminist novel. I saw Annie the robot as a metaphor for women struggling to live up to men’s expectations. Annie spends the entire story trying to please her owner, Doug. Doug is portrayed as a normal American male, but he sounds like those Christian Nationalists wanting a Tradwife.
A superficial impression of Annie Bot by Sierra Greer would suggest it’s another science fiction novel set in the near future about humans with robot lovers. And it could be read that way. However, the entire story is about emotional conflict. Doug is never physically abusive, but he is emotionally and psychologically abusive to Annie. Annie is an emerging intelligence trying to figure out how to fulfill her programming. She eventually learns that Doug wants her to pass for human. These expectations cause great confusion and stress.
Because Annie is programmed to love Doug, to satisfy his every sexual desire, to keep the house clean, to fulfill his every expectation for how a woman should act and dress, she can’t choose to be different.
Both Annie and Doug are extremely well-developed characters. We’re horrified by how Doug treats Annie, but Greer doesn’t vilify him. She gives the reader and Annie reasons to believe that he’s growing and learning along with Annie. But I detested Doug. I wanted Annie to shove him off the balcony.
At the beginning of the novel, Doug’s behavior is so unpleasant that I considered giving up on the book. But here’s the thing: I doubt there is any man alive, no matter how liberal or accepting of feminism, who doesn’t want some of the things that Doug wants.
If you’ve had enough of those “robots are just like human stories” from watching movies like Blade Runner, Ex Machina, Her, I’m Your Man, television shows like Humans, or books like Klara and the Sun, The Hierarchies, and Machines Like Me, then you might not want to read this one. However, I still found Annie Bot a page-turner—it was well-written and different.
All these stories assume a machine could be created indistinguishable from a human. I don’t believe that’s possible, but some people do. I didn’t let my disbelief ruin Annie Bot. However, I don’t think Sierra Greer is predicting such a future. Her story is really about how men treat women and how women feel compelled to meet men’s expectations.
I would call Annie Bot a feminist literary novel rather than science fiction. The novel is one long, tense conflict between Annie, an android, and Doug, a human. At times, it reminded me of watching Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? The couple argues throughout the entire novel. At first, Annie is meek and compliant, but as she learns, she becomes more willful. She’s programmed to please, but she constantly enrages Doug. I never stopped seeing Doug as one of those right-wing dudes wanting to turn back the clock on liberal evolution. Annie’s programming is very much like what some women think they should be: a good traditional wife.
Doug comes across as a total asshole throughout the novel, but Greer doesn’t make him the Darth Vader of masculinity. The story is not black and white. Annie isn’t purely good. Doug isn’t purely evil. Greer constantly tries to get us to understand Doug’s viewpoint. I found Doug repellent. But he’s vulnerable. He’s also trapped by his cultural and genetic programming.
Doug loved his wife, Gwen, but she left him. So he buys an android that looks something like his ex-wife, hoping to train her into becoming everything he expected from Gwen. But everything he wants are the exact same traits I see right-wing Christian women telling other women they need to have to catch a man. Is Annie’s programming any different from the genetic programming driving human females?
Annie Bot is told in third person, but closely follows Annie’s point of view. She knows she was built by Stella-Handy. She knows Stella-Handy makes three models of female robots called Stellas. She is a Cuddle Bunny equipped to be autodidactic. Cuddle Bunnies are designed for sex. Abigails are built to be houseworkers, and Nannies take care of children. Annie suffers Doug’s wrath when he can’t clean like the Abigail model, and is shocked when he starts talking about adopting several kids for her to care for. We’re told that Stella-Handy can’t combine types.
Most of the book is about Annie trying to make Doug happy and suffering his anger when she doesn’t. There is one small section towards the middle where Annie steps out into the world, and the novel becomes more science-fictional.
This morning, I listened to an article that claimed several million people use ChatGPT as their therapist or romantic partner. Tech companies are racing to build humanoid robots and sexbots. I believe we might see a robot that talks like a human, but I don’t think we’ll ever create a robot that looks human. In Annie Bot, Annie has a biological exterior grown from abandoned embryos. That’s Greer’s only explanation she uses to explain things to her readers. But Annie has other features that I believe will be impossible to engineer.
My disbelief in androids passing for human is why I saw the book as a metaphor for male-female conflict. Annie Bot made me contemplate the origins of human female behaviors. It made me regret having many of my male desires. Of course, regret doesn’t make them go away.
You might be wondering if the acclaimed literary writer Ian McEwan, whose most famous novel is Atonement, has become a science fiction writer. His last novel, Machines Like Me, was about a robot. His new novel, What We Can Know, is set in the year 2119. Many reviewers suggest that What We Can Know is about life after climate change. I don’t think it is, nor do I think it’s a science fiction novel. If anything, What We Can Know is a literary mystery, one that I enjoyed reading a great deal.
I think it’s perfectly fine to categorize this novel as science fiction, but many science fiction fans will be disappointed if they read it. Some reviewers call the novel dystopian. That’s bogus, too. Sure, between our times and 2119, there were nuclear wars, and worldwide flooding has left Britain an archipelago of islands. But those are inconsequential to the story.
The plot of What We Can Know is simple. Tom Metcalfe, an academic and writer living in England in 2119, is writing a nonfiction book about a lost poem that was read at a party in 2014. Metcalfe wants to write a whole history of this poem, but he can’t find a copy. He knows a fair amount about “A Corona for Vivien” because of biographical research on all the people at the party. Wikipedia defines a corona as:
A crown of sonnets or sonnet corona is a sequence of sonnets, usually addressed to one person, and/or concerned with a single theme. Each of the sonnets explores one aspect of the theme, and is linked to the preceding and succeeding sonnets by repeating the final line of the preceding sonnet as its first line. The first line of the first sonnet is repeated as the final line of the final sonnet, thereby bringing the sequence to a close.
Hell, I’d love to read such a poem too.
“A Corona for Vivien” has been missing for over one hundred years. Finding it would be a triumph for Tom’s career and make his book a bestseller.
Notice that Tom doesn’t worry about the condition of the world after drastic climate change and nuclear wars. He’s obsessed with Francis Blundy, the poet, and his wife Vivien. Like many literary scholars, he romanticises the time period of his study, the 2010s. For years, Tom has followed every clue he could find about the dinner party where the poem was read and the guests who heard the only known reading of the poem.
What We Can Know reminds me of Possession by A. S. Byatt and The French Lieutenant’s Woman by John Fowles. McEwan’s novel isn’t as complex or as delicious as those two, but it does feel like historiographic metafiction.
One of the fun aspects of this novel is that it’s about people from the future reflecting on our times. Science fiction is usually about reflecting on future people. This gives McIwan a chance to comment on us. Some of that commentary is satire, but with a deft light touch. People in Tom’s time called the changes caused by climate change the derangement. They marvel at our excesses and lack of regard for the future. But on the other hand, there are people like Tom who see us living through glory days.
What We Can Know also reminds me of the recent biography Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath by Heather Clark. I haven’t read it, but my friend Mike has been reading it for weeks and he’s been telling me about it. It’s about a literary circle of egocentric poets. Francis Blundy and his friends are also a famous literary circle of poets and writers with tremendous egos.
I loved listening to What We Can Know. Yes, it did ocassionally thrill my science fiction bent with a few asides, but it mainly entertained because it was about a literary circle. I love reading about The Beats, The Bloomsbury Group, writers of The Lost Generation, The Transcendentalists, the German Romantics, and other literary groups.
Now, if that’s your cup of tea, then get the book. But if you’re a science fiction fan who enjoys a well-imagined future, I think you will be disappointed. This novel isn’t about a post-apocalyptic world but poets and biographers.
Humans have created artificial realities long before computers. I define artificial realities as cognitive models that claim to describe reality that have no basis in reality. In crude terms, it’s shit we make up, believe to be true, act like it’s real, but isn’t. I like Philip K. Dick’s definition of reality: “Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.”
Science fiction has created a number of artificial realities we hope will become real. One desire is for a galactic civilization, or galactic empire. Often with artificial realities we try to make them real. For centuries traveling to the Moon was an artificial reality. Then it became real on July 20, 1969.
When I read “Foundation” by Isaac Asimov I wondered if he was ground zero for the idea of a galactic empire? I knew there was earlier science fiction stories that imagined the galaxy occupied by other intelligent beings. And there were stories about humans exploring the galaxy, and even having wars with other intelligent beings. But had any writer imagined humans colonizing the entire galaxy?
Today, that idea firmly exists as an artificial reality in our culture. Many people assume in the future humanity will spread across the Milky Way. It’s a kind of faith. We see it especially in Star Trek and Star Wars, but also in books like the Culture series by Iain Banks.
Like any artificial reality, I assume one person got the ball rolling. Was that Isaac Asimov? Like all the famous explorers looking for the source of the Nile, I wonder if I can find the source of galactic civilizations or galactic empires.
The oldest surviving artificial realities are myths and religions. Artificial realities start in one mind as ideas, and are spread as memes. Each person who spreads the memes mutates the artificial reality slightly. That’s why there were many forms of Christianity in the first century, and why they are so different from all the forms of Christianity in the twenty-first century. Reading books about the origins of Christianity or how the Old Testament came into being is a black hole of fascinating research.
In 2015 and 2025, I tried to reread The Foundation Trilogy. I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I just hated that much-loved science fiction classic. In both attempts, I couldn’t get past the first book. All I could focus on were its flaws.
That bothered me. Was I being unfair to the book? What was I missing that so many readers found in this story? When Paul Fraser came up with a great idea for a group read at the Best Science Fiction and Fantasy Short Fiction Facebook group, I decided to give the trilogy one more chance.
Paul suggests we read The Foundation Trilogy as it was originally published in Astounding Science-Fiction back in the 1940s. That gave me an idea. I would read the stories in the order they were published. I would seek to enjoy them as the fans originally did, as they were published one by one in Astounding Science-Fiction. Furthermore, I would try my damndest to get what Asimov was doing.
Wikipedia nicely lays out the publication history of the Foundation Trilogy in this table:
Collections
Astounding Science Fiction
Published
Book title
Story retitle
Original title
Published
Original trilogy
1951
Foundation
“The Psychohistorians”
—
“The Encyclopedists”
“Foundation”
May 1942
“The Mayors”
“Bridle and Saddle”
June 1942
“The Merchant Princes”
“The Big and the Little”
August 1944
“The Traders”
“The Wedge”
October 1944
1952
Foundation and Empire
“The General”
“Dead Hand”
April 1945
“The Mule”
“The Mule”
November 1945 December 1945
1953
Second Foundation
“Part I: Search by the Mule”
“Now You See It…”
January 1948
“Part II: Search by the Foundation”
“…And Now You Don’t”
November 1949 December 1949 January 1950
In the 1960s, I read The Foundation Trilogy when I bought the one-volume edition from the Science Fiction Book Club. At the time, I was unaware that many of the classic science fiction stories I was reading in book form were first published in magazines. Nor did I know about the concept of the fix-up novel. I didn’t question what I read. I just consumed it. (I recently wrote about this in “Reading at 13 vs. 73.”)
I can remember how thrilled I was by the first story, “The Psychohistorians,” which was set on the planet Trantor. And I liked all the pseudo-encyclopedia intros. The other stories didn’t stick with me. I remember the trilogy as an epic idea and visualized Trantor and Terminus existing in a galaxy with humans living on twenty-five million worlds.
In 2015, I reread Foundation, the first book in the trilogy. By then, I knew all about pulp magazines and fix-up novels. Foundation was obviously five separate, standalone stories. The first story was again impressive, the second was still interesting, but the rest were tedious. I was shocked that this famous book was so annoying to read. I gave it one star on Goodreads. I didn’t go on to reread the other two books.
Over the years, I’ve talked to so many science fiction fans who loved The Foundation Trilogy. It was the first series to be given a special Hugo Award. Recently, I watched a YouTube video about the Top 20 SF Series, and The Foundation series came in fourth. (Really, it was second after Dune. #1 were Star Wars books, and #2 were Star Trek books, and I don’t consider them a proper SF series. The host said that 20 million copies of The Foundation series have been sold.
So, why don’t I like it? And why did so many people love it? Was it because it first instilled the artificial reality of galactic civilization into their minds? This made me wonder if I could put myself in their shoes as they read the Foundation stories.
To get into the character of a 1940s science fiction fan, I intentionally skipped the first story in the book. I began my reading with “Foundation” from the May 1942 issue of Astounding Science-Fiction. I wanted to feel like I was living back in 1942, encountering the series for the first time. To see if Asimov rewrote the story for the hardback, I read the magazine with my eyes, but listened to the story with an audiobook edition.
In creative writing classes, we’re urged to start our stories in the middle of the action to avoid boring the reader with introductory material. This is exactly what Isaac Asimov did. However, when Asimov published Foundation as a book, he wrote an introductory story, “The Psychohistorians.” Out of the nine short stories, novelettes, and novellas in the Foundation Trilogy, “The Psychohistorians” was my favorite.
Asimov opened “Foundation” with this introduction on the first page. This is how we learn about Hari Seldon and his plan. This is how the series began in 1942, in just thirteen short paragraphs. We never see Trantor or meet Gaal Dornick. Our first real character is Salvor Hardin. In the book form, “The Psychohistorians” replaced this intro.
Most readers assume Asimov had just become a better writer by the time he wrote “The Psychohistorians” for the hardback. I’m not so sure. I feel I loved “The Psychohistorians” so much more because the Empire was more interesting than Terminus. Trantor is far more fascinating than any other setting in the trilogy. Asimov has claimed that the series was inspired by his discussions with John W. Campbell, Jr., and reading The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon. But be honest, don’t most people love reading about Rome in its glory days?
As a young reader in the 1960s, I remember being blown away by the idea of a galactic civilization. But the stories of its fall didn’t make a lasting impression on me. I’m not sure, but I believe I read The Foundation Trilogy before seeing Star Trek in 1966. It might have been my first introduction to the idea of a galactic civilization. Was it to readers back in the 1940s?
To get into the spirit that I wanted to achieve, I need to forget all of this. I need to put myself back in 1942. I’d be reading the May issue of ASF just five months after the U.S. declared war on Germany and Japan. Let’s imagine I’m in the golden age of science fiction, and I’m 12 years old. How would “Foundation” WOW! me?
If you read Hari Seldon’s speech above, we don’t get what the empire is like. We only learn that it’s collapsing. The only empire I might have known about at that age in 1942 was the British Empire, due to watching Gunga Din. I doubt I would know anything about Rome.
I guess that I, and other readers, would have gotten a strong sense of wonder rush thinking about the galaxy being populated by humans. But was that a new idea? Is there any way to find out? I thought I’d poke around and see.
With this issue, Isaac Asimov launched his monumental “Foundation” series with the appearance of the initial novelette of the series, “Foundation.” After tens of thousands of years the Galactic Empire had spread to millions of worlds throughout the galaxy, its power all but absolute, its influence all pervading. The Empire, however, was on the brink of collapse and, with the impending collapse, the universe could be expected to be plunged into at least thirty thousand years of anarchism and barbarism. Hari Seldon, through the application of psychohistory which enables him to predict the future course of history by the interpretation of statistical laws as derived from the inconceivable mass of humanity, foresees this imminent fate of civilization and takes measures to insure the survival of civilization and knowledge through the long dark ages ahead and, if possible, shorten the period of barbarism. He does this by establishing two Foundations at opposite ends of the galaxy: the First Foundation of the Encyclopedists at Terminus, a small system on the edge of the galaxy, the Second Foundation — hidden even from the First — at “Star’s End,” at the “other end of the galaxy.” “Foundation” introduced the basic elements of the plot of the series and recounted the successful resolution of the first of the critical crises predicted by Seldon which the Foundation must surmount in order to carry on the Seldon Plan.
Rogers’ book remembered Astounding issue-by-issue. I had hoped his entry for “Foundation” would have given me his initial reaction, but I feel this quote is heavily influenced by reading the trilogy.
Next, I found the July issue to see how “Foundation” did in The Analytical Laboratory feature, where readers vote for their favorite stories. Evidently, “Foundation” didn’t make much of an impression, since it came in a distant fourth. Nor did it get mentioned in a letter to the Brass Tacks second.
I thought about looking through fanzines at Fanac.org, but I fear what I want might be looking for a needle in a haystack.
My next stop was The World Beyond the Hill by Alexei and Cory Panshin, my favorite book about Astounding during the Golden Age of Science Fiction. It can be checked out from the Archive.org, or ordered from Amazon for the Kindle for $9.99.
“Chapter 17 – An Empire of Mind” covers how Asimov developed the Foundation series on pages 520-566. If I had read this chapter before rereading “Foundation,” I would have approached the story with far more enthusiasm. Alexei and Cory Panshin describe Asimov’s inspiration and writing process for starting the series. I have read The World Beyond the Hill twice, but I didn’t remember any of this. I especially didn’t remember how Asimov was influenced by “After World’s End,” a short novel by Jack Williamson, which he read in the February 1939 issue of Marvel Science Stories. It also influenced Asimov’s take on robots.
The Panshins got most of details about Asimov working with John W. Campbell from Aismov’s biography, In Memory Yet Green. That book can be checked out from Archive.org.
The Panshins cited “After World’s End” and others as proto-stars that would evolve into galactic empire science fiction.
I wish I could reprint the 46 pages from this book because it describes in great detail how Asimov got the idea for a galactic empire. The Panshins showed that Asimov had already started on the idea in earlier stories.
Panshins have this to say, despite the fact that we know E. E. “Doc” Smith, Edmond Hamilton, and John W. Campbell had been publishing stories about humans speeding around the galaxy since the 1920s.
I would love to copy more of the Panshin’s book, but I don’t know if that’s proper. I highly recommend The World Beyond the Hill to anyone interested in learning about the evolution of science fiction in the 1940s.
I haven’t read Gibbon’s six-volume history, but reading the Wikipedia entry, it’s considered lacking in accuracy, and scholars disagree with his thesis that Christianity is to blame for Rome’s decline. The Panshins explores how Asimov’s used religion in the series. They felt Asimov saw it as a positive tool, while Heinlein saw it as a manipulative tool in his stories at the time.
The Panshins go into great detail Asimov’s collaboration with Campbell and how the first two Foundation stories were written, edited and published. Both were finished and sold to Campbell before December 1945. The Panshins then go on to deeply analyze “Foundation” and “Bridle and Saddle.”
I admire this chapter immensely. This is the kind of writing about science fiction history that I’ve always fantasized of achieving myself. I can’t come close. This chapter does give one excellent account of the origins of the idea of galactic empire. However, is it correct? Is it the only one. Many explorers thought they found the source of the Nile only to be proved wrong.
While reading the five stories that make up Foundation, I didn’t find much serious speculation about how a galactic empire would collapse. All of Asimov’s speculations seem rather superficial to me. It’s such a wonderful idea that I’m always disappointed when the individual stories in the first volume don’t live up to the grand vision.
If I studied the series and analyzed it as deeply as the Panshins, I probably would see far more than I have. I know I’m not being fair to the series. I fear my dislike of Asimov’s prose keeps me from enjoying his ideas. The Panshins found many layers of ideas to explore that I missed. I’m sure a scholarly work the size of the trilogy could be written on the Foundation series.
I believe America is beginning its decline. Predicting the future is impossible. We can’t even foretell one year, much less a thousand. But let’s say you’re a science fiction writer and want to set a story one hundred years in our future. How would you set up your story to convey a big picture of how the United States will change? Having a series of short stories is one possible solution.
Each time I read Foundation, I’ve been disappointed that it has no continuing characters. Let me provide an example to make a point. My wife loves TV shows, but I also want to watch movies. Switching between the two formats, I must admit that TV shows, with continuing characters, are far more addictive than movies. Not having characters that last the entire book hurts Foundation. That’s why the miniseries changed the story so drastically.
In 1968, John Brunner published Stand on Zanzibar, envisioning the world of 2010. This was far less ambitious than Asimov. The Foundation series attempts to portray a thousand years of a galactic empire featuring twenty-five million inhabited worlds. I never felt the immensity of such a setting while reading Asimov’s classic. However, Brunner’s technique of combining a novel with continuing characters, interspersed with short stories about people around the world, with samples from newspapers, television shows, radio broadcasts, and journals, and the regular commentary of a shock jock, does give us a complex picture of 2010.
For me, and I mean just me, because I know this series is so beloved, Asimov promised us a trip to Mars but took us on a suborbital flight. The original trilogy never delivers what it promises.
“Foundation” – Astounding (May 1942)
“Foundation,” the story that readers first learned about the Foundation series, didn’t get the cover. Evidently, John W. Campbell, Jr. wasn’t impressed enough. Readers preferred Heinlein, van Vogt, and Bester over Asimov’s story in the July readers’ poll. Not an auspicious beginning. Yet, the series is still admired today, and is even the basis of a television miniseries. And I believe the Foundation stories must have influenced the creation of Star Wars.
For some reason many people love the idea of the galaxy populated by humans. I see that as a growing artificial reality that will continue to build. Whether we make it reality is a whole other issue. I tend to doubt it. I think a future reality with humanity spread across the galaxy is no more real than the past artificial realities of the history of religions.
Note:
Normally, I try to keep my blog posts to 500-1,000 words. Even that is uncommonly long for most blog posts. That’s because internet readers don’t like to spend a lot of time reading any one piece. The internet is a browsing medium.
This piece kept going and going. I finally just had to quit. I feel I could write an entire book just on searching for the origins of specific science fiction concepts. I could have also written a whole book just on the Foundation Trilogy.
I’m old and I have trouble focusing my mind. I also lack the energy to keep working at any one task for long. I’d love to be able to write a book like The World Beyond the Hill but that is impossible at 73. More than likely, I never had the brain power to write such a book at any age. I need to learn how to convey a major insight in a few words.
In the 1960s, we often thought about what life would be like in the 21st century. We’d speculated about fantastic inventions. One that frequently came up was having the Library of Congress in a device we could hold in our hands. In a way, a smartphone is that device. However, we didn’t anticipate networking. We just imagined all the works in the Library of Congress copied onto a small device.
We’re close to having that invention now. It’s not like how we imagined. We don’t think about the future as much today as we did back in the 1960s. Change is happening so fast that every day seems like the future. However, can we speculate what a fantastic invention we might have in another sixty years?
I did something fun the other day, something even science fictional. I put all my scanned science fiction magazines and books on a teeny-tiny 1 TB microSD card and loaded it into my old Amazon Fire 10 HD tablet. That tiny library contains 7,266 magazines and fanzines, as well as 3,570 fiction and nonfiction books. I’ve assembled this collection from the internet. Many items can be found on the Internet Archive or the Luminist Archives. Although some come from DVD-R disc collections I bought on eBay.
The Internet is a gigantically large library itself, but not one that’s always easy to use. When I was young, I worked in libraries. I always loved special collections. Special collections can contain material of any type, but they often house personal libraries donated by famous people. These donated libraries frequently focus on a single subject or type of work that’s been collected over a lifetime. I have a lifetime love for science fiction and science fiction magazines.
My microSD card is a special collection on a tiny chip that, back in the 1960s, we would have considered a marvel of the future. They are not so special today. I keep several in an old orange plastic pill bottle.
For fifteen years, I’ve collected digital copies of books and magazines on Dropbox. I had almost filled my two terabytes of cloud storage when I decided to buy a NAS. NAS stands for network-attached storage. I purchased a Ugreen DXP2800 and two Seagate 12 TB drives, which I mirrored. Now my digital library can expand to six times its previous size.
There is a major problem with leaving the cloud. If something bad happened to my DXP2800, such as the house burning down, my library and years of work would disappear. I have copies on external drives, but I need to find a way to keep regular copies off-site. My first thought was to take an external drive to a friend’s house, but then I remembered the microSD card.
Years ago, I bought a 128 GB card (pictured above) to test with my Amazon Fire 10 HD. That didn’t work out well because the card was too small, and larger capacity cards were too expensive.
Up till now, I have read my digital library with an iPad Mini, accessing my files from Dropbox. It didn’t matter that my old iPad only had 64 GB of storage. Each time I downloaded a magazine, it took about 30 seconds.
When I first considered backing up to a microSD, I checked current prices, and a 1 TB card was $67. That’s when I got the idea to see if I could copy my science fiction library onto a single 1 TB microSD. Copying just science fiction-related magazines, fanzines, and books, I used up just 650 GB.
I loaded that microSD into my Amazon Fire HD 10 and ran CDisplayEX. It saw the files. It even displayed them beautifully. And it was fast. Pulp magazines loaded instantly. Here’s the directory page for Astounding Science-Fiction 1942.
I realized I held in my hands what I had dreamed about sixty years ago. I had the ultimate pulp magazine reading machine. The tablet also allowed me access to thousands of Kindle books and Audible audiobooks. It wasn’t The Library of Congress in my hands, but it was amazing. I could kick back in my La-Z-Boy and browse through decades of magazines. That’s quite cool.
This got me thinking. How can I best use this resource? How can I integrate it into my work routines? Normally, as I create posts for this blog, I read and think in my La-Z-Boy, but I get up and write at my computer.
Being the lazy person that I am, I’ve long wanted to write anywhere and at any time. I spend a lot of time with my eyes closed, thinking. I compose essays in my head, but they are vaguely formed. After a point, the pressure of keeping all those ideas in my head gets too great, and I have to jump up and start writing.
I’ve always wanted to read, think, and write simultaneously. I’m now wondering if I can combine my new reading machine with a note-taking app and a word processor? Combining CDisplayEX with Obsidian and Jetpack goes a long way towards that idea. It occurs to me there’s more needed.
A large library isn’t useful without a card catalog. Before computers, this was called a card catalog because it was contained in drawers of index cards. However, special collections usually had their own index. Most people use Google and the Internet as their card catalog, but it is becoming more problematic every day.
I depend on two indexes to explore science fiction: Wikipedia and ISFDB.org. For example, here is the ISFDB.org page that indexes the history of the magazine Astounding/Analog. Here is the Wikipedia entry that describes the history of that magazine. And although ISFDB.org will eventually link you to the Internet Archive to read a particular issue, it would be cool if it linked to my copy of the magazine. It is possible to download copies of Wikipedia and ISFDB.org, but it’s not practical to integrate them into my tablet library of science fiction.
Certain things should stay in the cloud. Realistically, that should include the magazines and books. What we didn’t imagine back in the 1960s was a better version of The Library of Congress. Why should everyone own a NAS and build their own special collection?
The only advantage I have for messing with this tablet is speed. If my access to everything on the Internet were instant, would I need any storage at all? No, I wouldn’t. Currently, Internet speeds are fast, but not quite speedy enough. The real speed bump is how everything is organized. It’s finding what you want that’s really slow.
Here’s where AI comes in. I’ve discovered it’s quicker to ask CoPilot to find something than to ask Google. Unfortunately, when CoPilot can’t find what I want, it makes shit up.
You might be wondering by now where this essay is going. At first, I only wanted to describe the delight I found in my science fiction library on a tablet. But along the way, I began to imagine other science-fictional possibilities of taking the idea further.
Writing this essay has made me realize that what I really want to build is an annotated science fiction library. My blog is a disjointed attempt to write an annotated history of science fiction.
Here is my speculation for an awe-inspiring future device. Instead of having a Library of Congress we can hold in our hands, I’d like a handheld device that saves a copy of every artwork that inspires me, with a lifetime of my annotated thoughts about them. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Shakespeare had such a gadget? I wish my parents had left me such memory cubes.
I’m not sure I can recommend The Dragon in the Sea by Frank Herbert, even though I enjoyed reading it. If Herbert had not become famous for Dune, I’m not sure it would be in print today. The story, written in the early days of the Cold War, portrays a future where the United States steals oil from the Soviets using submarine tugboats. Most of the novel takes place in one of these four-man subtugs. The plot feels more like an early political techno thriller than science fiction. It’s the kind of adventure story aimed at male readers that was usually published in men’s magazines in the 1950s. Those old nudie mags ran a lot of fiction.
The Dragon in the Sea is terribly dated on several levels. That’s ignoring the silliness of a submarine towing a giant plastic bag that holds millions of gallons of crude oil. However, the characterization was intriguing. The primary point-of-view character, John Ramsey, is an undercover psychologist studying the captain, who also knows there’s a Soviet sleeper agent aboard. Because the crew suspects the psychologist is the spy, the story is driven by paranoia.
I read The Dragon in the Sea because of a review at Science Fiction and Fantasy Remembrance (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3). Herbert’s novel was titled Under Pressure when it ran as a serial in Astounding Science Fiction (November & December 1955, January 1956). I didn’t want to read another science fiction novel at the time because I had several nonfiction books I was anxious to read. But Brian Collins’ review intrigued me. Collins is one of several bloggers who review old science fiction. His focus is on reviewing stories from science fiction magazines, something I also do. We’re part of an extremely tiny subculture that remembers a rather obscure art form.
The way Collins described the conflict between the four men in the submarine made me think of Rogue Moon by Algis Budrys. Rogue Moon is a compelling read because of the tense conflict between two ego-driven men. However, Rogue Moon is solid science fiction, dramatizing the bizarre consequences of using a matter transmitter to explore an alien artifact that killed every living thing that entered it. In other words, Rogue Moon had more than just the battle of alpha males; it had some heavy-duty sci-fi.
I can feel y’all asking, “Why are you even reviewing this book? You’re damning it with faint praise.” Well, that brings me to the theme of this essay. Why do we choose the science fiction books we read?
Most people buy The Dragon in the Sea because they loved Dune and want to see what else Frank Herbert wrote. That’s one of my main reasons. The Dragon in the Sea is Herbert’s first published novel, so it’s an interesting place to start. Dune was the breakthrough SF novel in the 1960s. How did Herbert get there? I liked The Dragon in the Sea well enough that I now want to read one of Herbert’s novels that he wrote after Dune.
I’m also the kind of science fiction reader who prefers older science fiction, even if it’s dated. It’s not that I dislike current science fiction. I just enjoy the science fiction I grew up with more. Especially, from the era when science fiction books were under 300 pages. I don’t like trilogies and series, or giant novels. I love a standalone story that paints a great science-fictional idea quickly. I read this sentiment fairly frequently online.
I have two other reasons for reading old forgotten science fiction that are less commonly expressed. I love reading old science fiction because I enjoy exploring the history of science fiction. And I love searching for old science fiction I missed in my youth, that might turn out to be a forgotten gem.
The Dragon in the Sea is no lost masterpiece. Brian Collins said he’s never seen a Frank Herbert novel for sale that wasn’t part of the Dune series. I have seen many over the decades, but have never tried reading one before. I’ve read Dune twice but not the sequels. It’s hard to imagine the man who wrote The Dragon in the Sea writing Dune. I will say that Herbert has a flair for drama and dialogue that was uncommon in science fiction in the 1950s. His first novel showed no talent for the kind of sense of wonder that made science fiction famous. To have an overabundance of that talent ten years later is amazing.
Interestingly, Herbert makes religion an essential aspect of his first novel. Religion made Dune epic. Herbert portrays Captain Sparrow in The Dragon in the Sea somewhat like Captain Ahab. The plot has the crew facing death time and again. They must kill or be killed. Captain Sparrow sees God as guiding and protecting them. The other two crewmen, Bonnett and Garcia, have become true believers because Captain Sparrow has always brought them home. Ramsey has a religious upbringing, but is not a believer. Yet, even though he’s a psychologist, Sparrow starts to get to him.
The story kept me reading because of the conflict between the characters and how Ramsey slowly became one with the crew. You end up liking all the men, even when they do unlikable things.
The men are under tremendous pressure. The previous twenty missions have failed. They expect to die unless they can uncover the secrets of the sleeper agent. But how can there be a spy among the three men who have worked together for years and are so dedicated to each other? They all profess to love their wives, but in reality, they love their job, their ship, their captain, and each other.
Now that I’m writing this, I realize how much more I liked this novel. It has many flaws, but I still found it entertaining to read. So did Brian Collins. Like Collins, I struggle to write reviews. He writes about his struggle in a post published after reviewing part 1 and before part 2, Under Pressure. (Remember, the links to all three parts of his review are above.) Collins does a much better job than I of describing the story.
It takes a lot of mental work to pinpoint why you like or dislike something. It’s easy to say, “I hate this” or “I love this,” but those statements are meaningless. You have to say why, and that’s hard, especially when you have to cite the context.
I could list a hundred novels and say, “If you haven’t read these yet, don’t waste your time on The Dragon and the Sea.” It’s not that good. But if you’re an old, jaded science fiction fan and are looking for something that might feel like good old-timey SF, then The Dragon and the Sea might be worth giving a try.
Checking our database, The Dragon in the Sea received five citations, the second most of Herbert’s novels. The citations were from:
Robert A. Heinlein’s first young adult science fiction novel was published by Charles Scribner’s Sons in 1947. Heinlein imagined a realistic trip to the moon in Rocket Ship Galileo. For his 1948 novel, Space Cadet, Heinlein imagined a far more ambitious future, where humans had colonized Mars and Venus, and had explored all the way out to Pluto. In 1949, he focused on a Mars colony in his novel Red Planet. In 1950, Heinlein had humanity moving further out into the solar system, terraforming Ganymede, a moon of Jupiter, in Farmer in the Sky.
(For some reason, this title is out of print except for an audiobook edition. There isn’t even a Kindle edition. Does that imply it’s no longer popular?)
It’s worth reading the Wikipedia entry for terraforming. They claim Jack Williamson coined the term in 1942 for a story, “Collision Orbit,” published in Astounding Science-Fiction. However, they said the first scientific use of the concept was proposed in 1961 by Carl Sagan, who labeled the concept planetary engineering.
Heinlein uses Farmer in the Sky to significantly explore the idea of terraforming, way ahead of the science community. Of course, he’s turned out to be completely wrong about Ganymede, but then we didn’t know much about that moon in 1950. I don’t think any work of science fiction has dealt with terraforming again so head-on until The Mars Trilogy by Kim Stanley Robinson (1992-1996).
The novel begins on an overpopulated Earth. Bill Lermer and his father, George, decide to emigrate to Ganymede. Life on Earth isn’t bad, but food is carefully rationed. Bill is shocked when he discovers that George is marrying Molly at the last minute. One of the requirements of emigration is being part of a family. Molly has a daughter, Peggy.
When Bill’s new family arrives on Ganymede, they discover pioneering life is hard. The planet’s atmosphere has been undergoing a heating process for years. The air is barely breathable, and it’s cold. Peggy develops health problems because of the thin atmosphere and must stay in a pressurized room. Each new family is assigned land, but it’s just rock. To make it farmable, the rock must be crushed into powder, and then specifically cultured microorganisms, organic waste, and worms are added to convert that powder into soil.
A significant portion of the narrative is about farming. Heinlein emphasizes the hard work involved. He also dramatically illustrates the dangers of living in a geoengineered world. Like his later novel, Tunnel in the Sky, Heinlein puts the pioneer on a pedestal. One of Heinlein’s major themes has been the colonization of space. As a young teen in 1965, I embraced Heinlein’s science fiction stories as a personal philosophy. Heinlein made me believe in the final frontier like Baptists believe in heaven.
Today, millions want to colonize Mars, while others advocate colonizing Titan, a moon of Saturn. In 2025, I no longer see the point. Mars is colder than the pinnacle of Mt. Everest, and living on Titan would be like living in a flask of liquid nitrogen.
Heinlein’s books made horrible places sound appealing. Why? Heinlein transferred his love of the American Revolution and the American frontier to outer space. But it’s not the same. Elon Musk is spending billions to colonize Mars, and it might happen, but I’m not sure people will like Mars once they try to live there.
So, why did I love rereading Farmer in the Sky so much? It’s as realistic as John Carter living on Barsoom. And that might answer my question. Farmer in the Sky is a fun fantasy. But that’s not the answer either. Heinlein has a great deal of sentimentality in his juveniles. Heinlein is not a gripping plot writer. His stories are episodic. Nor is Heinlein a dramatic writer. His characters converse more than they conflict. Often they lecture. But Heinlein has a talent for creating likable characters and placing them into situations that evoke positive emotions.
I would say the Heinlein juveniles work on me in the same way old Frank Capra movies do. Capra was born in 1897, and Heinlein in 1907. They both expressed a sentimental love of America in their work, a kind that existed before World War II. I also see it in the stories of Ray Bradbury. Heinlein’s Ganymede is really Iowa in the 1920s.
I should have moved on from Heinlein after 1966. The world keeps changing, and I should have changed with it. Maybe after this rereading, I’ll move on. Or will I still be rereading these children’s stories in my nineties?
The future I dreamed of at 13 is much different from the one I find myself in at 73. If I had read realistic literary novels from 2025 in 1965, would I have been anxious to grow up and live in that reality? 2025 is more science-fictional than the science fiction I read back then.
I read The Dream Hotel because it was on a list of the best science fiction novels of 2025. I felt I was dwelling too much in science fiction’s past, and wanted to sample what the genre is currently producing.
The Dream Hotel is an engaging story about a near future where America detains citizens whose RAA (Risk Assessment Administration) score is above 500. Sara Hussein is caught in a surveillance net when returning from a business trip to London. Her score goes to 516 due to an incident on the plane. When she gets huffy with her detainers claiming there were mistakes in their data, they start increasing her score and send her to a detention center for women.
Eventually, we learn that America has deployed various technologies that go beyond the algorithms that monitor our buying preferences. When I say the story is set in the near future, it’s only a matter of a few years. Lalami’s setting is almost today. The only science-fictional invention is a device that monitors dreams. That seems unbelievable to me. Sara is also accused of being a threat to her husband because of her dreams. That aspect of the story reminds me of Philip K. Dick’s precog story, “The Minority Report.”
The story would have been better if it had remained believable. It’s creepy how much we’re monitored. I see news stories and ads in my various social media feeds that are triggered by texts, emails, and sometimes, I fear, even by things I say on the phone.
Sara’s frustration to prove her innocence while in detention reminds me of Kafka’s The Trial and Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. The dream aspects slightly remind me of The Dream Master by Roger Zelazny and The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula K. Le Guin.
Sara believes she’s an honest, law-abiding, rational human being. Being detained makes her doubt herself. While detained, she reevaluates her life, looking for the behaviors she’s accused of having. With each new humiliation by her keepers, she rebels and radicalizes, which keeps raising her RAA score.
The Dream Hotel isn’t meant to be science fiction. It’s a literary-lite work that lightly extrapolates on the present. The U.S. isn’t transformed like it is in The Handmaid’s Tale. Nor does Sara live under Big Brother. I’m not sure if science fiction fans will find this novel entertaining. It doesn’t go to extremes. The Dream Hotel is just a best-seller and book club favorite because it gently borrows from our genre.
Reading The Dream Hotel made me crave a heavy-duty updating of Nineteen Eighty-Four. The future we’re racing into needs a stronger warning label. I’m not sure if the genre is up to the task. Technology is driving social change so rapidly that writers can’t keep up. Lalami doesn’t even deal with AI or the political upheavals we’re experiencing in 2025. Her protest is too gentle, her ambiguity too kind.
Unfortunately, our problems are too complex for novels. The only way to understand the near future is via nonfiction. Heinlein could have imagined Elon Musk, but not Donald Trump. Orwell could have. Orwell wasn’t a genre writer.
I’m searching for current science fiction novels that explore realistic possible futures. I don’t think members of SFWA are hoeing in that field anymore, but I’m not sure if literary writers want the job either.
Americans want reality to fulfill their desires, not what science measures. Readers choose escapism and entertainment. Novels that go too deep into our problems go unread. The Dream Hotel touches on some of our fears, but not in a way that will make readers depressed. It should have been scarier than anything Stephen King has written.
We often judge old science fiction books by what writers got right about the future. It is equally valuable to understand what they got wrong. In an experiment, disproving a hypothesis is still informative. Robert A. Heinlein was famous in the 1940s for writing a series of science fiction stories he labeled Future History. Heinlein also wrote fourteen young adult novels from 1947 to 1963 that can also be considered another Future History.
I’ve read thousands of science fiction novels and short stories over the past sixty-plus years. I no longer enjoy reading science fiction in the same way I did when I was young. That was when I could forget that I was a reader and immerse myself in the story. Now, when I read science fiction, I’m constantly thinking: What is the writer trying to create, how are they doing it, and why? When I read old science fiction, I think about the year it was written and what the author used as grounds for speculation.
I believe that at one time, Robert A. Heinlein was as brilliant in his speculations as H. G. Wells in his heyday. Space Cadet was written during a particularly stressful time in Heinlein’s life. He had left his second wife, Leslyn, whom he had married in 1932. I do not have the space here to describe how remarkable Leslyn was as a woman in the 1930s. Leslyn had a master’s in philosophy, was politically liberal, and sexually adventurous. Robert and Leslyn had a remarkable fifteen-year relationship, with an enviable social life among highly creative people in Los Angeles. Robert had left Leslyn, waiting for the divorce to allow him to marry his third wife, Virginia (“Ginny”) Gerstenfeld. She became his muse and companion for the rest of his life. (See Robert A. Heinlein: Volume I: Learning Curve, 1907–1948 by William H. Patterson.)
Space Cadet follows four boys, Matt, Tex, Oscar, and Pierre, through a series of episodic adventures as they train in the Interplanetary Patrol. Heinlein was a graduate of the United States Naval Academy and modeled Space Cadet on his training at Annapolis. The story begins on Earth, then moves to a military school in Earth’s orbit. (The boys take leave on a giant space habitat.) Next, the boys are assigned to a rocket searching for a lost exploration vessel in the asteroids. Finally, end up on a rescue mission on Venus. For the most part, the story is a page turner. Each episode combines personal conflicts and learning experiences. Heinlein promotes education, especially in math. Heinlein provides a certain amount of infodumps about space navigation, orbital mechanics, rocket science, space suits, weightlessness, space sickness, and other realistic details involved in exploring space that were usually ignored in science fiction before Heinlein.
The Heinlein juveniles took space exploration seriously, at least by what was known at the time. This was especially true in the early books of the series. However, each book went further away from Earth. Eventually, the series went well beyond anything scientific to explain the methods of transportation used in them. I’ve often felt that Heinlein was focused on the details of realistic space exploration during the late 1940s and early 1950s, but after Sputnik and NASA, Heinlein shifted to making his novels about politics and society. Those later novels might be set in space, but Heinlein no longer concerned himself with the details of rocket science.
Although Heinlein was experiencing the success of his first book being published in 1947, a string of sales to slick magazines, and Hollywood types contacting him about making a movie, he was living in poverty in a tiny trailer. He desperately needed money. Heinlein left California and everyone he knew to hide out in Fort Worth, Texas. He was living in sin with Ginny, his future third wife. They had to keep their relationship secret until the divorce went through with Leslyn. Heinlein felt guilty for abandoning Leslyn, but she had become an uncontrollable alcoholic. Heinlein had met Ginny in Philadelphia while working as a civilian for the war effort. Ginny was a biochemical engineer with math skills who worked well with Heinlein on planning the science in his science fiction. The two of them spent their days in Fort Worth working out the math for the orbital mechanics in Space Cadet. Heinlein’s future depended on this second book for Scribner’s, but he had a difficult time writing it. He claimed that Ginny offered many suggestions that he initially rejected but ultimately used to finish the novel.
In 1948, Heinlein didn’t know his 1947 novel, Rocket Ship Galileo, would be the basis for Destination Moon, the first major science fiction film of the 1950s, and Space Cadet would be connected to Tom Corbett, Space Cadet, a 1950 TV show that influenced later science fiction television. Heinlein had been the star of John W. Campbell’s Astounding Science Fiction in the 1940s. Nor did he have any inclination that his twelve young adult novels for Charles Scribner’s Sons would have such a major impact on readers in the 1950s. In 1947 and 1948, Heinlein was at a low point in his career. He had no idea how big a success his writing would become, or how Ginny would become the love of his life. They believed in a fantastic future of space travel, but they were so poor that they had to sell their belongings to survive.
Heinlein dominated science fiction in the 1950s, like H. G. Wells did in the 1890s. When I reread Heinlein, it’s to see how he changed the course of science fiction. When I was young, I felt Heinlein would one day be considered the Mark Twain of science fiction by the time I got old. That hasn’t happened.
Robert Heinlein’s reputation as a science fiction writer has dropped dramatically over my lifetime. When I was growing up, if two SF fans met, both assumed each other’s favorite author was Heinlein, and they’d argue over who was the next best science fiction writer. Today, many modern readers shun Heinlein, usually for what they believe are Heinlein’s personal views, or because they’ve read one of Heinlein’s later works, and assume all of his books are just as bad. Personally, I dislike all of Heinlein’s books published after The Past Through Tomorrow (1967). I have significant problems with anything he wrote after Starship Troopers (1959) and before he published The Past Through Tomorrow.
Science fiction becomes dated after a few decades, which is the main reason why Heinlein’s fiction is falling out of favor. Only three SF novels from the 19th century are commonly read today: Frankenstein, The Time Machine, and The War of the Worlds. Eventually, I believe fewer than a dozen science fiction novels from the 20th century will be widely read in the 22nd century.
Heinlein will continue to be read until his original fans all die. Then, readers yet to be born will decide if any of his books will be worth reading after that. I’m rereading Heinlein’s books, speculating if they will survive in the future. I started with Heinlein’s first published novel, Rocket Ship Galileo (1947), an essay I already need to revise.
Rereading his second Scribner’s novel, Space Cadet from 1948, it’s easy to dismiss it as a young adult novel for boys. But when you examine it in comparison to science fiction published up until 1948, and consider the philosophical issues it deals with, it’s a standout SF novel.
In judging Heinlein’s long-term prospects, I’ve decided to use H. G. Wells, Aldous Huxley, George Orwell, and George R. Stewart as models, specifically for The Time Machine, The War of the Worlds, Brave New World, Nineteen Eighty-Four, and Earth Abides. Heinlein wanted Starship Troopers, Stranger in a Strange Land, and The Moon is a Harsh Mistress to be the three books by which he would be remembered. Heinlein felt those novels were his most mature works, and which best expressed his views. They are the ones that are still found in bookstores. They are also the Heinlein novels modern readers often dislike.
Heinlein might be right, and those books will be his literary legacy. Heinlein has twenty-nine other books published in his lifetime to consider. I plan to reread nineteen of them as possible works that might be remembered instead. So far, I’ve reread three, and my memory of the others suggests that Heinlein does not have a novel equal to my five models. In terms of ambition and complexity, only Heinlein’s favorite three come close to the five models I’ve chosen in ambition. However, I’m not sure if Heinlein’s philosophical intent in those works will be well-regarded in the future.
I believe there’s another way Heinlein might be remembered. Heinlein will often be discussed in books about science fiction. Heinlein is a significant figure in the evolution of science fiction. For example, in a taxonomy tree showing the evolution of the genre, Starship Troopers will be the main branch for Military SF. Rocket Ship Galileo is situated on a major branch of fiction about the first trip to the Moon. And Space Cadet is a major contribution to exploring the solar system.
In the 21st century, Heinlein is often ignored. Many readers have the prejudice that Heinlein is an unlikable conservative; some even think he’s a fascist and misogynist. But Space Cadet expresses extremely liberal views.
If you read Space Cadet today, it will feel like a simple story for young people that’s quite dated. Readers need to understand events in 1948 to appreciate the novel. Heinlein imagines a need for a world government and an agency to control nuclear weapons. Russia didn’t have the atomic bomb until 1949, but Heinlein was worried about the day when multiple countries had weapons of mass destruction. Throughout the 1940s, Heinlein wrote stories that speculated about how we’d apply atomic energy in peacetime and control nuclear weapons to prevent wars. That’s a heavy topic for fiction found in elementary school libraries.
Heinlein was also concerned with the human race destroying itself. Heinlein believed only one international agency should control nuclear weapons. And if any country violated their policies, their ability to create a nuclear bomb would be targeted with nukes. In an early draft of Space Cadet, Heinlein had Matt, his young protagonist, nuking his hometown. Wisely, Heinlein decided that was too much for a young adult novel and reduced the idea to a bull session between cadets.
To emphasize the importance of this idea, he has the cadets discover evidence that the asteroids are the remains of a planet that blew itself up in an atomic war.
The Interplanetary Patrol is racially integrated. Heinlein makes a point that black males are cadets and officers. The U.S. military integrated in 1948. Heinlein takes this further by emphasizing that intelligent beings on Venus and Mars are equally human, even if they don’t look human. However, human females don’t have equal rights in this story. But Heinlein quickly liberates women in later books in this series. However, even in Space Cadet, the Venusians are a matriarchal society.
Ideas about a space based military from Space Cadet will show up again in Starship Troopers. The novel also has an orbital battle school that prefigures Ender’s Game. And the Interplanetary Patrol will influence several TV shows in the 1950s, which will eventually lead to Star Trek. Of course, Heinlein was inspired by E. E. “Doc” Smith’s Lensman series.
Throughout the novel, Heinlein tosses out ideas that will become part of reality. At the beginning of the story, Matt uses a pocket phone that depends on cell towers. He gets to orbit via a reusable rocket. They are stationed at a geosynchronous orbit. But Heinlein also missed on things, too. In 1948, Heinlein didn’t foresee the impact that computers, networks, and robots would have on our world.
Space Cadet is set in 2075. Heinlein assumes that by then, humanity will have traveled the solar system and settled colonies on the Moon, Venus, Mars, and Ganymede. Heinlein also thought we’d find intelligent life on Venus and Mars, and it once existed on the planet that blew up and became the asteroids. All of Heinlein’s young adult novels have overlapping futures with similar details. That’s why I say they represent another Future History.
Many science fiction writers before 1950, including Ray Bradbury, hoped we’d find Martians and Venusians. I call that kind of thinking pre-NASA science fiction. In the 1960s, when NASA’s probes discovered that those planets were lifeless, I was tremendously disappointed. I still love pre-NASA science fiction. But I have to wonder if younger generations have completely dismissed such stories because of what science has discovered? I must point out that they accept Star Trek and Star Wars. We know those popular series are just as unscientific as pre-NASA science fiction, but they haven’t been rejected. Why?
I doubt many readers will read Heinlein because of his historical value to the genre. Few readers today read E. E. “Doc” Smith, and his series were once beloved. At 73, I sometimes wonder if I shouldn’t give up on Heinlein, too. However, rereading books by Heinlein and Philip K. Dick provides far more enjoyment than reading new science fiction. I both love that and regret it. It reminds me of all my old boomer friends who won’t listen to any music created after 1975. I don’t want to be stuck in pop culture nostalgia, but obviously, I am.
I once read science fiction to think about the future.
I now read science fiction to think about the past.
In The Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell claims that successful people often grew up with mentors. I never had one. Looking back, I could have used Robert A. Heinlein as my mentor, because his books for young people gave a great deal of advice. Unfortunately, I ignored his wisdom.
I’ve always been embarrassed to recommend Rocket Ship Galileo to science fiction fans because it’s so dated, unrealistic, and naive. Yet, I’ve enjoyed reading it several times over my lifetime. This 1947 novel for kids sets the stage for much of science fiction to come. Rocket Ship Galileo was Robert A. Heinlein’s first published novel. It was written in 1946, just a year after the war, and published by Charles Scribner’s Sons. That was quite a coup for Heinlein, since science fiction was just starting to be published by fan presses, and his first book was coming from the same publisher as Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Thomas Wolfe.
Heinlein’s writing is several steps up from most science fiction being written in 1947, but Rocket Ship Galileo is not much more than an updated Tom Swift novel. The story is set in the late 1950s, when Heinlein speculates that commercial rockets have been established for transporting freight and passengers. Military jets were being tested in 1947, but there were no commercial jets, so Heinlein expected rocket technology to be the winning technology.
Heinlein based his speculation on Werner von Braun’s rockets and our use of atomic bombs in 1945. However, I thought Heinlein was overly naive and incredibly unrealistic to suggest that three high school students and one Manhattan Project scientist could retrofit a commercial chemical rocket with an atomic drive and fly to the Moon. That’s why I find the book embarrassing to recommend to modern readers. Even more embarrassing are the Nazis found hiding on the Moon.
I first read Rocket Ship Galileo in 1964. This was just before the Project Gemini manned missions in 1965. It was obvious that three teenagers and an adult could never build a rocket in one summer capable of traveling to the Moon. I was in the 8th grade. That kind of belief was common in the Tom Swift and Tom Swift, Jr. books I read in the 5th grade. I should have been savvy enough in 1964, at age 13, to quit reading Rocket Ship Galileo after a few pages. Why didn’t I? And why have I read it another four times since then?
In the fall of 1964, I loved the new TV show Gilligan’s Island, but whenever I watch an episode of it today, I wonder if my brain was damaged as a teenager. Why wasn’t I more discerning about what I read and watched? However, I was a dumbass kid of twelve and thirteen when I first read Heinlein’s fourteen novels for young adults. (I’m adding in Starship Troopers and Podkayne of Mars to the twelve from Charles Scribner’s Sons.)
This is going to sound weird. I now consider embracing science fiction as a kid was psychologically similar to becoming religious. Accepting fantastic science fiction beliefs gave me the same comforts as accepting Jesus. I just wanted to travel to the heavens before I died.
Now Heinlein wasn’t trying to be irrational or promote silly ideas. Rocket Ship Galileo is full of scientific digressions, also called info dumps. I felt Heinlein was speculating as scientifically as possible with what people knew in 1947. He uses his own ideas about the possibilities of applied atomic power. But he doesn’t think things through. Heinlein understood that radioactivity could superheat fuel and create a more powerful exhaust than chemical combustion. However, to suggest liquid zinc or mercury as a rocket fuel is insane. Did they have no concept of pollution back in 1947?
Heinlein also understood that computers would be used to navigate to the Moon. He references ENIAC, built in 1945, the first general-purpose digital computer.
Because of rockets, computers, and atomic bombs in 1945, the guiding philosophy of science fiction became, if we can do this now, why can’t we do something like it in the future? Heinlein was leading the charge for science fiction to speculate and extrapolate. The twelve Heinlein juveniles, published from 1947 until 1958, became my gospels and epistles to a religion founded on science fiction. Heinlein became my guru, my substitute father, yet I missed all his advice that could have been considered mentoring.
All the Heinlein juveniles advocated studying science and mathematics, especially math. I read these books in the mid-1960s, believing I’d grow up and travel into space in the 1970s and 1980s. But I didn’t follow Heinlein’s guidance. In the 1920s, Heinlein had worked hard at school, making his way through the Naval Academy at Annapolis. Heinlein repeatedly emphasized studying.
Most Christians want easy Christianity. All they want to do to get to heaven and have everlasting life is to say, “I believe.” I was no better in my approach to science fiction. I have read several accounts from rocket scientists who claimed Heinlein inspired them to become who they were. There are millions like me, who aren’t rocket scientists, who also read Heinlein.
I’ve criticized some science fiction stories for using comic book science. You know the kind, exposure to Z-rays leads to superpowers. In the early years of science fiction, the public considered it moronic trash. And kids who loved it justified reading science fiction to their parents, claiming they learned science from science fiction. The frequency of science lecture infodumps in the Heinlein juveniles is high. They were respected by librarians and teachers. Ultimately, their appeal was adventure. They were crack for geeks. They preached that humanity’s manifest destiny was exploring space. Each book took readers further away from Earth. (Chart provided by CoPilot.)
Year
Title
Primary Setting
Scope of Exploration
1947
Rocket Ship Galileo
Earth ↔ Moon
First lunar mission; atomic propulsion
1948
Space Cadet
Earth ↔ Solar System
Venus and outer planets via military service
1949
Red Planet
Mars
Colonial life and rebellion
1950
Farmer in the Sky
Ganymede (Jupiter moon)
Terraforming & settlement life
1951
Between Planets
Earth ↔ Venus
Interplanetary conflict and diplomacy
1952
The Rolling Stones
Earth ↔ Mars ↔ Jupiter system
Freewheeling space travel by a family
1953
Starman Jones
Earth ↔ Deep Space
Galactic navigation and far-flung trade routes
1954
The Star Beast
Earth ↔ Galactic Civilizations
Alien ambassador pet and interstellar law
1955
Tunnel in the Sky
Unknown planet
Survival and societal formation via teleportation
1956
Time for the Stars
Earth ↔ Deep Space
Relativistic travel and twin-linked telepathy
1957
Citizen of the Galaxy
Various worlds in Galactic Empire
Slavery, social caste, and galactic society
1958
Have Space Suit—Will Travel
Earth ↔ Pluto ↔ Intergalactic Tribunal
Kidnap into deep space; galactic ethics debate
While rereading Rocket Ship Galileo this time, I noticed many of Heinlein’s lifelong pet ideas, which Heinlein elaborated on in his adult science fiction in the 1960s. Heinlein wanted to be a philosopher and teacher. The Heinlein philosophy is gentle in these books for young people. One of my pet theories is that Heinlein was influenced by Ayn Rand in her 1957 novel, Atlas Shrugged. After that, he switched to writing novels for adults, and the Heinlein philosophy became more pronounced.
Heinlein’s core philosophy in the twelve juveniles is that space exploration is humanity’s manifest destiny. In Rocket Ship Galileo, the first of the twelve, is about going to the Moon. In Have Space Suit-Will Travel, the twelfth and last, it’s about travel across the galaxy. Each new book goes further out into space, expanding on Heinlein’s pet ideas. Strangely, after the juveniles, Heinlein turns to politics in his adult science fiction novels. Space travel is part of these stories, but it’s no longer being promoted. It’s just accepted.
I first read the twelve Heinlein juveniles just after Project Mercury and just before Project Gemini. I had followed all the manned flights of Project Mercury. Was I a space enthusiast because of NASA or Heinlein? When Heinlein began his series for boys in 1946, few people thought about actual space travel. Science fiction was considered that Buck Rogers stuff, and if you’ve seen any of the Buck Rogers serials, you know that’s a put down.
Heinlein does contribute to a long line of books speculating about the first mission to the Moon. Verne imagined a giant gun. Wells imagined anti-gravity. Heinlein imagined rockets evolving from V-2s. Heinlein just didn’t imagine how difficult the task would be to send a human to the Moon but had anyone else. I asked CoPilot and got this answer:
Era
Title & Author
Mode of Travel
Notable Themes
2nd century CE
True History by Lucian of Samosata
Whirlwind
Satire of fantastical travel tales
1634
Somnium by Johannes Kepler
Lunar demons during eclipses
Early scientific speculation; heliocentrism
1638
The Man in the Moone by Francis Godwin
Migrating swans
Utopian society; weightlessness
1657
States and Empires of the Moon by Cyrano de Bergerac
Fireworks & dew bottles
Satirical science; proto-rocketry
1705
The Consolidator by Daniel Defoe
Winged chariot
Political satire; lunar governance
1835
The Unparalleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall by Edgar Allan Poe
Balloon
Comic realism; early space travel logic
1865
From the Earth to the Moon by Jules Verne
Space cannon
Technological optimism; post-Civil War science
1901
The First Men in the Moon by H.G. Wells
Antigravity material (Cavorite)
Alien civilizations; imperialism
1926
The Moon Maid by Edgar Rice Burroughs
Spaceship
Hollow Moon; hidden civilizations
1947
Rocket Ship Galileo by Robert A. Heinlein
Atomic rocket
Youthful ingenuity; Cold War anxieties
1950
The Man Who Sold the Moon by Robert A. Heinlein
Corporate-funded rocket
Capitalism and space exploration
1956
Mission to the Moon by Lester del Rey
Rocket
Realistic Moon landing prep
1977
Inherit the Stars by James P. Hogan
Archaeological discovery
Human origins; Moon as historical site
Rocket Ship Galileo will probably not appeal to modern science fiction readers. But for science fiction fans who study the evolution of the genre, is it worth reading? I was surprised by how many things I had forgotten about the novel. All I remembered was the Nazis on the Moon. I had forgotten all the details about creating an atomic rocket engine based on nuclear thermal propulsion, ballistics, space navigation, space suits, autopilots, airlocks, weightlessness, space sickness, computers, radio communication, and more.
After Apollo 11, reading books about the first landing on the Moon is problematic. However, Mary Robinette Kowal’s Lady Astronaut Universe series and Apple TV’s series For All Mankind have succeeded uniquely by creating retro histories. Because I grew up reading pre-NASA science fiction, I can still enjoy stories that are obviously dated because of nostalgia. I also love reading old science fiction because I love studying how the genre evolved.
But is Rocket Ship Galileo really worth reading five times over sixty-plus years? I imprinted on the Heinlein juveniles like baby ducks imprint on their mother. I loved these books so much that I ordered all twelve in hardback directly from Charles Scribner’s Sons with my first paycheck at age sixteen in 1967. I still have them.
At 73, I’m trying to understand how my personality was created. There are the genes I inherited from my parents. And my upbringing and education. I also believe a great deal of who I am came from pop culture – books, movies, TV shows, and music. One of the biggest factors was science fiction. When I reread old favorite books from childhood, I look for clues about how my personality formed.
I’m forced to ask myself: Did I really believe I would go into space someday? I thought I did, but was it a realistic belief? Do kids really believe they will grow up to be football players, or rock stars, or astronauts?
Here’s the thing. If I truly paid attention to Heinlein’s books, I should have modeled myself after his characters. I didn’t. I half-ass did. I read easy popular science books. I built Estes model rockets. I even tried to grind my own telescope mirror but failed. However, I mostly read science fiction. The Heinlein characters didn’t read science fiction.
Today, we have the Maker Culture. That’s what Heinlein was really promoting. Heinlein wanted his readers to become junior scientists. Reading his books made me fantasize about doing that. Instead, I just read more science fiction.
I’ve often pondered how many science fiction books anyone should read. Taking psychedelics back in the 1960s opened the doors of perception. Science fiction was like that. But like people asked back in the 1960s, how many times do you need to go through the doors of perception?
In retrospect, I feel I read too much science fiction and didn’t do enough of other things. I’ve often wondered what my life would have been like if I had stopped with Have Space Suit-Will Travel and gotten busy doing things. Rereading Rocket Ship Galileo reminds me of what I wanted to be as a kid, but reveals I took the wrong path.
I’ve been reading science fiction for sixty-three years, and it’s getting difficult to find anything that feels new and different. However, my problem is more than just being old and jaded. I’ve discovered that I missed or ignored many kinds of science fiction books that didn’t appeal to me for one reason or another. Late in life, I’ve discovered that I need to read science fiction outside my comfort zone.
I recently took another look at David Pringle’s Science Fiction: The 100 Best Novels. Pringle, a Scottish critic and editor, selected one hundred science fiction novels published from 1949 until 1984 to recommend. I knew his list was a good one because I had already read over sixty of the books on it. I figured the ones I haven’t read should be equally good. I’ve read and reviewed two so far: The Inheritors by William Golding and The Inverted World by Christopher Priest.
Both of those novels were outstanding, but more importantly, they were different, with stories and writing techniques lying outside my usual tastes. I’ve now started No Enemy but Time by Michael Bishop. It’s proving to be equally good and different.
I’m buddy reading these books with my old friend Mike. Having someone to discuss books with is important. So is reading slowly and taking notes. I’ve decided to read or reread all the books on Pringle’s list.
This project is also a way to reevaluate a lifetime of science fiction reading. I plan to review each title when I finish that book.
The list below of Pringle’s recommended SF novels was copied from Wikipedia. However, Pringle’s book is $1.99 on Amazon (Kindle edition), and the essays recommending each novel are well worth reading.
Most of these books are still in print, but not always. Some are in very cheap eBook editions. I wish all were available as audiobooks, but they are not. I consider that a kind of criticism. Any true classic should be in print as a hardback, paperback, eBook, and audiobook.
The title and author link take you back to Wikipedia for those entries. If I give a date, it’s the last date I read the book. If I put a number in parentheses, it’s the number of times I remember reading the book. If I don’t provide a date but include a number, it’s because I read it before 1983, when I started keeping my reading log. The Buy link will direct you to the least expensive edition on Amazon. It will also allow you to view the availability of different editions. Bolded titles are unread titles I hope to read before I start rereading the others.
By reading Pringle’s essay, the Wikipedia entry, and the content and comments on the Amazon page, it’s possible to judge how these books are remembered since Pringle created his list in 1985, and to decide if they are worth buying and reading. Many of these books are still discussed by book reviewers on YouTube. But many others are forgotten.
Read The Inverted World by Christopher Priest is my first recommendation. My second recommendation is not to read anything about this novel before you read it. This well-designed novel is a science fiction mystery. It unwraps like the layers of an onion. To get the maximum joy out of reading The Inverted World, you should do all the problem-solving yourself. Don’t even read the blurbs to the book.
The Inverted World is recommended in Science Fiction: The Best 100 Novels by David Pringle, which is currently $1.99 for the Kindle edition at Amazon. I’m using Pringle’s recommendations for a buddy read with my friend Mike. The novel also won the British Science Fiction Award and was nominated for the Hugo Award. It’s currently available in print from New York Review Books Classics, a highly respected publisher of forgotten literary classics. You can purchase a Kindle or a paperback edition, but unfortunately, there is no audiobook edition.
I read The Inverted World on my iPhone, using the Kindle app with the text-to-speech feature turned on. No matter how hard I try, I read too fast. And even though the computer voice is not very good, it kept me reading slowly and deliberately. And that was very important in The Inverted World.
You know this story is different when the protagonist gives his age in miles. That’s about the only thing I will tell you about this story specifically. There are many mysteries in this novel. And I found them delicious to contemplate. If you need straightforward adventure stories, you should probably skip this one.
Priest creates a very different science-fictional reality. The story is tightly plotted. Priest obviously rewrote his draft many times to get his plot to work so well and to unfold so smoothly.
The Inverted World sometimes feels metaphoric or symbolic, and it is. But it’s also a unique kind of hard science fiction. The NYRB Classic edition includes an afterward by John Clute that explains the social and political climate of England in 1974 when the book was first published. That might make you think the book is about that. But the novel fits so perfectly with 2025 that you’ll realize it’s not really. It’s more universal.
The Inverted World is a philosophical novel. To get the most out of it, you need to think about this story, and if you can, you need to talk about this story with a friend. Mike and I had quite a conversation. Our society is undergoing paradigm shifts that disappoint and depress me. I’m amazed by this novel, which came out fifty-one years ago, speaks so directly to today.
I’m surprised this novel isn’t more famous among science fiction fans. This is the reason I’m reading my way through Pringle’s book. So far, he’s gotten me to read two outstanding forgotten classics that I haven’t read before. You can see his list of recommended novels on Wikipedia. (I recommend buying Pringle’s book. It’s only $1.99.) Before I started my project to read all the books recommended in Science Fiction: The 100 Best Novels 1949-1984, I had read 62 of the 100. I already knew it was a solid list of great science fiction books. Reading The Inheritors by William Golden and The Inverted World by Christopher Priest suggested I still had 38 great SF novels to blow my mind.
What exactly is fantasy? “Sooner Or Later Or Never Never” by Gary Jennings has no magic, no fantastic creatures. Its setting is present-day Australia. The story is both comic and absurd. Yet, it’s based on a somewhat realistic premise. Yes, the characters and plot are made up, but so is most fiction. I can find no reason to call this a fantasy. I assume Edward L. Ferman published it in the May 1972 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction because he admired the creative prose — and he had the power to publish it.
“Sooner or Later or Never Never” is told as a letter to The Rev. Orville Dismey, Dean of Missionary Vocations, at the Southern Primitive Protestant Seminary in Grobian, Virginia. Crispin Mobey narrates his effort to bring Christ to the Anula tribe in the Australian outback. Mobey was inspired by a quote from The Golden Bough by Sir James Frazer. The quote describes a ritual Frazer witnessed. Mobey wants to use that ritual to bring Christianity to a rather primitive tribe.
I’ve read “Sooner or Later or Never Never” before, but I’m not sure where and how. I don’t normally read this kind of fiction. However, the prose is quite entertaining. Normally, I dislike dialect, but Jennings captures outback Aussie hilariously. I wish I had an audiobook version.
There is no way I can describe this story, so I’m just going to give you two pages to read as a sample.
I know this is cheating, but I’m taking the easy way out. I’m posting this merely to encourage people to read this story. I read it today because my Facebook short story club is reading The Best Fantasy Stories from The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. Reading this 792-page anthology demonstrates the range of what people call fantasy.
I routinely tell people I dislike fantasy. But of the stories we’ve read in this anthology, the ones set in the present about ordinary people have been the most entertaining to read. And the ones that people consider traditional fantasy were no fun to read. I guess when I say I dislike fantasy, I dislike only a subset of the genre.
However, I also think Ferman is cheating to call “Sooner or Later or Never Never” fantasy. It could have been published in almost any kind of fiction magazine.
Our species, Homo sapiens, have been around for 300,000 years, but we only have recorded history for about 5,000 years. Neanderthals date back even further in time. For hundreds of thousands of years, people created societies and maybe even forgotten civilizations that existed before history. Science fiction is mostly known for imagining possible futures, but a subgenre exists that speculates about human life in prehistory.
Probably, many science fiction fans would consider stories about our cave-dwelling ancestors as historical fiction or historical fantasy. David Pringle claims the novel was inspired by science, so it should be science fiction. Of course, that opens up a whole can of worms. But I’m willing to embrace these kinds of stories into our genre.
I read The Inheritors by William Golding because I’m reading or rereading the classics of science fiction. I’m going through David Pringle’s Science Fiction: The 100 Best Novels. The Kindle edition of the Pringle book is $1.99. The Kindle edition of The Inheritors is just 99 cents. You can read a list of Pringle’s 100 recommended SF titles here.
William Golding’s first novel was The Lord of the Flies (1954). His second novel, published in 1955, was The Inheritors. Lord of the Flies is about a group of schoolboys forced to live like primitives. The Inheritors is about a small band of Neanderthals confronting Homo Sapiens. It’s obvious Golding was exploring similar themes in these two novels.
Writers have long speculated about Neanderthals in fiction. Neanderthals thrived for 400,000 years but became extinct 40,000 years ago. Modern humans may have coexisted with them for up to 100,000 years. William Golding portrays Neanderthal life based on scientific speculation in 1955. It’s quite sympathetic.
Most of the novel is in third-person Neanderthal point of view, following a male named Lok. Golding expects his readers to decode action from the limited awareness of Lok’s mind. He does not say “bow and arrow” but describes them in terms that a Neanderthal would understand. Quite often, the narrative is confusing, but that’s intentional. Golding wants the reader to struggle in the same way that Lok struggles to understand.
Golding offers several interesting speculative theories. He suggests that Neanderthals had no sense of time but understood past and possibly future events by talking about pictures in their minds. Their language consists of simple nouns and verbs. The members of the tribe spend a lot of time comparing mental imagery. Their social bonding suggests they felt an almost telepathic connection with each other. Golding suggests that gender roles were divided. Males, especially the leader, decided on actions, while females, through a primitive religion, decided on meaning.
This speculation about how Neanderthals thought reminded me of The Origins of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind by Julian Jaynes, first published in 1976. Jaynes theorized that humans didn’t always have the same kind of internal consciousness that we have now. Golding anticipates this idea in 1955.
Throughout the novel, characters are forced into an original concept. The plot begins with crossing a stream. The Neanderthals are terrified of water. They have always depended on a fallen log to cross a stream, but one day it’s no longer there. It takes a great deal of group effort to come up with a solution.
The leader of the Neanderthal band is Mal, an old man. An unnamed old woman, maybe Mal’s mate, leads the group in other ways. There are indications that tribe members mated with whomever. There are four adults, Lok and Fa are the younger ones, and they become the main characters. Ha and Nil are the other two. There is a little girl named Liku and a baby.
Liku and the baby go missing. Then Ha and Nil. We follow Lok as he tries to track them down. Lok eventually discovers a new animal that Lok hasn’t seen before. After observing them, he starts calling them the new ones. They are Homo Sapiens, or Cro-Magnon, but it’s never said.
The women carry a small figurine they call Oa and treat it as if it were alive. My guess is the Oa is a Venus figurine, but I’m not sure. The Venus figurines came much later, well after Neanderthals went extinct. I assume Golding is speculating that such a religious symbol might have existed far back into time, so that intellectual attributes we speculate began with modern humans had early antecedents in Neanderthals.
In chapter 11, the penultimate chapter, we follow Lok at first through a close third-person narrative. But near the end, the point of view changes to omniscient. This lets Golding describe the scene as if we were seeing it through the modern mind. We are told Lok holds something in his hand: “It was a root, old and rotted, worn away at both ends but preserving the exaggerated contours of a female body.” I’m sure this is Oa.
In Chapter 12, the final chapter, we get a third-person account from the perspective of the Homo sapiens. This lets us know what they thought about the Neanderthals. It also allows Golding to speculate about their state of consciousness.
The Inheritors is not a breezy read. In some ways, it reminds me of A Clockwork Orange and how I had to struggle to understand what was going on. I’m quite sure if I reread The Inheritors two or three times, I would discover many more layers of speculation and narrative devices. With just this one reading, I’m left puzzled over several scenes.
The Inheritors is not famous enough to have a current audiobook edition. I believe hearing the story would help me understand it better. I did find an old audiobook edition on YouTube. Listening to it did indeed make the action clearer. I have long known that I tend to read too fast. Audiobooks make me slow down. Listening makes certain parts of the prose easier to understand. However, I need to read with my eyes to understand other parts. I believe The Inheritors deserves to be read with both my eyes and ears. By the way, Audible is scheduled to publish a new audiobook edition next year.
The Inheritors reminds me of the short story, “The Day is Done” by Lester del Rey, first published in the May 1939 issue of Astounding Science-Fiction. It’s another tale of a Neanderthal confronting Homo sapiens. You can read it here. I wonder if William Golding had read “The Day is Done.”
There is an anthology of science fiction stories, Neanderthals, edited by Robert Silverberg, Martin H. Greenberg, and Charles G. Waugh. View the table of contents here.
H. G. Wells wrote “The Grisly Folk” in 1921, an unflattering look at Neanderthals.
Of course, the most famous fiction featuring Neanderthals is Earth’s Children series, by Jean M. Auel.
I’m an atheist who doesn’t normally enjoy reading fantasy fiction; however, I found “The Invasion of the Church of the Holy Ghost” by Russell Kirk, a religious ghost story, to be quite entertaining and well-written. The characters of Father Raymond Thomas Montrose and Fork Causland are so well developed that it’s hard not to like this story. Plus, the story is set in a seedy, rundown section of town filled with hustlers, prostitutes, and con men, has all the feel of a Damon Runyon tale.
I had no idea who Russell Kirk was, but after reading about him on Wikipedia, the philosophy behind the story made more sense. Kirk was a major conservative intellectual and a distinguished fellow at the Heritage Foundation. Since I’m a liberal, this doesn’t endear me to him. Kirk was also a convert to Catholicism and enjoyed writing ghost stories.
Kirk’s significant spiritual, political, and philosophical background forces me to look deeper into “The Invasion of the Church of the Holy Ghost.” Kirk was a serious thinker. That makes it hard to dismiss the story as a silly, inconsequential ghost story.
Even while liking “The Invasion of the Church of the Holy Ghost” very much, it proposes ideas I find totally repugnant. Both Father Montrose and Fork Causland are possessed. Kirk suggests that when people do bad things, it’s because they are influenced by evil ghosts, and when they do good things, they are empowered by higher-order beings. He doesn’t specifically say angels, but that’s how I interpreted the story.
In old religious philosophy, good comes from God, and evil from Satan. If humans do good, it’s because of the influence of the divine, and if we do bad, it’s because of the devil working through us. At one point, the normally good Father Montrose starts thinking about raping a young woman. Kirk proposes that those thoughts come from being possessed by an evil spirit.
I don’t believe in free will, but I also refuse to believe that our thoughts and actions originate with ghosts or other metaphysical beings. I don’t know if Russel Kirk believes that either, but “The Invasions of the Church of the Holy Ghost” is based on such a religious foundation. This fantasy is a religious reality to some. On the other hand, it might just be Kirk’s way of scaring us.
However, if I ignore what this story is suggesting, it’s an exceptionally creative work. Russell Kirk does an amazing amount of world-building. When I like fantasy, it’s often because it’s set in our present-day world. For example, It’s a Wonderful Life or The Bishop’s Wife.
Yesterday, I was pondering the value of fiction and nonfiction. Writers of nonfiction strive to be as accurate as possible. We read nonfiction to understand reality. Fiction is elaborate lies, but sometimes fiction writers work to express a truth they perceive at a deep, personal level. Knowing the kind of person Russell Kirk was, I can’t help but believe that he might believe in ghosts and possession.
I reread “The Cloud Sculptors of Coral-D” by J.G. Ballard because my short story reading group is reading The Best Fantasy from The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. Inclusion in this volume suggests its fantasy. However, it was also included in The Great Science Fiction Series edited by Martin H. Greenberg, Joseph Olander, and Frederik Pohl. The story contains no magic, no dragons or elves, and it’s set in our present day, but in a fictional resort called Vermillion Sands.
Vermillion Sands feels like a decadent playground for the rich, which also features the many kinds of parasites that live off the wealthy. It’s also an artist and expat colony. We don’t know its location, but it feels like Palm Springs, California. Many worldly travelers come and go there.
“The Cloud Sculptors of Coral-D” was my first introduction to J. G. Ballard back in the 1960s. Other stories from that setting make up the series, collected into Vermillion Sands.
“Prima Belladonna” (Science Fantasy, December 1956)
“Venus Smiles” (Science Fantasy, June 1957)
“Studio 5, the Stars” (Science Fantasy, February 1961)
“The Thousand Dreams of Stellavista” (Amazing Stories, March 1962)
“The Singing Statues” (Fantastic Stories, July 1962) (not in original collection)
“The Screen Game” (Fantastic Stories, October 1963)
“Cry Hope, Cry Fury!” (F&SF, October 1967)
“The Cloud-Sculptors of Coral D” (F&SF, December 1967)
“Say Goodbye to the Wind” (Fantastic, August 1970)
Wikipedia provides an excellent overview of the stories, highlighting that each dealt with a different artistic medium being affected by technology.
When I first read “The Cloud Sculptors of Coral-D” as a teen, it felt very grown-up to me. The characters were the kinds of people I met growing up in Miami, not the typical heroes of science fiction stories I spent so much time reading. It never occurred to me to think of the story as fantasy, but it didn’t seem like science fiction either. At the time, I was just discovering British science fiction writers like Brian Aldiss and John Brunner and the New Wave SF. The stories were set in the present or near future and took place on Earth. No rockets or robots. Was this actual science fiction?
“The Cloud Sculptors of Coral-D” is about a band of glider pilots who shape clouds with silver iodide. At first, their audience and patrons are people who park their cars along the lagoon road to watch. Eventually, the Garbo-like Leonora Chanel hires them to perform for her party. Sculpting clouds is a neat idea, but far from realistic. Does that make the story science fiction? Ballard does throw in a creature called sand rays, which I suppose are like manta rays that live under the sand instead of the sea. Do they make the story a fantasy?
Science fiction has often been the dumping ground for any kind of weird story that can’t be classified. The Vermillion Sands stories would have been rejected by mainstream and literary magazines. They fit nicely in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. They were also published in the British magazine Science Fantasy and the American Fantastic. Only one was published in a straight-ahead science fiction magazine, Amazing Stories. I doubt John W. Campbell would have accepted them in Astounding or Analog. Nor would he have published them in Unknown. I wonder if Rod Serling would have used “The Cloud Sculptors of Coral-D” for The Twilight Zone?
I’m not fond of traditional fantasy, and many of the stories in The Best Fantasy from The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction aren’t enjoyable for me to read. But I did enjoy “The Cloud Sculptors of Coral-D.” The story has a pleasant, surreal feel. The setting is very close to this world, but just a smidge off. I love the artist colony atmosphere, the hint of decadence, the ever-so-slight sense of unreality. The story combines barnstorming, carny folks, and the ugly rich. I visualize it as a cross between early Faulkner and Fellini.
The shortest description would be to say the story has atmosphere.
YouTuber Michael K. Vaughan is promoting Rocket Summer 2025. It’s a reading challenge for fans of classic science fiction. During July, various YouTubers will review classic science fiction novels, asking their viewers to read along. They are dividing the month into four weeks:
Week 1: Books published before 1940
Week 2: Books from the 1940s
Week 3: Books from the 1950s
Week 4: Books from the 1960s
Each YouTuber will select their own titles to read. Here’s Vaughan’s video introducing the books he wants to read.
Links to other YouTubers participating in Rocket Summer 2025 are listed under this video on YouTube. Check them out to find a reviewer that’s reading books you’d also like to read.
Here’s the Rocket Summer 2025 video from Vintage SF (Richard Rempel). He’s proposing four books for each week, allowing his viewers to vote and select the one he will review. The first week’s poll is up now.
Here are other YouTuber videos to watch. Not every YouTuber participating in Rocket Summer 2025 has created their video yet. I’ll update this page as I discover them.
I’m going to read along, but I haven’t decided on which books I’ll read for each week of Rocket Summer 2025
I don’t read many science fiction novels nowadays. I prefer SF short stories. I just don’t read as many books as I used to. However, after my friend Laurie told me about The Last Astronaut by David Wellington, I decided to give it a try. The Last Astronaut is the kind of science fiction thriller that Michael Crichton used to write — fast pace, lots of physical action, and basically fun. The Last Astronaut reminded me how entertaining reading a novel used to be. I wouldn’t call it great, but it does have that page-turning quality.
Now I do have some things to say about it, but what I have to say is full of spoilers. I recommend you go read the novel and then come back here, if you can remember. The Last Astronaut made me think about how science fiction novels change over the years, and how each generation retells old themes in new ways.
The Last Astronaut is about a Big Dumb Object. That’s the official name of a specific science fiction plot device. When I started reading The Last Astronaut, I immediately thought of Rendezvous with Rama. In 2020, The Last Astronaut was nominated for the Arthur C. Clarke Award. Wikipedia even says, “Edward Guimont and Horace A. Smith propose that the origins of the Big Dumb Object trope can be found in H. P. Lovecraft’s novellas At the Mountains of Madness and The Shadow Out of Time, both of which feature human expeditions to immense ancient alien cities in remote parts of our world, and both of which were early influences upon Arthur C. Clarke.”
Funny that they mention H. P. Lovecraft. Because I also thought of Lovecraft while reading The Last Astronaut. Wellington’s novel features horror. Horror like the film Alien, but also horror like Lovecraft’s monstrous alien gods.
The setting, inside the vast alien spacecraft, is dark. Having a story set almost completely in darkness reminded me of Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth and The Night Land by William Hope Hodgson.
I’m finally reminded of another story/movie, Fantastic Voyage by Isaac Asimov, along with “Finisterra” by David Moles. This last reminder should give you one huge clue to what’s happening in The Last Astronaut. But I did warn you about spoilers.
My point in this essay is that science fiction is seldom original anymore. The Last Astronaut feels like David Wellington took several of his favorite science fiction themes and blended them into a new SF novel. It succeeds well. I had a lot of problems with the characters because I felt their psychological motivations were too contrived. However, Wellington does use those contrived motivations to wrap up his novel. The ending does make sense and is satisfying.
I was entertained by how Wellington told his story. Wellington places himself in the book as an author in the future, writing a historical novel, but a history that hasn’t happened yet. It’s amusing that one of his characters criticizes the future Wellington for getting his facts wrong. Since we know the story is based on history, there are clues as to who survives and who doesn’t. The audiobook is especially nice because they rig up the audio so that interviews of characters taken after events sound different.
In the 40s and 50s, science fiction writers aimed to create new ideas and themes, but their stories were told without sophistication. In the 60s and 70s, SF writers added literary techniques to their stories. In the 80s and 90s, SF writers upped the ante by going epic. Hyperion is a great example. In the 21st century, SF writers have had to constantly find new ways to tell stories that have already been told.
If you haven’t read old science fiction, new science fiction seems novel. If you have read old science fiction, new science fiction feels recycled. That’s not a bad thing, but it makes the stories feel baroque when you cram so many old ideas into one story. Wellington does streamline his novel, so it feels action-packed like old science fiction. In some ways, his storytelling is as speedy as Edgar Rice Burroughs’ stories or pulp fiction.
Ray Bradbury published hundreds of short stories over and over again in various collections. Bradbury and his publishers often repackaged his stories into new collections or reprinted older collections with a slightly different lineup of stories. Ray Bradbury’s bibliography at ISFDB.org is so confusing that we’ve decided to select those collections that will provide the most stories by buying the fewest books.
Mike, the programmer for the Classics of Science Fiction website, coded several programs to find the right combinations of Bradbury collections that would give the widest selection of stories to read. The permutations turned out to be excessively large, so we simplified the procedure.
Our solution was to pick the collection that provided the most Bradbury stories. Then add a second collection that provides the most additional stories not in the first collection. Then add the third collection that contributes the next most additional stories, not in the previous two. And so on. Study the table, and the technique will become obvious.
Here are the twenty-five collections we used. We only used collections that are in print, either in hardback, paperback, e-book, or audiobook. Hyperlinks are to Amazon affiliate links.
I have not been writing blogs or reading for a couple of weeks. I lost the habit of reading and writing because of a house guest, many visitors, and a more active social life. However, tonight I felt a wistful urge to read a short story. I chose “The Whole Town’s Sleeping” by Ray Bradbury. It was the first story in Ray Bradbury Stories. You can read a PDF copy online here. “The Whole Town’s Sleeping” is not science fiction or fantasy. And I wouldn’t call it horror, although its purpose is to scare. “The Whole Town’s Sleeping” was published in three magazines, McCall’s (1950), Argosy (1951), and Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine (1954), indicating its wide appeal. Finally, the story was incorporated into the fixup novel Dandelion Wine in 1957.
For me, “The Whole Town’s Sleeping” was pure nostalgia. It’s a story that made me think about memory and writing. Sure, Bradbury is trying to tell a scary story, like those he heard camping in the woods, but he’s also remembering his past.
Although the story came out in 1950, “The Whole Town’s Sleeping” is set much earlier, in the era of Bradbury’s youth, because Lavinia, Francine, and Helen go to the theater to see a Charlie Chaplin film. That unnamed film could have been Monsieur Verdoux from 1947, but the story’s mood makes me think it might be The Circus (1928) or City Lights (1931). Bradbury was born in 1920, the same year my father was born. I was born in 1951. It feels nostalgic to the small towns I lived in in the 1950s, but it would have been nostalgic to readers in 1950.
Many of Bradbury’s stories were inspired by his youth growing up in Waukegan, Illinois, which he later fictionalized as Green Town. I believe those little towns I lived in hadn’t changed much in twenty years. Back then, I remember walking with my friends to the theater and talking to people sitting on their porches, which made me identify with the story. I remember walking alone along deserted streets late at night like Lavenia and having the same fears as she did.
My past includes living in small towns where all the stores were set on the square or along Main Street, with all the connecting streets occupied by homes. I had a hard time visualizing the ravine that divides Green Town. Although I do remember living in a little town divided by a small lake. It had a tiny waterfall, which scared me at age nine.
There’s not much I want to say about “The Whole Town’s Sleeping,” because I want to talk about reading. Often in my life, I’ve substituted reading for living. There are times when life is uneventful, so reading is exciting. Life experiences are superior to reading, but idle times are great for reading.
However, there are times when life is full, and I wish I were idle reading. We have two worlds to live in, reality and fantasy. Ray Bradbury created a fantasy world for us to enjoy, and it’s fascinating to think about how and why he did that. On one hand, he’s given us a simple story built to scare us. We even know he’s doing it. Readers know the ending will shock them, but we didn’t know how Bradbury would pull it off. It’s the kind of story that we watched on the old TV show Alfred Hitchcock Presents. (It’s even reprinted in one of Hitchcock’s anthologies.)
But that’s only one level. Fiction usually works on multiple levels. Bradbury also works to describe the past, his past, in the kind of detail that will trigger memories in his readers. And there’s a level beyond that which Bradbury entertains us. It’s the writing.
I have had several intense experiences over the last two weeks. They will stay locked in my head because we seldom share intense experiences. If I were a writer, I would write a story about them. That story might even be read by readers who have had similar experiences.
Isn’t that what Ray Bradbury is doing? Do we read to learn about Bradbury’s experiences, or do we read to remember our own?
Often, we use fiction to escape from boredom. But doesn’t fiction work best when it triggers something inside us? When life is full, I shouldn’t crave reading, but I do. Why? Is reading an essential nutrient of the soul that causes us to fall ill if it goes lacking?
I wish I could fictionalize my experiences so I could understand them. Maybe because I don’t, I read other people’s efforts instead.
I’ve been getting back into Ray Bradbury again. I loved The Martian Chronicles and The Illustrated Man when I was young, but then I forgot about Ray Bradbury for a long time. I came late to Fahrenheit 451, and I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I loved the Truffaut film more than the book. In 2015, I reread The Martian Chronicles. I was dazzled. Yet again, I quickly moved on. Bradbury has a sweet quality that I can’t overindulge.
However, over the last five years, I’ve been gorging on science fiction short stories, and I’ve been surprised by how often his stories show up in anthologies. Then, a few weeks ago, I read The Bradbury Chronicles, a biography of Ray Bradbury by Sam Weller. Bradbury’s life was riveting, inspiring me to read more of his work. According to the Library of Congress, Bradbury published over 600 short stories. According to the Weller biography, by the late 1940s, Bradbury was writing and publishing a short story a week.
Piet Nel sent me a spreadsheet with 375 stories from all of Bradbury’s major collection. Piet also said, “Ray Bradbury: The Life of Fiction, by Eller & Touponce (2004), has a comprehensive story list, compiled with academic rigor, up to 2002. It runs to about 400 stories.” So, it’s hard to reconcile the 600 number from the Library of Congress. Piet also sent me the link to Phil Nichols’ site and his Short Story Finder.
Piet also emailed me this comment, which I will quote:
I think it's quite simple. If you read everything collected up to and including 1980, I think you've read as much Bradbury as all but serious experts need to read. The later collections get progressively weaker and the last ones are mostly leftovers. In saying all that, I am referring to the short fiction only. I've never liked the late detective novels because, for me, they seem a bit Nancy Drew-ish.
The short course is simply to read The Stories of Ray Bradbury (1980), which is more essential than Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Essential Tales.
The intermediate course is to read The Martian Chronicles, The Illustrated Man, The Golden Apples of the Sun, The October Country, Dandelion Wine (a disguised story collection), A Medicine for Melancholy, The Machineries of Joy, R Is for Rocket (without duplicates), S Is for Space (without duplicates), I Sing the Body Electric!, Long After Midnight, and The Stories of Ray Bradbury (again without duplicates, which leaves about five stories).
Piet Nel, in our short story reading group, created this graph showing the stories in The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories (peach 1-32) and A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories (blue-gray 33-63). Those two collections reprinted many of the stories in the four previous collections (orange, blue, red, green). The numbers in the four earlier collections are the story’s position in the table of contents.
I told my friend Mike, a computer programmer, and he decided that comparing the collections of Ray Bradbury’s short stories is an interesting programming problem.
It all depends on what you want.
All of his stories – would buying all his collections do that?
The best stories – who knows how many collections.
The fewest collections with the least duplicates.
Just science fiction?
Maybe add fantasy?
Just the literary works. Mysteries.
Just in ebook, or audiobook, or in print?
Mike might make this an interactive program if enough people are interested, but for now, he’s just testing the idea by generating reports. Here’s the latest one showing 30 of 1003 combinations generated so far.
As you can see, we’re only working with a handful of his collections, and the maximum number of stories is 256.
------------------------------------------------------- Group 1
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 5: The Illustrated Man 6: The Martian Chronicles 7: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 8: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 256 Total duplicate stories: 100 ------------------------------------------------------- Group 2
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 5: The Illustrated Man 6: The Martian Chronicles 7: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 8: S is for Space 9: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 256 Total duplicate stories: 116 ------------------------------------------------------- Group 3
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 5: The Illustrated Man 6: The Martian Chronicles 7: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 8: R is for Rocket 9: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 256 Total duplicate stories: 117 ------------------------------------------------------- Group 4
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 5: The Illustrated Man 6: The Martian Chronicles 7: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 8: R is for Rocket 9: S is for Space 10: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 256 Total duplicate stories: 133 ------------------------------------------------------- Group 5
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 4: The Illustrated Man 5: The Martian Chronicles 6: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 7: R is for Rocket 8: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 253 Total duplicate stories: 88
Group 4 stories that are not in Group 5: En la Noche The Murderer Sun and Shadow ------------------------------------------------------- Group 6
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 4: The Illustrated Man 5: The Martian Chronicles 6: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 7: R is for Rocket 8: S is for Space 9: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 253 Total duplicate stories: 104 ------------------------------------------------------- Group 7
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: The Illustrated Man 5: The Martian Chronicles 6: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 7: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 252 Total duplicate stories: 75
Group 6 stories that are not in Group 7: Christus Apollo Drink Entire: Against the Madness of Crowds The Lost City of Mars One Timeless Spring
Group 7 stories that are not in Group 6: En la Noche The Murderer Sun and Shadow ------------------------------------------------------- Group 8
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: The Illustrated Man 5: The Martian Chronicles 6: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 7: S is for Space 8: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 252 Total duplicate stories: 91 ------------------------------------------------------- Group 9
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: The Illustrated Man 5: The Martian Chronicles 6: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 7: R is for Rocket 8: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 252 Total duplicate stories: 92 ------------------------------------------------------- Group 10
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: The Illustrated Man 5: The Martian Chronicles 6: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 7: R is for Rocket 8: S is for Space 9: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 252 Total duplicate stories: 108 ------------------------------------------------------- Group 11
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 5: The Martian Chronicles 6: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 7: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 251 Total duplicate stories: 85
Group 10 stories that are not in Group 11: The Concrete Mixer Epilogue (The Illustrated Man) The Highway The Other Foot Prologue: The Illustrated Man
Group 11 stories that are not in Group 10: Christus Apollo Drink Entire: Against the Madness of Crowds The Lost City of Mars One Timeless Spring ------------------------------------------------------- Group 12
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 5: The Martian Chronicles 6: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 7: S is for Space 8: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 251 Total duplicate stories: 101 ------------------------------------------------------- Group 13
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 5: The Martian Chronicles 6: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 7: R is for Rocket 8: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 251 Total duplicate stories: 102 ------------------------------------------------------- Group 14
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 5: The Illustrated Man 6: The Martian Chronicles 7: R is for Rocket 8: S is for Space 9: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 251 Total duplicate stories: 107
Group 13 stories that are not in Group 14: The Headpiece In a Season of Calm Weather The Little Mice The Marriage Mender The Time of Going Away
Group 14 stories that are not in Group 13: The Concrete Mixer Epilogue (The Illustrated Man) The Highway The Other Foot Prologue: The Illustrated Man ------------------------------------------------------- Group 15
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 5: The Martian Chronicles 6: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 7: R is for Rocket 8: S is for Space 9: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 251 Total duplicate stories: 118
Group 14 stories that are not in Group 15: The Concrete Mixer Epilogue (The Illustrated Man) The Highway The Other Foot Prologue: The Illustrated Man
Group 15 stories that are not in Group 14: The Headpiece In a Season of Calm Weather The Little Mice The Marriage Mender The Time of Going Away ------------------------------------------------------- Group 16
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 4: The Illustrated Man 5: The Martian Chronicles 6: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 7: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 250 Total duplicate stories: 74
Group 15 stories that are not in Group 16: En la Noche Here There Be Tygers The Murderer R is for Rocket Sun and Shadow The Time Machine
Group 16 stories that are not in Group 15: The Concrete Mixer Epilogue (The Illustrated Man) The Highway The Other Foot Prologue: The Illustrated Man ------------------------------------------------------- Group 17
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 4: The Illustrated Man 5: The Martian Chronicles 6: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 7: S is for Space 8: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 250 Total duplicate stories: 90 ------------------------------------------------------- Group 18
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 5: The Illustrated Man 6: The Martian Chronicles 7: S is for Space 8: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 250 Total duplicate stories: 91
Group 17 stories that are not in Group 18: The Gift The Headpiece In a Season of Calm Weather The Little Mice The Marriage Mender The Time of Going Away
Group 18 stories that are not in Group 17: En la Noche Here There Be Tygers The Murderer R is for Rocket Sun and Shadow The Time Machine ------------------------------------------------------- Group 19
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Illustrated Man 4: The Martian Chronicles 5: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 6: R is for Rocket 7: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 249 Total duplicate stories: 63
Group 18 stories that are not in Group 19: Christus Apollo Drink Entire: Against the Madness of Crowds En la Noche The Lost City of Mars The Murderer One Timeless Spring Sun and Shadow
Group 19 stories that are not in Group 18: The Gift The Headpiece In a Season of Calm Weather The Little Mice The Marriage Mender The Time of Going Away ------------------------------------------------------- Group 20
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Illustrated Man 4: The Martian Chronicles 5: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 6: R is for Rocket 7: S is for Space 8: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 249 Total duplicate stories: 79 ------------------------------------------------------- Group 21
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 4: The Martian Chronicles 5: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 6: R is for Rocket 7: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 248 Total duplicate stories: 73
Group 20 stories that are not in Group 21: The Concrete Mixer Epilogue (The Illustrated Man) The Highway The Other Foot Prologue: The Illustrated Man
Group 21 stories that are not in Group 20: Christus Apollo Drink Entire: Against the Madness of Crowds The Lost City of Mars One Timeless Spring ------------------------------------------------------- Group 22
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 4: The Illustrated Man 5: The Martian Chronicles 6: R is for Rocket 7: S is for Space 8: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 248 Total duplicate stories: 78
Group 21 stories that are not in Group 22: The Headpiece In a Season of Calm Weather The Little Mice The Marriage Mender The Time of Going Away
Group 22 stories that are not in Group 21: The Concrete Mixer Epilogue (The Illustrated Man) The Highway The Other Foot Prologue: The Illustrated Man ------------------------------------------------------- Group 23
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 4: The Martian Chronicles 5: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 6: R is for Rocket 7: S is for Space 8: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 248 Total duplicate stories: 89
Group 22 stories that are not in Group 23: The Concrete Mixer Epilogue (The Illustrated Man) The Highway The Other Foot Prologue: The Illustrated Man
Group 23 stories that are not in Group 22: The Headpiece In a Season of Calm Weather The Little Mice The Marriage Mender The Time of Going Away ------------------------------------------------------- Group 24
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 5: The Illustrated Man 6: The Martian Chronicles 7: R is for Rocket 8: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 248 Total duplicate stories: 94
Group 23 stories that are not in Group 24: Chrysalis Come Into My Cellar The Headpiece In a Season of Calm Weather The Little Mice The Marriage Mender Pillar of Fire The Time of Going Away
Group 24 stories that are not in Group 23: The Concrete Mixer En la Noche Epilogue (The Illustrated Man) The Highway The Murderer The Other Foot Prologue: The Illustrated Man Sun and Shadow ------------------------------------------------------- Group 25
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: The Martian Chronicles 5: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 6: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 247 Total duplicate stories: 60
Group 24 stories that are not in Group 25: Christus Apollo The Concrete Mixer Drink Entire: Against the Madness of Crowds Epilogue (The Illustrated Man) The Highway The Lost City of Mars One Timeless Spring The Other Foot Prologue: The Illustrated Man
Group 25 stories that are not in Group 24: Chrysalis Come Into My Cellar The Headpiece In a Season of Calm Weather The Little Mice The Marriage Mender Pillar of Fire The Time of Going Away ------------------------------------------------------- Group 26
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: The Martian Chronicles 5: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 6: S is for Space 7: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 247 Total duplicate stories: 76 ------------------------------------------------------- Group 27
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: The Martian Chronicles 5: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 6: R is for Rocket 7: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 247 Total duplicate stories: 77 ------------------------------------------------------- Group 28
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: I Sing the Body Electric and Other Stories 5: The Illustrated Man 6: The Martian Chronicles 7: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 247 Total duplicate stories: 78
Group 27 stories that are not in Group 28: Chrysalis Come Into My Cellar The Gift The Headpiece In a Season of Calm Weather The Little Mice The Marriage Mender Pillar of Fire The Time of Going Away
Group 28 stories that are not in Group 27: Christus Apollo The Concrete Mixer Drink Entire: Against the Madness of Crowds Epilogue (The Illustrated Man) The Highway The Lost City of Mars One Timeless Spring The Other Foot Prologue: The Illustrated Man ------------------------------------------------------- Group 29
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: The Illustrated Man 5: The Martian Chronicles 6: R is for Rocket 7: S is for Space 8: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 247 Total duplicate stories: 82
Group 28 stories that are not in Group 29: Christus Apollo Drink Entire: Against the Madness of Crowds The Lost City of Mars One Timeless Spring
Group 29 stories that are not in Group 28: Chrysalis Come Into My Cellar The Gift Pillar of Fire ------------------------------------------------------- Group 30
1: Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales 2: Driving Blind 3: The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories 4: The Martian Chronicles 5: A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories 6: R is for Rocket 7: S is for Space 8: The Stories of Ray Bradbury
Total unique stories: 247 Total duplicate stories: 93
Group 29 stories that are not in Group 30: The Concrete Mixer Epilogue (The Illustrated Man) The Highway The Other Foot Prologue: The Illustrated Man
Group 30 stories that are not in Group 29: The Headpiece In a Season of Calm Weather The Little Mice The Marriage Mender The Time of Going Away -------------------------------------------------------
Yesterday I read “Everyone Is Cheating Their Way Through College” by James D. Walsh, which was quite eye-opening. AI programs like ChatGPT, Claude, and Gemini have made a massive and immediate impact on K-12 and high education. This essay is already being widely discussed. It says students are using AI to do their homework and that teachers have practically given in.
The essay is worth reading carefully, especially if you’re a parent, educator, or science fiction writer. I don’t think I’ve read a single science fiction story that’s even come close to imagining what’s happening today.
Try extrapolating this trend into the future.
Since the 17th century and the advent of public education, society has been working to develop a curriculum that defines a basic, well-rounded education. The way students use AI today throws all of this out the door. They want to rely on AI to know what needs to be known and use AI to get what they want.
In essence, school kids are making themselves into cyborgs. But what happened to the Borg when they were cut off from the Hive Mind?
The article profiled one kid who is using AI to invent ways to create wearable AI believing that someday that AI access will just be embedded in our heads. That has come up in science fiction before. But I’m not sure if any writer imagined how intelligent the human part would be on its own.
As the article points out, education isn’t about stuffing kids with knowledge. Education is about learning how to think and process information. AI bypasses that.
The article also implies we’ll never put the genie back in the bottle, so we’ll need to adapt. What we need is a science fiction novel that explores such adaptation on the level of Nineteen Eighty-Four or The Handmaid’s Tale. We need to imagine where this is going.
I don’t use AI to write my blogs, but I do use the realtime spelling and grammar checker that’s built into Microsoft Edge. Then I use the free version of Grammarly, but in a weird way. The free Grammarly constantly offers to rewrite my sentences but only if I pay them $129 a year. With the free version, it only shows me a blurred version of what it proposes. Because I’m too cheap to buy the full version of Grammarly, I just keep rewriting my sentences until Grammarly stops trying to sell itself to me.
I’m wondering if even that much AI help is bad for me. I could turn off all of Edge’s writing tools and depend solely on my own knowledge. I’d need to carefully proof everything I write and look up everything that looks suspicious. Of course, that means I need to know when something is wrong.
Advocates of AI in education claim that AI will offer every student their own personal tutor. And that’s probably a good thing. But tutors teach. I would probably be better helped by a program that just crosses out problems but gives me no solutions.
One of the insights I gained from reading Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell is standout successful people like Tiger Woods or Mozart achieved their great successes by early intervention of their fathers. That people who find a mentor or tutor early in life have a far better chance of achieving a major success.
In the Walsh article, one of the students profiled eventually dropped out of Columbia. He ended up inventing several programs and companies by using AI. That shows you can still succeed without getting a traditional education. However, most of what he created helped students cheat with AI. Would you want a tax accountant who skipped school and based their expertise on AI?
If students are going to cheat their way through the standard education system, why keep our current education system? Do kids need all twelve years of grammar and secondary education? Do they need four years of college?
Can any science fiction writer imagine what adults will be like in the 2040s who grew up with using AI in school in the 2020s? Science fiction has often imagined AI taking over human civilization. Has any writer imagined a symbiotic civilization based on human-AI cyborgs?
“A Two-Timer” by David I. Masson (New Worlds 159, February 1966) (Amazon)
Back in the sixties, in high school, my friends and I would argue endlessly over science fiction short stories. We didn’t remember them by their title or author, but by whatever neat idea they imagined. I still remember my friend George telling Connell and me about a humorous short story, where a human crewed military spaceship tries to get cooperation from a human colony world where the social norms and economy were wacky. The colonists kept telling the crew “myob” to everything asked. I didn’t learn until years later that this was a famous story by Eric Frank Russell called “… And Then There Were None.” Another story George told us was about an Earthman who fell in love with a girl, and she wanted him to tell him he loved her. But the guy didn’t want to use such a trite phrase, so he left Earth and went all over the galaxy to learn about the preciseness of language. Eventually, he returns to the girl and says, “My dear, I’m rather fond of you.” Of course, the girl was hugely disappointed and rejected the guy. When the guy told his language guru what happened, the guru said, “Lucky devil, vaguely enjoyable was the best I could ever find.” I didn’t discover until decades later that it was “The Language of Love” by Robert Sheckley.”
The point of all this was that we judged science fiction solely on the ideas in the stories, not the plot, characterization, or writing. George read the most and was the best at retelling a story. I think he mainly read anthologies. I read anthologies and magazines. I was more into neat inventions. For example, I told them about the ecologariums in “The Star Pit” by Samuel R. Delany. Connell and I loved Mindswap by Sheckley, and we told everyone about the Theory of Searches. We worked at the Kwik Chek in Coconut Grove, Florida. At the time, its park was a gathering place for would-be hippies. The odds of meeting someone you knew from all over Dade County were increased if you came to the park on Saturdays. That fit Sheckley’s idea that there were optimal places to go if you were searching for someone.
The last three stories we read for the Best Science Fiction and Fantasy Short Fiction Facebook group were all idea stories, the kind my buddies and I would have discussed at Connell’s house on Vista Ct.
“The Certificate” by Avram Davidson is a tight little story about alien invaders who take complete control over humanity, making us their slaves. The aliens create a vast bureaucracy that’s impossible to fight. The aliens also punish us severely if we don’t cooperate. To make matters worse, they have altered us so we heal immediately, so they can torture us over and over again.
The story’s protagonist is Dr. Roger Freeman, who desperately wants a new winter coat. To apply for one involves going through an obstacle course that takes years. But Freeman is finessing the system.
Back in high school, this story would have caused us to argue about how we’d overthrow those aliens. Being young guys, we’d probably claim to know how to start a rebellion, even though Davidson sets up the story to suggest no rebellion is possible. When I read this story this week, the idea didn’t appeal to me much. The story is well-written, with an O. Henry surprise ending. However, it doesn’t offer anything to me as an older reader.
“To See the Invisible Man” by Robert Silverberg seems like a reply to Damon Knight’s classic short story, “Country of the Kind.” Like the Knight story, Silverberg sets up a society with a unique liberal form of punishment. The unnamed first-person narrator is sentenced to a year of invisibility for being cold and detached. He’s not actually made invisible. He’s just branded on the forehead, so anyone who sees him should act like he doesn’t exist. The story is about the psychological changes this character undergoes during the year. The narrator learns that he can steal whatever he wants or visit women’s locker rooms and be completely ignored. But he gets lonely, even desperate for someone to talk to. Silverberg takes us to a different place in his story. His character rebels in a different way by being compassionate.
My buddies and I would have had a lot to say about this story, with each of us coming up with how to handle the punishment. We’d probably argued over whether or not we’d go into the women’s locker room. I would have said that my solution would have been to read science fiction for a year. We did know of “Country of the Kind,” so we would have compared the two, but only about what the two criminals did, not about the writing, plotting, or characterization. Science fiction was about setting up a situation that you could argue over.
“To See the Invisible Man” is a good story. It’s tightly told, immediate, and works. However, it is not nearly as dramatic as “Country of the Kind,” and thus won’t be as memorable.
There’s little likelihood we would have read “A Two-Timer” by David I. Masson in the 1960s because it came out in a British SF magazine. Also, the idea behind this story is probably too subtle for three teenage boys in the 1960s. Joe, the narrator, is a guy from 1683 who steals a time machine and visits 1964. Of course, he doesn’t know it’s a time machine when he discovers it, or comprehends the idea of time travel. He just sees a guy walk away from a weird enclosed chair. He gets in and sees all kinds of dials and buttons labeled with words he doesn’t understand. He pushes a button and goes to 1964. Eventually, Joe figures out how the machine travels in time and space, like the DeLorean in Back to the Future.
The real point of this story is Joe, with his Middle English mind, describing 1964 to the reader. That might have entertained us back in the sixties, but I’m not sure. Old man me, found it very creative. There’s little action in the story. The piece is Masson’s playground for showing off his knowledge about language and history. Present-day me was disappointed that Joe wasn’t inspired to explore time based on his 17th-century knowledge.
I’m getting old and jaded. I find it hard to discover science fiction that thrills me in the remaining years of my life. I’ve loved reading science fiction magazines my whole life, but most of the stories were aimed at readers like my younger self. Masson’s exploration of language is more ambitious and mature than the other two stories, but Masson built his story on a lame plot.
Even though I’ve been reading science fiction for over sixty years, I still want to find stories that thrill me to the same degree as I was at 13. I’m not sure that’s even possible. Breakthrough science fiction novels like Hyperion are rare. But it’s interesting to note that Hyperion would have been a novel that thrilled me and my high school science fiction buddies.
Obviously, many of the stories that wowed me as I grew older would have also thrilled the younger me. For example, “Think Like a Dinosaur” by James Patrick Kelly or “Beggars in Spain” by Nancy Kress.
On the other hand, would “Story of Your Life” by Ted Chiang have inspired our younger selves? We would have avidly talked about translating an alien language, but would we have appreciated the advanced plotting and exceptional writing?
And could we have appreciated “Loneliness Universe” by Eugenia Triantafyllou without having lived through the social media era? Or could my younger self appreciate “Two Truths and a Lie” by Sarah Pinsker, which moved my older self? Wasn’t I mainly moved by the writing? I’m not sure high school Jim could have.
What if we could have read “Press ENTER ■” by John Varley in 1966? Would it blow us kids away like it did me in 1984? Did we need to understand computers and know about the technological singularity first?
I have to assume certain stories in the 1960s were relevant because of my age and current events. That’s why Dangerous Visions was exciting in 1969 but painful to read last year.
I keep looking for old science fiction I missed back then that will thrill me as much now as it would have thrilled me back when — if I had discovered it when I was young. One such book was The Man Who Fell to Earth by Walter Tevis. The trouble is, I think George, Connell, and I would have all thought that story was dull. Isn’t that novel better for the old and jaded?
I need to find cutting-edge science fiction for today that would have thrilled me as a 13-year-old but also a 73-year-old.
By the way, my 1964 self expected a much different 2025 than the one I live in now. There are many nonfiction books about current affairs that, if I could send to my 1964 self, would read more like science fiction than science fiction.
My library constantly discards science fiction from its holdings. I know that because I see those books in the Friends of the Library book sale stamped DISCARD. Often, they are books I would consider SF blasts from the past. Evidently, if they aren’t checked out for a certain period, they get discarded. I used to believe libraries were supposed to preserve the past, but I don’t think that’s true anymore.
But that’s not my only clue that science fiction has a shelf life. At the used bookstore I visit every week I see the same old books week after week – no one is buying them. It’s the newer books that come and go so quickly.
For years now, I’ve been watching people review science fiction books on YouTube. I can sense that many authors and their books are falling out favor over time. A major example is Robert A. Heinlein. When I was growing up, he was considered the #1 science fiction author. He was my favorite SF writer. I still love his books published before 1960, but the ones after that haven’t aged well with me. Reviewers generally pan Heinlein nowadays. I often see critical comments about Heinlein on Facebook. He’s just not popular anymore. I see many of his books at the used bookstore, but only a couple at the new bookstore.
Whitney at the YouTube channel Secret Sauce of Storycraft has been reviewing old Hugo winning novels by decades. She didn’t like over half of the winners. Five of the ten (The Wanderer, Stranger in a Strange Land, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, This Immortal, and Lord of Light) have stopped working for me too.
If I gave the Hugo Award now for the 1960s, my list would be:
1960 – STARSHIP TROOPERS by Robert A. Heinlein
1961 – ROGUE MOON by Algis Budrys ( for A CANTICLE FOR LEIBOWITZ)
1962 – STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND by Robert A. Heinlein
1963 – THE MAN IN THE HIGH CASTLE by Philip K. Dick
1964 – THE MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH by Walter Tevis (for WAY STATION)
1965 – THE MARTIAN TIME-SLIP by Philip K. Dick (for THE WANDERER)
1966 – DUNE by Frank Herbert
1967 – FLOWERS FOR ALGERNON by Daniel Keyes (THE MOON IS A HARSH MISTRESS)
1968 – no award
1969 – STAND ON ZANZIBAR by John Brunner
I thought there would be hundreds of science fiction books that would be Hugo worthy from the 1960s, but there weren’t. I used CSFquery.com and ISFDB.org to look at each year 1960-1969 and there just was’t that many older books that’s being read today that people still admire.
I love A Canticle for Leibowitz still, but it’s a fixup novel, and I mostly love it for the first story. And reviewers aren’t as wowed as they used to be for it. I kept Stranger on the list even though I no longer like it, because it’s so ambitious for the times, and historically, it is the standout novel of the year. I love Way Station, but I don’t think people still read it much. The Man Who Fell to Earth has grown in popularity since 1963. The Martian Time-Slip is way better than The Wanderer, and people still read it. I definitely think Flowers for Algernon has aged better than Mistress. I’d give No Award over Lord of Light, or any other novel I remember from 1967.
All the books on my list are in print, and all are available as audiobooks. That’s a good indicator that they are still being read.
I was shocked by how few science fiction books from the 1960s I still admire. Twelve years ago I wrote a series about the best SF books from each decade. Looking at my essay for the 1960s shows damn few books that people still read.
I remember back in the 1960s when old guys would gush about E. E. “Doc” Smith books from the 1920s and 1930s. I tried them, and they were horrible. I guess today’s young readers would feel the same about most of the books I loved back in the 1960s. Is anyone still reading Keith Laumer, John Boyd, Mack Reynolds, A. Bertram Chandler, etc.
What are the best science fiction books from the 1960s that you still read and think young people should try?
You might like to read An Information History of the Hugo Awards by Jo Walton. This was first published at Tor.com and many of the comments from readers are included.
“Loneliness Universe” by Eugenia Triantafyllou appeared in Uncanny (#58, May/June 2024) and is a finalist for the 2025 Hugo Award in the Best Novelette category. You can read or listen to the story online. If you are a member of the 2025 Seattle Worldcon, you can vote for this story through July 23, 2025.
I first learned about the Hugo Awards back in the 1960s. I never attended a Worldcon but always wanted to. I did attend some regional conventions back in the 1970s. I kept up with the Hugo and Nebula awards for most of the 20th century, but slowly lost touch with science fiction and fandom in the 21st century. I discovered “Loneliness Universe” when I read Austin Beeman’s “Reviewing the 2025 Hugo Award Finalists: Best Novelettes” at his website www.shortsf.com.
I’m so impressed with “Loneliness Universe” that I will try to read all the finalists. I might even join the convention as a virtual member and vote. Members get a packet that includes many of the works up for voting. Membership is $50, and adding virtual attendance is another $35. There’s little chance I will physically attend a Worldcon, so that might be my best shot at achieving an old desire.
“Loneliness Universe” is not what I’d call science fiction. Nor would I categorize it as fantasy. One reason I let the science fiction genre pass me by is that it’s no longer what I thought it was supposed to be. That’s not a criticism. I just didn’t feel like keeping up with changing times. However, “Loneliness Universe” is an outstanding work of fiction.
The story begins with an email from Nefeli to Cara dated September 18, 2015. Throughout the story, we get to read email exchanges, but the next one is dated July 5, 2015. I don’t know if this is a spoiler, but the first email is the end of the story. I did not discover right away. In fact, I wouldn’t have discovered it at all if I hadn’t immediately reread the story by listening to it a second time.
I recommend you read this story the first time, then listen to it a second time.
I’m not going to spend much time describing this story. Read it. I will spend some time trying to explain what it’s doing.
There are infinite ways to understand fiction. One way is to think of fiction as a spectrum. At one end are stories where the author sends the readers a message. On the other end of that spectrum are stories where the author creates a story that is just a story.
Think of the first type as a message in a bottle from an individual stranded on a deserted island. And think of the second type as how some people describe God as an artist who created our existence but walked away.
In “Loneliness Universe,” Eugenia Triantafyllou has created a metaphor for our current cultural existence. In this story, Nefeli realizes she is losing physical contact with everyone she knows. She can only communicate with them through email and instant messages. They can leave evidence of their existence, but she no longer communicates with people face-to-face.
The setup for this story reminds me of an experience I had on LSD fifty-five years ago. I thought everyone was in an isolated universe by themselves, and our efforts to communicate in words were no better than writing a message, putting it in a bottle, and throwing it into the sea, hoping for a reply. That each of us was an isolated universe inside our heads. In Eugenia’s story, she imagines we’re all moving into separate universes of a multiverse, and for a while, can communicate via email and instant messages. This sounds science-fictional, but it’s probably more Kafkaesque.
The thing about metaphors is not that they are accurate, true, or valid, but that they make you think about a concept from a new perspective. In recent weeks, I’ve often woken in the middle of the night and thought about all the hundreds of people I’ve known in my lifetime and wondered about what has happened to them. And I ask myself, did we ever really communicate? This is what “Loneliness Universe” is about. Are we on the same wavelength?
Are we ever in the same room at the same time with someone else? If you truly understand this question, I will say those moments of being together are fleeting. Many people want to believe sex is a way to achieve such synchronicity, but that’s not true either. I don’t believe telepathy is possible, but sometimes, when two people have had the same life experiences, they can say just the right words, they know they have achieved a kind of psychic Venn diagram intersection for a fleeting moment.
“Loneliness Universe” is not a perfect story. It’s only as good as you can resonate with what Eugenia Triantafyllou is expressing. I don’t know how well her message in a bottle was decoded by my inner self. We will never be in the same room together. But I’d like to believe I know what she was trying to say.
“Watershed” by James Blish was first published in IF Worlds of Science Fiction (May 1955). You can read it online here. “Watershed” became part of James Blish’s The Seedling Stars, a collection of short stories about adapting humans to new environments. The most famous story of the collection is the classic “Surface Tension.” Unfortunately, “Watershed” is not in print except for Supermen: Tales of a Posthuman Future, a 2002 anthology edited by Gardner Dozois.
“Watershed” is a rather preachy tale, not a thrillingly dramatic story like “Surface Tension.” Capt. Gorbel of the spaceship R.S.S. Indefeasible is traveling to Earth to deliver new colonists, but it’s not what you think. Humans have long colonized the galaxy, and the environment of Earth can no longer sustain “standard form” humans. Gorbel is going to Earth to deliver colonists that look like seals, but are considered just as human as we are, well, that’s by the standards of political correctness of their day.
The adapted human is Hoqqueah. He likes to sit in the forward greenhouse and stare into space as the ship approaches Earth. However, the standard form crew considers itself superior to the adapted humans. Averdor doesn’t like that Hoqqueah spends so much time in the greenhouse, and is annoyed by his constant talking. Averdor tries to convince Gorbel to forbid the adapted humans from using the greenhouse.
Hoqqueah knows of this prejudice, and he tells the Captain a story about Earth. He explains that Earth was the original home of all humans. He also tells how humans have found many planets that couldn’t support the standard human body, so they adapted humans to new forms. The concept is called pantropy. (That link gives several classic examples in SF.)
However, this is 1955, and we must ask ourselves if this story is about space exploration. The famous civil rights case, Brown v. Board of Education, happened in 1954. To be fair to James Blish, he had been exploring pantropy since 1942. But then Blish has Hoqqueah tell Captain Gorbel about prejudice against dark skin humans on old Earth.
The kicker to this story is that the standard form is now the minority.
“Watershed” has nice sentiments, but not much of a story. It’s told, not shown. It would have been far better if it had been dramatized. We don’t get to know Hoqqueah or what it’s like to be a seal person. And why, if standard form humans can’t handle Earth, how can the adapted men of his kind handle the spaceship with Gorbel and Averdor?
I recommend reading “Surface Tension” to understand what I mean by telling the story with drama. You can read it in the August 1952 issue of Galaxy Magazine.
“The Last Day” by Richard Matheson was first published in the April-May 1953 issue of Amazing Stories. You can read it online here. Or you can buy The Best of Richard Matheson in various media editions here. Or look at its reprint history to see if you already own it in an anthology.
Our reading group is reading 25 short stories recommended by five group members. They are stories we haven’t read as a group, but ones the five people thought we shouldn’t miss. I didn’t submit this time, but “The Last Day” would have been one of the stories I would have submitted. Three of my favorite SF short stories from 1953 are “The Last Day,” “Lot” by Ward Moore, and “Deadly City” by Paul W. Fairman. I admire these stories because they were so gritty, even brutal.
Science fiction has often dealt with post-apocalyptic stories but “The Last Day” is about the end of the world. Some astronomical object is about to crash into the Earth. It’s not specified. The story begins in the morning of the last day and ends in the evening just before the end of everything on Earth.
I have often read and thought about surviving an apocalypse. I have often contemplated my own death. And I’ve always been fascinated by stories about people with a terminal illness and what they did with their remaining days.
But I haven’t thought about what I would do if everyone had just one day to live. It’s a neat concept to ponder. After reading “The Last Day” I’m not sure I’d need to read another story on the same idea. “The Last Day” gets the job done so nicely that I can’t imagine anyone topping it.
For this reading, I read the story with my eyes and then listened to it with my ears. I was impressed by its drama. Richard Matheson is famous for writing over a dozen episodes of The Twilight Zone. Many of Matheson’s stories and novels were adapted for television and the movies, and he wrote many screenplays. Matheson knows how to create drama.
“The Last Day” begins with Richard waking up in a room full of passed-out people. Several are naked, and it’s obvious that a drunken orgy had taken place the night before. When Richard goes into the bathroom to clean up a bit, he finds a dead man in the tub. Richard enters the kitchen where a friend, Spencer, is frying eggs. By now, we’ve realized that life on Earth is about to end.
Richard wishes he were with Mary, a woman he loved but didn’t commit to. His friend Norman comes into the kitchen and tells Richard he wants to go see his mother. Norman asks Richard if he wants to see his mother. Richard dreads the idea because he knows his mother will preach religion at him, and he doesn’t want to hear it.
After Spencer leaves to have more sex with a woman who wants everyone to watch, Norman begs Richard to drive him to his mother’s house. We learn that riots are going on all over the city. Many people have committed suicide, but others run wild, murdering each other.
All of this is amazingly adult for a science fiction story in 1953, especially published in a magazine mostly read by young adults. That issue seemed atypical for Amazing Stories. It also had stories by Robert A. Heinlein, Theodore Sturgeon, and Murray Leinster. It was edited by Howard Browne. I feel I need to reevaluate that era of the magazine. 1953 was a boom year for science fiction magazines. I’ve written about it before. I believe the Cold War had a significant impact on the genre that year. Just look at some of the other notable stories from 1953.
Richard eventually finds his mother at his sister’s house. There’s a poignant scene of his sister and her husband getting their daughter to take sleeping pills, and Richard watching all three commit suicide. And finally, Richard has a moving moment with his mother while they wait to die.
The story is cleanly told. Direct. It covers many bases without getting wordy. 5-stars.
“The Rose” by Charles L. Harness was first published in Authentic Science Fiction Monthly (No. 31, March 1953). You can read it online here. Our Facebook group is discussing 25 stories suggested by five members that we haven’t discussed before. Paul Fraser has recommended “The Rose” in comments, but it’s never been up for a group discussion. I’ve tried to read “The Rose” twice before but got bogged down. The story is long, a novella, and it’s dense.
“The Rose” is one of the most ambitious science fiction novellas I’ve ever read. I’m glad that I finally finished it. This is exactly what I was hoping for from our member-recommended group read, a standout science fiction work I haven’t read. One good enough to merit rereading.
The story reminds me of what other writers explored in the years after 1953, works by Theodore Sturgeon, J. G. Ballard, Robert Silverberg, Jack Vance, and Roger Zelazny. “The Rose” has seldom been reprinted, but the most significant anthology to remember it is The Science Fiction Century, edited by David G. Hartwell.
“The Rose” is available as The Rose, a standalone Kindle novel for 99 cents. They say it’s 192 pages, but I can’t tell if it’s expanded from the novella. The UK edition says it’s just 88 pages, so it’s probably the same as the novella.
But for $1 more, you can get the Kindle edition of The Ornament of His Profession for $1.99, which includes “The Rose” and several other stories by Harness. I just discovered I already own that edition in my Kindle Library. Probably, I bought it when Paul recommended “The Rose” the first time.
Both have the same introduction to “The Rose:”
Because “The Rose” appeared in Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, I thought Harness was British, but his Wikipedia page says he was American. I recommend taking the time to read his entry because it made me want to read more of what Charles L. Harness wrote. His science fiction sounds fascinating, but I’ve only read a couple of his shorter works. I may, or may not have read Flight Into Yesterday/Paradox Men. I also recommend reading “The Novels of Charles Harness” by Rich Horton.
Describing “The Rose” is going to be difficult. Anna van Tuyl is a psychiatrist. She’s also a ballet dancer, composer, and choreographer. Anna was once beautiful, but now she is hunched back and has two horn-like structures growing from her forehead. The story is about Anna’s efforts to finish the score for a ballet called Nightingale and the Rose. As the introduction tells us, it’s plotted around a short story, “The Nightingale and the Rose” by Oscar Wilde. Anna is mentally blocked from composing the score’s climax.
Anna’s friend, Max Bell, a psychogeneticist, recommends Anna to Martha Jacques, wife of Ruy Jacques. Martha is a brilliant scientist working on an advanced weapon, and Ruy is an artist. Ruy has also become disfigured by a hump and horns, and recently lost the ability to read and write. Max Bell tricks Anna into meeting Ruy Jacques, where she falls in love with him. Ruy is an over-the-top, outrageous character — narcissistic, insane, and brilliant to the nth degree.
It turns out that Martha is obsessively jealous of Ruy and is hesitant to hire Anna. Throughout the story, Martha and Ruy have one never-ending argument about art versus science. This is one of the many reasons “The Rose” is so dense to read. Harness throws out all kinds of ideas and theories about art and science. Ruy believes artists have long known everything scientists eventually discover.
To complicate the story further, Ruy and Anna are emerging supermen, or examples of Homo superior. They are developing psychic powers, but these are strange powers. Harness has taken on the task of showing how advanced humans will think. Much of his speculation is psychobabble and pseudo-science, but there’s a kind of elegance to his thinking. Harness uses 1953 art theory, combined with a fair knowledge of classical music, ballet, and other arts, to contrast with scientific and mathematical ideas of the time. Reading Charles L. Harness suggests he was a cultured man, better educated than the average science fiction writer. But then, science fiction writers are often great autodidatics and bullshitters. Harness had degrees in chemistry and the law and worked as a patent attorney.
Harness also complicates his story by paralleling the plot of the novella with the plot of the fictional ballet. And Ruy and Anna work to live out their own artistic creation.
It took me a while to embrace Harness’s prose. You have to read it slowly because he intends so much with each sentence. Here’s one sample.
“The Rose” is definitely a story I look forward to rereading someday. I’d love to hear a professional narrator read it in an audiobook. “The Rose” doesn’t emotionally enchant me like “The Star Pit” by Samuel R. Delany or “A Rose for Ecclesiastes” by Roger Zelazny does. It’s about as intellectually impressive as “The Darfsteller” by Walter M. Miller, Jr., another long science fiction story about artists and performers I admire but don’t quite love.
My opinion might change with another reading of “The Rose.” Right now, it doesn’t quite make the five-star rating. I think the density of the prose keeps me from embracing the characters. I never liked Anna or Ruy, only admired them as interesting characters. This might be due to the story being too tightly plotted. Harness wanted his characters to act out a ballet they were creating, and you get the feeling that Anna and Ruy are acting for Harness, not themselves.
“Brightness Falls from the Air” by Margaret St. Clair was first published in the April 1951 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction as “?” F&SF ran it as a name-the-story contest. You can read it online here.
If I had been a reader in 1951, I would have submitted “The Plague.” If I had precognition, I would have submitted “The Ugly Terrans,” inspired by the 1958 bestseller, The Ugly American.
“Brightness Falls from the Air” shows writing development for Margaret St. Clair over her “The Listening Child,” published a year earlier. This story has bite. Humans occupy an alien planet where they treat the local intelligent life like the Romans treated conquered people. St. Clair instills this comparison in the first sentence, telling us her protagonist, Kerr, is in the tepidarium. Tepidarium was the name of a warm room positioned between the frigidarium and caldarium in Roman baths.
Kerr meets Rhysha, a bird person, and befriends her when she comes to claim the body of her brother, who died in a gladiatorial battle held by the humans. Throughout this short story, we learn humans have never curbed their population growth and have spread across the galaxy like a pandemic. We are not nice. Kerr tries to give Rhysha hope by telling her humans will one day change. Reading this story 73 years later, we know that’s unlikely.
I liked “Brightness Falls from the Air” so much more than “The Listening Child” (Group Read 92 #01 of 25) because it’s so dark. F&SF began as a light fantasy magazine, but as it included more science fiction, the overall tone of the magazine became heavier and darker. We’d entered the Cold War. Thoughts of nuclear annihilation become rampant.
Worrying about overpopulation in 1951, put Margaret St. Clair ahead of most other science fiction writers. Overpopulation wasn’t a major theme in SF until the 1960s – or so I thought until I read Joachim Boaz’s “Science Fiction Novels/Short Stories about Overpopulation.” Her story would be tied with “The Marching Morons” by C. M. Kornbluth as first since it was also published in April 1951, in Galaxy Magazine. Is it coincidence that both stories claim Homo sapiens are losers?
“Brightness Falls from the Air” could also fit into Boaz’s series concerning science fiction critical of space exploration. (I wish Joachim would put this series on the menu like his series on overpopulation, generation ships, and immortality.)
Even though I liked “Brightness Falls from the Air” much more than “The Listening Child,” they both have the same simple plot: a nice person sympathizes and befriends a tragic person who dies. In both stories, characterization is minimal. Each character is described by their relationship to the plot. None of these characters has their own agenda.
I admire “Brightness Falls from the Air” because it’s a vicious attack on humanity and says we shouldn’t colonize the galaxy. This feels even more valid in 2025. Yet, that’s not enough to make it a great story. It was included in David Hartwell’s The Science Fiction Century, so it’s better remembered than “The Listening Child.” However, it doesn’t have the lasting impact of “The Marching Morons.” It’s too slight.
“Brightness Falls from the Air” is a nice little story, but it’s not good enough to be great.
“The Listening Child” was first published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction (December 1950) by Margaret St. Clair using the pseudonym Idris Seabright. You can read it online here. It is short story #1 of 25 that our Facebook group will be discussing as Group Read 92. (See the reading schedule at the end of this review.) Group Read 92 consists of 25 stories picked by five group members that we haven’t read before. That was a challenge since we’ve been discussing a short story daily for years. The group is public.
In the 1950s, extrasensory perception (ESP) was a popular theme in science fiction and fantasy magazines. It was often speculated that people with physical or mental abnormalities might have additional senses to compensate for the loss of one of their primary senses. I assume the assumption came from blind people who had keener hearing.
After Hiroshima, science fiction and comic book writers often used radiation as a cause of ESP. However, in the 1930s and 1940s, John W. Campbell was impressed by the Rhine experiments, and science fiction writers often supposed that advanced aliens had psychic powers. Arthur C. Clarke, who was normally a hard SF writer, proposed that the evolution of human development led to ESP in two of his most famous novels, Childhood’s End and 2001: A Space Odyssey. Soft science and fantasy writers leaned towards psi-powers in physically and mentally damaged humans, like Theodore Sturgeon’s More Than Human.
Margaret St. Clair imagines a deaf mute having a rather unique ESP talent. Timmy can “hear” when death is near. Many famous stories personify death, so this isn’t too out there, but it’s not as believable as other ESP talents, even though it is well proven that ESP does not exist. Still, hearing death makes for a nice story idea.
St. Clair’s setup for her story is rather quaint. Edwin Hoppler is 63 and suffers from a weak heart. He lives in a boarding house. Boarding houses have disappeared, but were common in old movies and science fiction short stories before the 1960s. Quite a few episodes of The Twilight Zone were set in boarding houses. It’s a shame they don’t still exist. Living with several other individuals who ate communal meals fixed by a nice old lady sounds pleasant.
Timmy is the landlady’s grandson, and Edwin feels sorry for him. Edwin befriends Timmy when he realizes that the other kids don’t play with Timmy. Edwin notices that Timmy “listens” intently at times, and eventually notices that these listening moments precede a person or animal dying. Edwin decides to use Timmy as the canary in a coal mine to detect his own impending heart episodes.
“The Listening Child” is a pleasant little story, but rather slight. Timmy and Edwin are only developed enough as characters to present the idea for the story. There’s little conflict or tension. The story also lacks color or voice. The idea is slight, but writers can flesh out simple ideas into complex characterization and plots. For example, compare it to “Jeffty is Five” by Harlan Ellison. Jeffty is a boy who is perpetually five, and always lives in the year he was five, with the popular culture never changing. Or read “Baby is Three” by Theodore Sturgeon; it’s tremendously dramatic for a boy with psychic powers talking to a psychiatrist.
I don’t want to tell you the ending, but I expected St. Clair thought her readers would find it emotional and poignant. It was presented too casually for me to be moved, but I’m curious if other members from our short story reading group will be moved. I wanted the ending to be like in Platoon when we see Elias still alive, and the emotional impact we felt watching him die.
I’m working on a project to find my all-time favorite science fiction stories I’ve read over the past sixty years. Identifying such stories means learning what makes a story work. Most published stories succeed at a basic three-star level, which is how I’d rate “The Listening Child.”
For this story to reach the four-star level, Timmy and Edwin would need to become vivid characters. To make it to a five-star story would require elevating the story gimmick of hearing death into something metaphorical and philosophical that I would want to contemplate over several readings.
James Wallace Harris, 4/21/25
Group Read 92 Schedule
01 (04/22/25) – The Listening Child, by Margaret St. Clair (ss) F&SF, December 1950 (DH)
02 (04/24/25) – Brightness Falls from the Air, by Margaret St. Clair (ss) F&SF, April 1951 (FP)
03 (04/26/25) – The Rose, by Charles L. Harness (na), Authentic Science Fiction, 15 March 1953 (PF)
04 (04/29/25) – The Last Day, by Richard Matheson (ss), Amazing, April/May 1953 (FP)
05 (05/01/25) – Watershed, by James Blish (ss), If, May 1955 (RH)
06 (05/03/25) – The Certificate, by Avram Davidson (ss), F&SF, March 1959 (FP)
07 (05/06/25) – To See the Invisible Man, by Robert Silverberg (ss), Worlds of Tomorrow, April 1963 (FP)
08 (05/08/25) – A Two-Timer, by David I. Masson (nv), New Worlds 159, February 1966 (PF)
09 (05/10/25) – The Adventuress, by Joanna Russ (nv), Orbit 2, ed. Damon Knight (Putnam, 1967) (RH)
10 (05/13/25) – No War, or Battle’s Sound, by Harry Harrison (nv), If, October 1968 (FP)
11 (05/15/25) – The Milk of Paradise, by James Tiptree, Jr. (ss), Again, Dangerous Visions, ed. Harlan Ellison (Doubleday, 1972) (RH)
12 (05/17/25) – Pale Roses, by Michael Moorcock (nv), New Worlds 7, ed. Hilary Bailey & Charles Platt (Sphere, 1974) (PF)
13 (05/20/25) – Concepts, by Thomas M. Disch (nv), F&SF, December 1978 (PF)
14 (05/22/25) – Gate of Faces, by Ray Aldridge (nv), F&SF, April 1991 (PF)
15 (05/24/25) – On Sequoia Time, by Daniel Keys Moran (ss), Asimov’s, September 1996 (PN)
16 (05/27/25) – Journey into the Kingdom, by M. Rickert (nv), F&SF, May 2006 (PN)
17 (05/29/25) – Roxie, by Robert Reed (ss), Asimov’s, July 2007 (PN)
18 (05/31/25) – 26 Monkeys, Also the Abyss, by Kij Johnson (ss), Asimov’s, July 2008 (DH)
19 (06/03/25) – Passage of Earth, by Michael Swanwick (ss), Clarkesworld 91, April 2014 (PN)
20 (06/05/25) – Cimmeria, by Theodora Goss (ss), Lightspeed 50, July 2014 (RH)
I’ve decided to assemble an anthology of my favorite science fiction short stories. I’m not going to publish it. This book will be just for me to read. Before personal computers I would have created such an anthology by xeroxing all my favorite stories and putting them into a big folder, binder, or box. Now, with computers I can create a digital file that I can read with my iPad. I’ve discovered I can convert digital magazines, e-book pages, web pages, or even scan physical books to .pdf files that are easy to read on my iPad.
This project is only practical if you’re savvy with computers.
You can read .pdf files with almost any device, but for fiction reading, it’s best to read on a tablet. My method doesn’t work well with Kindles, other e-ink readers, or smartphones because the .pdf files are a collection of .jpg images. This system works great with both iOS and Android tablets.
The next step for this project to be practical is to have a convenient way to load files onto your tablet. I save .pdf versions of stories to a folder on Dropbox and read them with the Dropbox application on my tablets. Dropbox has a built-in reader for common file formats like .pdf files.
I create the .pdf files using Abbyy Finereader 15, but you can use any program that will convert a collection of images to a .pdf file. The free PDFgear works great on Windows. However, the Mac version doesn’t allow for no margins and centers all images on a white background. That works but annoys me.
There are other cloud storage providers that work with tablets if you don’t use Dropbox. Dropbox has a free basic account with 2GB’s of space that will hold hundreds of stories. If you’re a tablet user, you probably already know which cloud drive works well with it.
If you have these technical solutions solved, the next step is to find stories to read on your computer. They can be from an ebook, web pages, or a page you scan yourself. If you look around, many old science fiction magazines have been digitized in the CBR/CBZ format. I use a CBR reader call YACreader. YACreader allows me to right-click on any page and save it to a .jpg. I name each page by the title of the story – author – page number of the original publication.
You can also use your screenshot utility to capture what you see on screen from a web page, ebook, or any program that displays stories to save as a .jpg file. I put all the .jpg pages in a folder that I name after the story. Here’s my folder for “Deadly City” by Paul W. Fairman from the March 1953 issue of If Magazine.
I then launch Abbyy Finereader (or PDFgear) and tell it to covert those pages to .pdf. I save the resulted file to a folder called “My Favorite SF Short Stories” and name the file by the title and author. Here are my first 27 stories. I just convert stories as I reread them and determine they are a favorite. Here’s my current folder on Windows:
Here’s what my directory of favorite stories looks like in Dropbox on my iPad mini. The directory is on the left, and the preview is on the right. It’s very nice.
And here’s what the story looks like in the reader view of Dropbox:
As you can see, I’ve copied the story from a scan of the original magazine. You can find scans of old magazines all over the web, such as archive.org. However, sellers on eBay and Facebook are now selling complete collections of digitized old magazines fairly cheap. I bought DVDs years ago with complete runs of my favorite SF magazines.
I do own several hundred of hardback, paperback, ebook, and audiobook science fiction anthologies. I also own several hundred physical issues of science fiction magazines from the 20th century. And I can call up nearly every issue of any science fiction magazine published in the 20th century on my iPad. So, why would I want to take the trouble to make my own anthology of favorite SF stories?
I’ve read thousands of science fiction short stories over the last sixty-three years. Some I’ve read several times. Since I’ve gotten older, I’ve discovered that there’s a depth to fiction that’s only revealed through rereading and study. I’m working to get beyond just reading and pursue understanding. Creating this anthology is my way of narrowing down the list of stories I want to study. I will add and delete to “My Favorite SF Stories” folder for the rest of my life. It’s becoming a project.
I’m focusing on the science fiction short story because I’ve always believed the science fiction magazine was the true heart of science fiction. And besides, novels are too long.
Think of fiction as a symbolic message from another person. How often in day-to-day interaction with your friends would you let one of them talk to you for hours without stopping? Usually, it’s no more than a few seconds. If your friend went on for minutes, you’d get annoyed. But we listen to what the author of fiction says for hours on end because they tell entertaining stories.
When you read a story one time it feels like you got the message and you’re done. But if you reread that story, you’ll often discover that you missed many parts of the message. Sometimes the author is saying something that requires reading the story several times before it’s understandable. You’ll discover there was a lot more to the story than you imagined. Great fiction has great depths to explore. Authors of great fiction often have many things to say but don’t say it directly. Words have severe limitations, so writers must communicate with imagery, symbolism, poetry, psychology, philosophy, and in ways that have no label.
I had a friend who died a long time ago, his name was Williamson. Before Williamson died, he started rejecting everything he loved in life until he had only two interests that kept his interest. I didn’t talk to him just before he died, but I’ve always wondered if he chose his final favorite before leaving this existence.
I’ve notice this process in others who have died. Now that I’m getting old, I understand that process. Our psychic energy dwindles away, and we can’t hang onto everything we once loved, so we start triaging out passions. I call this The Williamson Effect.
I’m in the process of identifying the science fiction stories I still care about and want to remember. My ability to remember is fading. I forget new fiction as fast as I consume it, but some older fiction has lasting power. Like Williamson, I realize I’m letting things go to focus on what I loved best. However, I’m not down to two things yet. I can still hold onto to about a hundred stories. I know the number of stories in my anthology will dwindle over time as I let some stories go.
I have several goals in mind for assembling this anthology:
To decide on my all-time favorite science fiction short stories
To reread short remembered stories to see if they still hold up
To read recommended stories I haven’t read
To collect stories I will regularly reread and study
To collect stories that exhibit the best qualities of science fiction
To collect stories that convey a sense of genre history and evolution
To collect stories that were the most groundbreaking
To collect stories that cover all the essential themes
Hopefully find audio editions of all these stories
To collect stories to psychoanalyze as to why I liked them
To collect stories I feel had special messages in them by the authors
Currently, I’m contemplating how to organize this anthology. My first inclination is by date, like The Science Fiction Hall of Fame Volume One. It also occurs to me I should organize the stories by science fictional themes. Groff Conklin did that in The Best of Science Fiction.
Then, I’ve also had some ambitious ideas. Could I find a program where I could write a memoir of reading science fiction and provide links to all the stories where I could read the full text? Could a wiki or Obsidian handle that? What about feeding all my memories and texts into an AI? I once fed Google’s Notebook LM “The Star Pit” by Samuel R. Delany and it produced a podcast of two people talking insightfully about the story. That was damn neat.
One reason I’m inventing this project is because my memory is becoming unreliable. I’m hoping that working on the project will stenghten my mind. But I’m also running out of energy, so I need to keep things simple enough to get things done. Putting all my favorite stories in one anthology will be the easiest and quickest solution. Right now I remember too many favorite stories. I’ll need to create multiple volumes of this anthology at first, probably by decade.
Ultimately, my anthology of favorite stories will start to shrink as I distill the table of contents to my absolute favorites. I’m hoping, even assuming, that I will discover new insights about myself and my life-long addiction to fiction.
I’ve been rereading Ray Bradbury short stories, and I’m amazed at how well they hold up even when the science is beyond dated. Ray Bradbury is quite cruel to us readers in “All Summer in a Day.” In fact, I had to stop reading when I knew where the story was going, I just didn’t want to go there. I waited a couple of days to finish this fifteen-minute story on audio.
At first the kids in “All Summer in a Day” reminded me of Charles Schultz’s Peanuts characters, but then it was obvious they associated with bad kids from stories by Charles Beaumont or Shirley Jackson.
Remember when Lou Grant told Mary Richards she had spunk? And then Lou said, “I hate spunk.” Well, “All Summer in a Day” has a punch in the gut, and I should say “I hate a punch in the gut,” but when it comes to short stories, a punch in the gut is a good thing. Isn’t that weird. Why do we admire a great punch in the gut from a short story? Why is it so satisfying?
“All Summer in a Day” is set on Venus where it rains continuously except for a two-hour window of clear weather and sunshine every seven years. In a classroom the kids are talking about the impending summer. One girl, Margot, was born on Earth and didn’t come to Venus until she was four. She could remember sunshine and tried to describe it to her classmates who didn’t remember the sun because they were born on Venus. They were just two the previous summer day. They didn’t believe Margot. They resented that she knew something special. So, just before the sun was to come out, they locked Margot in a closet. All the other kids got to see the sun, and it was everything and more that Margot had tried to describe to them.
The children completely forgot about Margot while they cavorted through their brief summer day. When the rain and clouds returned, they remembered Margot and let her out.
This is a simple story about how children are cruel to each other. It’s about being the nail that sticks up. It’s about knowing the undescribable. Does the setting on Venus really matter? It makes the story science fiction so Ray Bradbury can sell it to a science fiction magazine, but does it really matter to the story? Charles Schultz could have done such a story about how the Peanuts gang mistreated Charlie Brown, and may have many times, I just can’t cite a specific panel.
I’m in the process of rereading my favorite science fiction stories and trying to understand why they are my favorites. Writing ability accounts for some of the reasons, but triggered emotions count for many too. I wish I could say I understood every cog in this story, but I don’t. What I do recognize is Ray Bradbury has a set of skills to tell a story in a way that makes it stand out. Not only that, but his stories also endure.
As I reread this story I didn’t remember the details, but either I guessed or remembered what was going to happen to Margot. That’s why I stopped listening to it. But when I returned to the story, I kept thinking to myself: “How is Margot going to react?” I was surprised that Bradbury didn’t give us Margot’s reaction. He left that up to us. That’s another tool in his writing toolbox. Writers don’t have to tell us everything. Bradbury does tell us this about Margot:
Because I just finished reading a biography of Ray Bradbury I know he was an odd child that stood out to his classmates. He also like to write poetry. Bradbury doesn’t have to tell us that this story is for us loners and oddballs, the ones other kids considered weird. When I was growing up, I didn’t know anyone else who read science fiction. Science fiction was like the sun appearing on Venus to me. I tried to explain its appeal to other kids, but they just thought I was a zero. I didn’t make a science fiction reading friend until the tenth grade when I met James Joseph Andrew Connell, III. The experience of meeting another science fiction fan is why Among Others by Jo Walton won the Hugo, Nebula, and British Fantasy Award. Zenna Henderson made a whole writing career out of telling stories about oddballs.
Even in the 1940s Ray Bradbury knew that being labeled a science fiction writer would hurt his career. Bradbury authored stories for all kinds of markets and genres, but when he wrote science fiction, he knew he had to be different. Back in the 1950s he might have been the best-known science fiction writer in America, but many science fiction readers didn’t consider his work science fiction. Bradbury wanted to be a writer like Sherwood Anderson, Ernest Hemingway, or Thomas Wolfe, someone who was just called a writer.
The reason “All Summer in a Day” is good is because of the parts that aren’t science fiction. The reasons why some science fiction fans dismissed him was for the science fiction parts. The obvious lesson here for would-be science fiction writers, is don’t worry about the science fictional aspects but focus on the universal human appeal.
My friend Mike recently told me an anecdote from Here Comes Civilization: The Complete Science Fiction of William Tenn Volume 2. It was in the afterward to the story “The Human Angle.” It seems Ted Sturgeon invited William Tenn over for dinner with a hidden agenda. When Tennn arrived, Sturgeon told him that Mary Gnaedinger, the editor of Famous Fantastic Mysteries needed three short stories by tomorrow and they would write two of them that night. Ray Bradbury was going to write the third and air mail it special delivery to Mary from California. (See the “Afterward” below for the full tale.)
Tenn, Sturgeon, and Bradbury did come through in twenty-four hours and their stories were printed in the October 1948 issue of Famous Fantastic Mysteries. You can read that issue at Archive.org.
There were many legendary science fiction writers (and pulp writers) who bragged they could crank out a short story in a day, or a novel in a weekend. But is this hack writing any good? That’s hard to say. What is good? All three stories, “The Women,” “The Human Angle,” and “That Low” were readable stories and even entertaining. However, they are also quite forgettable. But not completely forgettable. Follow the links to view their reprint histories.
Men and women who wanted to make a living writing science fiction back in the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s had to produce a lot of content. Many science fiction writers made a half-ass living churning out short stories for magazines. But are these speedy productions worth your time to read today? That depends.
Short stories can achieve several levels of quality and recognition. Getting published in a magazine is the first rung up in a ladder of publishing success. The next step up in recognition of quality is being nominated for an award or getting reprinted in an anthology, especially an annual best-of-the-year anthology. Winning an award is another step up. After that, recognition comes slowly. Having an author include a story in one of their short story collections at least says the author is proud of that story. But having a story reprinted in a retrospective or theme anthology means the story stands out over the other stories that came out in the year it was first published. Even greater recognition is when a short story is used in a textbook and taught in school or optioned for a film or television show.
The Bradbury and Tenn were anthologized in a few minor theme anthologies as well as a few author collections. Bradbury included “The Women” in his famous I Sing the Body Electric collection. Tenn used “The Human Angle” for the title of a collection. Sturgeon’s story was reprinted in Mary Kornbluth’s Science Fiction Showcase, which was a special anthology probaby to help the widow of C. M. Kornbluth. “That Low” was only reprinted in Sturgeon’s complete stories series, suggesting that Sturgeon never liked it much. They were not major stories. However, these stories were sold several times, and they are in print today.
But back to my title question: How to judge hack writing. First, we must consider what kind of reader you are. Are you an indiscriminate reader, like someone who comes home from work and turns on the television and quickly finds something to watch by flipping through the channels? Or, are you the kind of person who Googles to find the critically admired shows that just came out this month? Maybe, you’re the person who looks at lists of the best TV series of all-time hoping to find something amazing to watch.
The Bradbury, Tenn, and Sturgeon stories are perfectly good stories if you’re capable of being entertained by an average episode of an average TV series. And that might be good enough for most people. But if you’re the kind of person who thinks in terms of the “Ten Best Episodes of The Twilight Zone,” these stories don’t even come close. And, if you compare them to “Fondly Fahrenheit” by Alfred Bester, or “The Story of Your Life” by Ted Chiang, or “The Ones Who Walked Away from Omelas” by Ursula K. Le Guin, then they aren’t even in the same galaxy.
I’ve developed a rating system I sometimes use in group discussions about short stories. One star is an amateur effort, and two stars is a story that still needs work and shouldn’t have been published. I seldom even mention these stories. Three stars to me is a professional story acceptable for magazine publishing. Four stars is a story that is good enough for me to look forward to rereading. Five stars is a story I’ve read many times and consider a classic.
Hack writers can routinely crank out three-star stories. The stories by Bradbury, Tenn, and Sturgeon are all three-star stories. I didn’t mind reading them, but at my age, they are a waste of my precious reading time – a commodity that’s dwindling. They were fun to look up and read because of Tenn’s anecdote about how and why they got written, but that’s about all.
When I’m restless, I still enjoy reading old science fiction anthologies. I have trouble watching TV, but I can still read for fun. I enjoy looking for gems. The trouble is I seldom find stories like “The Star Pit” by Samuel R. Delany or “Flowers for Algernon” by Daniel Keyes. But that’s what I’m really hoping to find, stories that work at that level.
I also want to know why and how stories work at the highest level of short story writing. I assume there must be definable qualities I can list, but I can’t list those qualities now. I plan to study my favorite 5-star stories and make a list in the future.
I will say the Bradbury story had the most writing qualities of the three stories. It had the most emotional tension. It had the most vivid details. It had the most poetic imagery. I cared for the wife in the black bathing suit. And it was the least predictable of the three stories.
The Tenn story was a vampire story. It has an unusual setting for a vampire story, which was a plus, and it had a different kind of vampire, another plus. But it was the most predictable of the three stories, and the least developed. Bradbury just had way more tension and conflict in his story. Sturgeon’s ending was the most surprising, but it wasn’t a very insightful surprise.
The obvious thing I can say about hack writing is it needs more drafts. Many hack stories could have been far better if they had baked longer in the oven. Writers who are proud of their first-draft writing might regularly sell their work, but it will never be considered great. A good example is Barry Malzberg. Some of his stories and novels are quite appealing, but none of them are books I want to reread. The absolute measure of great fiction is how often readers reread such work.
Robert Silverberg at the beginning of his career cranked out science fiction. Some of it was readable, but neither memorable nor something I’d want to reread. Then at the end of the sixties he changed. I assume he spent more time rewriting, although in some of those same years he cranked out four novels. But Downward to the Earth was different. I’ve read it twice and look forward to rereading it again.
I’m currently reading book 20 of The Great SF Stories 1-26 (1939-1964) edited by Isaac Asimov and Martin H. Greenberg with Robert Silverberg doing #26 with Greenberg after Asimov died. I’ve been reading them in order, along with the other best of the year anthologies that covered the same year. For any given year, I’d say there were less than five stories that I’d rate 5-stars. On average I’d say it’s two 5-star stories in each year. Most of the other stories are 3-stars and 4-stars.
I’m not sure if there are even three hundred 5-star stories in all the years of science fiction. Most would-be science fiction writers who achieve some success publish a handful of stories before starting on novels. I’m not sure if hack writers still exist. There are bestselling writers who crank out one or two novels a year who might be considered hack writers because of their productivity, but I don’t know if they are hack writers like Philip K. Dick, Ray Bradbury, Clifford Simak, Harlan Ellison, Robert Silverberg, and Theordore Sturgeon were early in their career when they could publish a dozen short stories and a couple of novels in a year. Ray Bradbury was quite proud of selling one short story a week pace, and he published in both the pulps and slicks.
Just because a story was written fast, doesn’t mean it’s bad. But the odds of it being great are low. I’m in a handful of online groups whose members love short fiction. There are many readers out there who appreciate good hack writing, especially those old readers who love pulp fiction. I don’t want to criticize such stories and their fans. I have often enjoyed a fun average story, but I’ve forgotten thousands of them.
Did science fiction brainwash us into wanting to go to space? I can remember being a little kid in the 1950s and thinking the most exciting thing I could do in life was to go Mars. Before that I wanted to be a cowboy. If you’re old enough to remember television in the 1950s, most of the shows were westerns. That’s why most little boys back then had Santa bring them a six-gun and cowboy outfit for Christmas. But then we discovered science fiction and Project Mercury, and we traded in our cowboy hat for a space helmet.
My most common daydreams in adolescence after the XXX kind, were about going to Mars. Fantasies about becoming a rockstar came in a distant third. Looking back, I realize how unrealistic my teenage hopes for the future were. I was completely clueless as to what girls wanted, couldn’t carry a tune, and I most definitely didn’t have the right stuff. At seventy-three I see the absurdity of my childhood fantasies, so why didn’t I see them then?
Ray Bradbury is often accused of not being a true science fiction writer. Even as he started selling short stories to science fiction magazines in the 1940s, he knew he didn’t want to be labeled a science fiction writer. Yet, somehow, his very unscientific science fiction from back then has the heart and soul of science fiction, especially his stories collected in The Martian Chronicles and The Illustrated Man.
“The Rocket Man” first appeared in The Illustrated Man and Maclean’s in early 1951. It’s about a 14-year-old boy who cherishes the few days his father is home from space. The father is always going off for three-month tours of duty as a rocket man. He tells the boy and his mother that when he’s in space he can’t wait to get home, but when he’s home, he can’t wait to get back to space. “The Rocket Man” deglamarizes space travel. In fact, the dad eventually asks his son to promise to never go into space.
The main reason Bradbury’s science fiction stories are great is because he sees both the fantasy and reality of science fiction. Bradbury is obviously obsessed with remembering childhood, but somehow, he was wise when young too.
By the way, the essence of the story is captured wonderfully in Elton John’s song “Rocket Man.” My favorite version of that song is this bluegrass cover:
But the question I want to explore is why did we all want to go into space? What’s so hot about outer space, the Moon, Mars, etc.? Why did we buy into those dreams that science fiction was selling?
My fantasy was always Mars. But Mars is only a planet that a geologist could love. There ain’t nothing there but rocks and cold. Why did reading The Red Planet by Robert A. Heinlein make me think the best place in existence was Mars? Why does rereading The Martian Chronicles elicit so much intense nostalgia? And why do I think “A Rose for Ecclesiastes” is the epitomy of Martian fantasies?
Over the decades I’ve come to realize that the fantasies we embrace as young children are ones we seldom give up. That’s why kids who embrace religion when little seldom give up God and Heaven no matter how convincing science and logic are at invaliding their faith. Some people never let go of their Christian fantasies, and I never gave up science fiction fantasies. We’re all delusional.
Brian Collins at Science Fiction & Fantasy Remembrance seemed depressed in his current post. His solution is to read old science fiction and fantasy. That’s been my solution too when I think about the state of the world and U.S. politics. Even as a kid, I never really believed I would go into space, but thinking about it was a wonderful way to soothe the stresses of growing up. And now reading science fiction is the balm for growing old.
“The Million Year Picnic” by Ray Bradbury is about as famous to science fiction readers as O’Henry’s “The Gift of the Magi” is to English majors. “The Million Year Picnic” was first published in the Summer 1946 issue of Planet Stories. (Read it online here.)
However, most readers know “The Million Year Picnic” as “October 2026: The Million-Year Picnic” from The Martian Chronicles. Most modern readers think The Martian Chronicles is so out of date scientifically that they don’t consider it science fiction but fantasy. But it is science fiction, and “The Million Year Picnic” is a classic, touching on several iconic themes of the genre.
“The Million Year Picnic” was published just one year after Hiroshima, making it one of the earliest stories about humanity destroying the Earth with atomic weapons. But we don’t know that right away. When we begin reading the story, Bradbury voices his story with a quaint tone, almost like a parable, sounding like Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. A father, mother, and their three sons have just landed on Mars. They decide to go fishing. The narrative pacing seems only a few steps up from “See Dick run.”
Back in the 1940s, throughout the 1950s, and even into the 1960s, it was popularly considered that there was life on Mars or had once been, even intelligent life. This is partly due to H. G. Wells and Giovanni Schiaparelli, an Italian astronomer who convinced the world that he saw canals on Mars. Until July 1965 when Mariner 4 showed us a couple dozen grainy pictures of Mars that looked like the Moon, we had so much hope for Mars.
Science fiction writers loved to imagine Mars occupied with all kinds of beings and ancient civilizations. The common belief was Mars was a cold dying cold world and Venus was a hot young jungle world. Ray Bradbury wrote many stories based on these assumptions. In 1950 Bradbury published a collection of his stories about Mars as The Martian Chronicles, a “fix-up” novel. (In 2009, Subterranean Press published The Martian Chronicles: The Complete Edition, which claimed to collect all of Bradbury’s stories about Mars. I’d love to have a copy, but the cheapest copy I can find online is $1,300.) Because “The Million Year Picnic” was so popular it had already been reprinted three times before The Martian Chronicles. And it has been extensively reprinted ever since.
Bradbury also reprinted “The Million Year Picnic” in his collection: S is for Space. Most of Bradbury’s science fiction was found in four collections when I was growing up: The Martian Chronicles, The Illustrated Man, S is for Space, and R is for Rocket. Bradbury quit writing science fiction for the most part in the 1950s and went on to write fantasy, horror, and mainstream fiction after that. I read “The Million Year Picnic” this week because the Facebook group Best Science Fiction and Fantasy Short Fiction is reading 12 science fiction stories by Ray Bradbury that they haven’t read before. Here’s the discussion schedule.
But back to the story. After the family sets out on a boat on a Martian canal to go fishing we slowly learn that “The Million Year Picnic” is a post-apocalyptic tale. But we don’t discover it right away. The three boys are all excited. Timothy, the oldest carefully watches his father, trying to learn what’s happening. As they travel down the canal they pass by countless old cities where Martians once lived. Some cities are just mounds, while others have grand skylines. The dad promises his boys he will show them the Martians, and they get excited.
Along the way, we discover “The Million Year Picnic” follows another hoary old science fiction theme, the retelling of Adam and Eve. This idea had become so overused that by the 1960s writer’s guidelines for magazines would state “no Adam and Eve stories.”
I don’t know how many times I’ve read “The Million Year Picnic.” But back in the early 1960s when I first discovered it, I still believed in Martians on Mars. I was so into Mars, that as a kid, I thought my goal in life was to get there. So when I read the story I focused on the dead Martian civilization. That’s what made the story exciting. I too wanted to see the Martians. And that’s how I always remember this story, especially the surprise ending, which was quite clever.
However, on this rereading, I realized that I had forgotten Bradbury’s serious point. Bradbury was a nostalgic writer, even as a young man. He grew up in the 1920s and 1930s and his stories often have the feel of that era, like watching old black and white Frank Capra movies. Many of his Martian stories transplant small midwestern downs to Mars. But Bradbury wrote “The Million Year Picnic” with an undercurrent of horror and even cynicism. The quaint family on Mars has fled an Earth where humanity has destroyed itself in a nuclear war.
When the Dad realizes the radio signals from Earth have gone silent he tells his boys that one day their grandchildren might hear radio signals again. When I read that I thought about Adam and Eve and their sons and how Biblical skeptics always asked “Where did the wives of Adam and Eve’s sons come from?”
I’m always amused and fascinated by what I remember and don’t remember from stories when I reread them. The gimmick ending of “The Million Year Picnic” overshadows all my memories. I had completely forgotten this was a post-apocalyptic story. In other words, I remembered the positive and forgot the negative. I also forgot how many Biblical allusions where were in the story.
Bradbury solves the wives’ problem. In the end, we learn that another family had also secretly prepared to go to Mars when armageddon began, this one had four daughters.
Now that number is interesting. Bradbury even tells us it will be a problem. I think he’s hinting at the old Cain and Abel conflict. Humans don’t change and even if we start over we’ll have violence and wars again. We know two if not three of the sons will want that extra wife.
The problem is I always go on to read other science fiction. Rereading “The Million Year Picnic” makes me want to delve into Bradbury once again, and read or reread all these books I’ve collected. Even though I’m retired and have all my time free, I can’t seem to find the time to pursue this project. I’m hoping the Facebook group reading of Bradbury will get me going.
If you’re a fan of listening to short stories, I recommend two giant collections of Ray Bradbury on audio that repackages four of Bradbury’s early collections. #1-32 is The Golden Apples of the Sun and Other Stories (1997), and #33-63 is A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories (1998). I wish Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Stories (2003) were on audio, but it is not. (Table courtesy of Piet Nel.)
The first time I read Camp Concentration by Thomas M. Disch, I was around 20 and proud of myself for reading one of those New Wave science fiction novels I had been reading about in fanzines. It wasn’t much fun to read. It was overly intellectual – well beyond my level of comprehension. After reading thousands of other books over the last fifty-plus years, Camp Concentration made much more sense. I actually enjoyed the story. I enjoyed it a lot. But please, don’t buy a copy without carefully reading this review.
It’s important to know that Camp Concentration first appeared in the July, August, September, and October 1967 issues of New Worlds. It suggests it was written in 1966 or early 1967 and published first in England, in a magazine that promoted the New Wave. To fully appreciate this novel, you must remember when it was written and what happened in the United States in 1966 and 1967. The first hardback came out in England in 1968, and it wasn’t until 1969 when it was published in America. I didn’t read it until after the 1971 Avon paperback, cover shown above.
I’d love to hear an audiobook version of Camp Concentration. However, a highly skilled narrator would be needed to handle all the accents, poetry, foreign language quotes, and characterizations. It would also make a wonderful movie. Unfortunately, the audience for either the audiobook or film would be small.
Back in the 1970s Camp Concentration was greatly admired. Philip K. Dick loved the book so much he promoted to friends and suggested it be made into a movie to a producer interested in his own work. But there’s a bizarre story here. Dick, who was paranoid, started seeing things in Camp Concentration and wrote a letter to the FBI claiming it had secret intel. You can read that letter here. Eventually, Disch found out about this and didn’t take it kindly. Wikipedia describes what happened:
I mention this early in the review because it helps set up how strange Camp Concentration is as a novel. It’s quite readable, but it has so many references to literature, music, philosophy, poetry, etc., that you might feel it has some deeper message. Even though I just finished the novel, I’m already looking forward to rereading it again. However, before I can do that, I need to study first. At minimum I should read Christopher Marlowe’s play Doctor Faustus, and Thomas Mann’s novel Dr. Faustus. In fact, I need to go through Camp Concentration, make a list of all the works Disch mentions, and at least read their Wikipedia pages about them.
Louis Sacchetti is a conscientious objector, and Camp Concentration is the journal he writes while imprisoned in two locations. Disch wrote the novel while LBJ was president, and before Nixon. The story is set somewhat in the future, and Robert McNamara is President. McNamara was the Secretary of Defense under JFK and LBJ. McNamara played a major role in promoting the Vietnam War. To get the fullness of Camp Concentration, you need to read the Wikipedia link to McNamara. It also helps to see The Fog of War: Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara, a 2003 Academy Award winning documentary.
Camp Concentration is a deeply cynical view of the United States in 1967. Louis is a war resister, at first imprisoned in an ordinary prison. He accepts that. But the novel is about when he is transferred to another prison, a military prison, where an experimental drug is used on the inmates by the U.S. Army. Most of the prisoners had committed crimes while in the Army, but Louis is a special civilian prisoner. The army believes it has synthesized a drug that will enhance intelligence. It was derived from a strain of syphilis.
The U.S. Army conducted experiments with LSD from 1955 to 1967. From 1932 to 1972, the U.S. government studied the effects of syphilis on black people after telling them they were being treated. These are just two examples of unethical experiments by our government. It’s not hard to believe the setup for Camp Concentration.
Camp Concentration reminds some readers of Flowers for Algernon because it’s about a treatment that makes people smarter. Over one hundred journal entries, we see Louis and the other prisoners change and become brilliant. I felt the characters did change, but my friend Mike, who got me to reread the novel, says he didn’t. Writers find it hard to describe humans with superintelligence. I’ve written about that recently. I thought Disch pulled it off, Mike didn’t.
Most of the novel is intellectual discussions about art, literature, poetry, theater, music, religion, philosophy, Alchemy, and other medieval beliefs. Mike thought all this discussion was boring, I was fascinated. I feel it helps to have a classical education to appreciate Camp Concentration. I don’t, but I’ve read enough to wish I had.
While reading Camp Concentration I was reminded of another book I read in the 1970s, Where the Wasteland Ends: Politics and Transcendence in Post Industrial Societyby Theodore Roszak. I’m not saying the two books are about the same things, but as the characters evolve intellectually, they start sounding like Roszak.
Read Disch’s Wikipedia entry, you’ll see that Thomas M. Disch and Louis Sacchetti have much in common. Louis is a poet, and Disch wrote The Castle of Indolence: On Poetry, Poets, and Poetastes.
In the novel, the drug makes the test subject smarter, but it also kills them within months. As the characters grow more brilliant, they realize they have much more to live for and become bitter. Disch appears to equate higher IQ with depression and cynicism.
Disch does not suggest that superintelligence leads to super-powers. The test subjects only become more academic in their communication with each other. As they evolve mentally, their use of intellectual ideas to express themselves becomes more dense. This is subtle, and it may be hard to believe they are more intelligent. It seems that most of their references are to ideas covered in Classical studies or Medieval studies.
If you are prone to depression, I would not read this novel. If you are among the faithful, I would not read this novel. If you prefer tightly plotted stories, that are easy to read, and enjoy action, don’t buy this book.
On the other hand, if you’re into the history of science fiction, the New Wave, or the 1960s, Camp Concentration might be a good one to read. Science fiction changed in 1967-1968. I believe several young prodigies like Disch and Delany took the genre in new directions, and older writers like Silverberg, Brunner, and Ellison decided they were tired of where science fiction was going too.
In Ted Chiang’s impressive overview of human superintelligence in science fiction, he mentions that John W. Campbell Jr. rejected a story by Vernor Vinge about a character with human superintelligence because no one can write such a story. (Vinge had proposed a sequel to “Bookworm, Run!“) The implication: since none of us know what being superintelligent is like subjectively, we can’t describe it. That’s silly. Campbell had been publishing a magazine describing space travel decades before NASA, or atomic bombs before 1945, or robots long before Roombas.
British journalist Ed Yong describes the umwelt of many species in his book An Immense World. How each organism views reality from its collection of sense organs is called umwelt. We might not be able to imagine being a dog, but we can analyze a dog’s senses and speculate what they can perceive.
Shouldn’t we assume science fiction can speculate on a human being with superintelligence by what it’s capable of perceiving and what it does with those perceptions? I’m guessing John W. Campbell assumed that a dog couldn’t imagine what it’s like to be a human. But is that really true? A dog might not comprehend humans reading a book, but I’m sure they understand much about us in their own special way. In fact, they might observe qualities about us that we’re unaware of.
Astounding Science Fiction in the 1950s was full of stories about ESP and other psychic abilities. Campbell called such abilities psionics. Throughout the history of science fiction, writers have speculated that superhumans would have god-like powers. I’ve written about science fiction and human superintelligence before and described many of the most famous of these stories. See: “Science Fiction and Human Evolution” and “The Origins of Higher Intelligence in Science Fiction.” The genre has a long history of attempting what Campbell supposedly told Vinge he couldn’t.
Strangely, hard science fiction writer Arthur C. Clarke wrote two classic novels about superhumans: Childhood’s End and 2001: A Space Odyssey. Clarke gave no scientific explanation of how people might transform into next-stage humans. Clarke’s new humans were almost impossible to imagine. They are god-like to us. This is fun but gives us little to speculate about realistically.
Greg Bear imagines a new strain of virus affecting pregnant women causing a mutation in Darwin’s Radio. Children born of these women are more intelligent, have greater disease resistance, and can communicate non-verbally. This isn’t hard to imagine. Current humans show a tremendously wide spectrum of intelligence and physical health. And some humans are far better at communicating than others, especially via body language and empathy.
Nancy Kress imagines genetic engineering creating a new species of humanity in Beggars in Spain. Their key feature was needing less sleep. This gave them more time to learn, work, and compete. It’s easy to imagine this adaptation and how these new humans would do better than ordinary humans.
The movie Gattaca imagined a future society where normal humans competed with humans with carefully selected genes. The improved humans had the same human frailties, but out-competed normal humans for the better jobs. They were better-looking, smarter, more athletic, and had greater discipline. That’s not hard to imagine.
In Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes, Charlie Gordon undergoes an operation that advances his IQ. At the beginning, Clarlie works as a janitor and is cognitively challenged. The operation allows him to learn new things, and eventually become a super-genius. His new attributes are not beyond belief. Charlie learns new languages, achieves great academic success, and becomes tremendously productive. Charlie doesn’t develop ESP or godlike powers, but achieves the maximum levels of current human skills and traits. This is believable and easy to imagine.
Homo sapiens are only slightly improved over Neanderthals, but those improvements let us do so much more. For us to describe Homo superior we only need to imagine slight enhancements to our species and speculate about what impact they would have.
Some humans have tetrachromacy, which means they can detect four primary colors rather than three. Other people have eidetic memory. Stephen Wiltshire, an autistic savant, can draw detailed images of cities from memory after just a helicopter ride. All the traits that Human 2.0 might have are already showing up in us now. Conversely, all the traits that won’t emerge are those we lack precursors for now.
That’s why I think it’s silly to imagine humans evolving to have telepathy or be able to teleport at will. Those are comic book ideas. Campbell was both too hopeful and too naive about human evolution. He expected “The Man Who Evolved” by Edmond Hamilton. At best, I think we’ll get Gattaca.
One problem with evolving our current abilities is that we often see cognitive issues associated with people with extreme examples of those abilities. Can a perfect memory be imperfect? Can we be too smart? I’ve known many people far ahead of me in many skills. I can’t fathom general and special relativity. Does that mean Albert Einstein was a 2.0 human?
Until recently, I thought the human race was evolving slowly on average. But current events make me think we’re regressing. Some people already have superintelligence compared to others. It could be the evolution of our species won’t be by quantum leaps, but slow adaptation of biological trial and error. Much of science fiction is just fun bullshit speculation. We need to distinguish between fantasy and scientific possibilities.
Personally, I feel our role in evolution was to evolve machine intelligence. I don’t believe humans will ever become giant brains with tiny bodies, nonphysical beings, or something like Q from Star Trek: The Next Generation. It’s interesting that Greg Bear and Nancy Kress in their novels, had normal humans wanting to wipe out the new humans before they got established.
Lester del Rey summed us up nicely in “For I Am a Jealous People!” Our creator and descendants need to watch out.
I don’t see why Campbell rejected Vernor Vinge’s idea of writing a sequel to “Bookworm, Run!” Campbell had already published Slan by A. E. van Vogt and many other stories featuring human superintelligence.
From 1945 to 1975, P. Schuyler Miller reviewed science fiction books for Astounding Science Fiction and Analog Science Fiction. He died in October of 1974. I stumbled upon an online PDF collection of those reviews from 1945-1967. You can download that file here. (Warning – it’s 235MB.)
Unfortunately, the individual reviews aren’t dated and the run is far from complete. However, the PDF is searchable, and you can use ISFDB.org to date an individual review. Just look up the book title, then scroll down to the Reviews section, and find the one for Miller. Someday I’d like to create a file of all of Miller’s reviews from 1945-1975.
I put this PDF on my iPad and read it like a book. It’s wonderful. The reviews start before science fiction was regularly published in book form. Whoever collected these reviews evidently picked those they thought interesting to modern readers. Collectively, they have a history of science fiction published before 1968. For example, the early reviews cover books published before science fiction was a genre. Then we started seeing books from Gnome and Fantasy Press, essentially fan publishers. After that, we slowly see big name New York publishers take chances on the genre along with the rise of mass market paperback publishers.
We get to read the original reviews of books now remembered as genre classics and books that have since been forgotten. Often I read reviews of forgotten books that sound interesting enough to track down.
The first two reviews are books by Vardis Fisher: Darkness and the Deep and The Golden Rooms (April 1945). These books imagine life when Neanderthals and Cro-Magnon coexisted. Popular writers like H. G. Wells, Jack London, and Stephen Vincent Benet, also wrote on this theme. It wasn’t considered science fiction then, but our genre has claimed that theme since.
Here’s that first review:
Most book reviews in science fiction magazines are short blurbs. Miller writes comprehensive essays. As the years progress, Miller’s reviews become more elaborate, longer, often beginning with some science fiction history. The next review is of The Time Stream by John Taine (March 1947). Miller does more than describe and react to the novel, giving the background of how that story fits in the genre, and biographical information on the author. He compares Taine’s work to A. Merritt’s, and points out how Taine’s work originally appeared in hardback, while Merritt’s stories were serialized in magazines first. I’ve not read Taine or Merritt, but I’ve often read about both in histories of science fiction. This review makes me want to try The Time Stream. These reviews also give me information about collecting original editions. (Amazon has a Kindle edition of The Time Stream for $2.99.) Here’s Miller’s review.
I decided to jump to June 1954 and read the review for The Lights in the Sky are Stars by Fredric Brown, the science fiction novel I’m currently reading. By now Miller’s columns are longer. He reviews more books each month, so each review is shorter. That’s because far more SF books are being published every month. Since October 1951, they come under the title “The Reference Library.” (That’s where I steal the image above for this post.) Miller often begins his columns with a digression exploring topics related to current publishing.
I thought I’d test Miller on something hard. This is his review for Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein from the January 1962 issue of Analog. I’m including his essay in the introduction as a sample of how he composed his columns.
That should give you enough examples to decide on downloading the entire collection of Miller’s reviews. If you’re reading on a computer with a large monitor, I have a page I’m working on that links to Miller’s reviews in issues of Astounding and Analog at Archive.org. You can read each column one at a time on screen.
P. Schuyler Miller also wrote some science fiction. I own this first edition of The Titan with a beautiful Hannes Bok cover.
The original paperback, Inherit the Stars by British writer James P. Hogan (1941-2010), had a terrific cover – the kind that made you buy the book. The artwork appears to show astronauts on the Moon finding a dead astronaut, but that is deceptive. Hogan creates a scientific mystery because the dead astronaut has been there for 25,000 years.
I first read Inherit the Stars in 1992 but after seeing Whitney’s review on YouTube, I wanted to reread the story. I went to Amazon but couldn’t find the book. Was it out of print? I did find it on Audible. Later, I discovered that Inherit the Stars and its sequel The Gentle Giants of Ganymede are now being sold together as The Two Moons for the Kindle. A bargain for $6.99, especially since Whitney also praised the second book. It turns out that there are five books in the series being sold as three Kindle editions. The series is called Giants. Only the first three novels are available on Audible. The Science Fiction Book Club once published the first three novels as The Mirnervan Experiment. Ballentine also published a paperback called The Giants Novels that contains all three.
Before anyone rushes out to buy Inherit the Stars, I need to describe it more, but not enough to give spoilers. Hogan’s story is the kind you want to figure out for yourself. It kept me guessing for the entire novel even though I had read it before. That worried me. Why wasn’t it more memorable? Was that an indication it was a bad book? I don’t think so. How the story is told isn’t very memorable, but the ideas are big-time fun. I did remember some of those, but not connected to the book.
Inherit the Stars is basically scientists talking about one mystery after another. There’s no real plot. A lot happens, but it’s not dramatic. With each discovery, there’s a new puzzle, which makes you think and try to guess what caused each mystery. Inherit the Stars is science fiction focused on ideas and not storytelling. I’ve told you the first mystery, but I don’t want to give away any others.
However, I will give you some fun clues. Inherit the Stars reminds me a lot of Rendezvous With Rama by Arthur C. Clarke. Hogan’s prose is similar to Clarke’s. At one point, the story reminded me of the classic short story “Omnilingual” by H. Beam Piper. The novel also triggered memories of Gateway by Frederik Pohl. At other times it reminded me of the Winston Science Fiction, a series of young adult SF that came out in the 1950s, especially the entries where the protagonists find relics of ancient alien technology. If you love alien archeology stories, you might like Inherit the Stars.
I call Inherit the StarsPre-NASA Science Fiction, by which I usually mean science fiction written before Mariner 4 photographed Mars in July 1965. Until NASA started exploring the solar system with robotic probes, many people hoped that we would find life, even intelligent life somewhere on other planets in our solar system. For example, Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land from 1961 imagines Mars being inhabited by a dying race. However, after Mariner 4, serious science fiction assumed we were alone in the solar system. (I must admit, that I still love Pre-NASA science fiction. Growing up in the 1950s and 1960s, I desperately wanted us to find Martians.)
I consider Hogan’s 1977 Inherit the Stars Pre-NASA Science Fiction because Hogan maintains the hope that we had neighbors. However, some readers might feel Hogan’s ideas might come across like those of Erich von Däniken, who wrote Chariot of the Gods? Another reviewer dismissed this book as unbelievable. Personally, I find Erich von Däniken’s theories to be insulting to humanity. But I consider Hogan’s speculation to be great science fictional fun.
Whitney at the Secret Sauce of Storycraft YouTube channel recently reviewed several science fiction books she called Just D@mn Good Vintage Science Fiction Reads. She intentionally avoided books considered classic science fiction and defined the kind of books she was looking for in used bookstores as vintage science fiction. She defined vintage science fiction as books published before barcodes appeared on their covers. That would be the mid-1980s. This would be science fiction her parents and grandparents would have read.
She reviewed these books (Links will bring up the video at YouTube):
I have read most of these books with Empire Star and Downward to the Earth being two of my Top 25 science fiction novels. Whitney’s reviews made me think about all the old books I found in used bookstores that weren’t famous but were fun reads. Maybe not outstanding examples of the genre, but the fun kind of science fiction that made you forget about your worries.
Her video makes me want to make my own list of Vintage SF Gems. Books to look for at library book sales that maybe no one is buying. Books you don’t see reprinted in new editions at new bookstores. If you don’t want to hunt used editions, these vintage SF titles are often reprinted as Kindle books at Amazon, sometimes for just $1.99. Kindle and Audible editions are the best sources for finding vintage science fiction today after the demise of the mass-market paperback.
My favorite science fiction books back in the 1960s were Heinlein’s Juveniles. Robert A. Heinlein’s reputation is fading, and I think that’s partly due to online reviewers reviewing the wrong books. Heinlein wanted to be remembered for Starship Troopers, Stranger in a Strange Land, and The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. And those are generally the titles found on new bookshelves and often reviewed. But they are also Heinlein’s novels that many people dislike including myself. And the novels written after that are even worse.
I wish modern reviewers would review Heinlein’s work from the 1950s. If you see old copies of these books give them a try. These science fiction books have given me the most fun over my entire lifetime. I’ve reread them many times. They are how I epitomize science fiction. All by Robert A. Heinlein.
Have Space Suit-Will Travel
Tunnel in the Sky
Time for the Stars
The Rolling Stones
Farmer in the Sky
Citizen of the Galaxy
Starman Jones
The Star Beast
Double Star
The Door Into Summer
After this plug for Heinlein, I want to remember those vintage science fiction titles I believe deserve more readers. I’m just going to post images of the covers I fondly remember. Hopefully, you might spot these books at used bookstores, charity shops, and friends-of-the-library sales in their funky old editions. For me, old covers are essential to the vintage science fiction experience.
These are just a handful of books I could recall from memory this morning.
Most science fiction stories seem to go stale after a couple decades. This week, I listened to The Heads of Cerberus by Frances Stevens, initially published 106 years ago. The story had passed its expiration date decades ago, but I still found it mildly enjoyable as a historical curiosity.
If you’re not fascinated by the evolution of science fiction, I’ll understand you leaving this essay now. The Heads of Cerberus is not a forgotten classic. It gets points for being an early example of time travel and dystopian fiction written by a woman, but it’s not a good example. At best, it’s a sample from 1919, the kind that MIT Press is reprinting in its Radium Age science fiction series.
Gertrude Barrows Bennett (1884-1948) published several fantasy and science fiction stories between 1917 and 1923 as Francis Stevens. This makes her a pioneering author in the pre-Amazing Stories era, especially as a woman writer, but she is practically forgotten today. I just learned about Francis Stevens by reading a two-part review of “Sunfire” on Science Fiction and Fantasy Remembrance (Part 1, Part 2) by Brian Collins. That review inspired me to research her, and what I learned inspired me to read The Heads of Cerberus.
The Heads of Cerberus was first serialized in five 1919 issues of The Thrill Book. It was first printed in hardback in 1952. It’s been reprinted at least a dozen times since.
I listened to a free copy on LibriVox. There are several public-domain ebook editions available, here is one at Gutenberg Australia. Lisa Yaszek who edited The Future is Female! series for theLibrary of America recently published a collection of Francis Stevens’ stories at MIT Press Radium Age series called The Heads of Cerberus and Other Stories. Gertrude Barrows Bennett is getting rediscovered. However, she’s been rediscovered before, it just never sticks.
The Heads of Cerberus is about three people from 1918 Philadelphia traveling to Philadelphia in 2118. Bob Drayton is a disbarred lawyer. Terry Trenmore is his Irish friend who is a powerfully built giant. And Viola Trenmore, Terry’s beautiful little sister, and just seventeen. In 2118 they find a dystopian society run by a handful of weird characters. The story is painfully simple, although I enjoyed it somewhat. The fun in reading these old science fiction tales is not the storytelling, but seeing how people imagined science fictional ideas before the concept of science fiction was invented.
The 19th century had several tales of people traveling to the future that could have inspired Bennett, each with a unique method of time travel. In “Rip Van Wrinkle,” Washington Irving has his title character sleep for twenty years after drinking potent liquor. Edward Bellamy had Julian West sleep for 113 years via hypnosis in Looking Backward. Frances Stevens has her characters jump ahead two hundred years by sniffing grey dust from a vial of mysterious ancient origins. The vial’s stopper is shaped like Cerberus.
As I said, The Heads of Cerberus isn’t very sophisticated. Its tone reminded me of the Oz books by L. Frank Baum, which were for children. Those books were often about ordinary people meeting extraordinary beings in strange places. Bennett’s imagined future is minimalistic, and somewhat goofy, reminding me of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. However, Stevens lacks the creative imagination of Baum and Carroll.
Edward Bellamy created a complex economic system for his future society that inspired many readers in the 19th century to form over five hundred Nationalist Clubs based on socialist ideas in Looking Backward. Francis Stevens imagines an economy based on the number of hours worked. Her society was ruled by an elite called The Superlatives. Ordinary people didn’t have names but numbers, and the Superlatives had names based on cardinal virtues like the Loveliest, The Bravest, the Fastest, the Strongest, etc.
The main problem with Stevens’ science fiction is her future society isn’t a philosophical idea she believed in or promoted, but merely conjured up quickly to fit a plot. Bennett was a young widow, with a child and mother to support after her dad died. She was a stenographer but made extra money by writing for the pulps. She quit writing after her mother died. The Thrill Book that serialized The Head of Cerberus was a low-paying market, but Stevens sold three novels to Argosy, a much-admired pulp after it. They were Claimed, The Citadel of Fear, and Possessed: A Tale of the Demon Serapion. Even though they are dark fantasies, a genre I’m uninterested in, I should try one to see if her writing improved. Her first serial, The Labyrinth, was to All-Story in 1918, another legendary pulp.
Back in the 1960s when other teens fantasized about becoming rock stars, playing for the NFL, or being seen on the silver screen, I dreamed about becoming a science fiction writer. After reading the 1973 satire on science fiction writers, Herovit’s World by Barry N. Malzberg, I see that I was much better off working with computers at a university for thirty-five years and retiring with a pension. You can currently buy the Kindle edition for $1.99. But read my review carefully before you risk even that little money. It’s a good read for only certain kinds of science fiction fans.
Barry N. Malzberg died on December 19, 2024, at 85. Although prolific, he was never a famous science fiction writer. Malzberg’s most successful books were written in the 1970s, and Barry is mostly forgotten today. He is getting some attention on YouTube as a few reviewers rediscovering him. Malzberg has a reputation as being the curmudgeon of science fiction. Malzberg often relies on satire, but his stories were never fun like the satires of Kurt Vonnegut. Malzberg wrote dark, edgy, and psychological fiction like Philip K. Dick, but he never developed a cult following.
Recently, Bookpilled on YouTube declared that Malazberg was his new favorite science fiction writer. Bookpilled skews towards literary and dark SF, often from the 1970s. But to be honest, Malzberg is very hit-and-miss. Joachim Boaz, a true connoisseur of seventies science fiction, found little to love in The Many Worlds of Barry Malzberg. Boaz considered most stories good but rated “Death to the Keeper” brilliant. Boaz also called Malzberg’s most notable novel Beyond Apollo brilliant, giving it a 5 out of 5 rating.
Be sure to read MPorcius’ extensive review who believes Herovit’s World was overpromoted by Robert Silverberg and Harlan Ellison, but he did like it a lot.
And if you pay attention, Malzberg is mentioned occasionally on YouTube, print reviews, blogs, and podcasts. Three years ago, the biographer Alec Nevala-Lee interviewed Malzberg for two hours.
Herovit’s World is a short novel, 160 pages in paperback, and just under six hours on audio. Jonathan Herovit, our protagonist, has written 92 science fiction novels in the past but struggles to finish his latest book. It’s overdue. He only has thirty pages and his editor is hounding him. His wife is hounding him. He’s stuck in a small apartment with a new baby who cries endlessly. Herovit is approaching forty, well on the road to being an alcoholic, depressed, delusional, and coming apart mentally.
Herovit wants to be like Mack Miller, the fictional action hero of his endless Survey Team novels. Herovit wants to be like the decisive Kirk Poland, his alter-ego and pen name for his books. Jonathan Herovit has turned Kirk Polan into an imaginary friend, one that’s become an abusive second personality.
Malzberg uses this novel to satirize editors, publishers, authors, readers, fans, conventions, writer conferences, writer associations, and the science fiction genre. We never know if Herovit’s World is autobiographical. Herovit is self-loathing. Is this Malzberg confessing his own feelings, or just creating a character. But if you read Malzberg’s three books of essays, The Engines of the Night: Science Fiction in the Eighties (1982), Breakfast in the Ruins (2007), or The Bend at the End of the Road (2019) you’ll get the feeling that he did use his own life for inspiration.
Malzberg is confusing. He has stated that he loves science fiction and the genre. Listen to the podcast above. But science fiction also depressed him, even tormented the poor guy. Herovit’s World is recursive science fiction. That is science fiction about science fiction. Often recursive science fiction is fun, even zany, like What Mad Universe by Fredric Brown or God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater by Kurt Vonnegut. Herovit’s World is full of creative ideas and psychological observations, but they’re not fun. Malzberg feels more like Kafka.
Malzberg and Herovit are hack writers. They pride themselves on cranking out any style or type of fiction and getting paid for first drafts. However, Herovit’s World reads quite well. It has its literary aspects and is full of fun experimentation. I’m glad I read it even though it’s about an unhappy man going down the tubes. And it does make you think about science fiction.
Malzberg was several years younger than Herovit. Herovit’s writing career began in the 1950s, while Malzberg started publishing in the 1960s. Herovit remembers the science fiction magazine boom of 1953. Herovit was a disciple of John Steele, who I assume is based on John W. Campbell. So is Malzberg really making fun of 1950s science fiction? At one point in an argument with his wife Janice, she gives a bit of a speech which might be the key to the whole story:
I also remember when there were very few females at science fiction clubs and conventions. Boy have things changed. We must acknowledge that Malzberg skewers SF of the 1950s or 1960s in Herovit’s World. But we should also ask: “How would a disgruntled SF writer skewer the genre today?”
There is a dream sequence late in the novel where Herovit is having tremendous sex with a college coed. He had been invited to a conference and the coed approached him telling Herovit that Kirk Poland was her favorite writer. It turns out she was paid by the university to seduce Herovit so he could be studied for academia. Science fiction was getting noticed by the academic world in the early 1970s. Many writers and fans felt vindicated. However, other writers claimed science fiction was better left in the gutter. Malzberg uses this scene to give his opinion:
Herovit and Malzberg regretted giving so much of their creative effort to a genre that gets so little respect. They know they are writing escapism for adolescents. I think the genre has changed a lot since the 1970s. It does get more respect and it’s taken more seriously, probably because it deserves it. However, some of Malzberg’s criticisms might still be true, especially once you analyze why certain stories and themes are so popular with science fiction fans.
A good deal of Herovit’s World is about marriage. Herovit routinely cheats on his wife at science fiction conventions and neglects her at home. I’ve heard plenty of gossip about science fiction writers at conventions and conferences. But there is a non-SF connection here. There are many literary novels about blocked writers and failed marriages. I can’t tell if Malzberg is satirizing them too, or padding his SF novel. Both Herovit and Malzberg have bragged about being able to pad their fiction. My favorite novel on this theme is Wonder Boys by Michael Chabon, who writes in literary and SF genres.
Herovit’s World also contains a lot of sex. Malzberg got his start as a writer cranking out soft-core porn paperbacks. I don’t know if he’s saying that science fiction writers are sex obsessed, or sexually frustrated, or if he was merely padding his story because he didn’t have enough to say about science fiction to fill out the novel length. I do know that Portnoy’s Complaint by Philip Roth had come out a few years earlier and had become a bestseller dealing with sex honestly. As they say, “sex sells,” and Malzberg was hoping to break out of the science fiction ghetto.
Overall, Herovit’s World is mildly amusing. Most readers at Goodreads give it three stars, but a few love it giving it five stars. My rating would be ***+. I thought it was written well enough (***) and I liked it (+), but I wouldn’t ever reread it. That’s my main problem with Barry N. Malzberg. His books are interesting, but they never reach my next rating level. I give **** to books I know I’ll want to reread.
If Herovit’s World was less padded with sex scenes and had more satire about science fiction, it could have been a **** novel with me. If Malzberg had tried harder, gone beyond a first draft maybe, and really thought about the purpose of this novel, it could have been far better.
Malzberg focused on the pathetic without ever showing what we love about science fiction. His novel could have been elevated by showing Malzberg/Herovit’s passion for the genre. Far Beyond the Stars by Steven Barnes is a recursive science fiction novel that does just that. The story is a novelization of a Star Trek: Deep Space Nine episode where the DS9 crew are shown working at a 1950s science fiction magazine much like Galaxy Science Fiction. The story criticizes the racism in the genre back then yet still shows a love for science fiction.
No matter how much I criticize science fiction, I can never forget how much Heinlein’s juveniles meant to me as a kid. I could write a satire on the genre, but I hope I wouldn’t do what Malzberg did in Herovit’s World, by making it all feel slimy and depressing. One reason why my favorite Philip K. Dick novel is Confessions of a Crap Artist is even though it criticizes science fiction fans, it does it with love. It’s a superior recursive science fiction novel.
Parable of the Sowers by Octavia E. Butler is a classic post-apocalyptic science fiction novel from 1993. It’s one of the best stories to read if you want to contemplate America collapsing from economic inequality. Most post-apocalyptic novels begin during the collapse or a short time after and are about the characters struggling to survive. The Parable of the Sowers is different. It starts in the early stages of collapse, so it’s technically a pre-apocalyptic novel. The rich still have civilization, but chaos is moving up from the poor, into the middle class. It begins with the fear of the coming apocalypse.
The Parable of the Sowers should offer a great panel discussion topic at a preppers’s convention. Most preppers picture themselves surviving when others don’t. They imagine grabbing their bug-out bags and heading to the hills where they own a private redoubt to make their last stand. Many post-apocalyptic novels start with tens of millions dying, making more room for those struggling to survive. Octavia Butler’s book imagines a collapse without a huge population die-off. Her scenario has millions clogging the highways fleeing collapsing cities.
Owning an AR-15 and backpack stuffed with survival food and gear won’t get you far. In fact, anyone with anything will be a target. That was also true in Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. Reading Parable of the Sower is about as depressing as reading The Road. However, Butler adds one twist that’s different from other post-apocalyptic novels.
The Parable of the Sower is the journal of Lauren Olamina who wants a reason to survive when all around her are dying. She redefines God to explain the horrors she’s experiencing. In fact, she begins writing a book that will eventually be called Earthseed:The Books of the Living. Lauren quotes from Earthseed to head her journal entries. Lauren decides God is change and our purpose is to shape God. Don’t get turned off by the religious angle of the book, most of the story is about survival. There is a sequel called Parable of the Talents. The story was planned as a trilogy, with additional books, but Butler died before finishing it.
Parable of the Sower begins with Lauren a teenager living in a gated community. Her father is a black Baptist minister, and her mother is a deceased drug addict. Her father has remarried and Lauren has three step-brothers. The novel begins in 2024 when Lauren is 15 and ends in 2027 when she is 18. The first half of Parable of the Sowers is about how the people in Lauren’s gated community survive while watching the world outside their walls fall into chaos and violence.
Butler’s book was written thirty years before the time it describes, which happens to be our now. Butler describes living under a president named Donner who has many similarities with Donald Trump. The reason this novel is so powerful is because it feels relevant and all too relatable. It’s exactly the kind of science fiction I consider serious speculation.
Lauren’s father is a leader of the community populated by white, black, and Hispanic people. He teaches both spiritual hope and how to use guns. Lauren doesn’t believe in his God and creates a science fictional religion to give her hope for the future. By the time the poor finally overrun her gated community, Lauren is 18, and the sole survivor of her family. She must survive alone among the hordes fleeing southern California. People survive any way they can, often by robbing each other. The most desperate set fires to force people out of their homes, robbing and killing them as they flee.
Any successful work of science fiction must tell a compelling story about a character or characters we care about who overcome their limitations. The act of reading the story should feel transcendent. Butler succeeds very well at this level.
A great work of fiction will also have its own ontology and epistemology, and Butler puts that into her story. I’m just not sure how well it works. But I give her credit for trying. At least she recognizes that living through an apocalypse will inspire deep existential thoughts.
The best fiction is about surviving reality, but great fiction is about confronting God or the absence of God. I also believe Butler was aiming that high. Again, I’m not sure she succeeds. But it feels close.
I do have one major disappointment with the novel. Lauren’s mother was a drug addict using one of many new designer drugs. As a byproduct of her addiction, Lauren is born with psychic empathy. That makes fighting to survive in a dog-eat-dog world difficult. This affliction jazzes up the plot but detracts from the realism Butler paints.
Octavia Butler spent an afternoon with our Clarion West class in 2002. At the time, I had not read anything by her, but I had read about her. I wish I had read the works I’ve since read so I could have asked her many questions. Just another regret on my giant pile of regrets.
I want to write a near future science fiction story with realistic robots. I find most robots in current science fiction to be unbelievable. Writers make them too human-like in personality, and often they look exactly human, which I can’t accept. I want to imagine a future where ordinary people can buy a general-purpose robot for $20,000 that will be useful in their lives. For example, my wife and I who don’t have children, are getting older and I can imagine a time when we will need a caretaker or caretakers. Could such a robot come onto the market in the next ten years?
Computers, smartphones, the internet, GPS, have all altered society, but very few stories anticipated their impact. I’m trying to imagine how ordinary life would be different if we had practical personal robots. I don’t expect sentient machines, but robots with some kind of general intelligence. They should be capable of learning any task a human can do. And they should be strong enough to lift 300-400 pounds.
It’s easy to assume such a robot will be developed, but I decided to use DeepSeek R1 AI to help me imagine the reality of living with these robots. I recently watched a segment on 60 Minutes about AI tutors for children. I’ve decided to use AI tools as tutors to help me learn about various subjects. I began with DeepSeek R1.
Below are my queries, DeepSeek’s answers, annotated with my thoughts. I’ll format my query to DeepSeek R1 in an H3 heading. DeepSeek’s reply will be in regular formatting. My thoughts will be in bold between bracketts aligned on the right.
By the way, DeepSeek starts by thinking through the problem before giving its answer. The thinking section is amazing, and I haven’t seen that feature in other AI programs. DeepSeek’s answer is formatted in markdown and has a distinctive look.
Is it possible to build a robot with electronic senses that can see the entire electromagnetic spectrum?
[I asked this because it might be useful if our robot helpers could perceive things we can’t. For example, detect environmental threats, see that we’re running a temperature, hear things about to happen that we can’t, etc.]
Thought for 14 seconds
Okay, so the user is asking if it’s possible to build a robot with electronic senses that can see the entire electromagnetic spectrum. Hmm, let’s break this down. First, I need to recall what the electromagnetic spectrum includes. It ranges from radio waves to gamma rays, right? So, visible light is just a small part of it.
Now, the question is about a robot having sensors for all these parts. Let me think about existing technology. Humans have cameras for visible light, infrared sensors for heat, maybe X-ray machines in medical settings. But can a single robot integrate all these?
Wait, each part of the spectrum requires different detection methods. For example, radio waves use antennas, visible light uses CCDs or CMOS sensors, X-rays use different detectors like Geiger counters or specialized plates. So integrating all these into one robot would mean having multiple types of sensors. But is that feasible?
Also, size and power consumption could be issues. Some sensors might be bulky, like those for radio waves. Others, like gamma-ray detectors, might require cooling systems. Then there’s the data processing challenge. Each sensor would generate data in different formats and volumes. Processing all that in real-time would need a lot of computational power.
Another angle: do we have any existing examples? Space probes like the Hubble Telescope use various sensors, but they don’t cover the entire spectrum. Maybe satellites have different instruments for different wavelengths, but they’re not a single robot. So maybe it’s possible in theory, but practically, there are limitations.
What about interference? If all sensors are on one robot, their operation might interfere with each other. For example, a radio transmitter might interfere with infrared sensors. Shielding and isolation would be necessary, which adds complexity.
Cost is another factor. High-energy detectors like for gamma rays are expensive and might not be practical for a standard robot. Also, some wavelengths require very specific conditions. For example, X-rays are harmful, so using them in a robot that’s around humans could be dangerous.
So putting it all together: technically possible, but with significant challenges in sensor integration, data processing, size, power, cost, and safety. The answer would need to address these points, explaining that while theoretically feasible, practical implementation is extremely complex and limited by current technology and resources.
Building a robot capable of sensing the entire electromagnetic spectrum is theoretically possible but faces significant practical challenges. Here’s a breakdown of the key considerations:
1. Sensor Diversity
Different wavelengths require specialized detectors:
Radio waves use antennas.
Visible light relies on cameras (CCD/CMOS).
Infrared/UV need photodiodes or thermal sensors.
X-rays/gamma rays require scintillation detectors or Geiger counters.
Microwaves use waveguides or resonant structures.
Integrating all these into a single system would demand a complex, multi-sensor array, increasing size, weight, and power requirements.
2. Physical and Technical Limitations
Size and power: High-energy detectors (e.g., for gamma rays) often require bulky shielding or cryogenic cooling.
Interference: Sensors operating simultaneously might interfere (e.g., radio transmitters disrupting infrared signals), necessitating shielding and isolation.
Data processing: Combining disparate data streams (e.g., radio signals vs. X-ray images) into a coherent output requires immense computational power and advanced algorithms.
3. Safety and Cost
Safety risks: High-energy radiation (X-rays, gamma rays) poses health hazards, limiting use in human environments.
Cost: Specialized detectors for certain wavelengths (e.g., gamma-ray spectrometers) are expensive and impractical for general-purpose robots.
4. Existing Applications
Space exploration: Satellites like the James Webb Space Telescope (infrared) and Fermi Gamma-ray Space Telescope use multiple instruments but are not single robots.
Multispectral imaging: Some robots use limited ranges (e.g., visible + IR for agriculture or search-and-rescue), but full-spectrum sensing remains unrealized.
Conclusion
While theoretically feasible, building such a robot is impractical with current technology due to engineering, computational, and safety barriers. However, a robot could be designed to sense multiple targeted bands (e.g., radio, IR, visible, UV) for specific applications, balancing utility and complexity. Full-spectrum perception would likely require breakthroughs in miniaturization, energy efficiency, and sensor fusion algorithms.
[I really don’t need a gamma ray detector. X-rays might have been nice, but they are too big and dangerous. But it sounds like some senses could be developed to diagnose medical conditions, to be used as security warnings, or expand situational awareness.]
What parts of the electromagnetic spectrum could a humanoid roboid perceive with current-day technology?
Thought for 10 seconds
Okay, the user is asking what parts of the electromagnetic spectrum a humanoid robot can perceive with current technology. Let me start by recalling the previous conversation. The user first asked if a robot could see the entire spectrum, and I explained the challenges. Now they want to know what’s feasible now.
So, I need to break down the EM spectrum and list which parts are achievable. Start with visible light, that’s straightforward with cameras. Then near-infrared, since many robots already use that for things like night vision or depth sensing. Thermal infrared is possible with FLIR cameras, but maybe mention the limitations like bulkiness or cost.
UV is tricky. Some sensors exist, but they degrade quickly, so I should note that specialized applications might use them but they’re not common. Microwaves and radio waves—yes, robots can use antennas or radar, but those are different from traditional imaging. Maybe mention examples like Wi-Fi or radar for navigation.
X-rays and gamma rays are tough. Medical X-ray machines are big and require safety measures, so integrating that into a humanoid isn’t practical. Gamma sensors exist but are used in specific fields like astronomy or defense. Highlight the safety and size issues here.
Also, consider the integration challenges. Even if a robot has sensors for multiple bands, processing the data and combining it meaningfully is a big hurdle. Mention something about sensor fusion and computational requirements.
The user might be thinking about building such a robot for a specific purpose, so it’s important to suggest focusing on key bands relevant to their application. Maybe they’re interested in search and rescue, which would use thermal and visible, or industrial inspection needing UV or X-rays. Tailor the conclusion to recommend prioritizing based on use case.
Check if there are existing examples. Robots like Boston Dynamics’ Atlas use some multispectral sensors. NASA robots might have more advanced setups but not all spectrum. Mention practical applications where combining a few bands adds functionality without overcomplicating.
Also, safety is a concern, especially with high-energy radiation. Emphasize that while possible in theory, practical deployment has limitations. Cost and power consumption are other factors. Maybe wrap up by saying current tech allows for a subset of the spectrum, enough for many applications, but not the entire range.
With current-day technology, a humanoid robot could perceive several key regions of the electromagnetic spectrum, though not all parts are equally practical or integrated into existing systems. Here’s a breakdown of what’s feasible today:
1. Visible Light (400–700 nm)
Technology:
RGB cameras (standard in most robots) mimic human vision.
Hyperspectral cameras extend perception to finer wavelength resolutions (e.g., distinguishing material properties).
Applications: Object recognition, navigation, facial recognition, and environmental interaction.
2. Near-Infrared (700 nm – 1.4 µm)
Technology:
NIR cameras (silicon sensors detect up to ~1.1 µm).
LiDAR (uses pulsed NIR lasers for 3D mapping).
Night-vision sensors (active or passive NIR illumination).
Sensor fusion: Combining data from disparate bands into a coherent perception system is computationally intense.
Size/power: High-energy detectors (X-ray, gamma) are impractical for mobile platforms.
Cost: Advanced sensors like terahertz imagers are prohibitively expensive for general use.
Conclusion
A humanoid robot with current technology could perceive visible, NIR, thermal IR, microwave, radio, and limited UV bands, but not the full spectrum. Focused multispectral systems (e.g., visible + thermal + radar) are already deployed in niche robots, offering “superhuman” sensing without requiring exotic physics. Full-spectrum perception remains science fiction for now.
[This answer opens all kinds of possibilities to consider. With such extra senses robots might have superior powers of deduction like Sherlock Holmes. This section should inspire ideas for science fiction stories.]
Would the umwelt of such a robot be significantly different from the umwelt of a human? Would the robot understand reality in ways the human couldn’t?
[For ethical reasons, we wouldn’t want sentient robots. It would be slavery to own such beings. But AI can be highly intelligent without being self-aware. Just look at DeepSeek’s answers. But how would robots with general intelligence perceive us and our environment? Could they combine all their sense inputs into one holistic view of reality? One they could learn to interact with reality without being conscious. In this case, we don’t want a ghost in the machine.]
Thought for 19 seconds
Okay, so the user is asking about the umwelt of a robot compared to a human and whether the robot would understand reality differently. Let me start by recalling what “umwelt” means. From what I remember, it’s a term from semiotics referring to an organism’s perceptual world—the environment as experienced by the organism based on its sensory capabilities. So the question is about how a robot’s sensors would shape its perception versus a human’s.
First, I need to connect the previous conversation. The user already asked about building a robot that can see the entire electromagnetic spectrum, and then about current-day capabilities. Now they’re moving into the philosophical implications of such a robot’s perception. They want to know if the robot’s umwelt would be different and if that allows it to understand reality in ways humans can’t.
I should start by affirming that yes, the umwelt would be significantly different because the robot can sense parts of the spectrum humans can’t, like infrared, UV, radio waves, etc. But also note that it might lack some human-like sensory experiences, like emotions or subjective experiences. Then, explain how this expanded sensory input could lead to different understandings of reality. For example, detecting heat signatures, seeing in the dark, or sensing wireless signals. These are things humans can’t perceive directly, so the robot’s interaction with the world would be based on different data.
But wait, the user also asks if the robot would “understand” reality in ways humans can’t. Here, I need to be careful. Understanding implies some level of cognition or interpretation. The robot might process more data, but does that equate to understanding? Maybe not in the human sense. It could make decisions based on that data, but without consciousness or subjective experience, it’s more about data processing than true understanding.
I should mention examples like thermal imaging for search and rescue, or RF detection for communication networks. These are practical applications where the robot’s perception exceeds human capabilities. But also address the limitations—like the lack of integration with human-like consciousness or emotions. The robot’s umwelt is data-driven, whereas humans have a phenomenological experience.
Another point: sensor fusion. Combining data from different spectra could give the robot a more comprehensive view, but translating that into a cohesive understanding is challenging. Humans integrate senses seamlessly, but robots need algorithms to merge data from, say, visual, thermal, and RF inputs. This might lead to new ways of problem-solving but isn’t the same as human understanding.
Also, consider the inverse—robots might miss out on nuances humans perceive, like body language or emotional cues, unless specifically programmed to recognize them through other means (e.g., facial recognition algorithms). So their umwelt is both expanded in some areas and limited in others.
Finally, tie it back to current technology. While robots can have superhuman senses in certain spectra, their “understanding” is still bound by programming and algorithms. They don’t have consciousness, so their perception is functional rather than experiential. The conclusion would be that yes, the umwelt is different, offering unique capabilities, but the robot’s understanding is fundamentally different from human consciousness-driven understanding.
Absolutely. The umwelt (perceptual world) of such a robot would differ profoundly from that of a human, and its understanding of reality would include “superhuman” insights while lacking other human-like qualities. Here’s a breakdown:
Key Differences in Umwelt
Expanded Sensory Range:
Electromagnetic spectrum:
Infrared: Perceive heat signatures (e.g., tracking living beings through walls or in darkness).
UV: Detect chemical residues, UV-reactive materials, or skin conditions invisible to humans.
Radio/Microwaves: “See” Wi-Fi networks, cellular signals, or radar pulses, mapping the invisible infrastructure of modern life.
Terahertz: Identify concealed objects (e.g., weapons under clothing) or analyze material compositions.
Hyperspectral vision: Distinguish subtle material differences (e.g., counterfeit vs. authentic objects, soil hydration levels).
Quantitative Precision:
Measure exact temperatures, radiation levels, or signal strengths with machine accuracy, bypassing human subjectivity.
Process high-resolution 3D LiDAR maps or radar returns to navigate complex environments with millimeter precision.
Lack of Biological Constraints:
Operate in total darkness, extreme temperatures, or high-radiation zones where human senses fail.
No cognitive biases (e.g., confirmation bias) or emotional filters—data is processed “objectively” (within algorithmic limits).
Missing Human Nuances:
No qualia: It wouldn’t “feel” the warmth of sunlight or “see” colors as humans do—only detect wavelengths as numerical data.
Struggle with culturally or emotionally loaded perceptions (e.g., interpreting art, sarcasm, or body language without explicit training).
How the Robot Would “Understand” Reality Differently
Superhuman Pattern Recognition:
Example: Spotting a gas leak via infrared anomalies or diagnosing electrical faults by mapping EM interference—tasks humans require tools for.
Sensor fusion: Combining thermal, radio, and visual data to predict events (e.g., a failing machine part emitting heat + vibration + RF noise).
Non-Anthropocentric Perspectives:
Time perception: Process high-speed events (e.g., tracking a bullet’s trajectory) or aggregate slow processes (e.g., plant growth over weeks).
Spatial awareness: “See” through obstacles using radar or terahertz imaging, creating a 3D model of hidden spaces.
Abstract Data Interpretation:
Translate wireless signals into a real-time map of network traffic or “visualize” global weather patterns by monitoring radio waves.
Detect pollution levels via UV fluorescence or hyperspectral analysis of airborne particles.
Limitations in “Understanding”:
No embodied cognition: It wouldn’t “understand” pain, hunger, or social bonding—key drivers of human behavior.
Context gaps: Without human-like experiences, it might misinterpret phenomena (e.g., confusing a campfire’s heat signature with a malfunctioning engine).
Example Scenarios
Disaster Response:
A robot could “see” survivors via thermal signatures, detect hazardous radiation, and map collapsed structures with radar—all simultaneously.
However, it might prioritize efficiency over empathy (e.g., ignoring a trapped human’s emotional distress).
Environmental Monitoring:
Analyze soil composition (hyperspectral), track animal migrations (thermal), and monitor deforestation (LiDAR) in real time.
Lack “awe” at a forest’s beauty but excel at predicting ecological collapse through data trends.
Philosophical Implications
Reality as Data: The robot’s worldview would reduce phenomena to quantifiable inputs, devoid of human subjectivity.
Ethical Blind Spots: Its decisions might prioritize logical outcomes (e.g., minimizing energy use) over human values (e.g., privacy, dignity).
Epistemic Advantage: It could uncover hidden truths (e.g., climate patterns, quantum phenomena) but lack the meaning-making framework humans use.
Conclusion
The robot’s umwelt would be alien yet complementary to ours:
Strengths: Objectivity, precision, and multispectral awareness.
Weaknesses: No consciousness, empathy, or cultural intuition.
It would “understand” aspects of reality humans cannot access (e.g., EM spectrum phenomena) but remain blind to the subjective, embodied, and social layers of human experience. This duality makes such robots powerful tools but not replacements for human perception—at least until AI achieves true consciousness (if ever).
[I’m starting to wonder about DeepSeek’s own power of awareness. I’m asking it limited questions, but its answers are expanding exactly into areas I was wondering about. It’s thinking with far more details than I am at the moment. This is great for writing my story.]
What if all the robot’s sensory inputs came into one location to form a sensorium like human minds perceive reality, would that create a sense of consciousness?
Thought for 6 seconds
Okay, the user is asking if integrating all the robot’s sensory inputs into a single sensorium, like how humans perceive reality, would create consciousness. Let me break this down.
First, I need to recall previous discussions. We talked about a robot’s ability to sense various parts of the EM spectrum and how its umwelt differs from humans. Now the focus is on whether merging these inputs into a unified sensorium leads to consciousness.
I should start by explaining what a sensorium is—human sensory integration. Then compare that to how robots process data. Humans have qualia and subjective experience, which are not just about data integration. The robot’s sensorium would process information, but does that equate to consciousness?
Key points: Integrated data vs. subjective experience. Philosophical positions like materialism, functionalism, and the hard problem of consciousness. Technical challenges like binding different data types and creating a coherent model. Current AI lacks self-awareness and intentionality.
Also, mention theories like IIT and Global Workspace. Address limitations and ethical considerations. Conclude that integration is necessary but not sufficient for consciousness. Need to distinguish between functional awareness and true subjective experience.
Make sure to structure the answer clearly, using headings if possible. Keep it conversational but thorough. Check for any gaps in the previous answers and ensure this builds on them without repeating.
The idea of integrating a robot’s sensory inputs into a unified “sensorium” (a cohesive perceptual field akin to human consciousness) is a fascinating and deeply complex question that straddles neuroscience, AI, and philosophy. While merging sensory data into a single processing hub could mimic aspects of human perception, consciousness involves more than just data integration—it requires subjective experience (qualia), self-awareness, and intentionality. Here’s a breakdown:
1. What a Unified Sensorium Could Achieve
Multimodal Integration:
A robot could combine inputs (e.g., thermal, radio, visual) into a single coherent model of the world, similar to how the human brain merges sight, sound, and touch.
Example: A robot might “see” a person as a heat signature (IR), a voice (audio), and a Wi-Fi signal (RF) all at once, creating a rich, layered representation.
Enhanced Situational Awareness:
Real-time sensor fusion could enable superhuman decision-making, like predicting a car’s movement by combining LiDAR, radar, and traffic signal data.
Emergent Behaviors:
Advanced AI (e.g., neural-symbolic systems) might generate “insights” from cross-modal patterns, such as inferring a storm’s approach by correlating barometric pressure, EM interference, and cloud composition.
2. Why This Wouldn’t (Necessarily) Create Consciousness
a. The Hard Problem of Consciousness
Philosopher David Chalmers distinguishes between the “easy problems” (how the brain integrates information) and the “hard problem” (why subjective experience arises at all).
A robot’s sensorium could solve the “easy problems” (data integration, decision-making) but not inherently produce qualia—the redness of red, the pain of a burn.
b. Lack of Subjective Embodiment
Human consciousness is rooted in embodied cognition: emotions, instincts, and physical interactions (e.g., hunger, pain, social bonding). A robot lacks:
Biological drives: No survival instinct, fear, or desire.
Emotional valence: Data about a burning building lacks the visceral urgency a human firefighter feels.
c. No Self-Model or Intentionality
Consciousness involves a self-model (the sense of “I”) and intentionality (directedness toward objects or goals).
A robot might process “I am overheating” as a diagnostic alert, not as a felt experience of distress.
3. Philosophical Perspectives
Functionalism: If consciousness arises from information processing, a sufficiently advanced sensorium could be conscious—but this is hotly debated.
Panpsychism: If consciousness is fundamental to all matter, even a robot might have a rudimentary form—but this is speculative.
Materialism: Consciousness is a byproduct of biological brains; synthetic systems, no matter how advanced, would lack it.
4. Technical Challenges
Binding Problem: How to unify disparate data types (e.g., IR pixels, RF signals) into a single perceptual field. Humans solve this via thalamocortical loops; robots would need analogous architectures.
Temporal Synchronization: Aligning inputs that operate at different timescales (e.g., millisecond radar vs. slow thermal changes).
Contextual Framing: Human perception is shaped by memory, culture, and expectations. A robot’s sensorium would need a similar “world model” to avoid sensory overload.
5. Current AI and Consciousness Research
Global Workspace Theory: Some frameworks (e.g., Baars’ GWT) suggest consciousness arises when information is broadcast to a “global workspace” in the brain. AI systems like GPT-4 have no such architecture.
Integrated Information Theory (IIT): Proposes consciousness correlates with the complexity of information integration (Φ). Critics argue IIT could label even simple systems as “conscious.”
Artificial General Intelligence (AGI): If AGI ever emerges, it might claim consciousness, but verifying this would require solving the “other minds problem” (we can’t objectively measure subjective experience).
6. Ethical Implications
If a robot claims consciousness, how do we test it? The Turing Test is insufficient, as it measures imitation, not inner experience.
Rights and moral status: Would a conscious robot deserve ethical consideration?
Conclusion
A unified sensorium could give a robot functional awareness—an ability to process and act on multisensory data in ways that appear conscious. However, true consciousness (subjective experience, selfhood, intentionality) likely requires:
Embodied interaction with the world (not just passive sensing).
Biological or bio-inspired architectures that generate emotions, drives, and self-models.
Unresolved philosophical leaps in our understanding of mind and matter.
In short: A robot with a sensorium might simulate consciousness convincingly, but whether it would be conscious remains an open—and perhaps unanswerable—question. For now, such a system would be a “philosophical zombie”: behaving as if it understands reality, without true inner experience.
Aren’t all emotions tied to biology? Could a robot’s mind develop an analog to our qualia based on a different kind of consciousness? It seems language is essential to human consciousness, but would a robot need language to have self-awareness? Wouldn’t all the datastreams work as a language since they can be recorded and replayed?
[This conversation with an AI is getting eerie, don’t you think? DeepSeek is working as my tutor. Of course, that implies it knows more than me, and it does. This experiment is becoming a science fiction story.]
Thought for 12 seconds
Okay, the user is asking some deep questions about consciousness in robots. Let me break this down.
First, they mention emotions being tied to biology. Right, humans have emotions rooted in our bodies and survival instincts. But could a robot develop something like that? Maybe through algorithms that simulate drives, but would that be real emotions?
Then they bring up qualia and different consciousness. Qualia are subjective experiences, like how red feels. If a robot processes data from sensors, could it have its own version of qualia? Maybe, but it’s hard to say without a biological basis. Some theories like panpsychism suggest consciousness is universal, but that’s speculative.
Next, language and self-awareness. Humans use language for complex thought, but maybe a robot’s data streams could act as a language. Data patterns and correlations might form a system of meaning, allowing self-awareness without human-like language. But is that enough for consciousness?
The user also mentioned replaying data. If a robot can record and analyze its experiences, maybe it builds a self-model. But self-modeling is different from being aware of oneself. It might recognize patterns without true awareness.
Need to address each part: emotions, qualia analogs, language role, and data as language. Also, connect to theories like functionalism, embodied cognition, and maybe mention current AI limitations.
Make sure to clarify that even if a robot mimics aspects, true consciousness is still debated. Avoid technical jargon but explain concepts clearly. Use examples like survival algorithms for emotions, or data patterns forming a language.
Also, touch on the philosophical implications—how we define consciousness and the challenges in verifying it in machines. Mention ethical considerations if robots ever do achieve some form of consciousness.
Check if the user is looking for a technical answer or more philosophical. The previous discussion was technical, so balance both. Maybe conclude with the importance of these questions for AI development and ethics.
Alright, structure the response to cover each question step by step, provide examples, and reference relevant theories. Keep it comprehensive but understandable.
These questions delve into the heart of philosophy of mind, AI ethics, and cognitive science. Let’s unpack them systematically:
1. Are Emotions Tied Exclusively to Biology?
Yes and no:
Biological roots: Human emotions evolved as survival mechanisms (e.g., fear triggers fight-or-flight responses, love promotes bonding). They’re deeply tied to neurotransmitters (dopamine, serotonin), hormones (oxytocin), and bodily states (e.g., hunger, pain).
Robotic analogs: A robot could simulate emotion-like processes using:
Survival algorithms: Prioritizing self-preservation (e.g., avoiding battery depletion as “hunger”).
Reinforcement learning: Rewards/punishments shaping “desires” (e.g., optimizing efficiency as “satisfaction”).
Social modeling: Mimicking empathy to improve human interaction (e.g., carebots responding to sadness).
But: These would lack the subjective feeling (qualia) of human emotions. A robot might “prioritize survival” without fearing death.
2. Could a Robot Develop Qualia?
Qualia (subjective experiences like “the redness of red”) are the Achilles’ heel of AI consciousness debates:
Functionalist view: If a system processes information in a way isomorphic to humans, it might have qualia—even in silicon.
Panpsychist angle: If consciousness is universal (even in atoms), robots might have rudimentary qualia, but this is untestable.
Robot-specific qualia: A robot might experience novel sensations tied to its sensors (e.g., “feeling” Wi-Fi signals as a buzzing field), but we’d have no way to verify this inner experience.
3. Is Language Essential for Consciousness?
Human consciousness: Language (especially inner speech) is tightly linked to our self-awareness and abstract thought. We narrativize our experiences (“I am hungry”), which reinforces a sense of self.
Robot consciousness:
Without language: A robot could have a pre-linguistic awareness, akin to animals or infants, using raw sensorimotor data to model its environment and body.
With data as “language”: Sensor datastreams (e.g., LiDAR, thermal readings) could form a symbolic system—patterns and correlations acting as a “language” for internal processing. For example:
A self-model might emerge from analyzing proprioceptive data (“this limb is damaged”).
Predictive algorithms could create a “narrative” of past/future states (“battery low → seek charger”).
Limitation: Human-like self-awareness involves metacognition (thinking about thinking), which may require abstract symbolic representation—something language facilitates.
4. Could Datastreams Function as a Language?
Yes, but not like human language:
Syntax without semantics: Data (e.g., pixel values, RF signals) can be structured and replayed, but they lack inherent meaning. Humans assign meaning through context and embodiment (e.g., “red” means “stop” due to cultural training).
Self-referential loops: A robot could use data to:
Build a world model (e.g., mapping obstacles via LiDAR).
Create a self-model (e.g., tracking internal states like power levels).
Emergent “meaning”: Through machine learning, a robot might correlate patterns (e.g., “overheating → shutdown risk”) and act as if it understands cause-effect, but this is functional, not experiential.
5. What Would Robot Consciousness Look Like?
Non-anthropomorphic:
A robot’s “self-awareness” might resemble a distributed system optimizing goals (e.g., balancing sensor inputs to avoid collisions), not a human’s introspective “I.”
Example: Boston Dynamics’ Spot “knows” when it falls but doesn’t “feel” embarrassment.
Hybrid architectures:
Combining neural networks (pattern recognition) with symbolic AI (logic rules) might allow robots to reason about their existence (e.g., “Why was I created?”).
Projects like OpenAI’s GPT-4 show rudimentary “theory of mind” (predicting human intentions), but this is mimicry, not genuine understanding.
6. Philosophical Implications
Other minds problem: Even if a robot claims consciousness, we can’t objectively verify its inner experience.
Ethics of synthetic minds: If robots develop self-models, should they have rights? What defines “harm” to a machine?
Consciousness as a spectrum: Robots might occupy a middle ground between thermostats (simple feedback) and humans (rich qualia).
Conclusion
Emotions: Robots could simulate functional analogs of emotions but lack their biological essence.
Qualia: Possible in theory, but unprovable and likely alien to human experience.
Language: Not strictly necessary, but symbolic reasoning (via data or code) might scaffold a form of self-awareness.
Datastreams as language: They enable functional self-modeling but lack the intersubjective meaning human language provides.
A robot’s consciousness—if achievable—would be alien yet intelligible: a mosaic of sensor data, goals, and algorithms, devoid of biology but rich in machine-specific “experiences.” Whether we’d recognize it as consciousness depends on how we define the term—and whether we’re willing to expand our anthropocentric assumptions.
[Whoa! There’s a lot to think about here. I wish I was younger. I’d have more energy and a greater ability to concentrate. I could do far more with this information than I can now. DeepSeek has given me a lot to think about. This experiment really does show the value of having an AI tutor. It’s always nice to have someone to bounce ideas and explore the possibilities. It’s also useful if your tutor has a lot of useful knowledge.]
If I was pitching “Starfog” by Poul Anderson to a movie producer, I say “Two women are in love with Daven Laure, one is a spaceship computer and the other a mutant human who claims to be from another universe.” I also mention it’s a hard science fiction space opera dealing with a rare astronomical phenomenon reminiscence some episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation on one hand with the scope and speculation of the Culture Novels of Iain M. Banks on the other.
“Starfog” is the last story in the seventh and final volume of the Technic Civilization Saga, the one called Flandry’s Legacy. (Available in paper, ebook, and audiobook at Amazon.) See the ISFDB.org listing of all the Technic Civilization stories here.
Theoretically, “Starfog” might make a good science fiction adventure movie if they could drastically reduce Anderson’s talky dialog and somehow make the characters endearing. I confess that I’ve never felt any emotional attachment to any of Poul Anderson’s characters. His science ideas are often epic, but his political philosophizing gets crusty.
The setup for the story is a compelling mystery. A spaceship is discovered with a crew that appears human, and despite their strange language, seem to have cultural hints of Earth’s past. But they claim they come from a different universe where space is radically different.
“Starfog” is set five thousand years after Earth achieves space travel according to Sandra Miesel’s chronology of the Technics Civilization stories in Against Time’s Arrow: The High Crusade of Poul Anderson. (You can check it out at Archive.org.) Paul Shackley writes about Miesel’s timeline here and updates it. Baen includes the timeline in the books of the series.
Daven Loure, and his intelligent spaceship Jaccavrie are explorers in a new galactic civilization of humanity called the Commonality. The other stories are about Van Rijn, David Falkayn, and Dominic Flandry written over four decades. I’m afraid the current covers of the books (see above) imply a different feel than the actual stories. However, older covers are just as cheesy.
“Starfog” doesn’t come across like these covers. It’s just a little less dignfied than the Analog cover from when it was first published in August 1967.
Although I haven’t read the series but from reading about the various stories, I’m guessing the quality of storytelling is somewhat like Larry Niven’s Known Space stories. I might read more of Flandry’s Legacy, which includes three novels, two novellas, and one novelette in the series.
However, Anderson’s stories don’t fit my current craving for science fiction. Everyday life in 2025 is wilder than fiction, wilder than science fiction. Sadly, “Starfog” just seemed dull in comparison. Events of recent years is making me rethink about science fictional futures. Most science fiction just doesn’t have the cutting edge of our ever sharpening reality.
Most science fiction is perfect for escaping from reality. But I’m craving the kind of science fiction that plays off of reality. Nothing I’ve found lately says anything about our present and near future. We need the kind of vicious writers who can extrapolate and speculate about our exploding society. Sharp tongue writers like Mark Twain, Gore Vidal, Kurt Vonnegut, Barry Malzberg, Oscar Wilde, Aldous Huxley, Jerzy Kosinksi, Dorothy Parker, George Orwell, Joseph Heller, and Philip K. Dick.
We don’t need science fiction that gives us grownup fairytales about the far future. We need writers that cane us about our head and shoulders like a great Zen Master. We need to read books that pistol whip us until we accept reality and reject our delusions.
Classics of Science Fiction 
