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187 lines
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CHEAP TRUTH 2
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EDITORIAL: "Dirt Cheap Literary Criticism With the Honesty of Complete
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Desperation"
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** PUBLIC SHUDDERS AT "BEST OF THE YEAR" **
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It can't be the editors' fault. Can it? Terry Carr has as much taste
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as any editor in the field has ever had. Donald Wollheim may be a tough old
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shark, a snuff-snorting roue' of the ancien regime, but he Knows What People
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Like.
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How to explain, then, the painful dullness of these two collections?
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(THE 1983 WORLD'S BEST SF, Donald A. Wollheim, Ed., DAW, $2.95; THE BEST
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SCIENCE FICTION OF THE YEAR #12, Terry Carr, ed., Timescape, $3.95.) Is SF
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suffering from intellectual exhaustion? Perhaps it takes itself too
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seriously and has lost the careless vigor it had when it was mere pop crap.
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One might easily conclude this after perusing the vapid "Letter From the
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Clearys," the pompous and bloodless "Sur," or the Abbess-phone-home fakery of
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"Souls." But even these clumps of parasitic literary mistletoe have more to
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recommend them than the clunky obsolescence of James White's "The Scourge" or
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Timothy Zahn's laughable "Pawn's Gambit."
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Consider how good Frederik Pohl's "Farmer On the Dole" looks in this
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company. This story is predicated on the waggish Pohl-Kornbluth satires of
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thirty years ago. In those days "Farmer On the Dole" would have ranked as a
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shoulder-shrugging mild amusement. Nowadays, however, surrounded by stories
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that lie gasping and wall-eyed with anemia, a story that has enough strength
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left to execute a rickety buck-and-wing and toss a pie or two DESERVES
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ACCLAIM.
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Wollheim's collection is the dopier of the two, burdened by
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aberrations like Timothy Robert Sullivan's negligible "The Comedians," and
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"Written in Water," one of Tanith Lee's most opaque efforts. The collection
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closes well with Rudy Rucker's lively Pac-Man parody, but the mind boggles at
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this choice, since it's probably the worst thing Rucker ever wrote. One
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winces to think of the impression this must make on Rucker's potential fans,
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who will almost certainly conclude that his work consists of juvenile KA-CHOW
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KA-CHOW incoherency.
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Carr's collection has more on the ball, including Disch's
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claustrophobically brilliant "Understanding Human Behavior" and Silverberg's
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competent "Pope of the Chimps." The silly plot of Connie Willis'
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"Firewatch" does not prevent her from making her point with force and grace.
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And Gregory Benford's strange parable of modern industrial society,
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"Relativistic Effects," demands respect and earns it. It is, however,
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rather dull.
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Hope for the future lies with newer writers. Bill Johnson's first
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story, "Meet Me At Apogee," shows unusual stylistic grace for a hard-SF
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devotee, and he seems to have grasped the fact that the Future Will Be
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Different. Bruce McAllister does not know how to plot, but this can be
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forgiven him, since his is clearly a visionary chomping at the bit.
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McAllister needs to forget his pretensions and cut loose.
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Bruce Sterling contributes a slick piece of entomological SF. The
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odd popularity of this work, with its intense Stapledonian pessimism,
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probably shows that readers have missed his point.
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But the best comes last: William Gibson's incredible "Burning
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Chrome." THIS is the shape for science fiction in the 1980's: fast-moving,
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sharply extrapolated, technologically literate, and as brilliant and coherent
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as a laser. Gibson's focussed and powerful attack is our best chance yet to
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awaken a genre that has been half-asleep since the early 1970's.
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And until SF does reform itself, re-think itself, and re-establish
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itself as a moving cultural force instead of a backwater anachronism, even
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the cleverest editors will find their efforts useless. They cannot produce
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meritorious fiction after the fact; nor can they stitch silk purses from the
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ears of sows, no matter how fat the sows are or how long they have been
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munching the same acorns under the same tree. SF must stop recycling the
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same half-baked traditions about the nature of the human future. And its
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most formally gifted authors must escape their servant's mentality and learn
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to stop aping their former masters in the literary mainstream. Until that
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happens, SF will continue sliding through obsolescence toward outright
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necrophilia.
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$0$0$0$0$0$0$0$0$0$0$0$0$$0$0$0$0$0$0$0$0$0$0$0
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RAGING DIATRIBE FROM OUR NEW YORK CORRESPONDENT
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Our New York correspondent, one of a globe-spanning network of CHEAP
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TRUTH shills and xerox pirates, sends us these pertinent comments:
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"At the Forbidden Planet SF Convention (New York, July 2-3-4 1983),
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Jack Chalker remarked that before he became well known, no one reviewed him,
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whereas now, he's reviewed everywhere -- unfavorably. He claims this is
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because fan critics are failed writers, which makes them jealous of Chalker's
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success. I'm tired of the 'jealous critics' line that hacks like Chalker trot
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out to justify their awful work and their giant egos. The fact is that, so
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long as a mediocre writer remains obscure, critics see that there is a
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certain degree of justice, and they feel no comment needs to be made. But if
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that writer's trashy, derivative, ungrammatical, garbled prose, and
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second-hand, second-rate ideas start selling widely, critics feel a
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justifiable sense of outrage. They vent this outrage in their reviews.
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Jealousy has nothing to do with it.
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"The success of BATTLEFIELD EARTH is easily explained (one million
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Scientology readers can't be wrong -- or right) but 2010 and FOUNDATION'S
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EDGE are more baffling. Bearing in mind hardcover prices and the juvenile
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readership... how many copies of these incredibly dull books were bought by
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parents as presents for their children? Market research would be
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illuminating. And how many young readers were disappointed? For that
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matter, how many people who buy SF novels actually FINISH them? How many
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mediocre, unoriginal, boring books will a reader tolerate, and still keep
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buying, in hope of finding one to stimulate his imagination? At what point
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do readers become disgusted and give up? Any other industry would have
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researched such factors long ago. The cost would quickly be recovered in
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increased efficiency and responsiveness to real market patterns."
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** "BEST OF THE YEAR" REPRISE: EUROPE REELS **
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The morbid state of American SF might lead one to expect -- even to
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hope -- that the narcotized Amerikaners would be blindsided by an older and
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wiser literary tradition from the Continent. Judging by this (TERRA SF II --
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THE YEARS BEST EUROPEAN SF, Richard D. Nolane, ed., DAW $2.95), it is not to
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be. Frankly, there are SOVIETS who can write better than this.
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Three of twelve stories can be exempted from the pillory, especially
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Francis Carsac's "The Last Atlantean." Its misleadingly maudlin title is the
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work of the translator, one "Joe F. Randolph." In this collection, Mr.
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Randolph tackles German, French, Danish, Spanish, and Italian. Can such a
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polymath exist? Is the wooden prose of this collection perhaps his fault?
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One might hope so, but the underlying structure of these stories leads one to
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believe otherwise. They range from flabby Howard pastiches to wet leftist
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polemics, as dull as Pournelle without even his saving grace of overt
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violence. And are pickings so slim in Europe that the editor MUST include
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one of his own
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stories?
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CHEAP TRUTH TOP TEN
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This list, by guest grump Sue Denim, is all recent stuff (within the
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last year, at least) and should be fairly easy to find.
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BEST OF CHARLES BEAUMONT -- Known for his Twilight Zone work, his
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short fiction is brilliant, literate, and a vast range of styles and moods.
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Bantam.
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THE TRANSMIGRATION OF TIMOTHY ARCHER by Philip K. Dick -- the
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Master's last book, a change of pace in tone and style but still brilliant
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and haunting. Timescape.
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THE MAN WHO HAD NO IDEA by Thomas M. Disch -- Bizarre and highly
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literate collection that fairly shimmers with wit. Bantam.
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RIDDLEY WALKER by Russel Hoban -- The made-up language is a pain in
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the ass, but the extra work is worth it. Grim but deeply moving
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post-apocalypse. Washington Square.
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THE UNREASONING MASK by Philip Jose' Farmer -- Wildly inventive, and
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if not in a stylistic league with Disch or Hoban, at least Farmer is coherent
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and readable here (as opposed to, say, the last couple of Riverworld books).
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Berkley.
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COURTSHIP RITE by Donald Kingsbury -- Earth's descendants reduced to
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near savagery on an alien world -- but wait. This is the real thing,
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intricately designed and fiercely imagined. Timescape.
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THE WAR HOUND AND THW WORLD'S PAIN by Michael Moorcock. His best in
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years, carefully crafted, full of surprises and convoluted characters.
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Timescape.
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THE SNARKOUT BOYS AND THE AVOCADO OF DEATH by Daniel M. Pinkwater --
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You'll have to look in the "Young Adult" section for this one, but do it
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anyway. Brilliant satire by a genuine mad genius. Signet.
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THE GOLDEN SPACE by Pamela Sargent -- Fixup of several stories, with
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filler material, but it really does work as a novel. Immortals and their
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genetically altered children raise serious issues. Strong characters.
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Timescape.
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A ROSE FOR ARMAGEDDON by Hilbert Schenck -- This guy is weird and
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doesn't seem to know how books are supposed to be written, which is a real
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relief sometimes. Once this one gets rolling (and it does take its time) you
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won't want to stop. Timescape.
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CHEAP TRUTH On-Line 809-C West 12th Street Austin, Texas 78701. Editing,
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Vincent Omniaveritas. Shiva the Destroyer, Systems Operation. NOT
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COPYRIGHTED. Xerox and data pirates, to the barricades!
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