I'm not sure I get exactly what happens in this one, but it's the standard tale of scientific experiment goes horribly wrong.
Looking to extend the mental powers of the human mind by eliminating sleep, three test subjects undergo 'narcotomy', which is a nice little word I've not seen before. Without the daily downtime of sleep, the test subjects end up completely focused on themselves, and paranoid to the point where the gymnasium they're in shrinks in on them until there's no room left to move. It references Chekov's The Bet and meditates on death, while at the same time JGB hints at the evolutionary psychology that would go into The Drowned World 5 years later.
What I liked about this story is the shift in focus. We start with the medicalised observations of the scientists conducting and monitoring the experiment, but when they start getting sleepy the focus shifts to the three test subjects. When they start encountering problems, the focus returns once again to the scientists, who try to make sense of the burnout in psychological terms. It's an interesting three-act play.
Thursday 30 December 2010
Wednesday 29 December 2010
Venus Smiles
Twitting about on the Internet alongside reading these stories, I've found that this one has the distinction of requiring its own Wikipedia page. Details of why this is will be found there, but it's interesting to see that the story is included here in 1957, rather than later in 1971.
We're in Vermilion Sands again, and it's only on my second visit that I notice something from Prima Belladonna. The fusion of plant life and music is almost synaethesia, and here we have a similar thing going on with a metal sculpture that moves and grows. It also sings as well.
There's also another enigmatic female artistic type who made the statue. Could be another theme developing there, but I won't find out until I get to Studio 5, The Stars, which is the next story from the collection.
Writing in the preface to the collection, JGB defends the criticism that Vermilion Sands is not science fiction because it's not an 'invented future'. He suggests it's a 'visionary present', based on a real future that he could see approaching. This explains everything I've already read of his, and it's also what I think science fiction is all about; our present hopes and fears. The best example of this is how Peter Parker's radioactive spider in 1962 became a genetically modified spider for the Sam Raimi film in 2002. In the case of Venus Smiles, there's this wonderful exchange between the mayor and his secretary:
We're in Vermilion Sands again, and it's only on my second visit that I notice something from Prima Belladonna. The fusion of plant life and music is almost synaethesia, and here we have a similar thing going on with a metal sculpture that moves and grows. It also sings as well.
There's also another enigmatic female artistic type who made the statue. Could be another theme developing there, but I won't find out until I get to Studio 5, The Stars, which is the next story from the collection.
Writing in the preface to the collection, JGB defends the criticism that Vermilion Sands is not science fiction because it's not an 'invented future'. He suggests it's a 'visionary present', based on a real future that he could see approaching. This explains everything I've already read of his, and it's also what I think science fiction is all about; our present hopes and fears. The best example of this is how Peter Parker's radioactive spider in 1962 became a genetically modified spider for the Sam Raimi film in 2002. In the case of Venus Smiles, there's this wonderful exchange between the mayor and his secretary:
"The Medicis probably felt like this about Michaelangelo. Who are we to judge?"There's so much in those three lines of dialogue that's familiar...
"You are," she said "You were on the committee, weren't you?"
"Darling," I explained patiently "Sonic sculpture is the thing. You're trying to fight a battle the public lost thirty years ago"
Monday 27 December 2010
The Concentration City
My wife plays Transport Tycoon, and she always likes it when the streets and houses of one town join up with those of the next. This sprawl is what's at the heart of The Concentration City, although the sprawl in this case extends in all directions, including up and down. Space is bought and sold by cubic foot, and the real danger is fire. Restaurant food is universally cold due to strict cooking temperature regulations, and dissenting groups of "Pyros" are blamed for everything bad that happens.
This is all laid out in the first example of a great first paragraph, setting up the entire world and immersing the reader in it by means of snippets of overheard conversation. A Google search for the first line throws up several people who feel similarly inspired, and the text if you're interested. JGB has a habit of doing this with his first paragraphs, particularly in High Rise, which makes the cooking of a neighbour's Alsatian on a bonfire of telephone directories seem perfectly normal.
Anyway, the hero in The Concentration City, entertaining strange notions of building a flying machine, takes a journey as far as he can on public transport, only to wind up back where he started from. Along the way, various glimpses are given as to how and where such a massively populous city 'will all end', although again, as with Escapement, no answers are given. Perhaps the length of the short story only allows us to explore the problems rather than solve them. I think this is why I like short stories so much.
It made me think of Dark City, Asimov's The Naked Sun, and a little bit of Metropolis. Incidentally, the newly issued version of Metropolis, with the 25 extra minutes they found in Brazil last year, was received for Christmas. We'll get round to watching it soon.
This is all laid out in the first example of a great first paragraph, setting up the entire world and immersing the reader in it by means of snippets of overheard conversation. A Google search for the first line throws up several people who feel similarly inspired, and the text if you're interested. JGB has a habit of doing this with his first paragraphs, particularly in High Rise, which makes the cooking of a neighbour's Alsatian on a bonfire of telephone directories seem perfectly normal.
Anyway, the hero in The Concentration City, entertaining strange notions of building a flying machine, takes a journey as far as he can on public transport, only to wind up back where he started from. Along the way, various glimpses are given as to how and where such a massively populous city 'will all end', although again, as with Escapement, no answers are given. Perhaps the length of the short story only allows us to explore the problems rather than solve them. I think this is why I like short stories so much.
It made me think of Dark City, Asimov's The Naked Sun, and a little bit of Metropolis. Incidentally, the newly issued version of Metropolis, with the 25 extra minutes they found in Brazil last year, was received for Christmas. We'll get round to watching it soon.
Escapement
It's one of those inevitabilities with any science fiction series; sooner or later the Time Loop episode turns up. JGB is no exception, as here it is with Escapement.
In short, a man finds himself living the same 15 minutes over and over, it's fairly familiar stuff, but there's one thing that sets this slightly apart from every other Time Loop we've seen: the problem sorts itself out without the protagonist doing anything. He thinks of some good ideas to try, one of which (getting drunk) reminded me of Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, but he either dissuades himself or runs out of time.
It's a good take on a familiar story, and there's a good sense of initial disorientation. The twist at the end is already familiar from JGB's novels that I've read. Disorientation, powerlessness and uncertain, shifting situations in place of dynamic, problem-solving resolution. Nice.
In short, a man finds himself living the same 15 minutes over and over, it's fairly familiar stuff, but there's one thing that sets this slightly apart from every other Time Loop we've seen: the problem sorts itself out without the protagonist doing anything. He thinks of some good ideas to try, one of which (getting drunk) reminded me of Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, but he either dissuades himself or runs out of time.
It's a good take on a familiar story, and there's a good sense of initial disorientation. The twist at the end is already familiar from JGB's novels that I've read. Disorientation, powerlessness and uncertain, shifting situations in place of dynamic, problem-solving resolution. Nice.
Prima Belladonna
Almost immediately in Vermilion Sands, where this first story is set, I can see traces of Estrella de Mar, and Eden-Olympia, the decadence, the quavering ideals and the characters who find niches in the underbelly.
Anyway, this is a story about a man who runs a choro-flora (musical plants, apparently) shop, whose life gets turned upside-down by Jane Ciracylides, a mysterious singer with an affinity for these musical plants. Weird stuff happens, beer is drunk on balconies, and Jane disappears at the end of the story, last heard of in several places, reminding me a lot of Holly Golightly of Truman Capote's novella.
I'm glad to see that even with his earliest stories, JGB can make the most outlandish situations sound perfectly normal. The first book of his that I read was Crash, which makes the shocking and perverse world of its characters make complete sense. Prima Belladonna pulls the same trick. Sample sentence:
Anyway, this is a story about a man who runs a choro-flora (musical plants, apparently) shop, whose life gets turned upside-down by Jane Ciracylides, a mysterious singer with an affinity for these musical plants. Weird stuff happens, beer is drunk on balconies, and Jane disappears at the end of the story, last heard of in several places, reminding me a lot of Holly Golightly of Truman Capote's novella.
I'm glad to see that even with his earliest stories, JGB can make the most outlandish situations sound perfectly normal. The first book of his that I read was Crash, which makes the shocking and perverse world of its characters make complete sense. Prima Belladonna pulls the same trick. Sample sentence:
The next three or four days at the store were audio-vegetative armageddon. Jane came in every morning to look at the Arachnid, and her presence was more than the flower could bear.Great stuff. I'm looking forward to the rest of the stories and the development of Vermilion Sands into (possibly) the resorts I know from the novels.
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