The Best Science Fiction of 1949

by Everett F. Bleiler

  Chicago, Illinois April 7, 1949

  Preface

  TO TELL what modern science-fiction is would almost take a book in itself. We might answer best, however, by advising the reader to read the stories in this book, and then decide for himself. The old Chinese saying that one image is worth a thousand words would most certainly apply here. But, to give the reader a hint, a foretaste of what is to come, let us say that science-fiction is fiction based on imaginative science, or with imaginative science for a background.

  The use of such imaginative science in literature has had a long history. Many of the greatest figures in world literature have written what might be called science-fiction, and much scholarship has been expended to show their indebtedness to the science of their day. A short list would include Daniel DeFoe, W. H. Hudson, Aldous Huxley, Edgar Allan Poe, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Jonathan Swift, and

  H. G. Wells. And there are many others who have contributed in some measure to the shaping of the present genre. But for a more detailed history, we shall refer the reader to Melvin Korshak’s excellent introduction.

  We shall be more concerned with showing that science-fiction can be a respectable form of literature, and that it can have some value for our culture. We might point, first of all, to the fact that much literature is science-fiction, as the names which we have already mentioned will show, but will instead offer more cogent reasons to demonstrate that science-fiction has value: its scientific truth, its educational value, and its artistic truth.

  If we remember that H. G. Wells in The World Set Free told of a workable atomic bomb in 1914, that Jane Webb discussed television in 1827 in The Mummy!, and that in 1892 Robert Braine in Messages from Mars mentioned the horrors of bacteriological and chemical warfare in very practical fashion, we can see that science-fiction is not really so fantastic that it has no merit beyond refuge from reality. A glimpse at the history of science-fiction, on the contrary, will show that authors on the whole have not overstated human progress, but often instead have been surpassed by it. And there has been a large middle ground where science-fiction and history have conveniently met, and many apt predictions have resulted.

  Nor has science-fiction been without repercussions on the life of the individual. The British Academy of Sciences was founded as an outgrowth of Sir Francis Bacon’s utopia, The New Atlantis, while many an attempted utopia was founded in the 19th century under the impact of the striking systems of Edward Bellamy, Theodor Hertzka, and others. The influence of the various utopias, most of which called for social reforms, should not be underestimated.

  Thus, even though we freely admit that science-fiction is not an unfailing prophet of the future, we claim that it is not always too fantastic to happen. Unfortunately, the situation is just the reverse.

  The educational value of science-fiction might be considered as a second point. In the early days of the American development of science-fiction, much emphasis was placed upon its pragmatic value as a sugar-coated way of acquiring knowledge. These were the days, of course, when text-book science was quoted in whole pages to give body to a story. Science-fiction, it is true, can offer a palatable mass of facts for easy consumption, but we should not overestimate its potentialities as education. Much depends upon whether the individual knows where to draw the line between the scientific fact and the fancy of the author’s extrapolation. The modern development of science-fiction, on the other hand, has stressed less the scientific aspects and more the story and human elements, hence we should not overrate its possible educational value.

  But, by far the most important of science-fiction’s claims to be respectable literature is to be found within its very essence. This consists of an insight and investigation into a specific aspect of life which no other means can offer: the relation of man to science. In no other time in history has the happiness and fate of the entire world been linked so intimately with the thoughts and manufactures of a few thousand men, the scientists, or so dependent upon that abstraction—science. Modern science-fiction at its best is essentially a fictional attempt to investigate man’s relationships with science, and in investigating an aspect of human experience is fully as valid as a similar fictional investigation of sex or society. The reader will notice how many of the stories in this volume are intimately and seriously connected with man’s problems of adjustment. Such a quest can hardly be called escapism, but, in the historian Toynbee’s sense. might better be called “withdrawal.”

  Science-fiction offers at least two important solutions to man’s problem of adjustment, both of which present consistent views of the universe and man’s place in it: that of the rationalist, and that of the nonrationalist.

  The first of these is essentially the philosophy of those scientists who write science-fiction. It regards science as the potential savior of man. It sees man, with the aid of science, triumphant over the universe. At its worst we might say that this philosophy conceives of the universe as a gigantic “white man’s burden.” Science for these men is a logically coherent system of mechanical principles which can be discovered, by the human reason, and the human reason is mans greatest glory. The authors and readers who have accepted this logical positivist solution to the world are very largely those who have been attracted to Korczybski’s semantics.

  The other solution, held not so much by the scientists themselves, regards modern science not as man’s greatest glory, but as a misgrowth, and demands the return of human values to the universe. It sees a complete man, with art, emotion, and culture, as the center of the cosmos, and recognizes that there are many factors in life which are not amenable to reason, but are frankly nonrational. It is this mode of thought which some of the more important authors who have used science-fiction have expressed, as Aldous Huxley, H. F. Heard, S. Fowler Wright, and Olaf Stapledon among contemporary authors, and William Morris, and W. H. Hudson in an earlier generation. It is essentially the philosophy of such men as Goethe and Carus as opposed to Darwin and Haeckel.

  Both of these two trends or attitudes are represented in the stories contained in this volume.

  Let us summarize by suggesting that science-fiction often may be a respectable form of literature and of value for four reasons: historical precedent, prediction value, educational value, and insight into one of man’s most pressing problems.

  In selecting these stories we have been guided first of all by literary craftsmanship and artistic insight, secondly by the desire to make a representative selection of trends and ideas within the modern range of development. We have not restricted ourselves to the specialist magazines, but have read all the media in which science-fiction occasionally appears, including the “slicks” and the “little magazines.”

  Ray Bradbury’s Mars Is Heaven! is one of the most effective surprise stories that we’ve ever read. The simple homely atmosphere of the first part, the restrained action, and the emotional reactions of the crew at finding their beloved dead on Mars all form a wonderful contrast to the surprising denouement, when the Martians are revealed. It is also historically most interesting in combining two of the oldest motives in fantastic literature, Mars as Heaven, and the shape-changer. The concept of the planets of the solar system as stations in the progress of the soul dates back at least as far as Plutarch, and has persistently accompanied the interplanetary motive through the centuries. In the 19th century it was given a new burst of life, in spite of the prevailing rationalism, in the work of Louis Figuier and Camille Flammarion. The shape-changer, a monster who can assume any form for his own evil purposes, is old in folklore. One used to haunt the caravan trails along which Sir John de Mandeville travelled. In modem times, John W. Campbell, Jr. has very effectively made use of the idea in his classic Who Goes There?.

  … . And the Moon Be Still As Bright emphasizes another mode of Bradbury’s thought. His sense of humility before the universe, his deviation from the customary human egocentricity of much science-fiction are both refreshing changes. The naturalism with which he drives
home his message of man’s insignificance is most effective. The emphasis on the complete man, with the reintroduction of feeling and aesthetic norms, makes Bradbury stand somewhat apart from the typical writer and reader of most science-fiction. He almost forms a focus for a reaction against the physical sciences within the literature of the physical sciences itself.

  Kuttner’s Happy Ending is perhaps the best example of the modem Gothic story which has come to our attention. We call it Gothic with. no disparagement. One of the strongest trends in science-fiction in recent times has been a return to a complex plot and denouements by revealment with all the tricks and devices of the older Gothic school. Kuttner often presents such a plot, as opposed to the simple linear plot of most science-fiction, but most certainly not with the naivete of most of the others who have used the same techniques. Happy Ending stands out within its field. The complete involvement of motives and absence of loose ends and illogical propositions might serve as lessons to many who have tried the same technique. The subject-matter of the malicious robot, incidentally, is as old as Frankenstein and the Golem.

  Ex Machina by Padgett illustrates the possibilities of a tale of mystification based on fantasy. The destruction of the ordinary barriers of reality within fantasy permits almost endless possibility for mystery far more puzzling than that of the ordinary whodunit, where space and time combine to limit the author. Yet few writers within the science-fiction field have taken advantage of this liberty. Ex Machina also shows Padgett as a science-fiction humorist, in which capacity he has been almost a pioneer within a notoriously humorless field of writing. The trial scene, as good as any from Thorne Smith, will bear out this assertion.

  Poul Anderson’s Genius presents a viewpoint directly opposed to that of Bradbury’s stories. Reason is evaluated as man’s sole protection against the evil forces both within and without him. Particularly interesting is Mr. Anderson’s solution to the same problem that Aldous Huxley considered very briefly in Brave New World: the problem of adjustment in a world of geniuses. Mr. Anderson is more optimistic than Mr. Huxley, whose geniuses kill each other off.

  Fredric Brown’s clever little story Knock is based on the horror anecdote attributed to Thomas Bailey Aldrich—the last woman on earth hears a knock on her door. Brown’s sarcasm and irony fit well with the restraint with which he handles a vast subject, nothing less than the almost complete destruction of the human race. Well-known authors have dealt with the same theme before, as Mrs. Shelley in The Last Man, M. P. Shiel in The Purple Cloud, and S. Fowler Wright in The Adventure of Wyndham Smith, but we wonder whether they would have had the courage to tell Brown’s story of a middle-aged unromantic professor and an unwilling female.

  J. J. Coupling’s Period Piece develops the theme of the feeling robot. It also recapitulates, although probably unconsciously, the heresy of Valentinus the Gnostic, that a created being suffers because of imperfections put into it by an imperfect creator. Mr. Coupling’s story is by implication the story of man himself, who is but a puppet in the hands of the gods, and so great is the feeling of sympathy which Mr. Coupling arouses that we almost feel ourselves to be the Period Piece.

  Martin -Gardner’s amusing Thong will probably be very much a surprise to the readers. Mr. Gardner has very ably and whimsically revived an ancient mythological concept—a world-eating monster who is cousin to the Mexican and Chinese monsters that eat the moon to cause eclipses.

  Doughnut Jockey by Erik Fennel exemplifies a trend toward the adventure pole inherent in science-fiction, presenting a human problem that might arise in science as well as elsewhere. We do not say this with any feeling of disparagement, but merely to point out that one stream of influence is still strong, and still has much to offer science-fiction. This story also shows that excellent science-fiction appears in other magazines than those specializing in the field. The reader will notice Mr. Fennel’s remarkable background detail, as convincing and as satisfying as in any science-fiction story we have ever read.

  Murray Leinster’s Strange Case of John Kingman, if we were driven by an urge to classify, might be termed an outgrowth of the mad scientist theme, plus modern psychiatry. We can also trace the influence of the late Charles Fort in the early stop over of a space-ship from another world, and in the unfathomable stranger with the odd sense of humor, who, unfortunately, is mad. Murray Leinster has long been outstanding in the science-fiction field for excellent tales.

  Isaac Asimov’s No Connection is a typical good Astounding story, if there is any such thing as a typical story. It will be immediately obvious that it belongs to the same tradition as Genius. Written by a scientist, the whole story is based on a scientific idea, rather than upon a common human situation, yet with more topical allusion, with much special reference to uncontrolled political misuse of science. Mr. Asimov’s bear society is convincing, and his logic is beyond question when he shows that unless a miracle happens the bear society is doomed before the human-like erratic science of the chimpanzees, and we are left with a feeling of futility at the thought that the bears will perish.

  In Hiding by Wilmar Shins represents the psychological trend within modern science-fiction. Here problems of psychology, especially the adjustment of the highly gifted individual to society, replace the earlier stress on the physical sciences. In Hiding was the most popular story of the year in Astounding Science-Fiction, and we can recommend it for its mellowness, keenness of insight, analysis, and restraint. It will be long before the reader forgets In Hiding.

  At this time we should like to thank the following persons for their aid in the preparation of this volume: Harry Altshuler, Jay Bachrach, Bernard Brodsky, 0. James Butler of the Vagabond Book Shop, John W. Campbell, Jr., editor of Astounding Science-Fiction, Oscar J. Friend, Donald Kennicott, editor of Blue Book Magazine, Abe Klein, Mrs. Jane

  S. Melnick, Sam Merwin, editor of Thrilling Wonder Stories, Henry W. Ralston of Street & Smith Publications, Inc., Malcolm Reiss of Fiction House, Inc., and Mark Reinsberg.

  Everett F. Bleiler & T. E. Dikty

  Chicago, Illinois

  21 March 1949

  The expression “all is illusion” may have originated on Earth, but it was really practical on Mars.

  Mars Is Heaven!

  By Ray Bradbury

  The ship came down from space. It came from the stars and the black velocities, and the shining movements, and the silent gulfs of space. It was a new ship; it had fire in its body and men in its metal cells, and it moved with a clean silence, fiery and warm. In it were seventeen men, including a captain. The crowd at the Ohio field had shouted and waved their hands up into the sunlight, and the rocket bad bloomed out great flowers of beat and cobs and run away into space on the third voyage to Mars!

  Now it was decelerating with metal efficiency in the upper Martian atmospheres. It was still a thing of beauty and strength. It had moved in the midnight waters of space like a pale sea leviathan; it had passed the ancient moon and thrown itself onward into one nothingness following another. The men within it had been battered, thrown about, sickened, made well again, each in his turn. One man had died, but now the remaining sixteen, with their eyes clear in their heads and their faces pressed to the thick glass ports, watched Mars swing up under them.

  “Mars! Mars! Good old Mars, here we are!” cried Navigator Lustig.

  “Good old Mars!” said Samuel Hinkston, archaeologist.

  “Well,” said Captain John Black.

  The ship landed softly on a lawn of green grass. Outside, upon the lawn, stood an iron deer. Further up the lawn, a tall brown Victorian house sat in the quiet sunlight, all covered with scrolls and rococo, its windows made of blue and pink and yellow and green colored glass. Upon the porch were hairy geraniums and an old swing which was hooked into the porch ceiling and which now swung back and forth, back and forth, in a little breeze. At the top of the house was a cupola with diamond, leaded-glass windows, and a dunce-cap roof! Through the front window you could see an ancient piano wi
th yellow keys and a piece of music titled Beautiful Ohio sitting on the music rest.

  Around the rocket in four directions spread the little town, green and motionless in the Martian spring, There were white houses and red brick ones, and tall elm trees blowing in the wind, and tall maples and horse chestnuts. And church steeples with golden bells silent in them.

  The men in the rocket looked out and saw this. Then they looked at one another and then they looked out again. They held on to each other’s elbows, suddenly unable to breathe, it seemed. Their faces grew pale and they blinked constantly, running from glass port to glass port of the ship.

  “I’ll be damned,” whispered Lustig, rubbing his face with his numb fingers, his eyes wet. “I’ll be damned, damned, damned.”

  “It can’t be, it just can’t be,” said Samuel Hinkston.

  “Lord,” said Captain John Black.

  There was a call from the chemist. “Sir, the atmosphere is fine for breathing, sir.”

  Black turned slowly. “Are you sure?’

  “No doubt of it, sir.”

  “Then we’ll go. out,” said Lustig.

  “Lord, yes,” said Samuel Hinkston.

  “Hold on,” said Captain John Black. “Just a moment, Nobody gave any orders.”

  “But, sir—”

  “Sir, nothing. How do we know what this is?”

  “We know what it is, sir,” said the chemist. “It’s a small town with good air in it, sir.”

  “And it’s a small town the like of Earth towns,” said Samuel Hinkston, the archaeologist.

  “Incredible. It can’t be, but it is.” Captain John Black looked at him, idly. “Do you think that the civilizations of two planets can