As MOST OF YOU KNOW, I AM the editor of a (roughly) annual anthology of science fiction and various related writings, loosely lumped under the title, SF. Some of you may also remember that, in what now seems to me the remote past, I was also a writer of (science fiction? well, at least) s-f. Some of the active fans are also aware that I was briefly a fan magazine publisher myself, and for many years a compulsive convention-goer.

I mention this, in retrospective mood, because I have just read two books which, between them, shuttled me back and forth through the nearly-a-quarter century since I first became personally involved with the science fiction world. I mean —

Talk about your generation gaps!

Today, I inscribed a dedication copy of a new book to an editor with whom I had one of the mightiest battles of my professional life just ten years ago. I had written what I considered an inspired piece of prose with which to conclude the Third Annual SF, the one that covered 1957, Year of the Sputnik; he cut my copy to shreds. It happens —I can now admit—that he was a very good editor, and he may have been right from a literary standpoint; I will never know, because in my fury, I tore the thing up, and wrote instead a modest piece of about one-third the length and none of the glory. As I said, the man was, and is, a good editor —but a rotten prophet, and no astronaut (even of the soul) at all.

I am no astronaut (except of the soul) and unlikely ever to be one; nor was my first contact with the old Futurian Society early enough to participate in their adventures with backyard rocketry. But it was close enough after that time so that it took very little effort for me to identify myself with the romance of spaceflight at a time when, almost anywhere outside the science fiction magazines (and a few isolated spots like Pasadena and Peenemunde), the whole idea was regarded either as Sunday Supplement sensationalism, a particularly malignant form of phallic-symbolism-escapism, or a sad rationale for the use of V-2 rockets by Hitler Germany.

About six years before my own First Contact, an 18-year old Columbia student and a 20-year old at London University—both avid readers of s-f—found Fandom. They did not meet each other till many years later, but they had a lot in common: both were brilliant young science students, one in chemistry, the other in physics, mathematics, and astronomy; both were unusually talented writers and persuasive talkers—vocal, extroverted, charming—hut also intense, dedicated, "inner-directed" personalities.

In those days, science fiction and space flight were almost synonymous: to be a fan of one was to be an enthusiast for the other; in some senses, the whole science fiction field, during the period of the ascendency of John W. Campbell's Astounding, was a great volunteer propaganda machine for space flight. The thing was, respectable scientists simply could not, whatever their private sympathies or expectations, risk their academic and professional reputations by association with wild-eyed rocketeers. Or at least would not.

For those of you on the other edge of the g-gap, a reminder: this was before the days of "think tanks" and "generalists" and "futurists;" cybernetics was an infant science; there were no computer-predictions, and no real computers; the word "UFO" had yet to be coined; radar, the transistor, solid-state electronics, were all on the drawing board or in early experimentation; established scientists writing science fiction—in this country at least—did so only under pen-names. (The only scientific advocate of space flight I can recall who took no such precaution was Willy Ley, who had come here from Germany and had no university connections to lose.)

For an ambitious young scientist to identify himself and his future career with the science fiction and spaceflight crackpots, was no easy decision. Both Isaac Asimov and Arthur C. Clarke made that decision out of inward necessity, something we used to call "having the courage of your convictions." They are not astronauts either: but the astronauts owe them much. There is no possible way today to measure the influence each of them exerted; no way to say what part of the job of popularizing space flight and educating the world to the realities of the space age, can be directly attributed to Clarke and Asimov—

except to say that it is a very large part, probably more than can he attributed to any other name (except John Campbell) not directly associated with the space programs.

Clarke's book,. THE COMING OF THE SPACE AGE (Meredith, $6.95), is a fat anthology of 301 pages, which amounts to a literary exhibit of the actual birth of space flight: a collection' of articles, diaries, newspaper pieces, fiction, poetry, project reports and personal reminiscences, 36 selections in all (plus brief notes by the editor), from a widely varied assortment of authors.

There are autobiographical selections from Tsiolkovsky, Oberth, and Goddard; articles by Dornberger and Von Braun on the making of the V-2, and pieces on early experimentation in the U.S. and in Britain; there is a thoughtful, visionary speech given by Olaf Stapledon to the British Interplanetary Society shortly before his death, and a poetic page and a half transcript of John Glenn's description of "fireflies" around his capsule in space; Percival Lowell's 1896 essay on "Mars as the Abode of Life" is here, and Carl Sagan's 1963 speculation on "Direct Contact with the Stars"; C. S. Lewis and Sam Moskowitz, cheek by jowl, discuss "God in Space" and "Space, God, and Science Fiction." Add Hermann Muller on alien life forms, Krafft Ehricke on "The Anthropology of Space Flight," an amusing extrapolation by R. S. Richardson on a track meet held in low gravity, a lively reminiscence of furnished room experiments with mice on centrifuges, the birth of Space Medicine, by Constantine Generales, a poetic passage from J. B. S. Haldane—and an editorial from The New York Times of 1920, expressing astonishment at Professor Goddard's ignorance of high school physics—"the need to have something better than a vacuum against which to react."

This is an unusual, and unusually good, book in several respects. Clarke's unique position in relation to the development of space flight —closely involved from the very beginning, but not employed in the actual work; an Englishman resident in Ceylon, with friends and professional connections in both the U.S. and the U.S.S.R.—gives him the ideal editorial perspective. He knows where the conflicts of theory and of vested interest exist, without participating in them. He speaks, and selects, as a citizen of Earth, viewing the emergence of the race into space, rather than any political space-race. (Indeed, some readers will undoubtedly be irritated by the space and good-fellowship given to Dornberger and Von Braun.) He is, moreover, not only a distinguished writer of both science and science fiction, but also, clearly, a discriminating editor. Scientific articles are well balanced with "human interest" pieces, and even the few heavily technical pieces are exemplars of good writing in this difficult field.

Nothing I have read before has given me quite the same feeling of acquaintance with the people involved, or of comprehension of the overall pattern of development.

(Note: Arthur Clarke's 1965 collection of short articles of his own, VOICES FROM THE SKY, which contains his famous 1945 Wireless World article on a communications satellite, is out in paperback from Pyramid, 60¢.)

Readers of this magazine do not need to be told about Isaac Asimov's writing. It would be enough to say there is a new book called Is ANYONE THERE? (Doubleday, $5.95), and that none of the 37 articles have appeared in F&SF (and only three in other science fiction magazines). So, having said it, let me add—

In structure, source, style, and subject, this is probably the most diverse Asimov collection to date. Reprints from the New York Times Magazine, TV Guide, The Journal of Chemical Education, The Humanist, True, The Bulletin of Atomic Scientists, The American Legion Magazine, Mademoiselle, Science World, The Diners Club Magazine, and some fifteen other assorted publications, plus three entirely new pieces, make up this volume of 320 pages, divided into three large sections. Part I, "Concerning The More or Less Known" is subdivided into "Life" and "Non-Life," and deals with memory, weight-losing, and synthetic life, as well as cosmology and time travel. Part II, "Concerning The More or Less Unknown," (divided into "Other Life" and "Future Life") includes the title article, "The Anatomy of a Martian," speculations on life in space, population control, etc. A final section, "Concerning Science Fiction," consists of six short pieces: three urgently setting forth the social and educational significance of the field; two gleefully tickling some of its tenderer spots (notably the white TV underbelly); and a final bit of nostalgia reprinted from the short-lived PS.

I said before that nothing needs to be said here about the Good Doctor's writing; I was wrong. It needs saying, not to you, but by me.

We grow accustomed to the quality of a familiar writer as we do to the virtues of familiar friends, but every now and then an unusual set of circumstances makes us look at everyday people and events as clearly as we see the new and different. Perhaps because it contained so many pieces I had not read before—perhaps because, written for a variety of audiences, it exhibits more facets of Asimov's interests, enthusiasms, and opinions than usual—this collection impressed me all over again, not so much with the Asimovian erudition or literacy (both on display here monthly), but with the extraordinary quality of sheer humanity that permeates his work. I don't mean sentimentality (which I regard him as being sometimes guilty of), but a certain combination of gentleness and thoughtfulness, a distinctively personal warmth which too seldom enhances the colder brilliance of exceptional intellect. Their conjunction explains much of the effectiveness of his work, as well as the high personal regard in which his readers and colleagues both regard him.

Something of the same sort of human atmosphere informs and enlivens the writing of the (Harvard & Smithsonian) astronomer and exo-biologist, Carl Sagan; it was happily evident in his collaboration with Shklovskii, INTELLIGENT LIFE IN THE UNIVERSE, reviewed here some months ago; and it even manages to penetrate the usually smooth/faceless style of a Life Science Library volume, PLANETS, co-edited by Sagan and John Norton Leonard. This is one of the best of the Library volumes I have seen: or could it be I find it so because its orientation stems from the same Big Hunger (for those of you who remember the Walter Miller prose-poem) I spoke of earlier? "The greatest prize they seek is life beyond the earth," says the introduction, and most of what follows, even the most elementary facts, is aligned with this in view.

(How different and how alike: Von Braun's retrospective on German rocketry, obsessed with achieving the vehicles for space to the exclusion of all other principles or policies, and Sagan/Leonard's view of the planets—earth included—essentially as vehicles, carriers of intelligence, bases for future communication.)

Another Life Library volume at hand, TIME, edited by Samuel A. Goudsmit and Robert Claiborne, impressed somewhat less. It is clear and adequate as far as it goes, but it seems to me with so much new inquiry going on into the nature of time, and the varieties of time experience, less space might have been devoted to the comic strip explaining relativity, and more to (at least) the concepts of subjective time, nonlinear time, etc.

With space travel and science fiction gone solidly respectable, and even talk of time travel and parapsychology eliciting very little more than a cautious neutrality from most defenders of the academic faith, the true devotee of the outre has a hard time these days scraping together enough sensationalism to raise a few incredulous eyebrows.

But the market for the bizarre is apparently unfailing, and where invention falters, research seems to serve. It can be a cold hash of the sort served up in Paperback Library's STRANGE HORIZONS, a collection of articles "compiled by the editors of Borderline"—whatever that may be—which contrives to reduce such familiar exotica as "I Ching—The Book of Changes," "The Great Sir William Crookes Scandal," "Aleister Crowley," "Krishna Venta and the Fountain of the World," and 21 other, similar topics, to unremitting dullness.

(The book does offer one fresh wonder: 24 articles under 24 different bylines, almost every one of which starts with a sentence like: "A fascinating book could be written about the diverse role (sic) of the prophet in history," or "In southern California many strange and unusual people come and go," or "History records that Galileo experienced tremendous hostility from his peers . . ." What's more, they go on the same way.)

Or there is Vincent H. Gaddis' MYSTERIOUS FIRES AND LIGHTS (McKay), which proves (at $5.50) something I would not previously have believed: namely, that Charles Fort could have been a bore if he had tried. Gaddis presents a thoroughly well organized, meticulously documented, carefully reviewed assortment of oddities, which include UFO's, freak lightning, ball lightning, fireballs and fireballs and St. Elmo's fire; fire-walkers and "human salamanders," bioluminescence, cases of electrically charged humans, poltergeist and psychokinetic incendiaries, and spontaneous combustions. The net effect is a bit like reading an old-style grade school textbook on English History, so crammed with dates and names it was impossible to realize that the battles, executions, coronations and crusades actually happened to live humans.

For just 45¢ more, however, Abelard-Schuman has turned out an "illustrated bestiary," UNNATURAL HISTORY by Colin Clair, a compilation of classical and medieval writings and reports on animals, real and imagined, from the hippopotamus to the hippocriff (as well as the unicorn, centaur, phoenix, basilisk, hydra, kraken, and others). The short pieces are written with humor, sophistication, scholarship, and good English prose, and the authentic illustrations accompanying most of the essays are entirely charming, well-chosen and well-reproduced. Be warned: if you have any susceptibility to antiquarianism or esoterica, the two-page bibliography at the end could be the beginning of an expensive habit.

The companion volume, from Doubleday, is a bestiary of another color: THE SNOUTERS, by Harold Stiimpke (translated by Leigh Chadwick), is subtitled "Form and Life of the Rhino-grades," and liberally illustrated with drawings from the pseudo-life (by co-author Gerolf Steiner) of these extraordinary animals. You might not want to go so far as to spend $3.95 for less than a hundred pages of hysteria, but do at least bug your local librarian to get a copy..

I wish I could say Otto Binder's WHAT WE REALLY KNOW ABOUT FLYING SAUCERS (Gold Medal, 75¢) was funny, or even inventive. At least it is not dull. But the total effect does much to confirm the opening words of the introduction by John A. Keel (whose own contribution is almost the only counter-agent): "For twenty years a pathetic assortment of crackpots and cultists have ruled the 'flying saucer field,' screaming to an amused world that we are being invaded by tiny green men. . ."

UFO's are only a part of the assortment of marvels presented by Ivan T. Sanderson in "THINGS" ( Pyramid, 75¢). He also deals in Globsters, Whatchamacallits, lake monsters, ringing rocks, flying rocks, suspended animation, etc. And as always, with Sanderson, I can only report that he writes with originality, credibility, and style; I keep wondering why I don't hear about his discoveries anywhere else—but maybe it's just because the other people who write about them are too dull to read. At the least, a first-rate exercise in acquiring a definition of honest scepticism, and in any case, a good read.

—JUDITH MERRIL

BOOKS RECEIVED

FICTION

ASIMOV'S MYSTERIES, Isaac Asimov, Doubleday 1968, 228 pp., $4.50

THE BEST TALES OF HOFFMAN, E. T. A. Hoffman, edited with an introduction by E. F. Bleiler, Dover 1967, 419 pp., $2.00

PAPERBACKS

THE ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION ANTHOLOGY, John W. Campbell, ed., Berkley, 60¢

5 UNEARTHLY VISIONS, Groff Conklin, ed., Fawcett Gold Medal, 50¢

A MAN OF DOUBLE DEED, Leonard Daventry, Berkley, 60¢

ANDROMEDA BREAKTHROUGH, Fred Hoyle and John Elliot, Fawcett, 60¢