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The Wizard-Masters of Peng-Shi Angle

 

 

I mentioned in the introduction to this book that I had been greatly affected by a visit to China, and that an Oriental flavor might be discerned as a result. Well, here's the ginger-root-and-soy. What I didn't mention was that some of the science fiction now appearing in China was my own. Chinese friends gave me a copy of an anthology of Western science fiction, just published, which contained (they said) a story of mine. (I later learned it was 'The Wizards of Rung's Corners", from an ancient issue of Galaxy.)

This interested me very much, not only for the obvious reasons but for two others. First, the reception "The Wizards of Rung's Corners" received in some quarters has always puzzled me. At least one scholarly dissertation on my work identified it unequivocally as a masterpiece and by all odds the finest story I had ever written. When someone tells me a story of mine is good, I seldom disagree, but the fact was that I barely remembered having written it. Second, it is an open secret that translation into Chinese may be very free. In fact, sometimes the byline on a translated story is not "by John Smith, translated by Li Yongpo" but "by Li Yongpo, suggested by a story by John Smith." I wondered very ardently why this particular story of mine had been selected for Chinese publication—and even more I wondered to what degree it resembled the novelette I had written for Horace Gold a quarter of a century before.

Fortune dropped the key to the answer in my lap. The key's name was F. Gwynplaine MacIntyre (perhaps best known for his poetry in Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine), and he wasn't really in my lap but standing next to me at a cocktail party while I was bemoaning the fact that I couldn't read Chinese. Well, I can, said Froggy Maclntyre, and what's more I'll translate it back into English for you if you like. That is not the kind of offer I am able to turn down. I knew he would have to put far more work and intelligence into it than anything I could do in return could possibly justify—but I quelled my conscience and accepted his offer at once.

This is it. I thought it interesting enough to be worth a read (even for those who may already have read the previous, ah, masterpiece), and hope you agree. But it was not without its problems, and so I have asked MacIntyre to add a note of his own to say what they are—and why he no longer stands anywhere near me at cocktail parties.

 

 

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