The Swordsman of Mars

The very roots of my science fiction interest go back to Edgar Rice Burroughs and his John Carter/Barsoom books. If I hadn't stumbled across the books by accident in a library, I wouldn't be the devotee I am now (leaving qualitative judgments about the nature of my devotedness aside). So I also have a fascination with planetary romances written about Mars, such as Otis Adelbert Kline's The Swordsman of Mars. I really didn't recognize the author's name other than his mention on the covers of some old pulps I have seen over time, and really had no pre-existing bias for or against him. But when the thus-far excellent Planet Stories imprint decided to reprint this story from the early 30s, the confluence of interests was too much for me to resist.

Michael Moorcock's introduction to this edition has some fascinating backstory on Kline, including the reputed "competition" with Edgar Rice Burroughs that enveloped The Swordsman of Mars. Kline never admitted to a public or private contest between the books, and the interest in them seems to have come primarily from fans. And on the surface, there are reasons to think that Kline was making a statement about, or butting his own writing against, Burroughs. Like Burroughs, a well-to-do Earthman makes his way to Mars using mental powers. Once again the hero has adventures that send across the surface of the red planet, where he meets loyal soldiers, duplicitous cowardly foes, and strange races. Both heroes appear to be master swordsman, so that nearly any challenge that besets them can be faced down by "dint of the blade." And they both are particularly inept with the female species.

But such a facile comparison really only sets them both in the same sub-genre and obviously excludes the differences in setting and plot between the two novels. Harry Thorne has had a break with his wealthy Northeastern family and discovers that his fiancée, whom he thought would wait for his return, has ditched him for his best friend. So, when the strange Dr. Crane approaches Thorne with a plan to go adventuring in the body of his identical Martian twin, Thorne takes him up on it and finds himself caught in a strange conflict with the first Earthman to travel to Mars. Since the protagonist and antagonist are actually in Martian bodies, they are not capable of performing the super feats that Burroughs's John Carter can. And Kline's story isn't as convoluted as Burroughs's; Kline only tells enough about the culture of the strange planet as is required to tell his story in as straight line as possible, whereas Burroughs has developed a fascinating society of differing races and species. Kline also doesn't spend as much time describing his settings and creatures; Burroughs is marked with a rich (some would say verbose) style that goes into deep detail.

Nonetheless, Kline's story is a good bit of fun, falling back as it does on the near-Victorian ideal of the soldier. Moorcock, in his introduction, spends time talking about Kline's opposition to communism, and so I expected that Swordsman of Mars would find Thorne going up against a communistic regime. But it doesn't, or else I'm not seeing the same references and allusions that Moorcock does. Instead, the setting follows the same type of romantic plot that readers of that era's genre fiction have come to expect: benevolent rightful ruler is deposed, replacement ruler is a despot with evil henchmen, hero fights his way through succeeding evil henchman to overthrow the tyrant, and grateful reseated ruler gives the hero titles, land, riches, et cetera. And of course, there are women along the way, and while Thorne interacts with men as well as the best hero, women are surely his downfall—actually indicating his own emotional immaturity along the way (But that's more analysis than this book really calls for).

One big difference is the nearly chapter-long history of the solar system and how it relates to ongoing clashes on Mars itself. In this narrative, we find out that Earth's moon used to be a planet between Earth and Mars and that their war with Mars itself resulted in the airless, crater-marked planet being moved into orbit around the Earth, long before humans raised their eyes to the skies. It's fascinating, though convoluted and long-winded, reminding me more of a lost Olaf Stapledon chapter than any other planetary romance.

When all is said and done, though, The Swordsman of Mars is an example of the good pulp writing that was taking place in the 30s. It hasn't aged well, but it is still a great deal of fun. And Planet Stories (an imprint of Paizo Publishing) has again done fans of the genre a great service by reprinting the story in a lovely edition, with introduction by a modern great. It's not a huge book and doesn't take long to read, but it does propel the reader back to the roots of the genre—escapism. IF I have any quibble, it's the one I repeat for Planet Stories…please, somebody copy-edit these books! (Seriously, call me!)

Red Seas under Red Skies

Before I get too far into this, I would point my readers back to the earlier review of the prequel to Red Seas under Red Skies, located at http://perrynomasia.blogspot.com/2008/03/lies-of-locke-lamora.html. (March? It doesn't really seem that long ago at all) In the time since I wrote about the first book, I was able to recommend this book to a friend, who in turn recommended it to his brother, who subsequently recommended it to another brother. That last reader made it his pick for our book group, and now Mrs. Speculator read Lies of Locke Lamora and enjoyed it so much that I bought its sequel for her. And she wouldn't stop tempting me with spoilers about it that, I had to read it, and now I find myself full circle. Who knows what the repercussions of this will be?

That said, I haven't got a lot new to say, even it is about a new book. Red Seas is a fun book, but not quite as twisty as the first novel. Again there is little in the way of stylishness of wordcraft; the joy lies almost entirely in the plot and character of Locke. Locke is carefully portrayed as the anti-hero, a con artist and street fighter who, because it is his point of view that we generally follow, the reader generally finds himself pulling for. And while Locke (and his companion Jean) thinks himself the pinnacle of con artistry, he often makes mistakes that the reader can see coming from miles away. And I find this annoying, as it goes against the general flow of the caper genre. I've heard and read that this series of books is a sort of fantasy Ocean's 11, but if that is the case, then it is an homage to the earlier Frank Sinatra version, where mishaps derail the true course of the con/robbery. In the George Clooney Ocean's 11, the suspense lay in the audience not knowing all the twists that the gang had planned out, rather than just seeing what was going to go wrong.

Further weakening the claim that this series fits the caper genre are two important details: first, Locke fails as much as he succeeds. The tragic ending of the first novel, the emotional underpinnings of which continue to ripple through Red Seas is indicative of how huge Locke's failures are. The pattern continues in Red Seas where more tragedy befalls his plans and ultimately, the con that the plot revolves around only partially succeeds (and it is debatable that the part that succeeds is the bigger portion). Worse, though, is that if the reader can disentangle himself from the narrative-induced fondness for Locke, it turns out that here are times when he is eminently unlikable. He is a selfish braggart, and yet his failures but the lie to his braggadocio. Slippery Jim DiGriz, from the Stainless Steel Rat series, is also a selfish braggart, but he succeeds in every count.

I suspect that Scott Lynch's Locke Lamora series is as much about Locke's growth as a human being as it is his about his developing skill as a con artist. And since I still find myself pulled to the series, there are obviously elements that I am enjoying. When the book turns to humor, it can be either enormously funny or endearingly cute. Lynch has also left some mysteries regarding Locke unresolved (although according to the description of the next book, one of those is going to be resolved). Also, being a serial, Locke's mistakes in judgments are piling up and pursuing him all over this interesting new world. At the same time, tension has developed between Locke and Jean, simplistically resolved, indicating that the root causes remain unaddressed. It'll be interesting to see how all of these issues get resolved in forthcoming books.

So, I'm holding out for more—I like the setting of the book and I really like Jean, even though he is rarely the focus of the books. The plots have unexpected but realistic twists, even if predictable in this outing, and show a lot of potential for future stories.

DC Continuity Blog

I've uncovered this blog by following a whole lot of threading through various web sites. In it, blogger Douglas Wolk attempts to annotate the various goings-on within DC's Final Crisisand its tie-ins. Along the way there is commentary about the state of DC continuity with links to where they are discussed even further. Good stuff.

http://finalcrisisannotations.blogspot.com/

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

Since this is a pick for my book group, I'm not going to go into so much detail as usual. But this has been a thought-provoking read, since I am a fan of the movie Blade Runner and yet had never read the novel on which it was based. A lot of the holes in the movie have been plugged by the novel, and yet the story in the novel is decidedly different than that in the movie.

One of the elements missing from the movie is the near-religion, Mercerism. Wilbur Mercer is a perhaps legendary figure in the setting of the novel, one who apparently had the ability to raise animals from the dead. The background of the novel involves a nuclear war and the effects of the fallout on the people who remain on Earth. It's also clear that the fallout has decimated the animal population, such that animals are luxury items, even spiders. Mercer's ability to resuscitate them is a fairly obvious symbol for hope. But the legend goes on to say that authorities burned the resuscitation power out of him with cobalt, tossing him into what is described as a "tomb world" from which he continually strives to arise. His attempts take the form of climbing a large hill, whereupon he is pelted by rocks from an unseen assailant. For some reason, Mercer never seems to complete his journey up the hill.

"Worshipping" Mercer is a peculiar activity. Households are equipped with Mercer boxes, display screens with handles whose images are unfathomable until the handles are grasped. When the viewer does this, the screen becomes clear and a state of empathy with all other viewers currently grasping their Mercer boxes is achieved. Together they experience Mercer's long climb up the hill and feel his pain when he is pelted by rocks.

The parallels to Christianity are apparent. Given the purely mechanical nature of the source of empathy for the Mercerists, I wonder if Dick was making a sly commentary on Christians, implying that their own empathy is missing outside of Christian influences—if they weren't Christian, they would be sons of bitches. A slightly different interpretation leads to Dick implying that Christians only feel empathy with other Christians, and then only within the church. Both of these are hypercritical assertions, made more accurate by the last 20 years of fundamentalist rebirth, where many people loudly proclaiming their Christianity show little or no patience with people outside their own belief system (in a sort of irony that those types may not get, they often call themselves "evangelical" which literally means "sharing good tidings" which is the opposite of what these people do). I suppose Dick's observation does not have to focus on Christianity, but on the all-too-human capacity to share warmth and empathy with those that are similar to us, rather than those who are different than us.

Which in turn plays along nicely with one of the movements of the book (And movie)—how to tell the difference between humans and human creations designed to look and act convincingly human. Most stories regarding androids (Dick's term, rather than "replicants" that the movie uses) being hunted are told from the android's point of view. Dick instead tells his story mostly from the point of view of the hunter, Rick Deckard, and his confusion and questions that arise from a realization that perhaps these creatures aren't so different after all, and in fact humanity sometimes shows just as much empathy as the androids. A secondary character that provides a point of view for the story, John Isidore—a "special" whose intelligence has been adversely affected by radiation and fallout—experiences this confusion as well as he hides the last three androids from Deckard's hunt. He is puzzled by the androids's actions, and then when he meets Deckard, he is similarly confused by his apparent insensitivity to his friends and their fate. Isidore can't know that nothing could be further from the truth, that Deckard feels he must assert his humanity by destroying the androids or, as Mercer tells Deckard, doing bad things is sometimes necessary.

Again, the parallel with fundamentalist belief systems is powerful. Fundamentalists of one religion crash airplanes into skyscrapers for what they perceive to be the greater good. Fundamentalists of another religion bomb abortion clinics in order to protest the taking of life. And while Dick is renowned for the paranoia that runs through his writing, his fear seems well-founded in this regard.