Anthologies are basically always an uneven and frustrating reading experience. They can be worthwhile if you wind up discovering good stuff on the way that you weren't aware of before, but the book is still a mixed bag in the end. What makes this one a little tougher than the usual is that editor H. Bruce Franklin does not settle for merely writing an introduction, but keeps up a color commentary throughout the book. He does this, not merely for the different sections of different kinds of science fiction, but also for each new author in each section. This might have been fine, if he didn't also insist on completely dissecting each story before it was presented, basically blowing it at the beginning and deflating any potential impact. I started reading this one with a second bookmark and only reading his author comments after having read the stories they applied to. Perhaps this is meant as more of an academic tool, but he really sabotaged his own book with that.
Okay, the important thing is the stories, and let's start with the good, we get three Edgar Allan Poe stories, including one set in 2848, we get Jack London's “A Thousand Deaths”, a Twain Story set in 1904, Ambrose Bierce, a comical Washington Irving story about invaders from the moon, Fitz O'Brien's “The Diamond Lens”, and this weird J.D. Whelpley story which gives some shine to a device we would all consider mundane today.
What went wrong? There's Edward Bellamy's brainless utopianism, William Harben almost earning the same distinction, Thomas Wentworth Higginson being a proto Arthur Machen, Melville somehow cranking out a tired genre sample in the genre's infancy, Frederic Jesup Stimson being very crusty and yet timid in “Dr. Materialismus” (try saying that fast), and Stanley Waterloo with the absurdly terrible reactionary bloodbath “Christmas 200,000 B.C.”
In the middle we get Nathaniel Hawthorne, who almost nails the flavor a few times, although it was disappointing for me to see how far below “Young Goodman Brown” these fell.
Hawthorne, however, nearly did a thing which Fitz James O'Brien did do, which was to recall the sense of disquieting oddity that marks Robert W. Chambers' work, which, to me, is about one of the best things you can do. There's something extraordinary about seeing the psychological destruction of a protagonist and having it stem from a very weird source. I mean, the guy falls in love with a woman he sees in a microscope slide!
I'd like to bring up Edward Bellamy again, because this taught me that he is not merely one of the many famous dead speculative authors of his century, but is, in fact, godawful. “Looking Backward” may well have caused a huge sensation, but now I feel like any effect would evaporate merely from thinking about it. Listen at this: a man is shipwrecked and washes up on an island, where an old man who can barely speak lets him know that he has come among a telepathic race that has lost the power of speech. Also, this: a man in an observatory writes down his account of looking through the telescope and meeting the psychic denizens of Mars... now, call me shallow, but these are both setups which might have yielded amazing tales of romantic adventure from the pen of Edgar Rice Burroughs... in the hands of Bellamy, they are preachy conversations.
What bugs me about this? In “Blindman's World” the Martians, and all sentient beings everywhere, I guess, pity the human race of Earth because we don't have precognition. Now, this is not merely the ability to sometimes look to the future, but to always know and remember everything in the future! We mere human suck cuz we don't know everybody we're gonna meet before we meet them and we don't know how we're gonna die. Bellamy paints this is making life completely joyful and carefree and misses one crucial point: such a race would never have to make a decision about anything ever. Life would just be some crap that happened to you, preset and with no agency. A creature that does not have to decide does not have to think, and a species that never thinks would have no intelligence. Is this hard?
Now, was it fun seeing conflicting utopias and hearing weird speculations? Sure, much of the time. My beef is that Franklin didn't fill out his categories very well, and his own commentary destroyed the effect.
Had this been a Dover collection it would have just had a nice punchy prologue by E.F. Bleiler and better cover art. Catch up, Oxford!
If you choose to read this, don't read any text outside the stories.