I received this book as a present for Christmas 2007, the year it was published as an update to an original published in 1963. Brian Aldiss, the complier, is an author I’ve never heard of, and he appears to have taken very little trouble to refresh this anthology in the fifty years’ span. It’s overwhelmingly white, male, mid-century authors, of which Aldiss is unapologetically one; in his introduction, he says, ‘Lowering the technocratic threshold appears to account for SF’s widening readership among women nowadays, together with a weakening in faith in technological progress’. I highly resent the assertion that women are a hive-mind who all hate ‘high technocratic thresholds’, whatever the fuck that means in practice. However, on a personal level, I am one of these haters. The vast majority of this books’ stories rate one-star for me, being so boring and cold and uninterested in people. My touchstones for ‘good’ scifi are Lois McMaster Bujold, Anne Leckie, Mary Doria Russell, and Martha Wells, who all have a key trait in common! It doesn’t help that many of these stories don’t even qualify as scifi as far as I’m concerned – unsurprising, given that Aldiss categorises Pratchett and Rowling as scifi. Like. Hello.
Sole Solution by Eric Frank Russell, 1956: boring. Next.
Lot by Ward Moore, 1953. A compelling, if gaspingly grim, account of an impending dystopia in the wake of an alien invasion. Very typical mindset of the white mid-cench male, who always considers that the neighbour will come with a gun not a casserole, and that humans never help each other, and that aliens will only be interested in invasion and violence. You do you, Ward, but excuse me from considering this a vein worth pursuing.
Skirmish by Clifford Simak, 1950. Yet another for Team Gun Not Pie, which has been flatly contradicted by humanity’s relationship with actual robots – from singing Happy Birthday to the Mars Rover to apologising to the Roomba if you accidentally step on it.
And I Awoke and Found Me Here on the Cold Hill’s Side by James Tiptree Jr, 1971. An interesting – if predictably depressing – take on the evolution of human sexuality once alien races are brought into the mix. About the only story to have anything in the way of sex, let alone emotion. Surprise! Written by a woman.
Poor Little Warrior! by Brian Aldiss, 1958. Hands down the worst story in the book; the writing is practically unreadable. I certainly won’t be searching out more from this dude.
Grandpa by James H. Schmitz, 1955. Semi-interesting story about dangerous aliens, fluffs the finale.
Nightfall by Isaac Asimov, 1941. Five stars. A classic for a reason, and one of four stories bringing up the average on this collection from one star.
The Snowball Effect by Katherine Maclean, 1952. A solid story about unintended consequences, but how the fuck does it qualify as scifi? Does Aldiss really think that ‘sociology experiment’ is akin to wormhole travel and the Prime Directive? You know what, don’t answer that.
Swarm by Bruce Sterling, 1982. Man, men are obsessed with not having the biggest dick in the room, aren’t they? Have none of these people ever heard of the word ‘cooperation’?
Blood Music by Greg Bear, 1983. Grim, as per.
Answer by Fredric Brown, 1964. A metaphor for that (I think) American Dad scene where the two powerful white guys go, ‘We no longer have 100% of the power! We only have 99%! What shall we dooooo?’
The Liberation of Earth by William Tenn, 1953. Yeah, cool, very grimdark, much sarcasm, wow.
An Alien Agony by Harry Harrison, 1962. I know Orson Scott Card is problematic AF, but he did this so much better in Speaker for the Dead. Sorry not sorry.
Track Twelve by JG Ballard, 1958. This isn’t science fiction, it’s bad science.
Sexual Dimorphism by Kim Stanley Robinson, 1999. I appreciated the proselytising Robinson performed in Ministry for the Future, so I was disappointed at how thin the veneer over his default sexism proved. Hard no thanks on the ‘violence is innate’ concept.
The Tunnel under the World by Frederik Pohl, 1954. Highly predictive of the pernicious influence of advertising. I don’t think Fred would be surprised by social media. Marks for trying; I still hated the way the people were written.
Friends in Need by Eliza Blair, 2006. Sentient socialist cats! We love to see it. The Clockwork Orange style neologisms were trying, however. Being original doesn’t mean copying originality, Liz. PS I would die for Maximus.
The Store of the Worlds by Robert Sheckley, 1959. This is good. Well done Bob.
Jokester by Isaac Asimov, 1956. I’ll take it. I recall from I, Robot that Asmiov is a fan of the aul Singularity, and he leans in.
The Short-Short Story of Mankind by John Steinbeck, 1958. I wonder did Steinbeck do an Atwood on this and sniffily delineate it ‘speculative fiction’? Either way, this is one of the stories that isn’t scifi, wtf, and is very Steinbeckian into the bargain. Which, if you like that kind of thing…
Night Watch by James Inglis, 1964. This was apparently the only thing Inglis ever wrote. Thank god.
Story of Your life by Ted Chiang, 1998. Absolutely fantastic. I wept tears of joyful relief at finally seeing a piece of character-driven scifi. This story formed the basis of the excellent film Arrival, which changes aspects of it to better suit the scope of the production but is very true to the central message. I love them both.
Protected Species by HB Fyfe, 1951. What? What was that ending?!
The Rescuer by Arthur Porges, 1962. Kind of cool, but this obsession with killing God is so teenage boy, I cannot even.
I Made You by Walter M Miller Jr, 1954. Whatever. I haven’t even energy to hate this, so it’ll have to make do with my disdain.
The Country of the Kind by Damon Knight, 1956. LMAO why are these men always on the side of the psychopaths?
The Cage by Bertram Chandler, 1957. Better edit that to ‘only rational men’ – who knows what a race governed by women would have done with other beings?
Fulfilment by AE Van Vogt, 1952. Bad robot take, again.
Common Time by James Blish, 1960. Very much the scifi short story equivalent of a boring person recounting their bad acid trip. Which, in fairness, this probably was.
Alien Embassy by Garry Kilworth, 2006. Ah yes, because no matter what the setting is, no matter how far in the future we are, the womens are only ever motivated by babyeeeeeees.
Great Work of Time by John Crowley, 1989. I mean. Props for scope, I guess? This would work much better as a novel. In fact, David Mitchell’s written it. Read that instead.
At first I thought it was merely lazy that the date of publication was left off the stories within the book and relegated to the backend references. Now I think it’s intentional, to better disguise how lazy the whole project is. Look at this shit! 21 out of 31 stories were published between 1950 and the end of the 1960s – 67% of the contents! THREE are by women, and that’s only if you include Tiptree, and it’s debatable whether you could or should do so. I appreciate that the burst of scifi quality in the twenty-first century may have mainly occurred post-2007, and I’m not going to research this, but I fucking doubt it. This is the kind of scifi that forms the foundation of current scifi, but it’s so well buried at this point that you never need to look at it. Thank GOD.