Sense of Wonder: A Century of Science Fiction (83 page)

By the advent of the space age, Campbell decided on a new title for the magazine:
Astounding Science Fiction
was replaced by
Analog Science Fiction
in 1960. Campbell claimed that the new name was more relevant to the space age and that
Analog
would contain SF for the “seriously scientifically minded, of all ages, but it was not going to pander to the monster-movie or UFO fanatic” (Ashley 2005: 202). Contentwise, however, the new magazine did not practically differ from the old one. Writers for the new magazine included Ben Bova, Randall Garrett, Sean O. Lochlainn, Poul Anderson, Winston P. Sanders, Arthur C. Clarke, Norman Spinard, and Frank Herbert. The latter’s “Dune World” series won Analog the 1966 Hugo award and somewhat restored its reputation as the place to go for hard science fiction.

Analog
kept its place in the field through the upheavals of the sixties. Despite its now old-fashioned contents,
Analog
remained the highest-paying magazine and possessed the highest circulation. More concerned with good science than with good writing, Campbell did not let the New Wave Movement affect his magazine, and kept his focus on the traditional form of hard SF. Comparatively few
Analog
stories could be considered greatly literary, but they consistently appealed to human creativity with a focus on the power of the brain over adversity and the nonstop progress of man. While late in his career the stories Campbell bought took on some of the predictable nature he so abhorred in his early editorial days, Campbellian SF tended to have a sense of hopefulness and faith in human ingenuity.

Analog
passed on to Ben Bova with the conclusion of Campbell’s editorial career. On July 11, 1971, Campbell died of heart failure while watching television at home. His death shocked the world of SF, but his memory lives on as the John W. Campbell Award that commemorates his service to science fiction: “I wanted it to be a good science fiction magazine. And, oh yes, I wanted to learn how to be an editor. I didn’t know a thing about the business when I moved in there” (Solstein & Moosnick 7).

* * * *

Appendix

A list of selected major writers and their contributions to
Astounding
from the onset of Campbell’s editorship to the end of the forties. Pseudonyms are in brackets:

Asimov, Isaac (1920–1992): “Trends” (July 1939); “Reason” (April 1941); “Liar!” (May 1941); “Nightfall” (September 1941); “Runaround” (March 1942); “Foundation” (May 1942); “Bridle and Saddle” (June 1942).

Blish, James (1912–1975): “Okie” (April 1950); “Bindlestiff” (December 1950).

Clement, Hal (1922–2003): “Proof” (June 1942); “Needle” (May–June 1949); “Iceworld” (October–December 1951).

De Camp, L. Sprague (1907-2000): “Hyperpilosity” (April 1938); “The Command” (October 1938).

Del Rey, Lester (1915-1993): “Helen O’Loy” (December 1938); “Nerves” (September 1942); “Whom the Gods Love” (June 1943).

Heinlein, Robert A. [Anson MacDonal] (1907-1988): “Life-line” (August 1939); “The Roads Must Roll” (June 1940); “Blowups Happen” (September 1940); “Universe” (May 1941); “Methuselah’s Children” (July–September 1941); “By His Bootstraps” (October 1941); “Solution Unsatisfactory” (May 1941).

Hubbard, L. Ron (1911–1986): “The Dangerous Dimension” (July 1938); “The Tramp” (September–November 1938); “Final Blackout” (April-June 1940).

Jenkins, Will F. [Leinster, Murray] (1896-1975): “First Contact” & “The Power” & “A Logic Named Joe” (October 1942); “The Wabbler” (October 1942).

Jones, Raymond F. (1915–1994): “Test of the Gods” (September 1941); “Fifty Million Monkeys” (October 1943).

Kornbluth, Cyril (1923–1958): “The Little Black Bag” (July 1950).

Kuttner, Henry (1914–1958): “The Disinherited” (August 1938); “Nothing But Gingerbread Left” (January 1943); “Mimsy Were the Borogoves” (February 1943); “Time Locker” (January 1943); “The World is Mine” (June 1943); “The Proud Robot” (October 1943); “Gallagher Plus” (November 1943).

Leiber, Fritz (1910–1992): “Gather, Darkness!” (May–July 1943); “The Mutant’s Brother” (August 1943); “Sanity” (April 1944).

Moore, C. L. [Lawrence O’Donnell] (1911–1987): “Vintage Season” (September 1946).

Piper, H. Beam (1904–1964): “Time and Time Again” (April 1947); “Day of the Moron” (September 1951); “Omnilingual” (February 1957).

Russell, Eric Frank (1905–1978): “Jay Score” (May 1941); “Mechanistria” (January 1942); “Symbiotica” (October 1943); “Dreadful Sanctuary” (during 1948); “Metamorphosite” (December 1946); “… And Then There Were None” (June 1951).

Simak, Clifford D. (1904–1988): “The Rule” (July 1938); “Hunch” (July 1943); “City” (May 1944); “Desertion” (November 1944).

Smith, Edward E. (1890–1965): “Grey Lensman” (October 1939-January 1940); “Second Stage Lensman” (November 1941-February 1942); “Children of the Lens” (November 1947-February 1948).

Sturgeon, Theodore (1918–1985): “Ether Breather” (September 1939); “Artnan Process” (June 1941); “Mewhu’s Jet” (November 1946).

Van Vogt, A. E. (1912–2000): “Black Destroyer” (July 1939); “Slan” (September-December 1940); “Recruiting Station” (March 1942); “Secret Unattainable” (July 1942); “The Great Engine” (July 1943); “The Weapon Shop” (December 1942); “The Weapon Makers” (February–April 1943); “The Storm” (October 1943); “Concealment” (September 1943); “The Mixed Men” (January 1945); “The World of Null-A” (August-October 1945); “The Players of Null-A” (October 1948–January 1949).

Williamson, Jack [Will Stewart] (1908–2007): “The Legion of Time” (May–July 1938); “Collision Orbit” (July 1942); “The Equalizer” (March 1947); “With Folded Hands…” (July 1947); “…And Searching Mind” (March–May 1948).

Wyndham, John [John Beynon] (1903–1969): “Adaptation” (July 1949).

* * * *

Bibliography

Adkisson, Michael G. (1991). “The Visionary.” In Chapdelaine, Perry A. (Ed.).
The John W. Campbell Letters with Isaac Asimov & A. E. van Vogt.
vol. 2.
Tennessee: AC Projects, Inc. 23
–
31.

Ashley, Mike (2000).
The Time Machines: the Story of the Science-Fiction Pulp Magazines from the Beginning to 1950
. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press.

——
. (2005). Transformations: The Story of the Science-Fiction Magazines from 1950 to 1970. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press.

——. (2007).
Gateways to Forever: The Story of the Science-Fiction Magazines from 1970 to 1980
. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press.

Fanzo, Don A. (1965). “An Inquiry into the Literature of Science Fiction: Its Development, Maturation, & Significance as a Literary Genre.” A dissertation Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of Texas Technological College in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Master Of Arts.

Mann, George (2001).
The Mammoth Encyclopedia of Science Fiction
. London: Robinson.

Moskowitz, Sam (1967). “John W. Campbell.”
Seekers of Tomorrow: Masters of Modern Science Fiction
. New York: Ballantine Books. 35–53.

Roberts, Adam (2006).
The History of Science Fiction
. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

Solstein, Eric & Moosnick, Gregory (2002).
John W. Campbell’s Golden Age of Science Fiction: Text Supplement to the DVD
. Digital Media Zone, May 23, 2002.

Stableford, Brian (2006). “Campbell, John W[ood] Jr. (1910-1971).”
Science Fact and Science Fiction: A New Encyclopedia
. New York: Routledge Francis and Taylor Group. 75–76.

Westfahl, Gary (Ed.) (2005).
Science Fiction Quotations: From the Inner Mind to the Outer Limits
. New Haven: Yale University Press.

* * * *

Zahra Jannessari Ladani
has taught simple and literary prose texts and literary criticism classes in Tehran University, Iran. Her essays have appeared in
Pazhuhesh-e Zabanha-ye Khareji
,
Journal of Language and Translation
, and
The Fourth Biennial Conference of Comparative Literature: The Self and Others
, and her Persian translation of Kristina Nelson’s
The Art of Reciting the Quran
was published in 2011. Currently she is working on the first Persian translation of Stanley G. Weinbaum’s works.

(1891–1968)

Generally credited as the first woman to publish stories under her own name in science fiction magazines, Harris sold her first story, “The Runaway World,” to
Weird Tales
in 1926 before entering a contest run by
Amazing Stories
editor Hugo Gernsback. Gernsback published the story, with a paternalistic introduction: “That the third prize winner should prove to be a woman was one of the surprises of the contest, for, as a rule, women do not make good scientifiction writers, because their education and general tendencies on scientific matters are usually limited. But the exception, as usual, proves the rule, the exception in this case being extraordinarily impressive.”

Harris published only eleven stories and one novel (
Persephone of Eleusis: A Romance of Ancient Greece
, 1923) before she stopped writing in 1930, supposedly to focus on her three sons (who were teenagers at the time). Her stories were later collected in
Away From the Here and Now
(1947).

First published in
Amazing Stories
, May 1929

If Edgar Hamilton had even remotely suspected whither his singular experiments in anaesthetics were destined to lead him, it is doubtful whether he would have undertaken even the initial steps. But the degrees by which he advanced from an astounding scientific discovery to an experience beyond the ordinary ken of mankind, were in themselves so slow and uncertain as to fail to give warning of the ultimate catastrophe.

Young Hamilton’s years numbered but twenty-six, and this was to the youth himself a slight source of annoyance, for the young woman whom he adored with heart and soul lacked but four months of being thirty-two. Now these six years would not have mattered to Edgar, had they not, in the eyes of his ladylove, represented an unbridgeable gulf. Repeated declarations of a lasting devotion did not change the lady’s mind in the slightest degree, so that at last, in utter despair, Edgar shut himself in his little chemical laboratory and applied himself assiduously to the pursuit of the science that he loved.

For two months he saw very little of Ellen Gordan, and even in her presence he had an air of abstraction that contrasted strangely with his former ardor. Upon the rare occasions, when he left his laboratory to call at the Gordan home, he sat with preoccupied gaze, much to Ellen’s annoyance, for this indifference was certainly less satisfying than his former demonstrations of affection had been.

Then one October day he was ushered into her presence as she sat playing the piano. He was hatless and breathless. She gazed at him reprovingly, much as a teacher might look in correcting a naughty school-boy. Edgar comprehended the glance, and it only rendered his present call of greater importance to him.

“I say, Ellen, where can I talk to you alone? I’ve got so much to explain. But we must have privacy.”

A smile of amusement flitted across her face.

“Let’s go into the library, Edgar. It is warm by the fire-place and no one will intrude.”

Together they passed into the library. After the door was closed, he produced from his coat-pocket a vial containing about two ounces of a clear amber-colored liquid, which he held up for her inspection.

“What is it?” she asked wonderingly.

“It’s the most wonderful potion ever concocted by the hand of man,” he answered somewhat huskily. “It will make Ponce de Leon’s fountain of eternal youth look like poison hooch!”

“But I don’t understand. Is it to be taken internally?”

“No, that would be somewhat risky. This is to be injected into the blood—and—then—” He paused, not knowing how to continue.

“And then—what?” asked Miss Gordan with interested eyes riveted upon the golden fluid.

“I will explain.” Hamilton gazed for a long moment at the yellow contents of the small bottle before continuing. Then he spoke, and his voice quivered with the intensity of his emotion. “You know, Ellen, the brain is the conscious center to which vibrations are conveyed by the nerves. Do you know what happens when the brain interprets vibrations?”

Ellen admitted that she did not.

“Well, neither do I,” resumed Hamilton, “nor does anybody else, for that matter, but that there is a similar interpretation to all human beings from a given source of vibrations, there can be no doubt, though it cannot be proven that we respond identically. These various vibrations, whether they are the rapid ones of sight, the slower ones of sound, or the still slower ones of touch, must travel over a nerve with something like pressure, which vibrations, as I said before, are probably similarly interpreted by all of us. Now here comes my wonderful discovery,” Edgar Hamilton’s eyes gleamed with enthusiasm as he reached his climax. “I have discovered that this pressure, which travels along the nerves to the brain, is very like volts in electricity. Now most anesthetics deaden the nerves so that they but faintly convey the nervous impulses to the brain, but I have here a drug that instead of deadening the nerves, reduces the pressure or voltage, not in halves, mind you, but in hundredths and even in thousandths. You know how our bodies grow old. What is life but the sum total of our forces that resist death? Decrease the nervous energy expended in this process of warding off the grim reaper, and you have a prolongation of the bodily functions. Hence if not eternal, at least a protracted youth.”

He held for her further inspection the bit of glass with its amber contents.

“Will—will it—make me younger?” she faltered.

“Certainly not,” he replied. “It will merely retard the expenditure of your energy, and you will age very slowly, while the rest of us can overtake and pass you on life’s journey. In other words, you will remain about thirty-two, while I go ahead at life’s customary pace, catch up and pass you by a year or two, and then—then, Ellen, I may find favor in your eyes!”

“Oh, Edgar, if that can be done I shall truly say yes. What a wonderful man you are to have figured out so marvelous a plan!”

Edgar Hamilton already fancied that the future held much happiness for them both.

“And you are not afraid to have me inject this drug into your arm?” he asked.

“Is it painless?” she questioned.

“To the best of my knowledge, yes,” he answered gravely.

“Very well, then I am ready.” She pulled up the sleeve which covered her left arm, while Edgar filled the needle with some of the liquid from the little glass vessel.

“It will require the entire amount,” he said, “to produce enough change in nervous pressure to keep your body hovering around thirty-two years of age for seven or eight years to come, but I shall administer it slowly.”

And administer it he did!

For a moment it seemed that she was going to faint. Edgar led her gently to the massive arm-chair into which she sank. She sat erect, but apparently inanimate. Her eyes stared unshrinkingly into the flames, then for a period of a minute or two they remained closed. Then Edgar noticed that she was turning her head toward him, but the movement was scarcely perceptible. Her lips were opening so slowly, and from her throat there issued occasional low rumbles.

“My God,” cried the terrified young man, “I’ve done it now! This is awful! Ellen, Ellen, you can not live at this slow rate for seven years. I never realized it could be so gruesome. For heaven’s sake stop looking at me so fixedly with your mouth open! I can’t even talk with you intelligibly. Wait—I have it!”

He went to a writing-desk which stood in a corner and took therefrom a large tablet of paper, and producing a pencil from his own pocket, placed them in Ellen Gordan’s lap. After what seemed an interminable length of time she apparently noticed the tablet and pencil. Another five, ten and fifteen minutes ticked away on the mahogany mantel-clock, at the end of which time she had the pencil and tablet in her hands and was beginning to write.

Edgar knew that task would require at least a half hour, so he left the library and rushed out upon the terrace where he found Mrs. Gordan, an aristocratic appearing woman of fifty-five. To her he poured out the experience of the last few moments. The two lost no time in returning to the library, where Ellen sat, an impassive figure, with a pencil poised apparently motionless above the paper.

“She has written some,” cried Edgar, “but we will wait until she is through and then read the whole message.”

Poor Mrs. Gordan was overwhelmed at her daughter’s catastrophe and did not hesitate to express her opinion of young Hamilton, in very derogatory epithets.

“If you two wanted to be the same age, why didn’t you take something to speed you up instead of bringing this calamity upon my poor, dear Ellen?” lamented the distraught mother.

“By George,” cried Edgar, “I never thought of that! I believe it would be harder to do, but maybe I can yet, and then I shall catch up with her quickly. I could use it as an antidote for what has been given her.”

“Well, try it on yourself first, you rash young man! Better have her this way than dead. But look,” she cried, pointing to the immobile figure of her daughter, “she is through writing and is looking toward us with the tablet in her hands.”

Edgar seized the message with trembling hands and read it aloud to the anguished mother.

The note ran as follows:

“Edgar, what on earth has happened? I don’t feel any different, but you fly around worse than a chicken with its head cut off. Half the time you are a mere streak, and as for your talk, occasionally I hear a fine, piping, whistling note. I see mother is here now but it was quite awhile before she stood in one place long enough for me to make her out. Don’t worry, I feel fine, but what ails you?”

After reading this, Edgar sat down at the desk and wrote the following to his sweetheart:

“My own dear Ellen: The amber potion is working! Rates of vibration are relative. If we seem fast to you, you are extremely slow to us. We remain normal with the rest of the inhabitants of this world, while you are considerably slowed up, but do not be alarmed, my dear. I am now beginning to catch up with you in age. And here is a secret for you, your mother and me. I am going to produce an antidote which I shall take until I overtake you quickly, then I shall give you some to bring you back to normal. Then, as the fairytale has it, we shall live happily ever after.

Your devoted Edgar.

P.S. You might begin writing me another message right away, so I shall have it to enjoy this evening!”

He gave this note to Ellen and then followed Mrs. Gordan out on the terrace, where he assured her with sincere words of consolation, that everything would come out all right. Mrs. Gordan had been considerably cheered by her daughter’s message, and the indignation which she had felt toward her prospective son-in-law was partially mollified. They sat for some time discussing the prospects of a bright future. At length Edgar arose and said he would have a look in at the library to see if Ellen had finished reading the note. In a moment he rushed back toward Mrs. Gordan, his face depicting abject terror.

“Come, come at once,” he cried.

The frantic mother joined him, and together they ran into the library.

Ellen sat with her face turned toward them, her mouth wide open, her eyes squinting. The immobility of the features was gruesome.

“Isn’t that awful!” gasped Edgar when he could find voice.

“Awful, nothing!” exclaimed the indignant mother. “Can’t you see the poor dear girl is laughing at your post-script? See, her finger points to it!”

But Edgar turned and fled!

Many times in the days and weeks that followed, Edgar Hamilton thought of the interminable smile that had lost its quality of alert gaiety, which is essential, if a smile is to put across its meaning at all.

And the antidote? That was progressing splendidly. It was to be a much more powerful drug than the other. Edgar had figured out that one drop of the colorless antidote would counteract the two ounces of amber fluid which had been injected into the veins of Ellen Gordan.

Before taking any chances with himself, Edgar decided to try the experiment upon Napoleon, the tortoise-shell cat. Napoleon had been nicknamed Nap because he was such a sleepy old fellow. Nap was past the prime of cat life. He was no longer a good mouser, so Edgar figured that if his declining years were a bit shortened, no one would greatly regret that fact, and Nap could prove very useful in testing the powerful antidote.

Nap was discovered sleeping under the back porch near the remains of a pork chop which Agnes, the maid, had thrown out to him after breakfast. Edgar smuggled the furry creature upstairs and into the laboratory, and lost no time in administering the drug. One drop was all that he intended to inject, but when Nap felt the prick of the needle, he leaped wildly into the air, and before Edgar could withdraw the instrument, Nap had in his veins about ten drops. After a dazed second or two, Edgar thought the cat had disappeared, but upon closer observation, he perceived a faint gray streak near the floor moving with almost lightning-like rapidity around the room. Finally the streak disappeared and he saw flashes of color. These, he assumed, were the vibrations of Nap’s wild cries increased until they entered the realm of vision. Then there was a puff of smoke, an instantaneous glare of fire, and Edgar knew that Nap had literally ignited, due to his friction with the air.

“Well,” thought the young chemist sadly, when he had recovered from the shock of Nap’s fate, “I must take only one drop. That will allow me to catch up with Ellen in a few weeks, or at most, months. Then we will forget about this dangerous drug business.”

He took within the needle but one drop of the crystal fluid and injected it quickly. Nothing apparently happened. He walked to his window and looked out upon the street below, and then he knew what had occurred. It was a frozen world that he beheld! An automobile stood in front of the house and yet it was not standing, for behind it was a cloud of dust that hung motionless like a fog-bank. Everywhere people stood in grotesque attitudes. It required the most infinite patience to discover the meaning of their postures. He turned away from the window and stood buried in thought. At last he became aware that Agnes, the maid, was drifting toward him like some slowly swimming fish. She held a letter in her hand.

“Now,” thought Edgar, “I will not alarm her. I will imitate her slow and ponderous movements in receiving the letter from her.”

Gauging the rate of her approach, he extended his arm as slowly as his muscular control permitted and received the letter with a grave and tiresomely slow bow. If his actions did not appear exactly normal, he could not tell it by the fixed expression of Agnes’ features, which were none too mobile under ordinary conditions. He stood perfectly still until she had disappeared, then with feverish haste he opened the missive which was written in the straight firm handwriting of Mr. Paul Gordan, the father of Ellen.