Classic Stories #2: "Nightfall", by Isaac Asimov

It's been a while—as I predicted. And I don't have anything new even now, but I've stumbled across my review of Isaac Asimov's classic story "Nightfall", so I thought I'd post it here.

It originally appeared on the discussion forum of Asimov's Science Fiction on 2 January 2008. The story had been reprinted in Asimov's the previous year.

The forum disappeared off the airwaves (so far, permanently) on 7 October 2011. Here's the post:

Posted on Wednesday, January 02, 2008 - 11:34 am:    I’m a few months late, but I’d still like to hear the opinions of others on Isaac Asimov’s famous novelette, “Nightfall”. To see it reprinted in the magazine that bears the Good Doctor’s name (in the October/November 2007 double issue) was a joy. The idea has occurred to me that we should have more threads on individual stories, and “Nightfall” seemed an obvious, if unadventurous, place to start. For those who came in late, “Nightfall” is probably the most famous science fiction story, short of novel length, ever published before 1965. It first appeared in the September 1941 issue of Astounding and has been reprinted innumerable times since then – I have a modest SF library, but there are eight different texts of “Nightfall” on my shelves! In 1967-1968, the SFWA voted “Nightfall” into first place as the best SF story published before 1965. The story itself is a typically pulp SF mixture of ham-fisted writing and breathtaking idea content. Right at the start, Asimov strives mightily for effect: “Aton 77, director of Saro University, thrust out a belligerent lower lip and glared at the young newspaperman in a hot fury”. Try submitting that at Clarion West! Here and elsewhere Asimov, whose characterisation skills were often questioned, substitutes a theatrical physical display for a true revelation of character. But wait – later in the story he does better. After it is revealed that the planet is about to be plunged into darkness for the first time in over two thousand years, there is a widespread fear of social disintegration and madness. There is a scene in which Sheerin, the psychologist, dares Theremon, the reporter, to draw the curtain so that he can experience his first taste of darkness. Theremon does so, and despite his earlier bravado, the first remark he makes is that he can’t see. I thought this was a wonderfully well done scene – although Theremon knew perfectly well that he wouldn’t be able to see in the dark, it still takes him by surprise and his rationality is immediately challenged by the intensity of the phobia. There is a fascination, then, in watching the characters confront a completely unknown situation – a stuation which Asimov reveals with considerable craftsmanship, if not high literary skill. And, of course, there is the famously overblown ending (in which John Campbell inserted a paragraph against Asimov’s wishes) in which the great unknown bursts over the people of Lagash with a “soul-searing” enormity. How good is “Nightfall”? Does it hold up, sixty-six years after its first publication? Asimov himself frequently asserted that he had written better stories than “Nightfall”. His personal favorite was “The Last Question”. The latter is indeed an ingenious story, but it lacks the fascination of people reacting to the unknown. Gardner Dozois has opined, in this very forum, that “Nightfall” hasn’t stood the test of time well. In particular, he thought the psychological disintegration of the Lagash society was implausible. On the other hand, Rich Horton has expressed a fondness for the story somewhere on the internet (I’ve lost the source – sorry, Rich). My own opinion is that “Nightfall” is worthy of its status as a classic, but that you have to keep historical perspective in mind. Its a wonderful example of how a science fiction story can overcome creaky writing, purely by the strength of the idea content. One can quibble about the credibility of the responses of the society and the individuals in the story, but at the very least Asimov did put people under the magnifying glass, to see what they would do in a situation they couldn’t possibly be prepared for, and the result remains highly entertaining. Brian Aldiss has just published a revamped edition of his 1973 Penguin Science Fiction Omnibus. The TOC has changed, and some modern stories have been included. But “Nightfall” is still there.

Classic Stories #1: "The Terminal Beach", by J. G. Ballard

I'm back at last, and have decided it's high time to make a start to a project I've been planning: individual posts on classic science fiction stories (and perhaps sometimes fantasy; conceivably even horror).
The idea is to seek out stories that I've often heard about, and that seem intriguing or promising for one reason or another, and then to go and read the suckers. I have hundreds of short story anthologies or magazines, and the time has come to acknowledge that I'm probably never going to read them all, so it's time for some cherry picking.

Ballard's "The Terminal Beach" is from the sixties New Wave period (first published in New Worlds, March 1964, and included in a collection of the same title that same year). I chose it after reading Barry N. Malzberg's essay "The Cutting Edge", in which he sticks his neck out and names his top 10 SF stories. Of Malzberg's top 10, it's the only one I could find, but hadn't read, so here goes ...

A midnight read of this classic story yielded more perplexed wonderment than storytelling fulfilment. Ballard has connected with me on other occasions – notably “The Drowned Giant” and “The Cloud Sculptors of Coral D”, both of which were weirdly wonderful.

The central character, Traven, is stranded on an atoll previously used for nuclear testing, but now deserted. He roams the symmetric, completely artificial landscape, among bunkers and blockhouses – in search of what, is not at all clear. He has visitors after a light aircraft lands there, but the scientist and his companion seem to find Traven’s presence only mildly remarkable.

The story itself oscillates between familiarity and hallucinogenic dissonance – the situation seems at once clearly delineated, yet simultaneously blurry and dreamy, an effect further established by the slightly reshuffled order of events. Osborne, one of the visitors, comments in a single telling remark that our hero may be a beer short of a six-pack, and indeed, Traven’s repeated sightings of his wife and child (he tells Osborne he is there to find them) seem to arise from his fevered imagination. But what is he doing on the island? At first he seems to have been shipwrecked or stranded, but later evidence is that he is there on purpose.

Clearly, the story deals with a state of mind rather than with a physical location. Equally clearly, Traven’s surroundings are a metaphor writ large – not too far off from the surrealistic “Drowned Giant” described in another memorable tale in the same original story collection. Do we discern in Traven’s futile meanderings the existential despair of a society flirting with nuclear annihilation? A dead end for mankind coinciding with that of the trapped hero?

The story is certainly evocative and involving, but you can’t shake the feeling that you’re missing most of it. I’m filing this one in a drawer where I still have some room among all those Gene Wolfe stories …

11.22.63

by Stephen King

London: Hodder & Stoughton, 2011.

Jake Epping, schoolteacher, is summoned by a marginal friend to embark on an unbelievable mission: to travel back in time to 1958 to prevent the assassination of president Kennedy, which, of course, took place on the date from which the book takes its name. In order to accomplish this, Jake has to relocate from Maine to Texas under the assumed name of George Amberson. There, he has to find a source of income – which he does, as a substitute teacher. It also helps to have foreknowledge of the results of certain sporting events, and to place the occasional lucrative bet.

In the small town of Jodie (where he settles because he doesn’t like Dallas), Jake makes friends at the local high school. Not the least of these is Sadie Dunhill, who turns out to be the love of his life. And so, as Jake approaches his date with destiny, the questions of whether he will ever be able to return to 2011, and whether Sadie will be with him, begin to press forward.

I’m not saying how things turn out for the star-crossed lovers – except that the book has a beautiful, bittersweet, and richly satisfying ending.

Although I’ve read many time travel short stories (for example, Ray Bradbury’s “A Sound of Thunder”, which is mentioned in a conversation), this is my first time travel novel, and the author handles this evergreen device superbly. It’s fantasy, rather than science fiction, since there’s no real scientific or rational basis for the “rabbit hole” through which Jake slips to leap 53 years into the past. But, unlike many time travel pieces in which the device isn’t really exploited, here the culture shock of suddenly living in the past is thoroughly explored (and quite obviously diligently researched). The very tastes and smells of 1958, and the five years after that, are brought to life with a restrained but indubitable sense of wonder – and nostalgia, too.

The seemingly doomed love affair between Jake and Sadie, and how she gradually discovers his secret, is the best part of the book. Here, truly, are characters the reader should care about, and they are well supported by Deke and Miz Ellie, an endearing couple of senior colleagues.

There is also a richly detailed and totally convincing portrait of Lee Harvey Oswald, the president’s assassin, which may drag a bit for readers who aren’t as fascinated by this episode of history as I am. The book also went down well for me because King gets the history right – he dismisses all the crackpot conspiracy theories and focuses squarely on Oswald as the lone gunman (although Jake does devote rather a lot of time to the surveillance of Oswald to confirm that there was, in fact, no conspiracy).

As far as the possibility of a conspiracy is concerned, Gerald Posner’s book Case Closed removed all doubt – for me, anyway – that Oswald acted alone. And interestingly, this book is the first one mentioned in the Afterword.

I cracked open this book in hopes of reading a tense thriller à la The Day of the Jackal, and although I certainly wasn’t disappointed on that score, it’s the heartbreaking love story that makes this book unforgettable.

[14 – 28 November 2011; advance publicity had the Hodder release date as 14.11.2911.]

About this Blog

This blog is being launched under the title "The Air Somewhere".

Of course, I'll change it as the whim takes me.

The title is a tribute to my favourite writer of the last few decades, Ray Bradbury. Bradbury's amazing stories have inspired millions, but he is as human as he ever was, and as prone to put his foot in it as any of us.

He was quoted in the New York Times recently, scathingly dismissing the internet as "distracting". “It’s meaningless; it’s not real. It’s in the air somewhere” , quoth the author of Fahrenheit 451.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/20/us/20ventura.html?_r=1

Well, that's just ... silly. Not to worry, though. Ray Bradbury is still my hero, and so, as a tongue-in-cheek tribute to him, I've named the blog after him.

And what will it be about, you ask? Well, to start with you can expect it to reflect the sloth of its creator. But on the (probably rare) occasions that I do post anything, comments on books and stories I've read should feature strongly. As should anything else I wish to embarrass myself about.

Let's see, now ... (chews pencil, eventually nods off)