Wednesday, January the 7th, 2004
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Rummaging through the latest acquisitions in the secondhand books section of my local charity shop, I noticed that someone had donated a large number of sci-fi paperbacks, including quite a collection of E.E. “Doc” Smith. I'm not much of a science fiction buff myself—I didn't buy any of them—but I was reminded how rare it is for an author to be published under what is basically a nickname. This ought to be encouraged: double initial, abrupt three-letter nickname, surname. So I look forward to new editions of the work of M.M. “Nap” Proust, S.S. “God” Beckett, even M.M. “Git” Amis. Readers are invited—even cajoled—to send in their own suggestions.
While we are on the subject of sci-fi, sort of, it is worth mentioning Hugo Gernsback, the man after whom the Hugo awards were named. Long, long ago, the science fiction critic Dave Langford wrote a piece about my work, Key Reading,* in which at one point he compared me to the bastard offspring of Samuel Beckett and Hugo Gernsback. At the time, I had not read any Gernsback—indeed, I am afraid to say I had never even heard of him: I had to ask Dave for information. The years went by and still I never read anything by the man. Now, at last, I have done so. Towards the end of 2003 I found a copy of Ultimate World. What can I say? Here is a brief extract from chapter one:
It was 2330 when Dubois and his wife went to bed that night. Reclining on their auto bedprop, they were watching the late Color Picture News as it flashed on the large bedroom mirror, when without warning, the dateline, June 24 1996, the picture, sound and news all disappeared together. Simultaneously, a small tornado roared into the bedroom from the open west and south windows. The flimsy nightgown of Duke's wife was neatly ripped off her and disappeared through the west window, leaving her completely nude. Duke, wearing the latest style one-piece abrijama fared better-at least he stayed dressed. He immediately noted that his normal weight of 180 pounds had almost vanished and that the tornado-like wind was not the reason. He and Donny held on desperately to the top of the bed while all sorts of light household objects sailed past them, some of them colliding painfully with their bodies. Donny's array of perfume bottles seemed to explode as the glass stoppers, popping like champagne corks in the rarefied air, sucked the perfume out in colored, miniature comet-tails which disappeared through the window. Duke and Donny had a hard time breathing. Their bodies by now were floating horizontally while they were still frantically clutching the top of the bed. Donny's screams sounded faintly in the tornado's roaring blast, as did Duke's shouted encouragements.
“The house must be in a near-weightless, negative gravitational field,” he yelled. “I can't weigh more than 20 pounds. There are some 20,000 cubic feet of air in the house that normally weighs 1,600 pounds…but now weigh only 150 or 160 pounds. Heavy new outside air is being sucked in with a weight difference of some 1,400 pounds…That creates the tornado, since lighter air is pushed out violently.”
While he spoke, the air suddenly calmed down and both Donny and Duke sank gently, like two falling leaves, exhausted on their large bed. Duke, always the man of science, suddenly jumped from his reclining position, but instantly regretted the move, as his head collided with the ceiling. Ruefully rubbing his forehead, he slowly landed on his feet, then cautiously made his way to the bathroom.
What genius! What melodrama! What technical data!
* NOTE : The links & postal address details in Dave's article are no longer valid.