Modern Classic Short Novels Of Science Fiction

Modern Classic Short Novels Of Science Fiction

Modern Classic Short Novels Of Science Fiction

Modern Classic Short Novels Of Science Fiction

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Overview

The novella is, in the words of Gardner Dozois, "a perfect length for a science fiction story: long enough to enable you to flesh out the details of a strange alien world or a bizarre future society...and yet, still short enough for the story to pack a real punch."

The thirteen masterpieces assembled in Modern Classic Short Novels of Science Fiction travel to the farthest reaches of the imagination, through realms of immortality, along alternate paths of time and across vast galaxies to explore the best of all imaginable worlds.


Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781466884472
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Publication date: 10/28/2014
Sold by: Macmillan
Format: eBook
Pages: 657
Sales rank: 944,072
File size: 2 MB

About the Author

Gardner Dozois (1947-2018), one of the most acclaimed editors in science-fiction, has won the Hugo Award for Best Editor 15 times. He was the editor of Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine for 20 years. He is the editor of The Year’s Best Science Fiction anthologies and co-editor of the Warrior anthologies, Songs of the Dying Earth, and many others. As a writer, Dozois twice won the Nebula Award for best short story. He was inducted into the Science Fiction Hall of Fame in 2011 and has received the Skylark Award for Lifetime Achievement. He lived in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
Gardner Dozois (1947-2018), one of the most acclaimed editors in science-fiction, won the Hugo Award for Best Editor 15 times. He was the editor of Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine for 20 years. He also served as the editor of The Year’s Best Science Fiction anthologies and co-editor of the Warrior anthologies, Songs of the Dying Earth, and many others. As a writer, Dozois twice won the Nebula Award for best short story. He was inducted into the Science Fiction Hall of Fame in 2011 and received the Skylark Award for Lifetime Achievement. He lived in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Read an Excerpt

Modern Classic Short Novels of Science Fiction


By Gardner Dozois

St. Martin's Press

Copyright © 1993 Gardner Dozois
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-8447-2



CHAPTER 1

JACK VANCE

The Miracle Workers


A seminal figure, Jack Vance has produced some of the very best work of the last forty years in several different genres, and is of immense evolutionary importance to the development both of modern fantasy and of modern science fiction.

Born in San Francisco in 1920, Vance served throughout World War II in the U.S. Merchant Navy. Most of the individual stories that would later be melded into his first novel, The Dying Earth, were written while Vance was at sea — he was unable to sell them, a problem he would also have with the book itself, the market for fantasy being almost non-existent at the time. The Dying Earth was eventually published in an obscure edition in 1950 by a small semi-professional press, went out of print almost immediately, and remained out of print for more than a decade thereafter. Nevertheless, it became an underground cult classic, and its effect on future generations of writers is incalculable: for one example, out of many, The Dying Earth is one of the most recognizable influences on Gene Wolfe's The Book of the New Sun (Wolfe has said, for instance, that The Book of Gold which is mentioned by Severian is supposed to be The Dying Earth). Vance returned to this milieu in 1965, with a series of stories that would be melded into The Eyes of the Overworld, and, in the early eighties, returned yet again with Cugel's Saga and Rhialto the Marvellous — taken together, The Dying Earth stories represent one of the most impressive achievements in science-fantasy.

In science fiction itself, Vance would do some of his best early work for magazines such as Thrilling Wonder Stories and Startling Stories and the short-lived Worlds Beyond in the mid-fifties —"The Five Gold Bands," "Abercrombie Station," "The Houses of Izam," "The Kokod Warriors," "The New Prime," and the magazine version of "Big Planet," among others. Vance was also appearing in Astounding from time to time during this period, but most of his work for Astounding would be rather bland by Vance's standards, with only one story there,the wonderfully evocative, marvelously strange, and bizarrely imaginative novella that follows, The Miracle Workers, being full-throated Vancian Future Baroque.

But that was a somewhat atypical style for Astounding, and by the late fifties and early sixties, Vance was doing most of his best work, and some of the very best work of the period, for Galaxy and F&SF — the magnificent "The Dragon Masters," "The Men Return," the underrated The Langues of Pao (one of only a handful of books even today to deal with semantics as a science; Delany's Babel-17 and Ian Watson's The Embedding are two later examples), the wonderful The Star King and The Killing Machine (two of the best hybrids of SF and the mystery/espionage novel ever written), "Green Magic," The Blue World, "The Last Castle."

Vance is reminiscent of R. A. Lafferty in that both men break all the supposed rules of writing, and get away with it. Both eschew naturalism, each using a mannered and highly idiosyncratic prose style (baroque and stiffly elegant in Vance's case, energetically informal and folksy in Lafferty's), and both have their characters spout theatrical, deliberately non-naturalistic, hieratic dialogue of a sort that never actually came out of anyone's mouth — if you were to film their work, no mumbling Method actors would need to apply; only someone with the flamboyant grandiloquence of a John Barrymore would do. Vance also — and here comes an even stranger comparison — reminds me of Philip K. Dick: each author relies heavily on a personal formula of his own, using the same basic frameworks, plots, and types of characters and situations again and again (what is important in each is not creating new motifs, but refining and developing variations on their obsessive themes); each man's style is limited in technical range, but, within that range, they are the best in the business at what they do well; both emphasize how manners and mores change from society to society; and, although neither is thought of as a humorist, the work of both is suffused with a dry, understated wit — Vance's humor is somewhat drier than Dick's, Dick's more surreal than Vance's, but both tend toward black humor, sly satire, a bitterly sardonic view of life and human nature, and to grotesque and macabrely ironic set-pieces. Both men have trouble ending novels, both frequently just letting the story peter away, as though they had gradually lost interest in what they were writing. And, with each, their impact on the field rests more on the aggregate effect of their work than on any particular story or novel — or, to adapt a remark of Thomas Disch's concerning Dick which is equally valid for Vance, their novels are more impressive collectively than each by each.

And, much as SF authors writing today about phenomenology or the nature of reality write inevitably in the shadow of Philip K. Dick, so writers describing distant worlds and alien societies with strange alien customs write in the shadow of Vance. No one in the history of the field has brought more intelligence, imagination, or inexhaustible fertility of invention to that theme than Vance; even ostensible potboilers such as his Planet of Adventure series are full of vivid and richly portrayed alien societies, and bizarre and often profoundly disturbing insights into the ways in which human psychology might be altered by immersion in alien values and cultural systems. No one is better than Vance is at delivering that quintessential "sense of wonder" that is at the heart of science fiction, and reading him has left me a legacy of evocative images that will stay with me forever.

Vance has won two Hugo Awards, a Nebula Award, two World Fantasy Awards (one the prestigious Life Achievement Award), and the Edgar Award for best mystery novel. His other books include Emphyrio (one of the best novels of the late sixties, up until the disappointing ending), The Anome, The Palace of Love, The Face, The Book of Dreams, City of the Chasch, The Dirdir, The Pnume, The Brave Free Men, Lyonesse, The Green Pearl, Trullion: Alastor 2262, Wyst: Alastor 1716, and Araminta Station, among many others. His short fiction has been collected in Eight Fantasms and Magics, The Best of Jack Vance, Green Magic, Lost Moons, The Complete Magnus Ridolph, The World Between and Other Stories, The Dark Side of the Moon, and The Narrow Land. His most recent book is the novel Throy.



I

The war party from Faide Keep moved eastward across the downs; a column of a hundred armored knights, five hundred foot soldiers, a train of wagons. In the lead rode Lord Faide, a tall man in his early maturity, spare and catlike, with a sallow dyspeptic face. He sat in the ancestral car of the Faides, a boat-shaped vehicle floating two feet above the moss, and carried, in addition to his sword and dagger, his ancestral side weapons.

An hour before sunset a pair of scouts came racing back to the column, their club-headed horses loping like dogs. Lord Faide braked the motion of his car. Behind him the Faide kinsmen, the lesser knights, the leather-capped foot soldiers halted; to the rear the baggage train and the high-wheeled wagons of the jinxmen creaked to a stop.

The scouts approached at breakneck speed, at the last instant flinging their horses sidewise. Long shaggy legs kicked out, padlike hooves plowed through the moss. The scouts jumped to the ground, ran forward. "The way to Ballant Keep is blocked!"

Lord Faide rose in his seat, stood staring eastward over the gray-green downs. "How many knights? How many men?"

"No knights, no men, Lord Faide. The First Folk have planted a forest between North and South Wildwood."

Lord Faide stood a moment in reflection, then seated himself, pushed the control knob. The car wheezed, jerked, moved forward. The knights touched up their horses; the foot soldiers resumed their slouching gait. At the rear the baggage train creaked into motion, together with the six wagons of the jinxmen.

The sun, large, pale and faintly pink, sank in the west. North Wildwood loomed down from the left, separated from South Wildwood by an area of stony ground, only sparsely patched with moss. As the sun passed behind the horizon, the new planting became visible: a frail new growth connecting the tracts of woodland like a canal between two seas.

Lord Faide halted his car, stepped down to the moss. He appraised the landscape, then gave the signal to make camp. The wagons were ranged in a circle, the gear unloaded. Lord Faide watched the activity for a moment, eyes sharp and critical, then turned and walked out across the downs through the lavender and green twilight. Fifteen miles to the east his last enemy awaited him: Lord Ballant of Ballant Keep. Contemplating tomorrow's battle, Lord Faide felt reasonably confident of the outcome. His troops had been tempered by a dozen campaigns; his kinsmen were loyal and single-hearted. Head Jinxman to Faide Keep was Hein Huss, and associated with him were three of the most powerful jinxmen of Pangborn: Isak Comandore, Adam McAdam and the remarkable Enterlin, together with their separate troupes of cabalmen, spell-binders and apprentices. Altogether, an impressive assemblage. Certainly there were obstacles to be overcome: Ballant Keep was strong; Lord Ballant would fight obstinately; Anderson Grimes, the Ballant jinxman, was efficient and highly respected. There was also this nuisance of the First Folk and the new planting which closed the gap between North and South Wildwood. The First Folk were a pale and feeble race, no match for human beings in single combat, but they guarded their forests with traps and deadfalls. Lord Faide cursed softly under his breath. To circle either North or South Wildwood meant a delay of three days, which could not be tolerated.


Lord Faide returned to the camp. Fires were alight, pots bubbled, orderly rows of sleep-holes had been dug into the moss. The knights groomed their horses within the corral of wagons; Lord Faide's own tent had been erected on a hummock, beside the ancient car.

Lord Faide made a quick round of inspection, noting every detail, speaking no word. The jinxmen were encamped a little distance apart from the troops. The apprentices and lesser spell-binders prepared food, while the jinxmen and cabalmen worked inside their tents, arranging cabinets and cases, correcting whatever disorder had been caused by the jolting of the wagons.

Lord Faide entered the tent of his Head Jinxman. Hein Huss was an enormous man, with arms and legs heavy as tree trunks, a torso like a barrel. His face was pink and placid, his eyes were water-clear; a stiff gray brush rose from his head, which was innocent of the cap jinxmen customarily wore against the loss of hair. Hein Huss disdained such precautions; it was his habit, showing his teeth in a face-splitting grin, to rumble, "Why should anyone hoodoo me, old Hein Huss? I am so inoffensive. Whoever tried would surely die, of shame and remorse."

Lord Faide found Huss busy at his cabinet. The doors stood wide, revealing hundreds of mannikins, each tied with a lock of hair, a bit of cloth, a fingernail clipping, daubed with grease, sputum, excrement, blood. Lord Faide knew well that one of these mannikins represented himself. He also knew that should he request it Hein Huss would deliver it without hesitation. Part of Huss's mana derived from his enormous confidence, the effortless ease of his power. He glanced at Lord Faide and read the question in his mind. "Lord Ballant did not know of the new planting. Anderson Grimes has now informed him, and Lord Ballant expects that you will be delayed. Grimes has communicated with Gisborne Keep and Castle Cloud. Three hundred men march tonight to reinforce Ballant Keep. They will arrive in two days. Lord Ballant is much elated."

Lord Faide paced back and forth across the tent. "Can we cross this planting?"

Hein Huss made a heavy sound of disapproval. "There are many futures. In certain of these futures you pass. In others you do not pass. I cannot ordain these futures."

Lord Faide had long learned to control his impatience at what sometimes seemed to be pedantic obfuscation. He grumbled, "They are either very stupid or very bold, planting across the downs in this fashion. I cannot imagine what they intend."

Hein Huss considered, then grudgingly volunteered an idea. "What if they plant west from North Wildwood to Sarrow Copse? What if they plant west from South Wildwood to Old Forest?

Lord Faide stood stock-still, his eyes narrow and thoughtful. "Faide Keep would be surrounded by forest. We would be imprisoned. ... These plantings, do they proceed?"

"They proceed, so I have been told."

"What do they hope to gain?"

"I do not know. Perhaps they hope to isolate the keeps, to rid the planet of men. Perhaps they merely want secure avenues between the forests."

Lord Faide considered. Huss's final suggestion was reasonable enough. During the first centuries of human settlement, sportive young men had hunted the First Folk with clubs and lances, eventually had driven them from their native downs into the forests. "Evidently they are more clever than we realize. Adam McAdam asserts that they do not think, but it seems that he is mistaken."

Hein Huss shrugged. "Adam McAdam equates thought to the human cerebral process. He cannot telepathize with the First Folk, hence he deduced that they do not 'think.' But I have watched them at Forest Market, and they trade intelligently enough." He raised his head, appeared to listen, then reached into his cabinet, delicately tightened a noose around the neck of one of the mannikins. From outside the tent came a sudden cough and a whooping gasp for air. Huss grinned, twitched open the noose. "That is Isak Comandore's apprentice. He hopes to complete a Hein Huss mannikin. I must say he works diligently, going so far as to touch its feet into my footprints whenever possible."

Lord Faide went to the flap of the tent. "We break camp early. Be alert, I may require your help." Lord Faide departed the tent.


* * *

Hein Huss continued the ordering of the cabinet. Presently he sensed the approach of his rival, Jinxman Isak Comandore, who coveted the office of Head Jinxman with all-consuming passion. Huss closed the cabinet and hoisted himself to his feet.

Comandore entered the tent, a man tall, crooked and spindly. His wedge-shaped head was covered with coarse russet ringlets; hot red-brown eyes peered from under his red eyebrows. "I offer my complete rights to Keyril, and will include the masks, the headdress, and amulets. Of all the demons ever contrived he has won the widest public acceptance. To utter the name Keyril is to complete half the work of a possession. Keyril is a valuable property. I can give no more."

But Huss shook his head. Comandore's desire was the full simulacrum of Tharon Faide, Lord Faide's oldest son, complete with clothes, hair, skin, eyelashes, tears, excreta, sweat and sputum — the only one in existence, for Lord Faide guarded his son much more jealously than he did himself. "You offer convincingly," said Huss, "but my own demons suffice. The name Dant conveys fully as much terror as Keyril."

"I will add five hairs from the head of Jinxman Clarence Sears; they are the last, for he is now stark bald."

"Let us drop the matter; I will keep the simulacrum."

"As you please," said Comandore with asperity. He glanced out the flap of the tent. "That blundering apprentice. He puts the feet of the mannikin backwards into your prints."

Huss opened his cabinet, thumped a mannikin with his finger. From outside the tent came a grunt of surprise. Huss grinned. "He is young and earnest, and perhaps he is clever, who knows?" He went to the flap of the tent, called outside. "Hey, Sam Salazar, what do you do? Come inside."

Apprentice Sam Salazar came blinking into the tent, a thick-set youth with a round florid face, overhung with a rather untidy mass of straw-colored hair. In one hand he carried a crude pot-bellied mannikin, evidently intended to represent Hein Huss.

"You puzzle both your master and myself," said Huss. "There must be method in your folly, but we fail to perceive it. For instance, this moment you place my simulacrum backwards into my track. I feel a tug on my foot, and you pay for your clumsiness."

Sam Salazar showed small evidence of abashment. "Jinxman Comandore has warned that we must expect to suffer for our ambitions."

"If your ambition is jinxmanship," Comandore declared sharply, "you had best mend your ways."

"The lad is craftier than you know," said Hein Huss. "Look now." He took the mannikin, spit into its mouth, plucked a hair from his head, thrust it into a convenient crevice. "He has a Hein Huss mannikin, achieved at very small cost. Now, Apprentice Salazar, how will you hoodoo me?"


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Modern Classic Short Novels of Science Fiction by Gardner Dozois. Copyright © 1993 Gardner Dozois. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Contents

Cover,
Title Page,
Copyright Notice,
Acknowledgements,
Preface,
The Miracle Workers Jack Vance,
The Longest Voyage Poul Anderson,
On the Storm Planet Cordwainer Smith,
The Star Pit Samuel R. Delany,
Total Environment Brian W. Aldiss,
The Merchants of Venus Frederik Pohl,
The Death of Doctor Island Gene Wolfe,
Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang Kate Wilhelm,
Souls Joanna Russ,
A Traveler's Tale Lucius Shepard,
Sailing to Byzantium Robert Silverberg,
Mr. Boy James Patrick Kelly,
And Wild for to Hold Nancy Kress,
Also by Gardner Dozois,
Copyright,

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