More nuggets of genius from a master storyteller
After becoming addicted to the Complete Short Fiction of Clifford D. Simak series, I have come to expect great things from Simak. Volume Ten, The Shipshape Miracle and Other Stories, is the seventh book in the series that I have read (I’m not going in order), and I am continually blown away by Simak’s profound speculative imagination and prodigious talents as a writer. Volume Ten proves to be another exceptional collection. This volume contains only nine stories, as opposed to the usual ten to twelve, but that actually works in its favor because almost all the selections are substantial, fully realized works of fiction. The title selection is the shortest entry in the book and the only story that feels like it could have benefited from a little more development. Though Simak is famous for his science fiction, like all volumes in the series, this one contains a western, and this time it’s a full-length novella. “The Gravestone Rebels Ride by Night!,” is a great western mystery thriller with tense action scenes reminiscent of some of Randolph Scott’s better films.
Moving on to the sci-fi, another excellent entry is “Paradise,” which is one of the short stories that would later form part of Simak’s 1952 novel City. It depicts a future in which mankind explores Jupiter by assuming the non-humanoid form of the planet’s native inhabitants. This is a complicated piece in an intricate puzzle, and may require some prior knowledge of the grander City narrative to fully appreciate. “The Money Tree” is exactly what it sounds, a story about a tree that grows money. As he always does so well, Simak builds upon this simple premise and takes it to unexpected places. “Shotgun Cure” employs a familiar Simak motif: benevolent alien “missionaries” who come to solve Earth’s problems. In this variation they offer to cure all illness and disease, one should be wary of strangers bearing gifts. In “How-2,” machinery has replaced so much human labor, providing such an excess of free time, that people have become ridiculously obsessed with do-it-yourself projects. Simak artfully lampoons the DIY movement, while entering into a thoughtful debate about the humanity of robots. In “Eternity Lost,” mankind has developed the ability to prolong life for centuries, but it is a privilege reserved only for a select few. Here Simak conducts an insightful examination into the ethical issues raised by immortality.
There really are no weak links here. “The Shipshape Miracle,” about a sentient spacecraft, is a little too brief to fully satisfy, but it’s still a strong concept. “Rim of the Deep,” a story about future undersea colonization, is an early work of Simak’s, published in 1940. It feels a bit like an early work, but it entertains with its flavor of good old-fashioned pulp fiction adventure.
The final selection in the book, “Immigrant,” may be the longest novella I have encountered in this series, but it is well worth the extra reading time. After years of diligent study, one lucky man is selected among the elite earthlings allowed to immigrate to the planet Kimon, home to an alien culture more advanced than humankind. Previous immigrants have described Kimon as a paradise, but what is the Kimonians’ motive for courting settlement? It is a thoughtful mystery, spooky at times, but Simak doesn’t settle for easy answers. It is a perfect way to cap off an excellent collection. Having read half of the Complete Short Fiction series so far, I’ve found that even the worst volumes are very good, and the better ones, like this one, are outstanding.
Stories in this collection
The Money Tree
Shotgun Cure
Paradise
The Gravestone Rebels Ride by Night!
How-2
The Shipshape Miracle
Rim of the Deep
Eternity Lost
Immigrant
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Tragicomic family saga of 20th-century China
Life and Death Are Wearing Me Out, published in 2006, is a historical novel by Chinese writer Mo Yan, who won the 2012 Nobel Prize in Literature. It chronicles the lives of one Chinese family through the second half of the twentieth century, but it is far from a conventional period epic. In fact, it is likely to be one of the oddest novels you’ll ever read.
The story is told as an extended conversation between two narrators, one of whom on several occasions dies and undergoes reincarnation. Ximen Nao is a landowner in the agricultural district of Northeast Gaomi Township. He is a wealthy and respected member of the community until the Communist Revolution, when he is executed so his land can be redistributed. When the novel opens, Ximen Nao is in the underworld, being tortured by the demon minions of Lord Yama, the judge in charge of assigning reincarnations. His soul is sent back to Earth in the body of a donkey, born in the very same village where he previously resided. While a donkey, he maintains some of his human intelligence and is able to observe and interact with his descendants and former neighbors. At the same time, he also adopts the nature of a donkey, concerns himself with donkey matters, and socializes with his fellow donkeys. This cycle of reincarnation continues throughout the book, as Ximen Nao comes back successively as an ox, pig, dog, monkey, and finally as a human child who serves as one of the narrators. Admittedly, this is disorienting at first. As the novel goes on, however, Mo Yan leaves enough bread crumbs for the reader to follow the trail of what’s going on, and after a while one really appreciates this unique manner of storytelling.
As a donkey, Ximen Nao becomes the property of Lan Lian, one of his former tenant farmers, who has married Ximen Nao’s former concubine and is now raising Ximen Nao’s children. While all the farmers of Gaomi Township, under Chairman Mao’s urging, are joining the local farming cooperative, Lan Lian defiantly chooses to remain an independent farmer. As the village’s sole holdout, he (and his donkey) suffer great persecution for this decision. Though often told in a satirical manner, the novel vividly brings to life the paranoia and vindictiveness of the Cultural Revolution, when anyone accused of displaying remotely capitalist tendencies could be punished by their vigilante neighbors. The novel spans the years 1950 to 2000, so Mo Yan later gets the opportunity to apply his biting wit to China’s recent transformation towards capitalism.
Life and Death Are Wearing Me Out is really a fascinating look at Chinese history and a fun read loaded with dark humor. The book’s one major fault is that it is just too long. Lengthiness itself is not a fault, but there is definitely some fat that could be trimmed here. The midsection, in particular, sometimes makes overly protracted digressions into the animal lives, replete with feces and sex jokes. One must admit, however, that when Mo Yan tries to be funny, he truly is funny. It is admirable the way he effortlessly weaves lowbrow profanity into his epic literary narrative. In real life, Mo Yan grew up in Gaomi, and he playfully inserts himself as a supporting character in the book, a troublemaking problem child who grows up to be an overrated writer.
For all its laughs, however, the overall arc of the novel is ultimately tragic, as we watch members of the family and community meet with disappointment, dishonor, and death. The book contains some profoundly moving scenes of emotional power that belie its predominantly satirical bent. Together the light and the dark, the high and the low, the comedy and the tragedy, all add up to a truly memorable reading experience.
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Dining room tales of murder and larceny
In the Fog is a novella by Richard Harding Davis, one of America’s most popular writers in both journalism and fiction from the 1890s through the First World War. Published in 1901, In the Fog is a mystery story, or rather three mystery stories. On a foggy London night, a small group of gentlemen gather at an exclusive club and swap stories over the dinner table. The book is divided into three somewhat lengthy short stories, each of which is told by a different patron of the club, yet all of which relate to the same people and events. Together these three tales, combined with the goings-on among the members of the club, form an intricate and innovative mystery.
When the men in the club—some regulars, some strangers—begin to engage in small talk, it is revealed that one of the gentlemen—Sir Andrew, a member of Parliament—is a fan of detective fiction. This inspires a visiting American naval attaché to reveal a mysterious adventure he undertook the previous evening. Out walking in London, he became lost in the impenetrable fog and wandered into a random house seeking directions. There he stumbled upon two dead bodies, apparently murdered just moments before his arrival. The naval attaché provides a detailed account of his unusual experience, thereby giving his listeners the opportunity to speculate on the identity and motive of the murderer. In turn, two other speakers step up to relate their own narratives pertaining to persons involved in the case. Davis does a fine job of drawing the reader into the atmosphere of the club, as if you were sitting at the lamplit table in evening dress, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace and sipping a Scotch with the storytellers.
The biggest problem with In the Fog is that the second story is almost completely pointless. Its relationship to the main narrative of the murder mystery is only tangential. It is so irrelevant, in fact, that upon completion of the story, one of the characters in the club even pipes up to ask, Why did you waste my time with this? The third story, however, returns to the murder and gets things properly back on track. Davis caps his novella off with a clever ending that ties all the loose ends together into an ingenious package. The resolution of the mystery involves about four or five twists, some of which are surprises and some of which aren’t. Depending on the reader, the conclusion may inspire a shocking eureka moment, a satisfying chuckle, or an I-should-have-known eye roll.
Though In the Fog was published during the heyday of Sherlock Holmes, to his credit Davis doesn’t settle for the detective-fiction template established by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but pushes the envelope to make the genre his own. With the exception of its (perhaps deliberately) meandering mid-section, In the Fog is a well-crafted piece of mystery fiction. It may not be as baffling as some of the better cases of Sherlock Holmes, but it is certainly well worth a read.
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Blood on the tracks
The Rome Express, originally published in 1896, is a mystery novel by British author Arthur Griffiths, a former military officer and war correspondent who went on to become a prolific author of Victorian crime fiction. The title refers to the express train that runs from Rome to Paris, with the story taking place in the latter city. As the train approaches Paris, a dead body is discovered on board. At some point during the last hundred miles or so, a man has been murdered—stabbed to death in his sleeping compartment. Since the last portion of the journey was a nonstop stretch, the train car makes a convenient “locked room” setting for the crime. The list of possible suspects consists of the eight or nine people—passengers and staff—who were present in the car during the timeframe of the murder. Upon arrival in Paris, these individuals are detained by the police for interrogation, and the railroad car that served as the scene of the crime is sidetracked for inspection.
The investigation is led by a French detective named Floçon, who seems to be competent in his duties but displays a blustering personality that makes him out to be somewhat of a buffoon in the story. One of the interesting and unusual things about this novel, however, is that it doesn’t concentrate solely on the detective’s efforts to solve the case. Instead, it switches focus between different members of its ensemble cast. In fact, a couple of the suspects take it upon themselves to assist the police in the investigation. Not surprisingly, Griffiths sets up an Englishman to be the main protagonist. Today’s readers may find it hard to sympathize with Sir Charles Collingham, however, as he continually acts under an antiquated code of chivalry which asserts that (a) women (of good birth, breeding, and financial means) are incapable of committing a criminal act, and (b) even if I a woman did commit murder, to imprison her would be ungentlemanly, as it is a man’s duty to provide comfort and solace to a lady at every opportunity. His myopically sexist and classist attitude quickly gets annoying, and once you figure out the author shares the views of his character it leads to a certain degree of predictability in the plot that follows.
On the plus side, The Rome Express has its fair share of surprising twists and clever touches, but I certainly wouldn’t want to oversell it. There isn’t a whole lot of brilliant detective work going on here. Clues, confessions, and conclusions have a tendency to just fall conveniently into place for the investigators who seek them. For all its faults, however, this novel does manage to mildly entertain. I would put it on a par with some of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s non-Sherlock Holmes mysteries, most of which certainly weren’t his best work.
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Foregone conclusions
The Knightsbridge Mystery, a novel by English author Charles Reade, was originally published in 1882. The story takes place at a country inn called The Swan, located on Knightsbridge Green, which at that time was outside the city of London. Reade introduces us to the regulars who reside at this establishment and involves us in the routine of their everyday activities and relations. The peace and comfort of this rural retreat is shattered when one of the guests is murdered, presumably for his gold. Evidence points to a neighborhood drunkard, who is apprehended, tried, and sentenced to death. The inspector on the case, however, is not entirely convinced of the convicted man’s guilt.
The main problem with The Knightsbridge Mystery is that it is no mystery. Even before the crime is committed, Reade has already told you the identity of the killer, his motive, and much of his modus operandi. All that’s left for the reader to do is wait for the murderer to get caught. In that sense, The Knightsbridge Mystery bears less resemblance to most Victorian detective fiction in the Sherlock Holmes vein than it does to today’s cinematic crime stories, which often tell the detective’s and the criminal’s stories in parallel, the audience being expected to sympathize with both parties. In such villainless tales, the suspense arises less from the solving of the crime than from the emotional drama of the characters’ lives. In The Knightsbridge Mystery, however, Reade delivers the narrative in such a deadpan fashion that the emotional roller coaster of murder, inquest, and capital punishment is surprisingly flat and mundane.
The overall effect left behind by The Knightsbridge Mystery is one of frustration. Reade has crafted a complex crime story admirable for its legal and psychological authenticity. One can’t help thinking, however, that if it had really been treated like a mystery, with some questions left unanswered throughout, it would have been a lot more entertaining. When all is said and done, this book is a decent read but nothing to get excited about. Its brevity keeps it from being a waste of time. It leaves the reader with a suspicion that Reade may have the potential for great writing, and a hope that that potential is realized in some of his other works.
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A voice for peace in dark times
As a Nobel Prize-winning physicist, Albert Einstein became famous for formulating the theory of relativity, the equation of mass-energy equivalence, and other important discoveries that changed the way we view the universe. During his lifetime, however, his renown as a scientist allowed him to extend his sphere of influence beyond the realm of physics. As a public intellectual, he also spoke out on politics, economics, and social issues. Essays in Humanism is a collection of Einstein’s nonscientific writings in these areas. First published in 1950 by the Philosophical Library, this collection has been recently rereleased in ebook form by Open Road Media. The 43 essays included, written from 1933 to 1949, were originally presented as public speeches, book forewords, or newspaper and magazine articles.
Because of the time frame in which these pieces were penned, World War II hangs like an evil spectre over the entire proceedings. Whether commenting on the rise of the Nazis before the war or the Cold War that immediately followed it, Einstein ardently advocates for world peace. Having contributed to the making of the atomic bomb, and having seen its effects in Japan, Einstein feels compelled to see that nuclear weapons are never used again, though Cold War antagonism between the United States and the Soviet Union make Armageddon an ever-present threat. To prevent World War III, Einstein proposes that nations relinquish their military power to a supranational governing body, stronger than the United Nations, which would insure peace by settling international disputes through judicial rather than violent means. His proposal for this plan is outlined in great detail over the course of many of the essays included here. A Soviet counterargument is also reprinted, along with Einstein’s rebuttal. Surprisingly, even in the early days of the Cold War, Einstein publicly recommends socialism as an economic solution to many of the world’s problems, a stance for which he would likely be vilified today.
The essays in this book are not arranged chronologically, but rather thematically. This one issue of international security through supranational governance takes up roughly two-thirds of the book. Then follows a series of several brief tributes to great scientists of the past, such as Isaac Newton and Johannes Kepler, and brief eulogies of departed scientific colleagues, including Marie Curie and Max Planck. The remaining quarter of the book deals with issues pertaining to the Jews, their persecution in Europe, and their attempts to establish a Jewish homeland in Palestine. Einstein praises settlement efforts in Palestine but argues against a totally self-governing Jewish state, as he fears it will only give rise to the sort of rampant intolerant nationalism that spawned the two World Wars in the first place.
Overall, Einstein’s writing is excellent. He states his opinions very articulately while expressing an undying compassion for humanity and a conviction for social justice. Most of the book’s faults are editorial. The goal here seems to have been to collect anything that Einstein wrote, regardless of worth. Some of the “essays” are only two paragraphs long, and there is quite a bit of repetition among the selections. Nevertheless, this book gives the 21st-century reader a great deal of insight into the world political climate of the 1930s and ‘40s. Much of what Einstein describes—xenophobia, fear-mongering, extreme income disparity—bears a disturbing resemblance to the world in which we live today. His insightful perspective provides great food for thought and a touch of hope in dark times.
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The consequences of denying one’s nature
Beyond the Horizon, a three-act play by Eugene O’Neill, premiered on Broadway in 1920 and won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama that same year. The play takes place on the Mayo farm, located a mile from the sea. There, James and Kate Mayo live with their two grown sons, Robert and Andy. The drama opens the night before Robert is due to ship off to sea with his uncle Dick Scott, a salty old ship’s captain. Robert is a dreamer who, fueled by his voracious reading, longs for romance and adventure. The farm makes him feel awkward and confined. He desires to venture “beyond the horizon” to indulge his wanderlust and see the world. His brother Andy, on the other hand, is a natural-born farmer who enjoys working the land. Andy plans to stay put, run the farm, and marry Ruth Atkins, their neighbor on the farm next door. In the first scene, however, Ruth declares her love for Robert. The two brothers are then forced to pull a switcheroo, each acting against his nature, as Robert stays to marry Ruth and Andy angrily storms off to ship away with his uncle.
Like many of O’Neill’s early plays, Beyond the Horizon was a groundbreaking work of realism in American drama. His gritty, naturalistic plays were a marked departure from the sort of romanticized contrivances that previously occupied the stages of America’s theatres. O’Neill’s plays deal with the sort of real-life drama that audiences might experience in their daily lives: unrequited love, financial hardships, dysfunctional families, the death of loved ones, and shattered dreams. One problem with Beyond the Horizon, however, is that he lumps all those personal catastrophes onto one family, which results in a play that is a bit too melodramatic, overwrought, and operatically tragic to ring true.
The plot of Beyond the Horizon is built upon a contrast that often shows up in O’Neill’s plays. The sea equals freedom, independence, and opportunity, while the land equals captivity, dependence, and stagnation. If you’re living in an O’Neill play, the worst thing you want to do is get tied down. Love is the bringer of misery, and women are the root of all evil. If not for Ruth, the Mayo brothers would have lived their lives to their fullest potential. Though her part is written as an authentic multidimensional human being rather than a caricature of an evil temptress, O’Neill still makes it clear that everything is all Ruth’s fault.
It’s easy to see why actors and stage directors would love this play. It offers meaty roles and scenes with the potential for great emotional power. In the hands of talented actors, this could be a profoundly moving tragedy for the theatergoing audience. The experience of reading it off the page, however, is not as affecting or as effective as other O’Neill plays like Anna Christie or The Hairy Ape. There are no surprises here. You can see what’s coming a half an hour ahead of time. The reader spends a significant portion of each scene waiting for the characters to catch up to the inevitable.
O’Neill won the Nobel Prize in 1936, and he may very well be America’s greatest playwright. His work is head and shoulders above most of his contemporaries and always worth reading. Beyond the Horizon is not a bad play by any means, but by O’Neill standards, compared to his other works, it is not among his best. It shows inklings of greatness, but he would go on to better things.
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