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“A Toy for Juliette” by Robert Bloch

I was going to take a break from reading Dangerous Visions because it was depressing me, but I found “A Toy for Juliette” a fitting inspiration for a sermon I wanted to write. I’ve been reading Golden Multitudes: The Story of Best Sellers in the United States by Frank Luther Mott, which inspired me to buy and start reading The Sentimental Novel in America 1789-1860 by Herbert Ross Brown. Both books give impressions about how Americans, and I presumed other people around the world, got into reading fiction.

Printing began in the 15th century at a time when most people didn’t read. Storytelling has been around since we lived in caves. Although there were works in Japan and China that could be called novels long before the printing press, in Europe and America, the novel seemed to emerge with Don Quixote in 1605. What we think of as the modern novel matured in the 18th century.

Frank Luther Mott’s book, Golden Multitudes describes the kind of books people read in America before Ben Franklin printed Pamela by Samuel Richardson in 1745. Some considered Pamela, first published in England in 1740, to be the first English novel. Before this novel, Americans mostly read books on morality. The colonies were settled by various religious groups, so that’s kind of logical. Mott says the first American bestseller was The Day of Doom by Rev. Michael Wigglesworth. It was written in verse, and it was all about the horrible things that would happen to people in hell. The excerpts and quotes Mott gave from this poem made me think early Americans were fixated on horror.

To keep this sermon short, I need to cover the following decades quickly. Fiction slowly emerged out of all this moralistic reading. Another bestseller was The Pilgrim’s Progress from This World, to That Which Is to Come by John Bunyan in 1678. This book is an allegory that begins with a dream. But the point is, Bunyan spiffed up moralizing with a story and characters.

Pamela became a huge bestseller in America and Europe after 1740 because Richardson made moralizing every more entertaining. One reason Pamela is given credit for being one of the first English novels is because Richardson invents a lot of storytelling techniques we use today. After the success of Pamela countless imitators began producing similar type stories, and the focus on moralizing became less, and the shift to pure storytelling became common.

At that time, many intellectuals began protesting, claiming fiction was corrupt and corrupting. Magazines and newspapers ran articles about how fiction was ruining young people’s minds, especially young girls. That made me think about how people worry about smartphones and video games corrupting young people today. But those fiction protesters were crushed by bookworms wanting more fiction.

By the time the 19th century rolled around, especially after Edgar Allan Poe, many stories became free of moralization. Kids and adults devoured fiction about violence, horror, the supernatural, and other evil things in the world. Which is why Robert Bloch is a popular writer, and why people enjoy stories like “A Toy for Juliette.”

The problem is I don’t. I don’t like horror. And I can’t understand why other people do. Although Susan and I are currently watching Why Women Kill, which could be described as comic horror. Fiction writers have a tough time producing stories that don’t involve the horrible aspects of life. Fiction is often an art form about the ugliness of humanity, but isn’t the best fiction about transcendence of those horrors?

I quite enjoy reading Pamela. I’m only about half finished, but then the book is over forty hours long on audio. I admire Richardson for embedding his moral lessons into his story. The story is about 15-year-old girl servant efforts to avoid being raped by her employer. On one hand, the novel could be considered a handbook for girls warning them about all the ways guys will trick them into having sex. On the other hand, it’s rather entertaining to read about all the schemes Mr. B used to seduce Pamela. The novel is also entertaining because I’m watching Richardson invent plotting and characterization.

When reading “A Toy for Juliette” I was seeing the refinement of centuries of storytelling. But Bloch completely ignores moralizing. He returns to the purity of telling gruesome stories around a campfire. However, I miss moralizing. Bloch makes no effort to explain the psychology of Jack or Juliette. He makes no moral judgments on their actions. He just accepts that those kinds of people exist.

Sociologists claim there is no correlation between the consumption of violent entertainment and committing violence, but I find that hard to believe. But then, from Harlan Ellison’s introduction about Robert Bloch, he seems like a very nice guy — kind, considerate, and generous.

Maybe, “A Toy for Juliette” depresses me because it reminds me that there are people like that in this world. And it bothers me that people find stories about such people entertaining. But as I admitted, Susan and I found a comedy about murder fun. And even the Puritans, with all their emphasis on living a pure life, sure did love to read about the gruesome aspects of going to hell.

Back in the 1960s, I learned from health food nuts, “You are what you eat.” And from computer school I learned GIGO – garbage in garbage out. I can’t help but wonder if those 18th and 19th century pundits who attacked fiction weren’t right. Why should we pollute our mind with a story about a sadist being sadistically killed by another sadist? I guess I could claim Bloch was preaching that we reap what we sow, but I don’t think it’s true. I think people enjoy seeing Juliette get ripped by the Ripper.

Still, I find “A Toy for Juliette” a virus in my mind. I find reading nonfiction about the horrors of humanity enough of an education about the reality of humanity. Why do we want reminders of such horrors in our escapism? But we do. Think about all the fiction you consume. How much of it involves acts we’d be terrified of if they happened to us? Why do we dwell on the horrible?

James Wallace Harris, 6/9/24

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“The Malley System” by Miriam Allen deFord

[The Facebook group Best Science Fiction and Fantasy Short Fiction is discussing one story a week from Dangerous Visions.]

Harlan Ellison makes a big to do about Miriam Allen deFord being an old lady in his introduction. She was born in 1888. I assume Ellison wanted us to picture a sweet little old woman before reading her story, “The Malley System.” Now I have to wonder what sick thoughts little old grannies are entertaining.

“The Malley System” opens with scene of child molestation and murder. In quick succession it goes through several more gruesome scenes. You begin to wonder if this story is just a smorgasbord of cruelty. Then you get to the science fictional explanation, which adds an extra bit of nasty horror.

Why is Dangerous Visions considered a classic of science fiction? Why isn’t it famous for being an anthology of horror? I’ve never been a fan of that genre. I don’t even like mysteries and thrillers. I get no vicarious thrills from virtual violence. I love science fiction for its sense of wonder. This anthology is full of visions of the grotesque.

I recently reread Ellison’s “A Boy and His Dog,” an extremely popular story of his. But it’s about a serial rapist who ends up feeding one of his victims to his dog. You know, I’m starting to wonder about Ellison’s psychology. I bet he loved EC Comics.

I just canceled my pre-order for Again, Dangerous Visions. I’m not sure how much more Dangerous Visions I can take. I’ve already reread some of the next few stories, and they are a gore fest. Why didn’t I remember how depressing this anthology was from when I read it as a kid? Is that the nature of childhood, to like this kind of fucked up shit?

Reading this story was about as much fun as removing the two dead decayed rats from my attic two weeks ago.

Still, I was impressed with how deFord threw in made-up science fiction bits. For an old lady, she kept up with the times.

James Wallace Harris, 6/2/24

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Dangerous Visions – the Original Reviews

I thought it would be fun to post the original reviews of Dangerous Visions. I remember 1967 well, but far from perfect. I subscribed to these magazines at the time, and I’m fairly sure I read these reviews. I remember in both the prozines and fanzines how the excitement for Dangerous Visions grew. It became legendary in its own time.

For me, these reviews are a blast from the past that remind me of my own life. More and more I identified with the science fiction community. I hope these reviews might reveal the past to younger people just now discovering Dangerous Visions. To me, DV is a time capsule for understanding 1967 that goes beyond the subculture of science fiction. Although science fiction often appears to be about the future, it’s always about the present.

First up is Judith Merril in the December 1967 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. That month was also significant to me because it’s when I went to see The Graduate at the movies. It was its own kind of dangerous vision. I believe all the arts were going through a revolution back then.

Next up is Algis Budrys, in the April 1968 issue of Galaxy. That seemed like a late review. I wonder how Merril got such an early jump on things?

Finally, there’s P. Schuyler Miller’s review in the May 1968 issue of Analog.

James Wallace Harris, 5/26/24

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“Riders of the Purple Wage” by Philip José Farmer

[The Facebook group Best Science Fiction and Fantasy Short Fiction is discussing one story a week from Dangerous Visions.]

First off, let me say that I believe “Riders of the Purple Wage” by Philip José Farmer is as complex and ambitious as John Brunner’s Stand on Zanzibar, which came out the year after Dangerous Visions. It’s not an easy story to read, and at 30,000 words it will feel overly bloated if you’re not in the mood for Farmer’s purple prose. It co-won the Hugo Award for best novella in 1968 and was up for a Nebula too. When I first read “Riders of the Purple Wage” back in the 1960s, I was still in high school, had not yet discovered James Joyce. I was clueless at what Farmer was attempting to do in the story. Still, it was my favorite story in the anthology.

When Dangerous Visions came out in audio a couple of months ago, I listened to “Riders of the Purple Wage.” It made all the difference at revealing Farmer’s literary ambitions and philosophical insights. Then before writing this review, I listened to the story again, and it was even more revealing. Unless you’re the kind of person who reads very slowly, working out all the intended voices, decoding all the allusions, I doubt you’ll get a fraction of what Farmer intended. I’ve listened to it twice now in two months, and I’ve hardly begun to comprehend everything Farmer is doing. To really understand “Riders of the Purple Wage” will require many close readings and listening, taking lots of notes. It’s easily worth a dissertation.

I highly recommend listening to “Riders of the Purple Wage.” Check your library. If you subscribe to Spotify for music, it’s there as part of your membership. I won’t recommend you buy Dangerous Visions at Audible just for one story unless you really want the whole anthology.

I also expect many people will read “Riders of the Purple Wage” and go “WTF is this crap!” I know that me liking something doesn’t mean others will like it.

Farmer is not working on the same literary level as James Joyce, but he’s trying his best to imitate the guy. Farmer was never a major science fiction writer despite Ellison’s introduction. His one major work, To Your Scattered Bodies Go, the first of his Riverworld series in 1971, shows tremendous imagination, but was a cheat in my book because he used Sir Richard Burton as his protagonist. I consider fiction that uses historical people for characters equal to doping a horse to win a race. And for much of his career after that, Farmer wrote pastiches based on famous real people and famous fictional people. In other words, I consider “Riders of the Purple Wage” the peak of Farmer’s creative efforts. (Although, Blown and Image of the Beast were very impressive.)

I don’t agree with Farmer in what he says in places, but I do admire his ambition.

Don’t let my enthusiasm for the story give you unfillable expectations. Farmer was born in 1918, and was almost fifty when he wrote “Riders of the Purple Wage.” His mid-1960s conservative views might offend some people, especially modern readers, but so will some of his liberal views. “Riders of the Purple Wage” is intentionally vulgar, gross, and punny. The setting is mid-22nd century, where most people live on a guaranteed income, the purple wage, and the government tries to eradicate wars by homogenizing the world’s population by forcing citizens to relocate to other countries. This story is both utopian and dystopian, and gives Farmer a chance to comment on politics, history, sexuality, psychology, literature, and anything else he can squeeze in.

“Riders of the Purple Wage” has a simple plot. Chibiabos Elgreco Winnegan, known as Chib, wants to win a grant for his artwork so he and his mother won’t be forced to emigrate to Egypt. He also wants to get away from his mother whom he had a sexual relationship with until adolescence, when she stop fulfilling his needs. Incest is accepted in this future society. Chib also hides his great grandfather from the authorities. Grandpa Winnegan is the philosopher of this story. He’s supposed to be dead, but the IRB thinks he’s still alive and sheltering a fortune. This plot description is just the skeleton. From just the bones, you won’t be able to imagine how big the full body of this story really is. Whether it’s all bloat will be up to you. Farmer does some furious tap dancing, but I can’t promise you’ll like his routine. I just marveled, thinking, “Look at that old man go!”

I wanted to describe everything in this novella and give my reaction, but I just don’t have the time, energy, or concentration. I’ve tried several times to collect appropriate quotes that would give a sense of the story, but that’s almost impossible. Taken out of context it makes them seem weird and confusing. Even listening to them in context requires a great deal of concentration. Farmer expects you to keep up.

To properly experience this story requires listening to it. Think of it as a one man show on Broadway. An intense experience that runs over two hours. But also imagine that one man one stage morphing between Jonathan Winters and Frank Zappa, to James Joyce and Bob Dylan, to R. A. Lafferty and Robert Sheckley, and at other times Robert A. Heinlein and Edgar Rice Burroughs doing imitations of Shakespeare, Dante, and Laurence Sterne. And if you can recognize them, several ancient Greeks, and Romans.

I get the feeling that Farmer was well educated and was bursting with ideas about how everything is interrelated. I’d love to see the letter Harlan Ellison sent Phil requesting he submit to the anthology. Farmer must have thought he had free rein to write anything. In his afterward, Farmer admits to originally producing 40,000 words, then cutting it to 20,000. Ellison says Farmer asked him if he could expand on that, which Ellison agreed, so Farmer built the story back to 30,000 words. Evidently, Farmer just ran with this story. I picture Farmer typing like a madman for days, just screaming and laughing manically at his own wittiness. I bet he loved writing this story. It runs 2 hours and 31 minutes on audio.

Farmer, in his afterword, also explains the story was inspired by an Ad Hoc Committee report to Lyndon B. Johnson. Farmer calls it the Triple Revolution document that covers (1) the Cybernetion Revolution, (2) the Weaponry Revolution, and (3) the Human Rights Revolution. And you can see all of that in “Riders of the Purple Wage.” The story does some major extrapolation, like I said, comparable to Stand on Zanzibar.

James Wallace Harris, 5/25/24

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“The Day After the Day the Martians Came” by Frederik Pohl

After reading a story about hunting down God and another story about vicious attacks on women, Frederik Pohl anti-prejudice story seems downright pleasant. It is a breezy tale about how people recycle all their old ethnic jokes when NASA brings home a Martian.

“The Day After the Day the Martians Came” reminded me of how things were back in the 1950s and 1960s. People often retold jokes they had heard, and many of them depended on ethnic stereotypes. I seldom hear people tell a joke anymore, and I can only remember one that I heard that I retold in the last few years. It went something like this:

A young guy is out hitchhiking, and he gets a ride with an old man driving a new car. The young guy doesn’t know how to strike up a conversation but finally says, “Aren’t you afraid of giving rides to hitchhikers? They might be a serial killer.” And the old man laughs, “Oh no, I’m not afraid. What are the odds of two serial killers being in the same car?”

Now, that joke is based on a stereotype, but until people start feeling sorry for serial killers, I assume it will be politically correct to use them in a joke. That’s the thing about humor, it usually has a target, and it’s often about cruelty or pain, or someone being the butt of the joke.

Essentially, Pohl’s story is a civil rights tale. It was written during the peak years of the Civil Rights movement. However, its punchline conveys a stereotype about black people. “The Day After the Day the Martians Came” is well-intended, but simplistic. It lacks sophistication.

The setting is a hotel where reporters are staying to report on NASA bringing back a Martian. The hotel is managed by a man, Mr. Mandala, who sounds like he’s from India, who bosses around two black men, one who is the bell captain. Pohl doesn’t use the old word bellboy here. It describes a lobby that is overflowing with reporters who all take turns making up jokes about Martians. We are told Martians are quite ugly and look a lot like seals. All the characters are based on stereotypes. The reporters sound like they came out of the 1940 screwball comedy, His Girl Friday.

It seems rather odd that Pohl is satirizing joke tellers for using stereotypes when his story depends on stereotypes. I wonder if Pohl was aware of this on meta level. I don’t think so. Science fiction evolved out of pulp fiction magazines, and the best pulp fiction writers were brilliant at typing out stories fast and furiously. They depended on stereotypes and caricatures. And like movies from the 1930s and 1940s, readers and audiences loved a good character creatively based on a type, such as a newspaper reporter.

For Pohl to have explored this situation in a deeper way, he would have had to create a unique individual reporter observing a unique individual Martian and realistically portraying unique individual humans reacting to the Martian with specific prejudices regarding specific physical details and characteristics. Something James Joyce or Flannery O’Conner or even Raymond Chandler might have written. I think some New Wave writers knew this in theory, but not in practice.

I’m afraid people will think I’m picking on Dangerous Visions. Ellison claims its stories point to a new way of writing in science fiction, but so far, I don’t think the first three stories have demonstrated a new kind of writing. I think science fiction will change in the decades after the 1960s, but I’m not sure it has changed much in 1967.

James Wallace Harris, 5/19/24

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“Flies” by Robert Silverberg

The first story in Dangerous Visions was by Lester del Rey, an old friend and mentor to Harlan Ellison. The second story is by Robert Silverberg, one of Ellison’s best friends from the 1950s. And the next story is by Frederik Pohl, another editor and mentor from the 1950s. I get the feeling Ellison said to all his friends, “Hey gang, let’s put on a show!” (in his best imitation of Micky Rooney from 1939). But “Flies” by Silverberg is one disturbing performance, making me think this anthology should have been called Disturbing Visions.

I thought it interesting in Ellison’s introduction, where he’s bragging what a great writer Silverberg is, and listing all Silverberg’s great works, that none of them were the famous science fiction stories we know today. Then I realized that in 1967, Silverberg had not yet become a famous science fiction writer, the one who wrote the stories we associate with him today. I don’t think anyone will ever list “Flies” as great Silverberg. However, Silverberg would take off in 1967 with his story “Hawksbill Station,” which was a finalist for both the Hugo and Nebula and was anthologized in two best-of-the-year annuals. In the following few years Silverberg would become a giant in the genre.

“Flies” is about an astronaut, Richard Henry Cassiday, who nearly dies in space, but aliens find and repair him. They are God-like beings, who make him physically perfect again. But before sending him back to Earth, they turn up the sensitivity of his brain and fix it so he can telepathically report back to them.

Cassiday returns to Earth and proceeds to track down his three ex-wives. With each, he cruelly hurts them. The story is quite vivid, describing what he does. The alien watchers make him come back to be fixed. On being returned to Earth again, he suffers and reports back on his suffering. We are told that Cassiday is “nailed to his cross.” Are we to wonder if Jesus came to Earth to experience God’s sins against humans? I don’t know.

Cassiday even explains himself by quoting Shakespeare, “As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport.” Is Silverberg explaining suffering with theology? Are these two references to religion making the story deeper, or just bullshitting us?

All I know, while reading this unpleasant story, all I felt was horror. Why would Silverberg write such a disgusting tale? Often the stories in Dangerous Visions seem like they were written to top all other stories in grossness. Here’s what Silverberg wrote for his afterward, suggesting the story is about vampirism.

I’ve recently been reading dozens of science fiction stories published before 1930. And one of the most common themes is horror. Before space opera ramped up in the late 1920s, I would say horror was the number one theme of science fiction stories. And if you think about it, horror is still a common theme. A thrilling alien invasion film like Independence Day is full of horrible things happening to people — but the peak thrill of the film is when we do horrible things to the aliens. Isn’t science fiction often being Romans at the Colosseum?

Kurt Vonnegut had advice to budding writers, “Do mean things to your protagonist.” We love characters who overcome adversity. But do we love characters who create adversity? I’m reminded of “Fondly Fahrenheit” by Alfred Bester. In that story, James Vandaleur and his android servant kill people, even children, in horrendous ways. That’s one of my all-time favorite science fiction short stories. But it didn’t disgust me. Why?

One of the reasons why I’m reading all those old pre-1930 science fiction stories is because it shows that science fiction stories were inspired by previous science fiction stories, and if they are successful, inspire later science fiction stories.

Here’s my problem with Dangerous Visions. I can find antecedents for its stories, but I’m having trouble finding stories that DV inspired in the years since. For all its success, Dangerous Visions is a kind of dead end, at least so far in my reading. Is that because science fiction as a genre decided to head off in another direction after Dangerous Visions? Probably not, probably I just can’t recall stories that follow the trajectories of DV stories. Maybe DV taught me to avoid them.

But so far, Dangerous Visions feels like a combination of the 1969 rock festival at Altamont and Charles Manson. Those were two years into the future. Maybe DV was being prophetic.

I thought I’d add this review of Dangerous Visions.

James Wallace Harris, 5/11/24

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“Evensong” by Lester del Rey

For me, the most rewarding pages of Dangerous Visions were the introductions by Harlan Ellison and the afterwards by the authors. When I first read this anthology back in the late 1960s, I felt those introductions gave me insight into the family of science fiction writers, one I wanted to join. At the time I was sixteen and I totally bought Ellison’s enthusiasm and promises. Fifty-six years later, I reacted to this anthology and its stories very differently.

Ellison honors del Rey by putting his story in the pole position, and he praises his friend and mentor Lester for being a giant of the genre. Back in 1968, Lester del Rey was not a major figure to me. I had read some of his Winston Science Fiction juveniles, but unknowingly, because they were published under his pen names. However, one had his name on the cover, Marooned on Mars. It wasn’t a standout, and I didn’t remember he wrote it. Lester del Rey was not a giant in the field to me. Later on, I’d discover he wrote “Helen O’Loy” and “Nerves” when I read The Science Fiction Hall of Fame anthologies. I don’t think Lester del Rey was ever a great writer of science fiction, but he became a great editor and publisher.

Ellison hyped Dangerous Visions for publishing stories that editors couldn’t or wouldn’t because they contained ideas that challenged the norms of society, or were too mature for the typical youthful science fiction reader, or were written in creative styles that average science fiction reader would reject.

“Evensong” is about hunting down a fugitive. That fugitive was God. At sixteen that excited my young atheist mind. But at seventy-two, it felt like Mad Magazine’s Alfred E. Neuman saying, “What, me believe?”

Was that really a dangerous vision that no publisher would accept? Then how could Fred Pohl publish del Rey’s “For I Am a Jealous People!” in Star Short Novels in 1954? In that story, mankind is fighting aliens and learns that God has sided with the enemy, so humans declares God is their enemy too. In other words, del Rey gave Ellison a dangerous vision that he’d already used years earlier.

That’s something I keep finding as I reread Dangerous Visions. Ellison was wrong that science fiction publishers wouldn’t take them. It made me wonder if Ellison could have assembled a reprint anthology called Dangerous Visions and collected all the science fiction stories that were published that had been quite startling for the times. Many classics come to mind that I think had more impact than those in Dangerous Visions, such as “Fondly Fahrenheit” by Alfred Bester and “Lot” by Ward Moore. I also think “For I Am a Jealous People!” is a better story than “Evensong.”

Ellison quotes del Rey’s letter to him about the afterward he wrote for the anthology. I thought this part was rather telling: 

The afterword isn’t very bright or amusing, I’m afraid. But I’d pretty much wrapped up what I wanted to say in the story itself. So I simply gave the so-called critics a few words to look up in the dictionary and gnaw over learnedly. I felt that they should at least be told that there is such a form as allegory, even though they may not understand the difference between that and simple fantasy.

I was bothered that del Rey didn’t think critics wouldn’t know what an allegory was and couldn’t tell it from fantasy. That suggests del Rey felt a naive self-importance about his writing. But I also felt that Ellison showed a naive sense of self-importance about Dangerous Visions.

Allegory always seemed to me to be lazy way to tell a story in modern times. And I don’t think “Evensong” is total allegory either because we’re told God’s thoughts and perspective. Would John W. Campbell (Analog), Frederik Pohl (Galaxy), or Edward L. Ferman (F&SF) have rejected “Evensong” in 1967 because it was too dangerous? My guess is they would have run it because of del Rey’s name, although they might have rejected it for being too bland and simple in construction. It’s not a very sophisticated story and comes across as something a precocious student would write who was trying to be daring.

In 1967 revolution and rebellion were in the air. The youth of the 1960s were revolting against the status quo. Looking back, I feel Ellison was trying to do the same thing in the science fiction genre. Ellison was loud, outrageous, and pugnacious, so we might consider him the Abbie Hoffman of the science fiction counter-culture.

As I go through the stories in Dangerous Visions I’m expecting to find psychological snapshots of Ellison, the genre, the writers, and the times. The April 8, 1966, cover of Time Magazine asked if God was dead. Had del Rey forgotten his earlier story and “Evensong” was merely a science fiction riff on the Time cover?

Were the writers in Dangerous Visions thinking about old science fiction, or current events? Was Dangerous Visions anticipating the future, or reacting to an already fading pop culture rebellion?

JWH

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Four Forewords and Two Introductions to Dangerous Visions

Starting May 5, 2024, our Facebook group read for Sundays will be Dangerous Visions edited by Harlan Ellison. It will be designated GR76W. I thought I’d announce it today so people will have a week to get a copy of the book. There’s a new edition with a new a foreword and introduction, that also includes the 2002 foreword and introduction, and two forewords from the original 1967 edition. Otherwise, the stories are the same. If you have the older editions already, you can read all the forewords and introductions online at Amazon in the Read Sample feature.

I’m going to go over all those forewords and introductions to analyze all the claims for the book that’s been made since 1967. Dangerous Visions is probably the most famous science fiction anthology ever, yet I’m not sure if it ever lived up to the hype. I’m going to cover the forewords and introductions in reverse order.

Foreword 2: “Harlan and I” by Isaac Asimov

It’s interesting Ellison includes two forewords by Asimov, especially since they’re mainly about the two men trading insults. Asimov does not have a story in this collection, and I’m not sure if Asimov isn’t offering the sales value of his name in exchange for slyly warning the reader about Harlan Ellison, who wasn’t famous in 1967, and is one pugnacious little guy.

As we’ll come to see, Dangerous Visions is really all about Harlan Ellison. The success of this anthology is due completely to Ellison’s force of will. And this new 2024 edition is a tribute to his memory. I highly recommend renting Dreams with Sharp Teeth, a documentary about Harlan Ellison. It’s $3.99 at Amazon. Here’s a trailer.

Foreword 1: “The Second Revolution” by Isaac Asimov

In this forward Asimov talks about himself, which was typical, and about the history of science fiction leading up to 1967. Asimov describes Campbell’s Golden Age as the First Revolution in science fiction, and what we’ll be reading in this anthology represents the Second Revolution in science fiction. Readers back in 1967 didn’t know it yet, but this new type of SF will soon be labelled The New Wave in science fiction, something Michael Moorcock and the writers at New Worlds in England had already exploring since the early sixties, and that Judith Merril would call The New Thing in her 1968 anthology England Swings SF. What was great fun was reading all the arguments over New vs. Old in Science Fiction Review in the coming years. That was a fanzine published by Richard Geis that won many Hugo awards. You can read old issues of that fanzine here.

Since its publication, Dangerous Visions has gotten the reputation for being a groundbreaking anthology of New Wave writing. I don’t think Ellison anticipated that. He aimed to be groundbreaking, but I don’t think he intended to start the new wave in science fiction.

Introduction to the 2002 Edition by Harlan Ellison

In this piece, Ellison does a lot of bragging, but it’s been thirty-five years, and he knows how successful and influential Dangerous Visions has been. He asserts that the anthology was a milestone, not because his ego believes it, but because everyone else believes it. But he also says:

Did this really happen? I think over the thirty-three weeks we’ll be discussing Dangerous Visions we need to decide if Ellison was right or not. Was Dangerous Visions the shape of things to come in science fiction? And did the old-style science fiction die off? Personally, I believe readers tried New Wave science fiction, digested it, and then spit out the rest. What happened was another new wave hit in the 1980s after Star Wars came out, when new writers, often with university creative writing experience, entered the genre, and aimed to write SF best sellers. Their work wasn’t daring or literary, but modern writing styles applied to retreading old science fiction themes.

Foreword to the 2002 Edition by Michael Moorcock

I’m surprised by what Moorcock says. He seems to give Harlan Ellison all the credit for the New Wave without even telling how he got the ball rolling in the first place.

What Ellison did next was the hard bit. By any means he knew—by challenging, by cajoling, by flattery and by confrontation—he persuaded the most brilliant Anglophone writers to raise their own standards and offer the world their personal best. He paid them top dollar for it, too—exceeding his publisher’s budget and reaching deep into his own pockets. And he didn’t stop there. He wrote a commentary, beginning with an introduction and running through the whole book, talking about his contributors, their talent and their potential. Singlehandedly he produced a new benchmark, demanding that in future nothing anyone of any ambition did should fall below that mark. He did what we had, as visionaries, wanted to do. He changed our world forever. And ironically, it is usually a mark of a world so fundamentally altered—be it by Stokely Carmichael or Martin Luther King, Jr. or Lyndon Johnson, or Kate Millett—that nobody remembers what it was like before things got better. That’s the real measure of Ellison’s success.

I believe that we need to remember this while we read the stories from Dangerous Visions. Was Moorcock, right? Did the DV writers set a new standard for writing science fiction? Did it change the genre?

Introduction to the Blackstone Publishing Edition of The Dangerous Visions Trilogy by J. Michael Straczynski

Straczynski greatly admired Harlan Ellison, and he’s doing everything he can to elevate and remember Ellison for new editions of the Dangerous Visions anthologies, and a greatest hits collection of Ellison’s own stories.

Straczynski talks about how writers in America have faced censorship and self-censorship. He puts Ellison and Dangerous Visions into a much larger context. He brings up Ralph Ellison, J. D. Salinger, John Steinbeck, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Harper Lee. Has any science fiction writer ever been in that league of writers?

In the original foreword Ellison claims that science fiction writers couldn’t write what they wanted because science fiction magazine editors wouldn’t or couldn’t accept stories about certain topics. It’s also implied that old style science fiction was poorly written. I think as we discuss the Dangerous Visions stories 2024, we need to judge them by those two assertions.

My goal for this group read is to decide if the stories in Dangerous Visions couldn’t be expressed or published before 1967, and were they written to a higher literary standard that uplifted the genre. Was the anthology truly ground breaking, or just a tremendous sales pitch by Harlan Ellison?

James Wallace Harris, 4/28/24