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newnumber6I was going to make this a more random post, but I can't think of anything interesting to write (aside perhaps a little rant about how I'm losing interest in GA, but I don't even really have the interest to write that up in full), so I'll just stick with a simple book foo...
Finished: The Forever Machine by Mark Clifton and Frank Riley
Started: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, by J.K. Rowling
Thoughts on The Forever Machine behind the cut.
Okay, it's the Worst Novel Ever To Win The Hugo Award supposedly.
But really, compared to other SF of the 50s, it's not that bad. I can see many of the problems pointed out with it, but it's still relatively readable, if fairly forgettable.
The plot involves a government that's becoming hostile to different opinions, and their order to some scientists to create a machine that will eliminate human error. The scientists realize that the only way they can do this is to create a machine that will think like a human, only much faster, but they can't admit this, nor can they really fail. A young telepath manages to get control of the project and turn it to his own purposes.
He's the hero.
This is one of the big problems with the concept. It pretty well treats humanity with a sort of casual contempt, like they're sheep who need to be lead to the truth, and that it's perfectly all right for the telepath to dominate them. In fact, there's this straight-faced little section to justify it:
"That would mean going into their minds," Joe said slowly, through stiff lips. "Taking over portions of their thinking, directing their actions. I haven't done that since I played around with it as a child, before I realized what I was doing. It isn't right for one human being--and I do think of myself as human--to control another human being."
Billings threw back his head and laughed with sudden relief.
"Joe!" he exclaimed. "You're the living example that special talent or knowledges does not bring with it special wisdom or common sense. Don't you realize that every time we ask somebody to pass the salt at the table, or honk our horn at someone on the street, or buy a pair of socks, or give a lecture, that we are controlling the thought and action of others?"
"It isn't the same," Joe insisted. "You normals are blind and fumbling and crude about it. You just bump into one another in your threshing about. And you can always refuse to obey one another."
"Not really, Joe," Billings said. "How long would a man last in his freedom if he refused to do the million things society required of him? I doubt if there's much essential difference in the kind of pressure you could bring, and the kind which the whole society brings upon a man. You say we fumble, while you could do it expertly. I think I'd rather have an expert work on me than a fumbler. What is the difference in your planting the thought of what these scientists should do, and my sending them a written order? Great Scott, if you can get them to accomplish this thing, then you must go ahead."
If I were reading something like this as a justification for an evil supervillain with telepathy in the Marvel universe, I might think it was cool. For a protagonist, it's creepy. I kept thinking it was going to turn around and come to bite the professor, for Joe to turn to 'evil' in some way, but it never does. It just gives him the excuse to be able to mind control people freely, which he does when he needs to (although, luckily, only when he needs to, since he's still a hero) throughout the book. Yes, controlling your mind is exactly the same as asking you to pass me the salt. And really, what do I need with my free will when you're so much better at it than I could be? Bah.
Among other strangeness in the book, there's a weird scientific development that crops up in the book that reminds one of scientology (except in the notable difference that nobody has to pay through the nose to receive it), and a lot of exposition and preaching on why this type of government is bad, etc.
There are other flaws, but, again, for its time, it's not all that bad - the prose style and flat characters aren't that uncommon in 50s SF. So it's hard to really mark it down for that.
On the bright side, I'll quote from a little section I liked:
The universe does not care whether man unlocks its secrets or leaves them closed. Water does not care whether man bathes in it or drowns in it; whether it waters his fields or washes them away. If man masters its laws and utilizes his knowledge, water becomes a force in his favor. But enemy or servant, water does not care.
Of all the forces, only man seems determined that man shall not master the universe.
It's the same style of random preachiness in the text itself, but this particular little bit I liked.
But most importantly...
I have now read every Hugo-award winning novel prior to 1989. And the majority of the ones after 1989.
Finished: The Forever Machine by Mark Clifton and Frank Riley
Started: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, by J.K. Rowling
Thoughts on The Forever Machine behind the cut.
Okay, it's the Worst Novel Ever To Win The Hugo Award supposedly.
But really, compared to other SF of the 50s, it's not that bad. I can see many of the problems pointed out with it, but it's still relatively readable, if fairly forgettable.
The plot involves a government that's becoming hostile to different opinions, and their order to some scientists to create a machine that will eliminate human error. The scientists realize that the only way they can do this is to create a machine that will think like a human, only much faster, but they can't admit this, nor can they really fail. A young telepath manages to get control of the project and turn it to his own purposes.
He's the hero.
This is one of the big problems with the concept. It pretty well treats humanity with a sort of casual contempt, like they're sheep who need to be lead to the truth, and that it's perfectly all right for the telepath to dominate them. In fact, there's this straight-faced little section to justify it:
"That would mean going into their minds," Joe said slowly, through stiff lips. "Taking over portions of their thinking, directing their actions. I haven't done that since I played around with it as a child, before I realized what I was doing. It isn't right for one human being--and I do think of myself as human--to control another human being."
Billings threw back his head and laughed with sudden relief.
"Joe!" he exclaimed. "You're the living example that special talent or knowledges does not bring with it special wisdom or common sense. Don't you realize that every time we ask somebody to pass the salt at the table, or honk our horn at someone on the street, or buy a pair of socks, or give a lecture, that we are controlling the thought and action of others?"
"It isn't the same," Joe insisted. "You normals are blind and fumbling and crude about it. You just bump into one another in your threshing about. And you can always refuse to obey one another."
"Not really, Joe," Billings said. "How long would a man last in his freedom if he refused to do the million things society required of him? I doubt if there's much essential difference in the kind of pressure you could bring, and the kind which the whole society brings upon a man. You say we fumble, while you could do it expertly. I think I'd rather have an expert work on me than a fumbler. What is the difference in your planting the thought of what these scientists should do, and my sending them a written order? Great Scott, if you can get them to accomplish this thing, then you must go ahead."
If I were reading something like this as a justification for an evil supervillain with telepathy in the Marvel universe, I might think it was cool. For a protagonist, it's creepy. I kept thinking it was going to turn around and come to bite the professor, for Joe to turn to 'evil' in some way, but it never does. It just gives him the excuse to be able to mind control people freely, which he does when he needs to (although, luckily, only when he needs to, since he's still a hero) throughout the book. Yes, controlling your mind is exactly the same as asking you to pass me the salt. And really, what do I need with my free will when you're so much better at it than I could be? Bah.
Among other strangeness in the book, there's a weird scientific development that crops up in the book that reminds one of scientology (except in the notable difference that nobody has to pay through the nose to receive it), and a lot of exposition and preaching on why this type of government is bad, etc.
There are other flaws, but, again, for its time, it's not all that bad - the prose style and flat characters aren't that uncommon in 50s SF. So it's hard to really mark it down for that.
On the bright side, I'll quote from a little section I liked:
The universe does not care whether man unlocks its secrets or leaves them closed. Water does not care whether man bathes in it or drowns in it; whether it waters his fields or washes them away. If man masters its laws and utilizes his knowledge, water becomes a force in his favor. But enemy or servant, water does not care.
Of all the forces, only man seems determined that man shall not master the universe.
It's the same style of random preachiness in the text itself, but this particular little bit I liked.
But most importantly...
I have now read every Hugo-award winning novel prior to 1989. And the majority of the ones after 1989.
