on the rough gray sea. Charlie fumbled nervously with his dials,
trying to get the scene near enough so that we could see the identity
of the struggling swimmers.
* * * * *
A long boat, which must have been swept below by the suction of the
ship, came plunging above the surface, upside down. It drifted swiftly
among the swimmers, who struggled to reach it. I saw one person,
evidently a girl, grasp it and drag herself upon it. It swept on past
the few others still struggling.
The wrecked boat with the girl upon it seemed coming swiftly toward
our blue-rimmed window. In a few minutes I saw something familiar
about her.
"It's Virginia!" Charlie cried. "God! We've got to save her, somehow!"
The long rollers drove the over-turned boat swiftly along. Virginia
Randall clung desperately to it, deluged in foam, whipped with flying
spray, the wild wind tearing at her.
About us, the clear still night was deepening. The air was warm and
still; the hot stars shone steadily. Quiet lighted houses were in
sight above the beach. It was very strange to look through the
fire-rimmed circle, to see a girl struggling for life, clinging to a
wrecked boat in a stormy sea.
Charlie watched in an apathy of grief and horror, trembling and
speechless doing nothing except move the controls to keep the floating
girl in our sight.
* * * * *
Hours went by as we watched. Then Charlie cried out in sudden hope.
"There's a chance! I might do it! I might be able to save her!"
"Might do what?"
"We are able to see what we do because the field of the meteor bends
light through the four-dimensional continuum. The world line of a ray
of light is a geodesic in the continuum. The field I have built
distorts the continuum, so we see rays that originated at a distant
point. Is that clear?"
"Clear as mud!"
"Well, anyhow, if the field were strong enough, we could bring
physical objects through space-time, instead of mere visual images. We
could pick Virginia up and bring her right here to the crater! I'm
sure of it!"
"You mean you could move a girl through some four or five thousand
miles of space!"
"You don't understand. She wouldn't come through space at all, but
through space-time, through the continuum, which is a very different
thing. She is four thousand miles away in our three-dimensional space,
but in space-time, as you see, she is only a few yards away. She is
only a few yards from us in the fourth dimension. If I can increase
the field a little, she will be drawn right through!"
"You're a wizard if you can do it!"
"I've got to do it! She's a fine swimmer--that's the only reason she's
still alive--but she'll never live to reach the shore. Not in a sea
like that!"
Charlie fell to work at once, mounting another electromagnet beside
the one he had set up, and rigging up two more X-ray bulbs beside the
packing box which held the meteor. The motion of the boat in the
fire-rimmed window kept drawing it swiftly away from us, and Charlie
showed me how to move the dial of his rheostat to keep the girl in
view.
* * * * *
Before he had completed his arrangements, a patch of white foam came
into view just ahead of the drifting boat. In a moment I made out a
cruel black rock, with the angry sea breaking into fleecy spray upon
it. The boat was almost upon it, driving straight for it. Charlie saw
it, and cried out in horror.
The long black hull of the splintered boat, floating keel upward, was
only a few yards away. A great white-capped breaker lifted it and
hurled it forward, with the girl clinging to it. She drew herself up
and stared in terror at the black rock, while another long surging
roller picked up the boat and swept it forward again.
I stood, paralyzed in horror, while the shattered boat was driven full
upon the great rock. I could imagine the crash of it, but it was all
as still as a silent picture. The boat, riding high on a crest of
white foam, smashed against the rock and was shivered to splinters.
Virginia was hurled forward against the slick wet stone. Desperately
she scrambled to reach the top of the boulder. Her hands slipped on
the polished rock; the wild sea dragged at her. At last she got out of
reach of the angry gray water, though spume still deluged her.
I breathed a sigh of relief, though her position was still far from
enviable.
"Virginia! Virginia! Why did I let you go?" Charlie cried.
Desperately he fell to work again, mounting the magnet and tubes.
Another hour went by, while I watched the shivering girl on the rock.
Bobbed hair, wet and glistening, was plastered close against her head,
and her clothing was torn half off. She looked utterly exhausted; it
seemed to take all her ebbing energy to cling to the rock against the
force of the wind and the waves that dashed against her. She looked
cold, blue and trembling.
The water stood higher.
"The tide is rising!" Charlie exclaimed. "It will cover the rock
pretty soon. If I don't get her off in time--she's lost!"
* * * * *
He finished twisting his wires together.
"I've got it all ready," he said. "Now, I've got to find out exactly
where she is, to know how to set it. Even then it's fearfully
uncertain. I hate to try it, but it's the only chance.
"You can find out?"
"Yes. From the spectral shift and other factors. I'll have to get some
other apparatus." He ran up to the laboratory, across the level field
that lay black beneath the stars. He came back, panting, with
spectrometer, terrestrial globe, and other articles.
"The tide is higher!" he cried as he looked through the blue-rimmed
circle at the girl on the rock. "She'll be swept off before long!"
He mounted the spectrometer and fell to work with a will, taking
observations through the telescope, adjusting prisms and diffraction
gratings, reading electrometers and other apparatus, and stopping to
make intricate calculations.
I helped him when I could, or stared through the ring of shining blue
mist, where I could see the waves breaking higher about the exhausted
girl who clung to the rock. Clouds of wind-whipped spray often hid her
from sight. I knew that she would not have the strength to hold on
much longer against the force of the rising sea.
Although driven almost to distraction by the horror of her
predicament, he worked with a cool, swift efficiency. Only the pale,
anxiety-drawn expression on his face showed how great was the strain.
He finished the last spectrometer observation, snatched out a pad and
fell to figuring furiously.
"Something queer here," he said presently, frowning. "A shift of the
spectrum that I can't explain by distortion through three-dimensional
space alone. I don't understand it."
We stared at the chilled and trembling girl on the rock.
"I'm almost afraid to try it. What if something went wrong?"
He turned to the terrestrial globe he had brought down and traced a
line over it. He made a quick calculation on his pad, then made a fine
dot on the globe with the pencil point.
"Here she is. On a rock some miles off Point Eugenia, on the coast of
the Mexican State of Lower California. Most lonely spot in the world.
No chance for a rescue. We must--
"My god!" he screamed in sudden horror. "Look!"
* * * * *
I looked through the blue-ringed window and saw the girl. Green water
was surging about her waist. It seemed that each wave almost tore her
off. Then I saw that she was struggling with something. A great
coiling tentacle, black and leathery and glistening, was thrust up
out of the green water. It wavered deliberately through the air and
grasped at the girl. She seemed to scream, though we could hear
nothing. She beat at the monster, weakly, vainly.
"She's gone!" cried Charlie.
"An octopus!" I said. "A giant cuttlefish!"
Virginia made a sudden fierce effort. With a strength that I had not
thought her chilled limbs possessed, she tore away from the dreadful
creature and clambered higher on the rock. But still a hideous black
tentacle clung about her ankle, tugging at her, drawing her back
despite her desperate struggle to break free.
"I've got to try it!" Charlie said, determination flashing in his
eyes. "It's a chance!"
He closed a switch. His new coils sung out above the old one. X-ray
tubes flickered beside the blue fire that ringed the window. He
adjusted his rheostats and closed the circuit through the new magnet.
A curtain of blue flame was drawn quickly between us and the round,
fire-rimmed window. A huge ball of blue fire hung, about the meteorite
and the instruments. For minutes it hung there, while Charlie,
perspiring, worked desperately with the apparatus. Then it expanded;
became huge. It exploded noiselessly, in a great flash of sapphire
flame, then vanished completely.
Meteor, bench, and apparatus were gone!
In the light of the stars we could make out the huge crater the
meteorite had torn, with a few odds and ends of equipment scattered
about it. But all the apparatus Charlie had set up, connected with the
meteoric stone, had disappeared.
He was dumbfounded, staggered with disappointment.
"Virginia! Virginia!" he called out, in a hopeless tone. "No, she
isn't here. It didn't draw her through. I've failed. And we can't even
see her any more!"
* * * * *
Desperately I searched for consolation for him.
"Maybe the octopus won't hurt her," I offered. "They say that most of
the stories of their ferocity are somewhat exaggerated."
"If the monster doesn't get her, the tide will!" he said bitterly. "I
made a miserable failure of it! And I don't know why! I can't
understand it!"
Apathetically, he picked up his pad and held it in the light of his
electric lantern.
"Something funny about this equation. The shift of the spectrum lines
can't be accounted for by distortion through space alone."
With wrinkled brow, he stared for many minutes at the bit of paper he
held in the white circle of light. Suddenly he seized a pencil and
figured rapidly.
"I have it! The light was bent through time! I should have recognized
these space-time coordinates."
He calculated again.
"Yes. The scene we saw in that circle of light was distant from us not
only in space but in time. The _Valhalla_ probably hasn't sunk yet at
all. We were looking into the future!"
"But how can that be? Seeing things before they happen!"
I have the profoundest respect for Charlie King's mathematical genius.
But when he said that I was frankly incredulous.
"Space and time are only relative terms. Our material universe is
merely the intersection of tangled world lines of geodesics in a
four-dimensional continuum. Space and time have no meaning
independently of each other. Jeans says. 'A terrestrial astronomer may
reckon that the outburst on Nova Persei occurred a century before the
great fire of London, but an astronomer on the Nova may reckon with
equal accuracy that the great fire occurred a century before the
outburst on the Nova.' The field of this meteorite deflected light
waves so that we saw them earlier, according to our conventional
ideas of time, than they originated. We saw several hours into the
future.
"And the amplified field of the magnet, though strong enough to move
Virginia through space, was not sufficiently powerful to draw her back
to us across time. Yet she must have felt the pull. Some dreadful
thing may have happened. The problem is rather complicated."
* * * * *
He lifted his pencil again. In the glow of the little electric lantern
I saw his lean young face tense with the fierce effort of his thought.
His pencil raced across the little pad, setting down symbols that I
could make nothing of.
My own thoughts were racing. Seeing into the future was a rather
revolutionary idea to me. My mind is conservative; I have always been
sceptical of the more fantastic ideas suggested by science. But
Charlie seemed to know what he was talking about. In view of the
marvelous things he had done that night, it seemed hardly fair to
doubt him now. I decided to accept his astounding statement at face
value and to follow the adventure through.
He lifted his pencil and consulted the luminous dial of his wrist
watch.
"We saw that last scene some twelve hours and forty minutes before it
happened--to put it in conventional language. The distortion of the
time coordinates amounted to that."
In the light of dawn--for we had been all night at the meteor pit, and
silver was coming in the east--he looked at me with fierce resolve in
his eyes.
"Hammond, that gives us over twelve hours to get to Virginia!"
"You mean to go? But just twelve hours! That's better than the
transcontinental record--to say nothing of the time it would take to
find a little rock in the Pacific!"
"We have the _Golden Gull_! She's as fast as any ship we've ever
flown."
"But we can't take the _Gull_! Those alterations haven't been made.
And that new engine! A bear-cat for power, but it may go dead any
second. The _Gull_ can fly, but she isn't safe!"
"Safety be damned! I've got to get to Virginia, and get there in the
next twelve hours!"
"The _Gull_ will fly, but--"
"All right. Please help me get off!"
"Help you off? It's a fool thing to do! But if you go, I do!"
"Thanks, Hammond. Awfully!" He gripped my hand. "We've got to make
it!"
* * * * *
With a last glance into the gaping pit from which we had dug the
marvelous stone, we turned and ran across to the hangars. As we ran
the sun came above the sea in the east: its first rays struck us like
a fiery lance. The mechanics had not yet appeared. Charlie pushed the
doors back, and we ran out the trim little _Golden Gull_, beautiful
with her slender wing and her graceful, tapering lines.
I seized the starting crank and Charlie sprang into the cockpit. I
cranked until the mechanism was droning dismally, and pulled the lever
that engaged it with the engine. I had been in too much haste to get
up the proper speed, and the powerful new engine failed to fire.
Charlie almost cried with vexation while I was cranking again.
This time the motor coughed and fell into a steady, vibrant roar. With
the wind from the propeller screaming about me, I disengaged the crank
and stood waiting while the motor warmed. Charlie gave it scant time
to do so before he motioned me to kick out the blocks. I tumbled into
the enclosed cockpit beside him, he gave the ship the gun, and we
roared across the field.
In five minutes we were flying west, at a speed just under three
hundred miles per hour. Charlie was crouched over the stick, scanning
the instrument board, and flying the _Gull_ almost at her top speed.
Again and again his eyes went to the little clock on the panel.
"Twelve hours and forty minutes," he said. "And an hour gone already!
We're got to be there by five minutes after six."
We were flying over Louisiana when the oil line clogged. The engine
heated dangerously. Reluctantly, Charlie cut off the ignition, and
fell in a swift spiral to an open field.
"We're got to fix it!" he said. "Another hour gone! And we needed
every minute!"
"This new engine! It's powerful enough, but we should have had time to
overhaul it, and make those changes."
* * * * *
Charlie landed with his usual skill, and we fell to work in desperate
haste. A grizzled farmer, a wad of tobacco in his cheek and three
ragged urchins at his heels, stopped to watch us. He had just been to
his mailbox, and had a morning paper in his hand. Charlie questioned
him about the storm.
"Storm-center nears the American coast," he read in a nasal drawl.
"Greatest storm of year drives shipping upon west coast. Six vessels
reported lost. _S. S. Valhalla_, disabled, sends S. O. S.
"A thousand lives are the estimated toll to-night of the most terrific
storm of the year, which is sweeping toward the Pacific coast, driving
all shipping before it. Radiograms from the _Valhalla_ at 5 P. M.
report that she is disabled and in danger. It is doubtful that rescue
vessels can reach her through the storm."
We got the engine repaired, took off again. Charlie looked at the
little clock.
"Five minutes to ten. Eight hours and ten minutes left, and we've got
a darn long ways to go."
We had to stop at San Antonio, Texas, to replenish gasoline and oil.
"Ten minutes lost!" Charlie complained as we took off. "And that
monster--waiting in the future to drag Virginia to a hideous death!"
Two hours later the plane developed trouble in the ignition system.
The motor was new, with several radical changes that we had introduced
to increase power and lessen weight. As I had objected to Charlie, we
had not done enough experimental work on it to perfect it.
* * * * *
We limped into the field at El Paso and spent another priceless
half-hour at work. I got some sandwiches at a luncheon counter beside
the field, and listened a moment to a radio loudspeaker there.
"Many thousands are dead," came the crisp, metallic voice of the
announcer, "as a result of the storm now raging on the Pacific coast,
the worst in several years. The storm-center is spending its force on
the coastal regions to-day. Millions of dollars in damage are reported
in cities from San Francisco to Manzanillo, Mexico.
"The greatest disaster of the storm is the loss of the passenger liner
_Valhalla_, of the Red Star Line. It is believed to have collided with
the abandoned hulk of an Italian-owned tramp freighter, the _Roma_,
which was left by its crew yesterday in a sinking condition.
Radiograms from the liner ceased three hours ago, when she was said to
be sinking. The officers doubted that her boats could be launched in
such a sea--"
I waited to hear no more. Charlie checked our route while we were
stopped. And we took off; we crossed the Rio Grande and flew across
the rocky, brush-scattered hills of Mexico, in a direct line for the
rock in the sea.
"If anything happens so we have to land again--well, it's just too
bad," Charlie said grimly. "But we've got to go this way. It's
something over six hundred miles in a straight line. Fifteen minutes
to four, now. We have to average nearly three hundred miles an hour to
get there."
He was silent and intent over his maps and instruments as we flew on
over the lofty Sierra Madre Range, and over a long slope down to the
Gulf of California. Head-winds beset us as we were over the stretch
of blue water, and we flew on into a storm.
"We had hardly time to make it, without the wind against us," Charlie
said. "If it holds us back many miles--well, it just mustn't!"
* * * * *
Purple lightning flickered ominously in the mass of blue storm-clouds
that hung above the mountainous peninsula of Lower California. I had a
qualm about flying into it in our untested machine. But Charlie leaned
tensely forward and sent the _Golden Gull_ on at the limit of her
speed. Gray vapor swirled about us, rent with livid streaks of
lightning. Thunder crashed and rumbled above the roar of our racing
engine. Wild winds screeched in the struts; rain and hail beat against
us. The plane rose and fell; she was swirled about like a falling
leaf. The stick struggled in Charlie's hands like a living thing. With
lips tightened to a thin line, he fought silently, fiercely,
desperately.
Suddenly we were sucked down until I had an uneasy feeling at the pit
of my stomach. I saw the grim outline of a bare mountain peak
dangerously close below us, shrouded in wind-whipped mist.
In sudden alarm I shouted, "We'd better get out of this, Charlie! We
can't live in it long!"
In the roar of the storm he did not hear me, and I shouted again.
He turned to face me, after a glance at the clock. "We've less than an
hour, Hammond. We've got to go on!"
I sank back in my seat. The plane rolled and tossed until I thanked my
lucky stars for the safety strap. In nervous anxiety I watched Charlie
bring the ship up again, and fight his way on through the storm. For
an eternity, it seemed, we battled through a chaos of wind-driven
mist, bright with purple lightning and shaken with crashing thunder.
Charlie struggled with the controls until he was dripping with
perspiration. He must have been utterly worn out, after thirty-six
hours of exhausting effort. A dozen times I despaired of life. The
compass had gone to spinning crazily; we dived through the rain until
we could pick up landmarks below. Three times a great bare peak loomed
suddenly up ahead of us, and Charlie averted collision only by zooming
suddenly upward.
Then slate-gray water was beneath us, running in white-crested
mountains. I knew that we were at last out over the Pacific.
"We've passed Point Eugenia," Charlie said. "It can't be far, now. But
we have only fifteen minutes left. Fifteen minutes to get to
her--before the attraction of the meteor jerks her away, perhaps to a
horrible fate."
* * * * *
We flew low and fast over the racing waves. Charlie looked over his
charts and made a swift calculation. He changed our course a bit and
we flew on at top speed. We scanned the vast, mad expanse of sea below
the blue-gray clouds. Here and there were lines of white breakers, but
nowhere did we see a rock with a girl upon it. Presently the green
outline of an island appeared out of the wild water on our right.
"That's Del Tiburon," Charlie said. "We missed the rock."
He swung the plane about and we flew south over the hastening waves. I
looked at the little clock. It showed two minutes to six. I turned to
Charlie.
"Seven minutes!" he whispered grimly.
On and on we flew, in a wide circle. The motor roared loud. An endless
expanse of racing waves unreeled below us. The little hand crawled
around the dial. One minute past six. Only four minutes to go.
We saw a speck of white foam on the mad gray water. It was miles away,
almost on the horizon. We plunged toward it, motor bellowing loud.
Five miles a minute we flew. The white fleck became a black rock
smothered in snowy foam. On we swept, and over the rock, with
bullet-like speed.
As we plunged by, I saw Virginia's slender form, tattered,
brine-soaked, straggling in the hideous tentacles of the monster
octopus. It was the same terrible scene that we had viewed, through
the amazing phenomenon of distortion of light through space-time, four
thousand miles away and twelve hours before.
In a few minutes the time would come when Charlie had ended our view
of the scene by his attempt to draw the girl through the fourth
dimension to our apparatus in Florida. What terrible thing might
happen then?
Charlie brought the ship about so quickly that we were flung against
the sides. Down we came toward the mad waves in a swift glide. In
sudden apprehension, I dropped my hand on his shoulder.
"Man, you can't land in a sea like that! It's suicide!"
Without a word, he shook off my hand and continued our steep glide
toward the rock. I drew my breath in apprehension of a crash.
* * * * *
I do not blame Charlie for what happened. He is as skilful a pilot as
I know. It was a mad freak of the sea that did the thing.
The gray waste of mountainous, white-crested waves rose swiftly up to
meet us, with the rock with the girl clinging to it just to our right.
The _Golden Gull_ struck the crest of a wave, buried herself in the
foam, and plunged down the long slope to the trough. We rose safely to
the crest of the oncoming roller, and I saw the black outline of the
rock not a dozen yards away.
Charlie had landed with all his skill. It was not his fault that the
blustering wind caught the ship as she reached the crest of the wave
and flung her sidewise toward the rock. It is no fault of his that the
white-capped mountain of racing green water completed what the wind
had begun and hurled the frail plane crashing on the rock.
I have a confused memory of the wild plunge at the mercy of the wave,
of my despair as I realized that we were being wrecked. I must have
been knocked unconscious when we struck. The next I remember I was
opening my eyes to find myself on the rock, Charlie's strong arm on my
shoulder. I was soaked with icy brine and my head was aching from a
heavy blow.
Virginia, shivering and blue, was perched beside us. I could see no
sign of the plane: the mighty sea had swept away what was left of it.
Clinging to the lee side of the rock I saw the black tentacles of the
giant octopus--waiting for a wave to dash us to its mercy.
"All right, Hammond?" Charlie inquired anxiously. "I'm afraid you got
a pretty nasty bump on the head. About all I could do to fish you out
before the _Gull_ was swept away."
* * * * *
He helped me to a better position to withstand the force of the great
roller that came plunging down upon us like a moving mountain.
Virginia was in his arms, too exhausted to do more than cling to him.
"What can we do?" I sputtered, shaking water from my head.
"Not a thing! We're in a pretty bad fix, I imagine. In a few seconds
we will feel the attraction of the meteor's field--the force with
which I tried to draw Virginia to the crater through the fourth
dimension. I don't know what will happen; we may be jerked out of
space altogether. And if that doesn't get us, the tide and the octopus
will!"
His voice was drowned in the roar of the coming wave. A mountain of
water deluged us. Half drowned, I clung to the rock against the mad
water.
Then blinding blue light flashed about me. A sharp crash rang in my
ears, like splintering glass. I reeled, and felt myself falling
headlong.
* * * * *
I brought up on soft sand.
I sat up, dumbfounded, and opened my eyes. I was sitting on the steep
sandy side of a conical pit. Charlie and Virginia were sprawled beside
me, looking as astonished as I felt. Charlie got to his knees and
lifted the limp form of the girl in his arms.
Something snapped in my brain. The sand-walled pit was suddenly
familiar. I got to my feet and clambered out of it. I saw that we were
on our own landing field.
Astonishingly, we were back in the meteor crater. Charlie's vanished
apparatus was scattered about us. I saw the gray side of the rough
iron meteorite itself, half-buried in the sand at the bottom of the
pit.
"What--what happened?" I demanded of Charlie.
"Don't you see? Simple enough. I should have thought of it before. The
field of the meteorite brought Virginia--and us--through to this point
in space. But it could not bring us back through time; instead, the
apparatus itself was jerked forward through time. That is why it
vanished. We got here just twelve hours and forty minutes after I
closed the switch, since we had been looking that far into the future.
The mathematical explanation--"
"That's enough for me!" I said hastily. "We better see about a warm,
dry bed for Virginia, and some hot soup or something."
* * * * *
Now the rough gray meteorite, in a neat glass case, rests above the
mantel in the library of a beautiful home where I am a frequent guest.
I was there one evening, a few days ago, when Charlie King fell silent
in one of his fits of mathematical speculation.
"Einstein again?" I chaffingly inquired.
He raised his brown eyes and looked at me. "Hammond, since relativity
enabled us to find the Meteor Girl, you ought to be convinced!"
Virginia--whom her husband calls the Meteor Girl--came laughingly to
the rescue.
"Yes, Mr. Hammond, what do you think of Einstein now?"
The Reader's Corner
[Illustration: The Reader's Corner]
_Now--Internationale Scientific Society_
Dear Editor:
The genial editor of this "Astounding" publication has
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_Advice to Advertise_
Dear Editor:
Astounding Stories makes me tickle the typewriter keys to
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The first story I read was "The Atom Smasher," and I
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I suggest that it would be to your advantage to advertise
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Here's wishing you success in continuing to publish the best
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"_Cut That Romantic Stuff_"
Dear Editor:
I am accepting your offer to come over to "The Readers'
Corner," and am coming over in two ways, as you will see by
my address.
First of all, I must say that I raise my hat to you and your
coworkers for having brought out another Science Fiction
magazine--a real benefaction to readers like myself who
thrive, as it were, on such stories. I can tell you my eyes
grew big with delight when I saw the first number--to me--of
Astounding Stories. Mille mercis. Why don't you try
publishing a thick Quarterly?
My favorite authors are A. Hyatt Verrill, J. W. Campbell,
Jr., Miles J. Breuer, M. D., Captain S. P. Meek, Ray
Cummings, Arthur J. Berks and Edmond Hamilton. If you get
stories by these for your magazine it will continue to
prosper, as they are excellent writers, and the first four
have fine science in their tales. I have had only three
copies of Astounding Stories, and the tales I like best are:
"Vandals of the Stars," the serial "Brigands of the Moon,"
"Monsters of Moyen"--this was most interesting--"The Ray of
Madness," "The Soul Snatcher," and "The Jovian Jest." This
last, though short, I thought to be very good, and it gave
one furiously to think, too. While I like all kinds of
Science Fiction, I have a special preference for
interplanetary and fourth dimension stories.
Now having handed out one or two bouquets, I am going to
sling some brickbats. Doggone it, but why don't you cut out
some of that romantic stuff in your stories? Goodness knows,
but one has enough of love and the ubiquitous heroine in
other tales without this sentimentality entering into
Science Fiction. Indeed, that is the biggest criticism I
have of Astounding Stories, and I do honestly wish that if
you have absolutely got to give the stuff you would confine
it to half the stories. Half and half--that's fair, isn't
it?
If you will publish this letter, which I should like you to
do, it would draw to the notice of the other readers that I
am always very pleased to correspond with any of them on
science and science stories.
Now I'll dry up, wishing you the very best of sincere wishes
for the continued success of your--or rather "our"--little
treasure, Astounding Stories.--Glyn Owens, 20, Rugby Rd.,
Newport, Man., Canada.
_Nossir--No "Half Pints"_
Dear Editor:
I have been reading Astounding Stories for some time,
although this is the first time I have written, and I want
to say it is one swell mag. I like all of its stories,
though I like the ones of adventure on other planets and in
strange lands best. But listen, I don't want any by a few
half pint authors I know of that write for a few other
quarter pint magazines. Let's have some more by such as
Victor Rousseau, Capt. S. P. Meek, Arthur J. Burks, Murry
Leinster and R. P. Starzl. Also Ray Cummings. Here's to them
and to the best mag on the market. Remember, no half
pints.--Boyd Goodman, 2801 Laclede St., Dallas, Texas.
"_Out of Curiosity_"
Dear Editor:
Seeing your magazine on the newsstands the other day, I
purchased it out of curiosity to see whether it was just
another magazine or something out of the ordinary. Being a
reader of other Science Fiction magazines, I was surprised
to see how much better Astounding Stories turned out to be
than the rest. Ever since that first issue I have been a
steady reader of "our" magazine.
I think that one of the best improvements that could be made
is to cut all the pages even. Wesso sure is a dandy artist.
Try not to lose him. I, for one, am very much in favor of
reprints. I think they would very much increase our circle
of readers.
Some of your best authors are: S. P. Meek, V. Rousseau, Ray
Cummings and S. P. Wright. Let's have some more novels by
those authors, please.--E. F. Hittleman, 3400 Wayne Ave.,
Bronx, N. Y.
"_Or What Have You?_"
Dear Editor:
I've just finished reading the October issue of Astounding
Stories and am convinced that the magazine is getting better
and better.
I'd like to take back what I said in my first letter about
interplanetary stories being ruled out, because I notice
they are improving. They seem more realistic and true.
I like "Jetta of the Lowlands." Something different, don't
you think? Seems strange to imagine what the ocean bottoms
might be like.
And how can "Stolen Brains" help but be good when Captain
Meek brings his Philo Vance to the rescue--that intelligent
Dr. Bird. (This may sound like sarcasm, but it's meant to be
praise.) I always read Dr. Bird first of all.
"Prisoners on the Electron" is just what I like. Somewhere I
read a story similar to it--that of life on an electron. I
don't doubt one bit that there can be life on such minute
surfaces, which also gives me an idea that the earth may be
an electron to some gigantic planet which is so large that
we cannot comprehend its size. Couldn't that be possible?
I still find that among the contributors there is only one
girl besides myself. Letters sent to me from readers are all
from men or boys. Am I so different from other girls? Or
what have you?--Gertrude Hemken, 5730 So. Ashland Ave.,
Chicago, Illinois.
_Only Fiction_
Dear Editor:
I am writing a second letter criticizing some of the later
stories you published. I think Astounding Stories is
steadily improving. In the June issue, "The Moon Master"
takes first place. Other first place stories are: "The
Forgotten Planet," (July); "The Second Satellite," (August);
"Marooned Under the Sea," (Sept); "The Invisible Empire,"
(Oct).
I agree with Mr. W. Gelman. You ought to have coupons to
fill out on reprints and see whether or not the majority
vote for reprints. I saw a mistake in "Prisoners on the
Electron." The author states that four months of time passed
on the electron during fifteen seconds Earth time. That is
wrong, because electrons revolve several thousand times per
second around their nucleus or sun, so by the time Karl
Danzig fished out Aaron and Nanette they would be as old as
the hills. I would like to know if the story, "Marooned
Under the Sea," was found near New Zealand or is it just
fiction? Another thing I want to say is that you have too
many serials.--Geo. Brandes, 141 South Church St.,
Schenectady, New York.
_This Is Treason!_
Dear Editor:
This is the first time I have written to the "Corner," but I
wished to call your attention to a story I have just
finished reading in another magazine--"Skylark Three," by
Edward E. Smith. I think it is by far better than anything I
have read in your magazine. I thought you might be able to
get something on this line.
Of course, some of the theories are rather far fetched. I
think this is the best story I have read for years, and hope
that if Smith writes any more, I will be able to read
them.--D. R. Guthrie, P. O. Box 23, Copeland, Idaho.
_Announcement_
Dear Editor:
Several months ago an announcement was made in this magazine
concerning The Scienceers, an organization of
scientifically-minded young men, with headquarters in New
York City.
We wish to thank you for publishing this notice, which
resulted in the acquisition of several new members. We are
all readers of Astounding Stories, and consider it the
premier magazine in the Science Fiction field.
The purpose of our organization, as taken from the
constitution, is as follows: To promote informal fellowship
among persons interested in science, and to foster
discussion and debate on modern discoveries, theories, and
projects in the realm of science.
The only requirements for membership in The Scienceers are
that applicants must be over sixteen years of age, and must
show a hearty willingness to cooperate with the other
members in discussing theories, etc., in science.
The member of the club has the companionship and friendship
of other persons interested in the same activities. He will
find a congenial atmosphere upon his arrival and will have a
wonderful time in helping the club to be bigger and better.
He will be as well informed on the latest events in science
as though he were taking a course in it, which in reality he
will be doing. He will have access to the club's library,
consisting of several hundred books and magazines on science
and Science Fiction. In our library are the latest Science
Fiction books published, such as "Red Snow," by F. W.
Moxley, "The Monster Men," by E. R. Burroughs and "The World
Below," by S. Fowler Wright. In our collection we have
reprints that we feel sure many of our present Science
Fiction fans have not read. We have a great many scientific
books and magazines. The club buys regularly Popular
Science, Popular Mechanics, Science and Invention, and
others.
Those who would like to visit the clubroom will be gladly
received. The clubroom is at 266 E. Van Cortland Ave. Get
off at Mosholu Parkway station on the Jerome Avenue line.
Our secretary, Allen Glasser, of 1610 University Ave., New
York City, will receive all inquiries for information.
The Scienceers have a branch in Clearwater, Florida, and
another in Temple, Texas. The former may be reached by
writing to Mr. Guy Cole, Secretary, Clearwater, Florida, and
the latter by writing to Mr. Gabriel Kirschner, Box 301,
Temple, Texas.--Nathan Greenfeld, Librarian, The Scienceers,
873 Whitlock Ave, New York, N. Y.
"_Abominable," "Rotten," etc._
Dear Editor:
I aim for this letter to represent the hardest and reddest
brickbats imaginably possible, excepting perhaps the first
paragraph, not counting this prelude (warping).
I have classified the stories of all issues out so far, and
the results show that Victor Rousseau, Ray Cummings, Murray
Leinster, Capt. Meek, Charles W. Diffin, Arthur J. Burks,
Harl Vincent, S. P. Wright, R. P. Starzl, Edmond Hamilton,
Miles J. Breuer, M. D., James P. Olsen, Tom Curry, S. W.
Ellis and Jackson Gee are your most outstanding authors. The
first seven stand head and shoulders above the other
authors, though.
Now for the brickbats. No kiddin'--where is your Editor's
pride? We want a magazine to be proud of, don't we? Its
binding is abominable. The edges are terrible: it takes ten
minutes to find a certain page. The paper itself is
absolutely rotten. What about the poor readers who want to
have a Science Fiction library? He wants a magazine that can
be bound and will look half good. Please put better grade
paper in your magazine. And for goodness sake, answer in the
department all questions and inquiries from the readers. Why
not have a vote on this? I guarantee you that over 90% of
the votes will want your answers to their personal
questions. Please answer my request in "The Readers'
Corner."--Ward Elmore, 3022 Avenue K, Fort Madison, Iowa.
"_Pictures of the Readers_"
Dear Editor:
The November Astounding Stories is up to the high standard
set by previous issues. For first place I nominate "The
Pirate Planet," which promises to be as good as "Earth, the
Marauder." The last part of "Jetta of the Lowlands" was a
fitting conclusion to a great story. "Vagabonds of Space,"
"The Wall of Death," and "The Gray Plague" are all worthy of
being ranked with your best stories.
The cover illustration is one of Wesso's best, if not the
best. It is a marked improvement over the October one.
There's also a great improvement in the illustrations inside
the book, since all except one were drawn by Wesso.
I heartily approve of the suggestion of Jack Darrow, who
proposes that you devote a page to your authors. Your
writers are the outstanding Science Fiction authors of the
day, and we should like to know something about them. If you
happen to run out of new authors, you could run the Eves and
pictures of some of the readers (Mr. Darrow, Mr. Kirschner,
Mr. Wentzler, etc.), who contribute almost as much material
as some of your authors. To be serious, though, the above
make many valuable suggestions, especially Mr. Darrow, with
whom I agree on almost every point.
Those persons who said that the small size of Astounding
Stories was insult to Science Fiction can't complain now.
After October the majority of the monthly Science Fiction
magazines will have the small size.
The controversy over the reprint question seems to be
getting warm. There are a good many letters on the subject
in this issue both pro and con. In fact, there were more
"con" letters in this issue than all the previous issues
combined. However, the "pros" are more than holding their
own, and I believe that if a vote was held they would be in
the majority.--Michael Fogaris, 157 Fourth St., Passaic, N.
J.
_Prefers More Science_
Dear Editor:
The size of Astounding Stories now is O. K. Only it would be
better if it was thicker than it is, even if you have to
raise the price five cents. I like the Edgar Rice Burroughs
stories and wish you would have them in your magazine.
In the November issue, "The Wall of Death" wasn't any good;
"The Pirate Planet" was good: "The Destroyer" was fair; "The
Gray Plague" was very good; "Vagabonds of Space" was
excellent, but I didn't like the ending. "Jetta of the
Lowlands" was fair. I don't like the stories by Victor
Rousseau very much.
I don't want any reprints and I think you should cut the
pages even. I wish you would have some true Science Fiction
stories with more science in them.--Alvin Wasserman, 339 N.
6th St., Allentown, Pa.
"_Fits Book Case_"
Dear Editor:
I have read every issue of Astounding Stories yet produced.
Keep the magazine the same size, as it conveniently fits in
a book rack or book case. I like stories on chemistry and
physics, also stories narrating the exploits of Dr. Bird. I
think your November issue is the best one yet. My favorite
story so far is "The Gray Plague." I did not like "Beyond
the Heaviside Layer." The illustrations are fine. Well, I
guess it's about time for me to sign off.--Henry Seitz, 1732
Summerfield St., Brooklyn, N. Y.
_Suggestions from Australia_
Dear Editor:
I have accepted your invitation to join "The Readers'
Corner" and give criticism on your magazine. I will
criticize the recent stories first, and divide them into
three classes: good, medium and bad.
August: "The Lord of Space," "The Second Satellite," "Silver
Dome," "The Flying City," good. "The Planet of Dread,"
medium.
September: "Marooned under the Sea," "The Terrible Tentacles
of L-472," good. "Problem in Communication," medium. "Murder
Machine," bad.
Serials: "Brigands of the Moon," good. "Murder Madness,"
good, but I don't consider it a suitable story for this type
of magazine. "Earth, the Marauder," good, but the end was
too hurried. I wonder why the gnomes of Luar were brought
into the story; I don't see that they serve any useful
purpose there.
There seems to be a hand-rail around the submarines on the
cover of the April number. If this is so, it is out of
proportion. And don't you think that such monsters as those
in "The Moon Master" would need more to eat than just the
few herbivorous animals that could exist on the fungus
vegetation?
I think that your magazine would be much better if printed
on smoother paper and cut evenly. I am sure that no one
would mind the extra cost of the book. And why not call "The
Readers' Corner" something more appropriate, such as the
"Observatory," or the "Microscope," or something, anyway,
that deals with science?--P. Leadbeater, Drysdale, Victoria,
Australia.
_Thanks Very Much_
Dear Editor:
I would like to shake hands with Mr. P. Schuyler Miller. He
has given us such conclusive and unopposable proof for
reprints in his letter printed in the November issue, that
there is hardly anything more to be said. All we ask (by
"we," I mean those thousands of Readers who are eagerly
waiting for a story of which they have heard so much) is one
good reprint. That is, one a year. During the year 1930,
Astounding Stories has published five novels. Can you not
publish four new novels and one reprint in 1931? It amounts
to much the same thing.
Also, there are other magazines which publish Science
Fiction and these would see to it that the good authors did
not starve. The bad ones, however, deserve to. Especially
when some poor misguided Editor accepts their stuff. No, Mr.
Bates, I am not placing you in that category. The stories
you publish certainly show that you are not misguided. Quite
the opposite. At a vote taken among the members of the
Scienceers last week, the results showed that reprints were
unanimously wanted. In my opinion, Astounding Stories is
best fitted for the publishing of reprints because of the
high standard it has preserved throughout the year of its
existence.
I have been directed, Mr. Bates, because of the great work
you have accomplished in popularizing science through
Science Fiction, and because of the keen enjoyment you have
given the Scienceers during 1930, to inform you that you
have been elected an honorary member of the Scienceers.
The Scienceers is now taking a vote among all its members to
find out their favorite stories of 1930. That is, in Science
Fiction. We want to find the five best serials, and the ten
best short stories of the year. First returns indicate that
Astounding Stories captured most of the honors. "Murder
Madness," "Brigands of the Moon" and "Earth, the Marauder"
having places among the serials. About six of the ten short
stories were also published in Astounding Stories.
I close with best wishes from all Scienceers for a bigger
and better year for Astounding Stories. Happy
birthday!--Nathan Greenfeld, President, Scienceers, 873
Whitlock Avenue, New York, New York.
_Words Are Weak_
Dear Editor:
It was a terrible storm!
The thunder roared; the lightning flashed; the wind howled;
the tempest beat through the night, bearing on its fleet
winds of darkness a torrent of driving, splattering rain.
Splintering darts of lightning crackled through the raging
storm, their crystalline reflection caught in the driving
sheets of watery spray; their swift illumination lighting
but dimly a rocky shore beaten and tossed by black lashing
waves of the angry ocean. And, upon that ragged,
element-swept shore, cowered the Searcher.
He crouched there in the darkness, his muffled figure
swaying to the fierce tug of the wind and the impact of the
driving rain. Water ran in streams from his drenched
clothing. The icy breath of the wind pierced through to his
soul like so many needles of death. Placing a gaunt, weary
hand above his brow he strained his vision to pierce out
into the darkness.
And suddenly the storm ceased. The rain disappeared with a
last futile spray, and the dark clouds overhead parted
sullenly to reveal a cold frozen moon of silver. The
thousands of tiny aberrations in the tossing wavelets on
the ocean's bottom sent steely reflection of the moon's
luminescence in sparkling sheens to the Searcher's eyes. For
long he hung there motionless, a gaunt shadow peering into
the distant darkness of the horizon. But abruptly--
He started. He has sighted an object floating inward upon
the tide. Running swiftly along the shore, he seized it
eagerly as it fell to the shore at his feet. With a wild cry
of exuberant delight he threw himself down upon the sands to
scan its pages. It was a copy of Astounding Stories! Yes!
Out of the great ocean of magazine fiction it had come to
the Searcher's eyes, the magazine supreme--Astounding
Stories! A magazine which was new, a magazine which
expressed something new in an entirely different way! A
thing super-ordinary, it was--a boon to the tired fiction
reader.
Yessirree! Something new and in a different way! You bet
that's what I like, and that's why I halted, hearkened, and
hastened to the newsstands to buy that new magazine,
Astounding Stories. New authors!--a breath of delicious
novelty!--the magazine of to-morrow's romance and the
super-science thereof! Why, it's almost too good to be true,
and here am I, ready to take that new mag to hand and make
it our own.
Yes, I think we can call it "our" own, for with the
installation of Astounding Stories comes the new epic of the
magazine, a magazine which is made by the reader. Sure
nuff--our wants and whims rule the magazine; so it's surely
"ours," and I mean possessively!
So, Readers all, I'm going to take my part of the magazine
this day and operate on it, no matter what Mr. Bates thinks
or cares about it. Yes, sir.
First, I'm creating a new department of a page which prints
the picture of the most popular author (as voted for by the
reader) and which gives a brief synopsis of his life. Once
his picture has been printed, that's enough. Next time a new
author.
And then I'm filling that magazine with new "different"
stories, daring in aspect beyond ordinary Science Fiction,
more glorious by far than any predecessors.
And now, the rest of you Readers, what are you going to do
with your share? As I have said, I am going to do what I
want with my part even if we have to split up the magazine
and pass a page all around. There's just a lot of you
Readers who look at a magazine, and, because it isn't your
ideal, pass it up and go down the line passing up all the
magazines. Take it from me, you'll never find your ideal.
Savvy? The only way to get that ideal is to step in and take
a hand. Make your ideal! A magazine must be fashioned to the
reader's wants! The fact is our weapon, and believe me I'm
beaning Mr. Bates a smacking good one with it. As I said,
the magazine is ours, and my part in it surely is going to
be more daring in tone, thought and structure than any
paltry nowaday Science Fiction! Reach out into the
imagination, stretch your faintest and most super-ordinary
scientific hypothesis to its vaguest straining point, and
produce--
A real, honest-to-goodness, glorious he-man action magazine
of Science Fiction!
I mean it! And that's how my page is gonna be, and I'll bet
that I have made my page of that future idealistic magazine,
merely by writing this letter! How about it, Mr. Bates?
Aren't we all signed up as associate editors for the future
"ideal magazine?"--Tom Olog, 940--5th St., San Bernardino,
Calif.
_Right! One on Us_
Dear Editor:
I have been following with great interest Ray Cummings'
latest piece, "Jetta of the Lowlands," which is rather
unique in its ideas. In a recent issue Mr. Cummings
explained to his readers that the flyer was made invisible
by bending the light rays around it. This in itself is quite
plausible, but when he tells us he could see the land below
them, and the other flyer, we have to draw a line. It is
quite plain that if the light is bent away from the hull of
the flyer that no light will come to the eyes within, and
that the invisibility will be more of a hindrance than an
advantage. However, it was a good story and we know that
authors cannot be perfect any more than ordinary humans can.
I am wishing you the best of luck for your second year,
which you will soon enter!--W. Johnston, New York City.
_A Riddle_
Dear Editor:
I have only read two issues of Astounding Stories. These two
have determined me to continue reading A. S. until I grow
broke or give up my ghost.
The only brickbats that you are going to get are: Use a
better grade of paper and bind the magazines more securely.
Your stories are O. K. In fact there is only one story in
the two issues (October and November), that I did not give a
darn about, and that was "The Extra Man," by Jackson Gee.
As I have been a reader of Science Fiction for the past four
years I think that I know a little about a good story when I
read one.
And last but not least, I have a riddle to ask you.
Question: What is the difference between an egg and a copy
of Astounding Stories?
Answer: When an egg falls it busts. But when a copy of
Astounding Stories falls only the cover comes off.
A steady reader from now on.--Edward Anderson, 929 S.
Westlake Ave., Los Angeles, Calif.
"_High Literary Quality_"
Dear Editor:
Just a few words to express my appreciation of the
consistently high standard of stories which have so far
appeared in Astounding Stories. I was mainly inspired to
write to you by those two fine stories, "Brigands of the
Moon," by Ray Cummings and "Murder Madness," by Murray
Leinster. The former was one of the year's best
interplanetary stories, and the latter a very fine adventure
yarn. As well as being of scientific interest, these stories
held my interest to the end by reason of their high literary
quality and the fact that they did not lack excitement. I am
afraid that these two qualities are lacking in a large
number of Science Fiction stories. I would suggest that you
accept these stories as a standard for the magazine.--A. M.
D. Pender, 201, Red Lion Road, Tolworth, Surbiton, Surrey,
England.
_Expert Testimony_
Dear Editor:
We had quite a little discussion at a recent meeting of The
Scienceers as to why all of us consider Astounding Stories
the best Science Fiction magazine printed to-day. One reason
to which all of us agreed was your endless variety of good
continued stories. They always have a new twist about them.
I read a number of Science Fiction magazines each month.
None of them comes anywhere near Astounding Stories as to
the quality of the stories printed. On both long and short
stories they rank way below the Astounding standard.
Your best writer is Ray Cummings, with Harl Vincent and R.
F. Starzl close behind. I consider "Vagabonds of space," by
Harl Vincent, as the best story I have read so far. Ask Mr.
Vincent to give us a sequel.--Herbert Smith, Sec.,
Scienceers, 2791 Grand Concourse, Bronx, New York City.
"_Heads My List_"
Dear Editor:
I'm accepting your kind invitation to come over to "The
Readers' Corner" and express my opinion of your magazine.
I like it immensely. I read all the Science Fiction I can,
and your magazine heads my list. I think the serial "The
Pirate Planet," is as interesting a story as any I've read.
Astounding Stories improves with every issue.--Dorothea
Cutler, P.O. Box 122, Mesa, Arizona.
_Two Problems_
Dear Editor:
My last letter was entirely commendatory, but this time I am
losing the full force of my critical powers (?) on the story
"Marooned Under the Sea," by Paul Ernst. In this story the
characters descend to the depths of the ocean by means of a
large glass sphere. Mr. Ernst mentions the terrific strain
on the supporting cable caused by the weight of the sphere.
He quite overlooks the fact that it would float. As a matter
of fact the sphere, not counting its contents, weighs about
3,511,520 lbs.--less than an equal amount of water. Hard to
believe, but true, as the figures show. The formula for the
volume of a sphere is V equals pi 1/2 diameter cubed. It is
a pretty little problem. Also, there was no need to break
the helmets of the Quabos, since the hoses could be cut with
an ax. However, it was a fine story. Let's have more like
it.
Here is another problem. X equals wonderful. Y equals
superb. Z equals marvelous. XYZ equals Astounding Stories.
Yes? No?
You are getting many requests to change your size. Don't do
it. As it is now, it is just the size to carry conveniently,
or put in your pocket. It is easier to read, too. Don't
change your grade of paper, either. Glazed paper is hard on
the eyes. I join my fervent prayers to those who wish the
edges cut smooth, however. It is hard to turn to the page
you want, with the deckle edge you now have.
"Earth, the Marauder" was wonderful. Too bad it wasn't
longer. "The Pirate Planet" is fine. Dr. Bird is keeping up
the good work. Some of his stories are a bit far-fetched,
but that is no drawback.
I notice that some authors repeat themselves. I read
"Brigands of the Moon," by Cummings, and also his story,
"Tarrano the Conqueror." The weapons used in both stories
are identical--Hugh M. Gilmore, 11307 N. Orange Drive,
Hollywood, California.
_Concerning "Indisputable Data"_
Dear Editor:
From the time Astounding Stories first made its debut, I
have been a rabid and enthusiastic reader of your excellent
publication. As yet, I have never missed an issue, and only
a physical incapability could compel me to. The unlimited
amount of pleasure derived from your magazine is beyond
compensation. Your selections are varied, interesting and
based on cold, scientific logic, barring minor
discrepancies. My whole-hearted approval, commendation and
good wishes go to you for your remarkably fine work.
Continue along the lines you are now pursuing, and I feel
assured your magazine will outrival all others in
circulation, as it already does in literature.
Perhaps I have been a trifle flowery, but I also have a
criticism to make. Why do these skeptical and scientifically
disposed critics continue to waste your valuable time
picking scientific flaws in various stories? Some of the
amateur experts' opinions really serve as a comic sequel
after a night of interesting reading. If they would only
stop to realize that some of their most indisputable data is
merely hypothesis, the criticisms might be more lenient.
I am certainly enjoying "The Pirate Planet," by Charles W.
Diffin, in the current issue. It is exceptionally
well-written, and I am looking forward to more work by his
pen. Other stories of merit are "Gray Denim," by Harl
Vincent and "Slaves of the Dust," by S. W. Ellis.
Well, I guess I've unburdened myself enough for one evening.
I give you many thanks for hours of enjoyable recreation,
and wish everlasting success to your illustrious magazine
and the personnel that makes it possible.--Mortimer
Weisinger, 266 Van Cortland Ave., Bronx, N. Y.
_A Letter from England_
Dear Editor:
You will no doubt be surprised at receiving a letter of
appreciation of your really stunning magazine from England.
And here let me say as an aside, that I think Americans are
very fortunate in having publishing concerns who are not
afraid of publishing a modern book like Astounding Stories.
In England I am considered abnormal minded because of my
fondness for Science Fiction. We have nothing like it in our
bookshops, where the stereotyped thriller and prosaic life
and adventure novels are popular to the majority of English
Readers.
Unfortunately, my file is incomplete by the June, July,
August and September issues. My only kick is that "Brigands
of the Moon" remains unfinished for me; and "Murder Madness"
whetted my palate for more. Still I am happy to be now in
regular contact with the mag and hope for more stories like
the above. Now for my only brickbat. Of all the stories I
have read, "The Wall of Death" is the only one I dislike;
and the worst of it is that it was written by Victor
Rousseau, who is one of my favorite authors. The story is
horribly reminiscent of the old Greek myth of the Minotaur,
which it resembles in many phases. Still, this is an
exception that proves Victor Rousseau's stories to be of
high average value. And I shall expect to see more of him.
As regards bouquets, I can only say that each succeeding
magazine is more astounding, more wonderful and of better
value than the last. Of your authors I class as favorites S.
P. Meek, C. W. Diffin, Murray Leinster, Harl Vincent, Ray
Cummings and S. P. Wright among others, not forgetting
Victor Rousseau. In the current edition I think "The Pirate
Planet" is going strong; and "Gray Denim" is a peach of a
story, as is also "The Ape-Men of Xloti." I like
extra-dimensional stories of which I see you have one in
your next issue, so roll on, January! I should like to see
Astounding Stories printed more often, or else have a
brother mag. The mag itself stands pat as it is, and more
power to your authors' elbows! You will please excuse my bad
penmanship, but since the war, in which I served throughout,
I cannot altogether control the nerves of my right hand when
writing.
I wish you a prosperous future with Astounding Stories!--Leo
Greenhill, 5 Market Terrace, St. Leonards on Sea, Sussex,
England.
"_At Last It's Come_"
Dear Editor:
I have read all the issues of your magazine from the July
issue to the December, and it sure fills a long felt need in
Science Fiction. Ever since I knew what an atom was I've
been longing for just such a mag, and at last it's come. You
sure deserve credit, and lots of it. You were better at the
very start than your competitors ever will be, and that's
saying a lot, as they're pretty good. By the way, you may
have noticed that one of them has come down to your size and
price since your mag came out. That's proof against big
mags. They're awful. However, I would not mind an Astounding
Stories quarterly, and I'd gladly pay fifty cents for one.
As to reprints, I'm in favor of them. I think a story by
Edgar Rice Burroughs running in your mag each month would
make it just about perfect.
As to your authors and stories, they're good as a general
rule; however, you've made some pretty bad slips at times,
such as "The Invisible Death," by Victor Rousseau, "The Wall
of Death," by the same man, "Slaves of the Dust," "Gray
Denim" and "The Ape-Men of Xloti." In fact, the December
issue was pretty poor for you. I hope you make up for it
next month.
When it comes to artists I think that Wesso takes the cake,
especially in drawing machinery, etc. However, Gould is good
on people and inanimate things, and I don't think you should
drop him as many seem to wish. I like Wesso's covers very
much, and I don't think they are too gaudy for a magazine
like yours.
I like nearly all Science Fiction stories if they are
written well, but especially I lean toward interplanetary,
atomic adventure and prehistoric stories. I do not care so
much for murders, wars, mind control, etc. I notice that you
have never printed a story of prehistoric conditions
existing at present on some part of the earth or universe,
and I would like to see one of this type. I like serials
only if they do not get boresome; and a lot of them do. That
is the trouble. I think that the love interest in your
stories is a good point, and should be encouraged in your
authors. And I also think there should be more
interplanetary friendship than hatred, and that the heroes
should fight beasts rather than men, as a rule, in your
stories.
Just one more thing before I close. I think that Astounding
Stories should have more than one department. I would like
to see a list of scientific terms defined each month; a
department for answering scientific questions; and some kind
of fraternity of Science Fiction Readers with membership
cards, some kind of emblems, and possibly an entrance test
of some kind. Seriously, now, why not consider this and take
up a vote among your Readers to see what they think? You
could cut down on "The Readers' Corner" for them without
using much more space, or you could enlarge the mag a
little. What say?
Well, I'm about out of Z-ray so I guess I'll come back to
earth and refuel with the January issue, which will be out
soon. So long and good luck.--Frank Missman, Jr., V. E. R.
(Very Enthusiastic Reader), 739 N. Alexandria, Los Angeles,
Calif.
_Gr-r-r--She's Mad!_
Dear Editor:
Gr-r-r, now I am mad! I do wish that people who want a
regular instruction book of a magazine would kindly refrain
from spending their valuable pennies on ours.
And if Mr. Johnston of Newark believes us who like A. S. to
be morons, why let's be morons! for when ignorance is bliss,
'tis folly to be wise. I'd like to inform this highly
intelligent person that our mag is dealing with pure Science
Fiction, and why should any author go into detail describing
how cities are made to float and why invisible cloaks are
invisible? Why, if every paragraph were broken off to let us
know how this or that is possible, I'm sure we'd all be
yawning and nodding over the magazine, and finally discard
it entirely in search of something more to our liking!
Why waste your time, Mr. Johnston, telling us you don't like
A. S.? Just don't purchase it, if it isn't to your liking.
We're satisfied with what we have.
What if the stories are like fairy tales? Isn't all fiction
more or less of a fairy tale? I want Mr. Johnston to get
this point: what we want is fiction, pure Science Fiction
and not instructions. We read A. S. as a pleasure. We do not
have to be scientists just because we are interested in
science!
"The Wall of Death" was grand. It's somewhat terrorizing and
gruesome, but I get a big "kick" out of such horrors.
However, I hope nothing like that would ever happen, 'cause
I'm 18 years old, and I'd be among the first ones to be
chosen for those mad half-human jelly-fishes, without a
doubt.
I shudder to think that meteors could be hurled from one
planet to another and then have some kind of machine, with
people in it, on the inside of the meteor. But the hero of
"The Gray Plague" surely proved himself a hero, in spite of
his handicap. I relish the idea of that Venusian instrument,
by which one can learn all from another within a few
minutes. Something for our students who cannot seem to learn
anything.
Here's one point that I don't like: Why are all those
invaders from other planets hostile? Why can't they go on an
exploring expedition to our Earth? C'm'on, you Authors--get
busy!
"The Pirate Planet" has me all hot and bothered, and my
brain in a muddle how any craft of such dimension can move
through space with such speed. As the story has just
started, I can't say much about it, but here's hoping the
captured hero conquers the hostile invaders and comes home
with bells on and colors flying, as all good stories should
end.
That Sargasso Sea, in "Vagabonds of Space," reminds me of a
Halloween ghost. And it was just as bad as a ghost, too.
After having been scattered once, it just coolly collects
itself into twice its size. Br-r-r--that gives me the
chills. Howsoever, nevertheless, be that as it may, I will
say that I liked it so much that I'm asking for more like
it.
Another word to ye Authors: Please do not always have the
girls in your stories such sweet little bundles of humanity.
Aren't there any tall girls in your imaginations? Please
give us tall girls a break once in a while. It makes me feel
better. Thanks.--Gertrude Hemken, 5730 So. Oshland Ave.,
Chicago, Ill.
"_Also Amazed ... But--_"
Dear Editor:
Since my good friend, Forrest Ackerman has undertaken to
suggest an author whose works would be enjoyed by your
readers, I will add two more to your "should have" list.
They are Francis Flagg, an author who is freely engraved in
the minds of all Science Fiction lovers as a genius at
writing time-traveling and dimensional stories, and Jack
Williamson, a shark for new plots and inventions and one who
knows how to put romance into a story.
Although I doubt whether the Editor himself can secure
stories from these two famed authors, (Wrong! At this time
we have two or three stories by Jack Williamson waiting
their turn to be published!--Ed.) I hope they may see our
wants and favor us with a tale in the near future.
I agree with George E. Addison in that Miles J. Bruer is a
"wow" in other magazines, but I emphatically disagree in
that he does not belong in Astounding Stories. Maybe "A
Problem in Communication" wasn't as good as some others he
has written, but do you think he will honor us with a real
good story if he, himself, gets such a welcome as Mr.
Addison gave him? If you have faith in "the good old Doc," I
am sure he will feel encouraged and consequently be spurred
to greater heights.
As for Mr. C. E. Bush: I am also amazed by some of the
letters in "The Readers' Corner," but not from those who
take their literature too seriously. Rather, from those who
write letters such as his. If he doesn't care whether a
story is scientifically possible or not, why, then, doesn't
he read Anderson's Fairy Tales or some of the Oz books?--Jim
H. Nicolson, 40 Lunado Way, San Francisco, Calif.
"_Shrewd," Yet Somehow Obtuse!_
Dear Editor:
I like your magazine. By this, I do not mean that it is the
best Science Fiction periodical, for it assuredly is not;
but it is the most reliable. I am sure when I pick up your
magazine that I shall find therein consistently interesting
stories. I have yet to find a story that failed to hold my
attention; on the other hand, I have yet to find a
masterpiece. Of all the Editors, you have shown yourself the
shrewdest judge of public taste, but also the least
interested in the advancement of Science Fiction.
Your authors are among the leading lights in Science
Fiction; yet, strangely, the days when they submit their
offerings to Astounding Stories seem to be "off days." Not
one of them has given us a story to equal his best for the
other magazines. For instance, Ray Cummings has yet to write
a story for you as entertaining as "The Girl in the Golden
Atom" or his others. Speaking of Cummings, I wish he would
take a course in grammar. His grammatical atrocities--such
as sentences without predicates--are eye-wracking.
The main purpose of this letter, however, is to offer a
fervent plea for reprints. I am unalterably opposed to your
short-sighted policy in regard to the reprinting of old
Science Fiction tales long out of print. You made an utterly
asinine statement when you declared that 99 per cent of your
readers have already read these classics. [We did not say
that. We said: "Would it be fair to 99 per cent of our
Readers to force on them reprint novels they have already
read, or had a chance to read?"--Ed.] I am willing to wager
that the percentage is nearer 10 per cent. For instance, can
a baby read magazines? You seem to grant them this strange
ability.
Most of the stories that should be reprinted were published
from eight to fifteen years ago, in one other magazine. That
automatically excludes all those who have not been constant
Readers of that one magazine. In the second place, the
average Reader of your magazine is under twenty-one (I am
eighteen myself). When the science classics were published,
we were anywhere from four to ten years of age. In the third
place, relatively few of these stories were published in
book form, and these few have for years been out of print.
Try to buy "The Moon Pool," the greatest Science Fiction
story ever written, in book form. In the fourth place, even
those who were old enough to understand them did not become
interested in Science Fiction until several years ago. In
the fifth place, the few who have read them--and they are
very few--would welcome the chance to re-read them. In the
sixth place, and this is the most important reason of all,
not one of the stories you have published is worth
re-reading, or is even a sixteenth as good as some of the
old stories.
Take a sporting offer. If you don't, I won't think much of
you. Publish just one of the Science Fiction classics,
preferably A. Merritt's "Through the Dragon Class," which so
many of your Readers have clamored for and see how
gratifying is its reception. If it does receive their
acclaim, you could reprint one story in each issue.--J.
Vernon Shea, Jr., 1140 N. Negley Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pa.
"_Right Formula_"
Dear Editor:
I have been a satisfied and silent reader of your magazine,
and while I'm still satisfied, I wish to break my silence.
A letter by C.E. Bush, of Decatur, Ark., in the January
issue has caught my attention. Miss Bush apparently does not
care whether the stories contain science or not. I believe
she wants the author to leave out the scientific
explanations of the various machines and forces used in the
story. To me, an "improbable" story is much more interesting
if the author succeeds in making it seem perfectly
plausible. The author needs to give technical explanations
now and then to do this; and a good author can weave these
facts into the fiction in such a manner that they are not
dry.
For some reason, the letter by M. Clifford Johnston, of
Newark, N. J., antagonizes me. I am willing to admit that
there are--or were--one or two stories that showed a
definite lack of scientific explanation in certain parts,
yet I do not believe that all the issues can be condemned
because of these few stories. Mr. Johnston is apparently the
opposite of Miss Bush. He, from the "sound" of his letter,
revels in scientific explanations. On the whole I've enjoyed
practically every story, and am thankful to you for your
magazine. I believe that most of the authors have found the
right formula for mixing their explanations with the story
so that such technical discussions are complete without
being dry.
I enjoy the novelettes more than either the short stories or
the serials. The serials are all right, but a month is too
long to let the hero or heroine suffer. Imagine how WE
suffer, too, from the suspense!
If either Miss Bush or Mr. Johnston feel that they have been
misunderstood and wronged in any way I shall be glad to
either apologize or vindicate myself in a personal letter to
them.
May Astounding Stories continue to improve!--Ben Smith, Box
1542, Butte, Montana.
_Fiction's the Thing!_
Dear Editor:
Hurrah for Mr. Lorenzo's letter in January's "The Readers'
Corner"! For a half year already, all other Science Fiction
magazines have had to struggle along without my patronage,
also. For the same reason as Mr. Lorenzo gives, I want to
heartily congratulate you, Mr. Editor, on your magazine.
I have read Science Fiction stories since the first magazine
of its kind ever appeared in print. They started out good,
but in the last few years have utterly degenerated into a
collection of dry, drawn-out lectures.
Also, C. E. Bush's letter should be rated as 100 per cent
correct. We want FICTION mixed with some science, and above
all a good plot and lots of action; and if your authors feel
so inclined, let them weave a romance into the stories, too.
"We read stories to be amused, not for technical
information." I am a radio operator, but I wouldn't think of
reading a story for information on the latest transmitter
design.
Mr. Editor, your choice of authors is par excellence. I
can't too highly emphasize this, because we don't want the
authors who write for other Science Fiction magazines. Why?
Because they can't even write a story that has a semblance
of coherence or plot to it, and never any action. If you
should ever use any of these writers, I shall give up
Science Fiction altogether. Please, Mr. Editor, continue to
run Astounding Stories yourself, and don't heed the request
of a minority who want dead authors to write dead stories in
our magazine.
"The Pirate Planet" is the fastest moving, best written
interplanetary story I have ever read, and I've read scores.
C. W. Diffin surpasses himself. "Vagabonds of Space" was
great. Isn't a sequel possible?
I have your January issue before me, and although I haven't
read it yet, I'm delighted to see Murray Leinster with us
again. He's excellent. I can't figure out how you can afford
so many top-notch authors in each issue, but keep it up,
because it's the life of your magazine. As Mr. Addison says
in his letter, "Why ruin a truly great magazine by catering
to a misguided minority?" and printing flops by cheap
writers, who are ruining other Science Fiction magazines?
Forgive me for so much repetition, Mr. Editor; run your
magazine "as is" and I'll continue to be an interested
reader.--P.C. Favre, 124 Columbia Heights, Brooklyn, N.Y.
_For Blushers_
Dear Editor:
I noticed in a letter in the December number of Astounding
Stories that one of your Readers thinks your covers too
gaudy. In fact, he blushes when he buys it. If he feels that
way about it, why doesn't he subscribe to it and take the
cover off when he reads it? I believe that the majority of
your Readers like your covers and illustrations, and are not
afraid to let people see them reading Astounding Stories.
I wish that you could have a long novelette like "The
Ape-Men of Xloti" in every issue of "our" magazine. The
longer stories are most always the more interesting. That is
one of the reasons why I like book-length serials.
Why should Five-Novels Monthly get all the breaks? I am sure
that you as the Editor of "our" magazine think Astounding
Stories the best magazine published by Mr. Clayton. I should
think that you would like to see it published in as good an
edition as F. N. M. I am pretty sure that the majority of
your Readers would not mind paying five cents more for many
more pages of fiction, smooth-cut edges, and a better grade
of paper.--Jack Darrow, 4225 N. Spaulding Avenue, Chicago,
Illinois.
"_The Readers' Corner_"
All Readers are extended a sincere and cordial invitation to "come
over in 'The Readers' Corner'," and join in our monthly discussion of
stories, authors, scientific principles and possibilities--everything
that's of common interest in connection with our Astounding Stories.
Although from time to time the Editor may make a comment or so, this
is a department primarily for _Readers_, and we want you to make full
use of it. Likes, dislikes, criticisms, explanations, roses,
brickbats, suggestions--everything's welcome here; so "come over in
'The Readers' Corner'" and discuss it with all of us!
_The Editor._
* * * * *
End of Project Gutenberg's Astounding Stories, March, 1931, by Various