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- CHEAP TRUTH 3
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- EDITORIAL. It has come to our attention that unscrupulous black marketeers
- have been retailing copies of CHEAP TRUTH at astronomical prices, some going
- as high as twelve to thirteen cents. The situation is especially bad in
- Eastern Bloc countries, where the CHEAP TRUTH distribution network has been
- penetrated by KGB and Bulgarian agents provocateurs, who take advantage of
- desperate shortages of SF criticism to hike the underground price from one
- American cigarette to as high as two or even three.
-
- We suggest therefore that readers who cannot get pirated copies (or
- who cannot access the samizdata On-Line edition on SMOF-BBS, 512-836-7663)
- write directly to the CHEAP TRUTH offices, sending a dollar with their
- address and nom de guerre (or nom de telematique). New issues will be
- forthcoming.
-
- ** BARRINGTON BAYLEY RETROSPECTIVE **
-
- Justice must be done for Barrington J. Bayley. His manifest virtues
- cry out for vindication. Bayley has been neglected too long. Despite his
- steady production, he is best known in America, when known at all, for his
- ten-year-old work in NEW WORLDS.
-
- The legacy of those days (THE KNIGHTS OF THE LIMITS, Barrington
- Bayley, Fontana-Collins, 95p.) makes astonishing reading. It reminds one
- that the power of British New Wave was not due to its decalcifying treatment
- of sex or the fact that much of its readership was stoned. Those ephemera
- blew away with the hash fumes over Ladbroke Grove. What is left is sheer
- visionary intensity, which Bayley has always had and displays today even more
- vigorously.
-
- "The Ur-Plant" is Bayley's latest story, in INTERZONE, which is NEW
- WORLDS' successor in British SF's valiant struggle for Arts Council grants.
- Bayley's story stands out in this somewhat precious magazine like a cactus
- among balloons.
-
- Bayley writes science fiction with the natural fluency of a man who
- can't help it. He has the ineffable, unfakeable genius of a true SF
- visionary: of Wells, Stapledon, and Ballard; of Bester, Dick, and Farmer.
-
- Small things do not content this man. He is tooling along in second
- gear if he does not blow your mind ten times in eighteen pages. He is at
- home re-inventing the nature of space-time, stretching the limits of
- consciousness, reassembling reality. He leaps past the jugular and deep into
- the frontal lobes.
-
- Bayley is the Zen master of modern space opera. He has the wild power
- of E. E. Smith, without Smith's pathetic illiteracy or gross provincialism.
- The magazines of the '30's might have been titled to describe Bayley's work:
- Amazing, Startling, Fantastic, Weird. This tie to traditionalism may explain
- why his novels have been published by DAW: THE PILLARS OF ETERNITY, THE FALL
- OF CHRONOPOLIS, THE GRAND WHEEL, STAR WINDS, THE GARMENTS OF CAEAN, COLLISION
- COURSE.
-
- Yet Bayley's elemental energy, his mastery of the sense of wonder,
- cannot be denied. His work is the very antithesis of tired hackdom. To
- invent an entire self-consistent cosmology and physics for a $2.50 DAW
- paperback (THE ZEN GUN, 1983) is one of those noble acts of selfless altruism
- that keep SF alive. There seems no limit to the man's inventiveness, his
- pyrotechnic bursts of fresh ideas. To these natural gifts, enough to sustain
- a dozen lesser writers, he adds an intense dedication to craft that gives his
- best work its eerie sense of dark complexity. To read a work like "The
- Cabinet of Oliver Naylor" is to be simultaneously enlightened and bewildered,
- to receive a Zen knock on the head; it is the literary equivalent of
- psilocybin. It is, in fact, why science fiction was invented.
-
- It was not a historical accident that science fiction first entered
- mass consciousness in a welter of garish colors and howling verbal excess.
- SF is the enemy of normality, the antidote to bored sophistication and
- know-it-all over-refinement. If SF, in outgrowing its native vulgarity, also
- loses its ability to stun, it will have sold its birthright for a mess of
- pottage. At this point SF can commit any literary crime but boredom; any
- crime, that is, except the one that is now killing the mainstream. In all
- respects, Barrington Bayley's hands are clean.
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- INTERVIEW WITH THE MARTYR
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- We got hold of H. P. Lovecraft. Never mind how. There are things in
- the Cross Plains Dairy Queen that are best left unspoken. At any rate we had
- the gentleman in the CHEAP TRUTH offices in late March, 1983 -- some 46 years
- after his death. Lovecraft was dressed in a cruddy-looking black wrinkled
- suit with a skinny tie and celluloid collar. His nose was sunburned. He
- looked rather pasty and gaunt -- we had called him up from about 1935, when
- his diet of graham crackers and canned spaghetti was definitely beginning to
- kill him.
-
- CT: Mr. Lovecraft -- may we call you Eich-Pi-El? -- this is a great
- pleasure. Please, just toss the cat out of the chair, there, and have a
- seat.
-
- HPL: I wouldn't dream of disturbing puss. He's a fine, swart beast, isn't
- he? (Spectrally) The cat is cousin to the Sphynx, but remembers secrets she
- has long forgotten.
-
- CT: Far out. Can I get you anything? A beer, maybe? HPL: Liquor has never
- passed my lips. CT: Some coffee? HPL: That would be splendid. With five
- sugars, please. (sips) Very good. This costs five cents a cup, you know.
- Quite a sum when you're living on
- seventeen cents a day. I made quite a science out of poverty, in my last
- days. But I was never a -- businessman. You can't make a businessman out of
- a corpse.
-
- CT: Please, have all you like. The Cheap Truth publishing empire covers the
- globe. That's one of the reasons we called you up, Eich-Pi-El. You are,
- after all, the paragon -- the very archetype of the starving science fiction
- writer. Were you aware that your premature death would set the model for an
- entire
- lifestyle?
-
- HPL: Actually, no. I died with the firm conviction that my work would be
- completely eclipsed, swept out with the rest of the illiterate pulp trash. I
- knew what was good, you see. I read Proust, Willa Cather, Theodore Dreiser.
- I knew what was good, and what was cheap garbage.
-
- CT: And yet you died in pursuit of your art.
-
- HPL: (shrugs) At that point it really didn't matter much. I had reached
- the culmination of my philosophy -- what I called psychological
- self-annihilation. I saw things from a cosmic perspective. The tragedy of
- one atom -- even if it was myself -- was simply irrelevant.
-
- CT: Destroy desire and you destroy unhappiness, is that it?
-
- HPL: Exactly.
-
- CT: But that's Buddhism. Classic Buddhist enlightenment, in fact. All that
- ascetic discipline of yours --
-
- HPL: (bristles) What? The spineless fatalism of the Hindu? I'm the scion
- of blue-eyed Nordic conquerors.
-
- CT: (uncomfortably) OK, that's cool. Is it true that you and Clark Ashton
- Smith used to call Hugo Gernsback "Hugo the Rat"?
-
- HPL: Yes. But we never hated him as much as we despised that crawling
- horror, Farnsworth Wright. He starved us, cheated us. He rejected my best
- work. He made his magazine into a pigsty for cheap scribblers. My stories
- appeared cheek by jowl with truss ads. Was it any wonder that I began to
- write letters instead? (Begins to talk faster and faster) At first dozens,
- then hundreds, and at last a steady stream of them -- that instead of
- publishing I wrote everything in longhand? Each time, for an audience of
- one. A writer MUST speak, even if he has to pay for the privilege in postage
- and starvation.
-
- CT: I understand perfectly, Mr. Lovecraft. May I say that I've always
- admired you? I suppose that your fiction WAS mostly garbage, but you are
- more than that -- you're an avatar, a symbol. I wonder how many young
- writers have found courage in your example. "After all, what's the worst
- thing that can happen to me if I write SF? At worst, I'll simply die a slow,
- miserable death by inches like H. P. Lovecraft." You never compromised -- you
- stayed shabby-genteel to the end, and died without ever doing one single
- practical thing. Your rejection of the world was total. It was the act of a
- saint.
-
- HPL: Are you Jewish?
-
- CT: (startled) No. Thanks for coming, Mr. Lovecraft.
-
- HPL: You have a funny swarthy look about you. I can tell you're a dago of
- some kind. "Omniaveritas" -- what kind of name is that? Not Anglo-Saxon.
- Let me see the shape of your head -- (He suddenly fades away. He is, after
- all, dead.)
-
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- CHEAP TRUTH On-Line 809-C West 12th Street, Austin, Texas 78701. Vincent
- Omniaveritas, editing. Shiva the Destroyer, Systems Operation. NOT
- COPYRIGHTED. "Nothing Better to Do"
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