On Rereading The Best of the Nebulas Edited by Ben Bova; Part Four
John Varley’s novella “The Persistence of Vision” is a deeply troubling story; at least it troubles me. The narrator is an unemployed middle-aged man who, in the late 1980s, decides to hit the road rather than endure poverty in the strife-ridden cities. He hitchhikes from Chicago to New Mexico and then begins to wander on foot from commune to commune, sampling the variegated lifestyles as he goes. He is walking through arid desert when he comes upon a most unusual walled-in commune where all of the adult residents are blind and deaf. Only their children can see and hear. Despite their apparent handicaps, they have created an alternative lifestyle that works for them. It is comprised of simple labor, living off the land, and communicating through touch. This communication works on multiple levels from simple signing to far subtler means of expression, including group sex. The lonely traveler stays with these people for several years and attempts to become a part of the community. Ultimately he decides he can never be one of them and leaves, only to eventually become suicidally desperate on the outside and make a decision to return. Most of this long story reads like a piece of sociological literary fiction; only in the last few pages is the science fiction/fantasy element revealed. I will not disclose that gem so that you can discover it for yourselves, but the story’s internal logic makes the speculative element inevitable. I mentioned that it troubled me for two reasons. One is that the story insinuates that the condition of being blind and deaf is in many ways superior to having access to all the senses. I don’t doubt that under the right circumstances blind and deaf people can lead rich, full lives; in fact, the commune is informally called Keller in honor of Helen Keller, who proved this. However, despite the intensity of sharing the members indulge in, which provides great satisfaction to them, they are vulnerable to human predators and cut off from a significant portion of the universe. I was also troubled by the main relationship in the story, which is also a sexual relationship, between the narrator and a teenage girl. When they meet and begin to be intimate, the narrator is forty-seven and the girl is only thirteen, a mere child. This story was published in the late seventies; I don’t know if this aspect of it would be so readily accepted nowadays. These matters aside, it is a very well-written and thought-provoking tale.
The next short story, “The Grotto of the Dancing Dear” by Clifford D. Simak, has two main characters: an archeologist named Boyd and a Basque laborer named Luis. After completing a study of prehistoric cave paintings, Boyd goes in for one last look and discovers a hidden grotto festooned with images of cavorting animals. An expert dates artifacts that Boyd finds in the grotto at twenty-two thousand years old, and a fingerprint in a pigment identifies Luis as the grotto’s painter. In other words, Luis has been alive for over twenty-two thousand years. When Boyd confronts him, Luis explains that he wanted Boyd to find the grotto so someone else would be aware that he exists, thus to a small degree at least mitigating his intense loneliness. I have read this excellent story several times before, but only this time did I realize that it bears a striking resemblance to some of Jorge Luis Borges’s tales. (And now, after writing this, I wonder if Simak gave his character the name Luis as a sort of homage.) “The Grotto of the Dancing Dear” is quiet, intense, and unforgettable.
The novelette “Sandkings” by George R.R. Martin is a very well-written horror story clad in science fictional garb. The amoral ultra-wealthy protagonist is fond of exotic and preferably alien pets. Searching for something truly unique, he comes across a shop that sells life forms known as sandkings, which are tiny carnivorous aliens with hive minds like those of ants. After having a habitat for sandkings installed in his living room, things go from bad to worse, and worse, and worse. One problem I have with this story is that there are no good guys. There are only the extremely evil protagonist, his victims, and the ravenous sandkings. It’s the same problem I have with TV shows such as Yellowstone, Succession, and similar others. Bad guys and their victims; nobody good or even likeable. Still, because Martin crafts his tale with care and surrounds it with a science fictional setting, and also because it is short, I find “Sandkings” an absorbing and entertaining albeit frightening story.
And so we come to the final entry in the book, the short story Jeffty Is Five” by Harlan Ellison. It is a deceptively simple tale about a boy who remains the same age while all his friends grow up. He seems suspended in time because not only does his appearance remain stagnant, but he can also somehow access the radio programs, comics, and toys of the era in which the aging narrator was also five years old. In his forward Ellison writes: “It is a story filled with love and pain and remembrance and the responsibility of being a true friend.” It’s a heartfelt journey into nostalgia in which the joys of the past are balanced by how much it hurts to look back.
I seldom go into such depth reviewing a collection of stories, but it should be obvious by now that these are no ordinary stories. They are special. They are wonderful. They are timeless. Unfortunately, copies of this collection are scarce, so if you come across one be sure to grab it. You won’t be disappointed.
