Probably oddly of me, but I subconsciously think that all SF fans know all the classic authors and books (and films). That it isn’t true was brought home to me yesterday when I saw a review, on YouTube, of John Wyndam’s Out of the Deeps/The Kraken Wakes. (It was originally published in England as Out of the Deeps, but his American publisher thought it needed a spiffier title.) Wyndham was his pen name (real name John Wyndham Parkes Lucas Beynon Harris); he probably changed it for length purposes, and “Harris” is a fairly common name. To me, he was a well-known, seminal British author; The Day of the Triffids probably being his best-known book, but this young man (age probably under 30) had never read one of his books.
That should be a wakeup call for all us old(er) fogies: whatever you think SF/F is, and whomever you think are the Big Boys/Girls/Nonbinary or definable persons, the definitions and pantheon have both changed. SF/F are now called “Sci-Fi,” thanks to Forrest J Ackerman, who coined the term in the ‘fifties because “hi-fi” was a big buzzword back then. News flash, daddy-o, the ‘fifties are as remote to today’s teens or under-30s as World War I is to you (and me). Back when the books mentioned above came out in paperback, the books were priced at 25c/35c (U.S. prices); they were sold in drugstores, grocery stores, corner “mom ‘n’ pop” stores, etc.; and genre magazines were everywhere; you could get comics for 10c, and so on—and there were no e-books at any price. Nowadays, the paperback (unless it’s Print on Demand from Amazon) will cost you $10 to $15; hardcovers cost $30 and up; and e-books range from $0.99 to about $14.99 or so. And we’re down to 3 or 4 print magazines and Amazing’s online presence with only the occasional print issue, though we’re trying hard to change that.
Which means that the author of Venus Equilateral, one George O(liver) Smith, is probably unknown to today’s fan. Smith had a number of books I enjoyed, from VE to Highways in Hiding/Space Plague (figures 2 & 3), Nomad, Lost in Space (not related to the TV series), The Fourth “R”/The Brain Machine and a couple whose names or plots I can’t remember. He was a frequent contributor to the SF magazines, like Astounding Science Fiction (until, in 1949, the magazine’s editor, John W. Campbell, lost his wife, Doña, to Smith, which kind of ended that association). I think one of the reasons I enjoyed Smith’s books was a juvenile wish-fulfillment tendency on my part in some of the books: Highways said you could be a “superbeing,” The Fourth “R” was about child prodigies (and I thought I was or wanted to be one). Und so weiter. So that may have coloured my opinion of the books a bit.
Sometimes genre books (science fiction, fantasy, “light” horror, etc.) of the period were social satires or thinly-disguised social commentary of some sort, but usually—like this one—were straight idea-based action/adventure. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing deep or hidden about HiH. It’s pretty straightforward SF set in an unnamed near-future (remember, this is the 1950s, so future to then, so possibly 1980s) year. The background of this future is that sometime (maybe in the ‘60s or ‘70s) the work of the Rhine Institute proved that nearly everyone had one of two possible ESP abilities—either telepathy or “perception,” which was like greatly enhanced vision that could see through walls, etc., but didn’t depend on eyesight. These abilities had been codified and classified—and trained into dependability by said Rhine Institute; people’s abilities went from lousy to ordinary and up into “Scholar” (i.e., major and trained) class. And many people’s jobs depended upon what classification they had. Scholar class had the highest and best jobs.
Automobiles (and, I assume, trucks, etc.) were all turbine-driven; nobody had invented cell phones, but most everyone still smoked everywhere; I think TVs and phones were replaced by “televisors” or the like. And a rocket launched from White Sands had gone to the moon, Mars, and Venus and returned. In short, it was a sort of idealized 1950s sci-fi-type future with no great technological advances. (I’ll bet computers still had to be room-sized with hundreds of vacuum tubes.) I seem to remember that the Cold War was still on, but I could be wrong. There was one fly in that ointment, however. A rocket technician at White Sands named Otto Mekstrom had come down with an unknown disease after the ship returned.
Mekstrom’s Disease was like nothing ever seen before; starting small—usually at the extremities, like fingers or toes—the flesh turned hard and incompressible, like living granite. As the disease progressed, the extremities became, while still alive, stony—and as it progressed across joints, it became extremely painful and the joint no longer moved. Eventually, when it reached the lungs or other internal organs, the patient died in great agony. Mekstroms’ patients popped up randomly, and there was no cure.
Steve Cornell is an engineer (perception only, no telepath) who wakes up after a car crash and eight days in the hospital to find that his fiancée Catherine, with whom he had been eloping, has disappeared—and nobody will admit that she was with him. In the process of trying to find her, he discovers (this is not a spoiler—this information comes on the first page of the story) that there is a pair of secret societies with opposing goals: one wishes to help humanity, the other to rule it. They have one thing in common, however—both societies are mad up of “supermen/women” who are made completely of Mekstrom flesh!
The book consists mainly of Cornell blundering around, trying to find Catherine—his first aim—and trying to find out how these people are actually all-Mekstrom without dying (and a third, unspoken aim—wanting to become a superman himself!) He must be a self-employed engineer, as he doesn’t seem to have to go to a job; either he’s got a lot of money, or the insurance kicked in from his accident. He’s also not one of the highest-level engineers or perceptuals, either, so it appears the society that wants to rule the world doesn’t think there’s a place for him in it.
I don’t think it’s especially dated, except for the things I’ve mentioned above, and it’s relatively exciting, though maybe not fast-paced enough for today’s readers. And after a while, you may wish Cornell would stop messing around and do a few more obvious things in his search. But overall, it’s still a good read, though maybe not quite as good as I used to think, upon rereading. The book is available to read on Project Gutenberg (maybe not public doman everywhere, because nations sometimes have idiosyncratic rules) at this URL: Highways in Hiding by George O. Smith | Project Gutenberg.
If you like or dislike this column, you can comment here or on Facebook, or even by email (stevefah at hotmail dot com). All comments are welcome as long as they’re polite (or at least creative). My opinion is, as always, my own, and doesn’t necessarily reflect the views of Amazing Stories or its owner, editor, publisher or other columnists. See you next time!
