{"id":919,"date":"2011-02-23T15:40:11","date_gmt":"2011-02-23T15:40:11","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.mmcgrath.co.uk\/?p=919"},"modified":"2014-06-24T18:17:51","modified_gmt":"2014-06-24T17:17:51","slug":"analog-nov-2007","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.mmcgrath.co.uk\/?p=919","title":{"rendered":"ANALOG – NOV 2007"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>For a reader who hasn\u2019t been down these paths in a long time the first question was whether the strange odour in the air when opening the pages of the latest issue of Analog<\/em> (Vol. CXXVII, no. 11 \u2013 November 2007) was the whiff of nostalgia or the tang of formaldehyde?<\/h3>\n

The issue\u2019s featured novella is by Barry B. Longyear<\/strong>. \u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d is the third recent Longyear story to appear in Analog <\/em>featuring the unlikely detectives Jaggers and Shad and the other denizens of Exeter\u2019s Artificial Beings\u2019 Crime Division (ABCD). New reader won\u2019t be completely lost but there is some catching up to do.<\/p>\n

The lead characters are not, for example, simple detectives. Jaggers bears more than a passing resemblance to Basil Rathbone (most famous for his portrayal of a certain great detective) and Shad is a duck and something of a celebrity, famous for appearing as the mascot in an advertising campaign. Also in the ABCD is Parker, a large silverback gorilla with unfortunate bowel control problems and a history of embarrassing the police force.<\/p>\n

The artificial beings in \u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d are categorised as amdroids<\/em> (animal bodies) and biomechs<\/em> (machines) and the conscious minds of humans can flit between these creatures. This talent is not restricted to the detectives. In Exeter old people are used to inhabit the bodies of amdroid pigeons and sent out to control the city\u2019s bird population. But someone has it in for Exeter\u2019s pigeon squadrons and artificial beings more generally. The body in Parliament Street (the narrowest street in the world, you know) leads to the discovery of a Chinatown-esque conspiracy, with bigotry, lies, and intrigue all uncovered through the courage and bold determination of Devon and Cornwall\u2019s finest.<\/p>\n

Well, sort of.<\/p>\n

What actually happens is that the heroes fumble about for a bit through an increasingly feeble selection of slapstick encounters and toilet humour until the whole plot unravels.<\/p>\n

\u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d commits three great crimes.<\/p>\n

First, it fails to give any sense of the strangeness of its character\u2019s lives. This story sees Jagger slip from a human-like body to a high-tech snooping device described as a \u201cflying lipstick\u201d and then into the body of a pigeon. But Longyear makes no attempt to describe how Jagger\u2019s perception of the world might be altered during or after these changes, which makes the remarkable technology seem rather bland.<\/p>\n

Second, the background setting of Exeter is poorly used. This is a cardboard cut-out city, reduced to a set street name routes between places of interest and the insertion of occasional travel-guide nuggets, such as: \u201cthe illuminated, columned gingerbread of the medieval Exeter Guildhall [was] still the oldest working municipal building in England…\u201d (p12)<\/p>\n

It feels unconvincing and, in places it is downright clumsy.<\/p>\n

But, finally, it is the way the story reaches its denouement that really sinks \u201cMurder in Parliament Street.\u201d The success of crime stories, even light-hearted ones, absolutely depends on the degree of satisfaction the reader gets from second guessing the author and the extent to which the author can surprise the reader while still being honest. \u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d fails in this respect. The plot suddenly unravels in a blur of new and previously unmentioned witnesses and remarkable discoveries which arrive without any foreshadowing or, for that matter, any sense that the central characters deserve their sudden good fortune. Much of the action is actually reported second-hand in a perfunctory round-up.<\/p>\n

Longyear\u2019s writing is slick and perfectly serviceable but how much you enjoy \u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d may well depend on how funny you find a gorilla in a nappy.<\/p>\n

The issue\u2019s next story is better. John G. Hemry\u2019s<\/strong> novelette \u201cThese are the Times\u201d is a zippy, enjoyable, time-travel lark, though a harsher critic might take Hemry to task for the casual cultural bias on display. Set in the days leading up the Battle of Lexington (18 & 19 April, 1775) and the start of the American War of Independence, Hemry simply assumes that these events will continue to have the same profound cultural, political and historical resonance for far future humanity as they do for a modern American citizen. Implicit in this assumption is a special place for America\u2019s domestic history above those of other nations and a continuation of US hegemony.<\/p>\n

But Hemry\u2019s adventure is too light to be the subject of such criticism and too much fun to treat so harshly. It takes a little while to get going, but by about the half way mark the story is in full stride and only a curmudgeon could fail to be rooting for the protagonists. \u201cThese are the Times\u201d is hokum but it is fun and it gallops towards an obvious but still satisfying conclusion involving the obligatory solving of a long-standing historical puzzle.<\/p>\n

It is difficult to know quite what to make of \u201cYearning for the White Avenger.\u201d Carl Frederick\u2019s<\/strong> story about Conradin, an abused young boy who longs for escape, has only the flimsiest fantasy element and a preposterously happy ending. The sf\/fantasy element, such as it is, sees Conradin and his friend attempt to teach a specially trained parrot to translate for a specially trained dog. This work may, or may not, play a part in the story\u2019s denouement, but it is hardly crucial to the story.<\/p>\n

But other problems with \u201cYearning…\u201d are more serious.<\/p>\n

Conradin\u2019s drunken, brutal father is hopelessly one-dimensional. There are, no doubt, nasty men out there doing horrible things to their children \u2013 but they are too often used lazily by writers as casual plot hooks that need no justification or fleshing out. A stereotype, even one with a grain of truth in it, is still the enemy of engaging writing and this is a particularly poor example. But it is in the resolution of \u201cYearning…\u201d that Frederick\u2019s story that is most baffling. It manages to be nauseatingly sweet, unintentionally creepy and utterly unrealistic in a single swoop. This is a tremendously na\u00efve treatment of a serious issue and \u201cYearning for the White Avenger\u201d is the weakest story in this collection.<\/p>\n

Bud Sparhawk\u2019s<\/strong> \u201cThe Suit\u201d is another weak story. A man has let his life become ruled by crappy, intrusive technology that resides in his suit, in his kitchen, in his bathroom and even in his shoes. By luck he finds the love of a good woman and they cast off their crappy tech to find happiness together. Everything in this story has been done before, done better, and done more convincingly and \u201cThe Suit\u201d adds nothing to the works that precede it. Sparhawk\u2019s characters seem stupid enough to deserve the crappy time they\u2019re having, so why should we care what happens to them?<\/p>\n

The heart of H.G. Stratmann\u2019s<\/strong> novelette \u201cThe Paradise Project\u201d is a pacy and smartly told flash story longing to be set free. Sadly, however, it finds itself weighed down by fleshy infodumps on (the largely irrelevant) geopolitical situation in the near future and sidetracked by (entirely unnecessary) contemplations on the sex lives of the lead characters. None of this serves to advance the plot or to cast significant light on the final reveal, instead it simply slows everything down and obscures the point of the story.<\/p>\n

That said, Stratmann\u2019s core idea is strong enough to survive this mistreatment and if the final scene does feel like a throw back to the old-fashioned stories of pulp sf\u2019s heydays, well \u201cThe Paradise Project\u201d is none the worse for that.<\/p>\n

The final story in this issue of Analog<\/em> is \u201cPermission to Speak Freely\u201d an intelligent and engaging story by David Walton<\/strong>. This is more a fiction about science than a science fiction story, but it is by some distance the most intellectually interesting tale in the magazine.<\/p>\n

However, the story is not straightforwardly engaging. The gizmo that drives the narrative (a \u201csympathology rig\u201d) is unconvincing. The device purports to allow a \u201csympathologist\u201d to experience a patient\u2019s pain and is touted here as a breakthrough in diagnosis. Whether, as occurs in the opening few paragraphs, a sympathologist having inflicting upon himself perhaps the worst headache in history would then be able to state with authority: \u201cbrain aneurysim, frontal lobe, left side\u201d \u2013 as though simply experiencing the pain ruled out all other possible diagnoses \u2013 seems doubtful in the extreme.<\/p>\n

Fortunately the sympathology device is a maguffin. Walton uses it as a means to place his protagonist \u2013 a scientist overseeing the clinical testing of sympathology \u2013 in a moral dilemma.<\/p>\n

Peter is under pressure from his university, from business sponsors, and from his friend \u2013 the device\u2019s inventor \u2013 to approve the gizmo as a potentially revolutionary breakthrough. Moderate fame, financial security, and enhanced job prospects all await. All Peter has to do is deliver a favourable report. But Peter has doubts. There are anomalies in the data. They are small, but they might be significant. They might be crucial.<\/p>\n

Yet delaying things by demanding more tests will put Peter\u2019s job and his future prospects at risk.<\/p>\n

\u201cPermission to Speak Freely\u201d is a smart and relevant story that deals with the role of \u201cdisinterested\u201d science in a realistic and convincing way. The story\u2019s moral complexity is let down only by an ending that allows Peter to have is cake and eat it.<\/p>\n

Also worth noting in this issue is Richard A Lovett\u2019s<\/strong> science fact article on the difficulty of identifying the origins of man\u2019s domestication of horses. \u201cThe Search for the World\u2019s First Equestrians\u201d was a fascinating read on a subject that turns out to be surprisingly interesting.<\/p>\n

On the whole this issue of Analog<\/em> contained as many hits as misses amongst its fiction offerings but it is the uncomfortable misses that remain longest in the memory. Analog<\/em> reads like a magazine determined to keep very firmly within the genre\u2019s comfort zone. Many of the writers here will be cosily familiar to Analog<\/em> regulars with Hemry (14th<\/sup> appearance), Frederick (19th<\/sup>) and Stratmann (14th<\/sup>) being frequent contributors. There\u2019s nothing wrong with any of this, and perhaps Analog<\/em>, with its long history, can fairly ask \u201cif it ain\u2019t broke, why fix it?\u201d But, then again, maybe it wasn\u2019t the whiff of nostalgia on the way in after all.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

For a reader who hasn\u2019t been down these paths in a long time the question was whether the strange odour in the air when opening the pages of the latest issue of Analog<\/a><\/em><\/strong> (Vol. CXXVII, no. 11 \u2013 November 2007) \u2013 was the whiff of nostalgia or the tang of formaldehyde? <\/span><\/p>\n

The issue\u2019s featured novella is by Barry B. Longyear<\/strong>. \u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d is the third recent Longyear story to appear in Analog <\/em>featuring the unlikely detectives Jaggers and Shad and the other denizens of Exeter\u2019s Artificial Beings\u2019 Crime Division (ABCD). New reader won\u2019t be completely lost but there is some catching up to do.<\/span><\/p>\n

The lead characters are not, for example, simple detectives. Jaggers bears more than a passing resemblance to Basil Rathbone (most famous for his portrayal of a certain great detective) and Shad is a duck and something of a celebrity, famous for appearing as the mascot in an advertising campaign. Also in the ABCD is Parker, a large silverback gorilla with unfortunate bowel control problems and a history of embarrassing the police force.<\/span><\/p>\n

The artificial beings in \u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d are categorised as amdroids<\/em> (animal bodies) and biomechs<\/em> (machines) and the conscious minds of humans can flit between these creatures. This talent is not restricted to the detectives. In Exeter old people are used to inhabit the bodies of amdroid pigeons and sent out to control the city\u2019s bird population. But someone has it in for Exeter\u2019s pigeon squadrons and artificial beings more generally. The body in Parliament Street (the narrowest street in the world, you know) leads to the discovery of a Chinatown-esque conspiracy, with bigotry, lies, and intrigue all uncovered through the courage and bold determination of Devon and Cornwall\u2019s finest.<\/span><\/p>\n

Well, sort of.<\/span><\/p>\n

What actually happens is that the heroes fumble about for a bit through an increasingly feeble selection of slapstick encounters and toilet humour until the whole plot unravels.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d commits three great crimes.<\/span><\/p>\n

First, it fails to give any sense of the strangeness of its character\u2019s lives. This story sees Jagger slip from a human-like body to a high-tech snooping device described as a \u201cflying lipstick\u201d and then into the body of a pigeon. But Longyear makes no attempt to describe how Jagger\u2019s perception of the world might be altered during or after these changes, which makes the remarkable technology seem rather bland.<\/span><\/p>\n

Second, the background setting of Exeter is poorly used. This is a cardboard cut-out city, reduced to a set street name routes between places of interest and the insertion of occasional travel-guide nuggets, such as: \u201cthe illuminated, columned gingerbread of the medieval Exeter Guildhall [was] still the oldest working municipal building in England…\u201d (p12)<\/span><\/p>\n

It feels unconvincing and, in places it is downright clumsy.<\/span><\/p>\n

But, finally, it is the way the story reaches its denouement that really sinks \u201cMurder in Parliament Street.\u201d The success of crime stories, even light-hearted ones, absolutely depends on the degree of satisfaction the reader gets from second guessing the author and the extent to which the author can surprise the reader while still being honest. \u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d fails in this respect. The plot suddenly unravels in a blur of new and previously unmentioned witnesses and remarkable discoveries which arrive without any foreshadowing or, for that matter, any sense that the central characters deserve their sudden good fortune. Much of the action is actually reported second-hand in a perfunctory round-up.<\/span><\/p>\n

Longyear\u2019s writing is slick and perfectly serviceable but how much you enjoy \u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d may well depend on how funny you find a gorilla in a nappy.<\/span><\/p>\n

The issue\u2019s next story is better. John G. Hemry\u2019s<\/strong> <\/span>novelette \u201cThese are the Times\u201d is a zippy, enjoyable, time-travel lark, though a harsher critic might take Hemry to task for the casual cultural bias on display. Set in the days leading up the Battle of Lexington (18 & 19 April, 1775) and the start of the American War of Independence, Hemry simply assumes that these events will continue to have the same profound cultural, political and historical resonance for far future humanity as they do for a modern American citizen. Implicit in this assumption is a special place for America\u2019s domestic history above those of other nations and a continuation of US hegemony.<\/span><\/p>\n

But Hemry\u2019s adventure is too light to be the subject of such criticism and too much fun to treat so harshly. It takes a little while to get going, but by about the half way mark the story is in full stride and only a curmudgeon could fail to be rooting for the protagonists. \u201cThese are the Times\u201d is hokum but it is fun and it gallops towards an obvious but still satisfying conclusion involving the obligatory solving of a long-standing historical puzzle.<\/span><\/p>\n

It is difficult to know quite what to make of \u201cYearning for the White Avenger.\u201d Carl Frederick\u2019s<\/strong> story about Conradin, an abused young boy who longs for escape, has only the flimsiest fantasy element and a preposterously happy ending. The sf\/fantasy element, such as it is, sees Conradin and his friend attempt to teach a specially trained parrot to translate for a specially trained dog. This work may, or may not, play a part in the story\u2019s denouement, but it is hardly crucial to the story.<\/span><\/p>\n

But other problems with \u201cYearning…\u201d are more serious.<\/span><\/p>\n

Conradin\u2019s drunken, brutal father is hopelessly one-dimensional. There are, no doubt, nasty men out there doing horrible things to their children \u2013 but they are too often used lazily by writers as casual plot hooks that need no justification or fleshing out. A stereotype, even one with a grain of truth in it, is still the enemy of engaging writing and this is a particularly poor example. But it is in the resolution of \u201cYearning…\u201d that Frederick\u2019s story that is most baffling. It manages to be nauseatingly sweet, unintentionally creepy and utterly unrealistic in a single swoop. This is a tremendously na\u00efve treatment of a serious issue and \u201cYearning for the White Avenger\u201d is the weakest story in this collection.<\/span><\/p>\n

Bud Sparhawk\u2019s<\/span><\/strong> \u201cThe Suit\u201d is another weak story. A man has let his life become ruled by crappy, intrusive technology that resides in his suit, in his kitchen, in his bathroom and even in his shoes. By luck he finds the love of a good woman and they cast off their crappy tech to find happiness together. Everything in this story has been done before, done better, and done more convincingly and \u201cThe Suit\u201d adds nothing to the works that precede it. Sparhawk\u2019s characters seem stupid enough to deserve the crappy time they\u2019re having, so why should we care what happens to them?<\/span><\/p>\n

The heart of H.G. Stratmann\u2019s<\/strong> novelette \u201cThe Paradise Project\u201d is a pacy and smartly told flash story longing to be set free. Sadly, however, it finds itself weighed down by fleshy infodumps on (the largely irrelevant) geopolitical situation in the near future and sidetracked by (entirely unnecessary) contemplations on the sex lives of the lead characters. None of this serves to advance the plot or to cast significant light on the final reveal, instead it simply slows everything down and obscures the point of the story.<\/span><\/p>\n

That said, Stratmann\u2019s core idea is strong enough to survive this mistreatment and if the final scene does feel like a throw back to the old-fashioned stories of pulp sf\u2019s heydays, well \u201cThe Paradise Project\u201d is none the worse for that.<\/span><\/p>\n

The final story in this issue of Analog<\/em> is \u201cPermission to Speak Freely\u201d an intelligent and engaging story by David Walton<\/strong>. This is more a fiction about science than a science fiction story, but it is by some distance the most intellectually interesting tale in the magazine. <\/span><\/p>\n

However, the story is not straightforwardly engaging. The gizmo that drives the narrative (a \u201csympathology rig\u201d) is unconvincing. The device purports to allow a \u201csympathologist\u201d to experience a patient\u2019s pain and is touted here as a breakthrough in diagnosis. Whether, as occurs in the opening few paragraphs, a sympathologist having inflicting upon himself perhaps the worst headache in history would then be able to state with authority: \u201cbrain aneurysim, frontal lobe, left side\u201d \u2013 as though simply experiencing the pain ruled out all other possible diagnoses \u2013 seems doubtful in the extreme. <\/span><\/p>\n

Fortunately the sympathology device is a maguffin. Walton uses it as a means to place his protagonist \u2013 a scientist overseeing the clinical testing of sympathology \u2013 in a moral dilemma.<\/span><\/p>\n

Peter is under pressure from his university, from business sponsors, and from his friend \u2013 the device\u2019s inventor \u2013 to approve the gizmo as a potentially revolutionary breakthrough. Moderate fame, financial security, and enhanced job prospects all await. All Peter has to do is deliver a favourable report. But Peter has doubts. There are anomalies in the data. They are small, but they might be significant. They might be crucial.<\/span><\/p>\n

Yet delaying things by demanding more tests will put Peter\u2019s job and his future prospects at risk. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPermission to Speak Freely\u201d is a smart and relevant story that deals with the role of \u201cdisinterested\u201d science in a realistic and convincing way. The story\u2019s moral complexity is let down only by an ending that allows Peter to have is cake and eat it.<\/span><\/p>\n

Also worth noting in this issue is Richard A Lovett\u2019s<\/strong> science fact article on the difficulty of identifying the origins of man\u2019s domestication of horses. \u201cThe Search for the World\u2019s First E<\/span><\/p>\n

For a reader who hasn\u2019t been down these paths in a long time the question was whether the strange odour in the air when opening the pages of the latest issue of Analog<\/a><\/em><\/strong> (Vol. CXXVII, no. 11 \u2013 November 2007) \u2013 was the whiff of nostalgia or the tang of formaldehyde?<\/p>\n

The issue\u2019s featured novella is by Barry B. Longyear<\/strong>. \u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d is the third recent Longyear story to appear in Analog <\/em>featuring the unlikely detectives Jaggers and Shad and the other denizens of Exeter\u2019s Artificial Beings\u2019 Crime Division (ABCD). New reader won\u2019t be completely lost but there is some catching up to do.<\/p>\n

The lead characters are not, for example, simple detectives. Jaggers bears more than a passing resemblance to Basil Rathbone (most famous for his portrayal of a certain great detective) and Shad is a duck and something of a celebrity, famous for appearing as the mascot in an advertising campaign. Also in the ABCD is Parker, a large silverback gorilla with unfortunate bowel control problems and a history of embarrassing the police force.<\/p>\n

The artificial beings in \u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d are categorised as amdroids<\/em> (animal bodies) and biomechs<\/em> (machines) and the conscious minds of humans can flit between these creatures. This talent is not restricted to the detectives. In Exeter old people are used to inhabit the bodies of amdroid pigeons and sent out to control the city\u2019s bird population. But someone has it in for Exeter\u2019s pigeon squadrons and artificial beings more generally. The body in Parliament Street (the narrowest street in the world, you know) leads to the discovery of a Chinatown-esque conspiracy, with bigotry, lies, and intrigue all uncovered through the courage and bold determination of Devon and Cornwall\u2019s finest.<\/p>\n

Well, sort of.<\/p>\n

What actually happens is that the heroes fumble about for a bit through an increasingly feeble selection of slapstick encounters and toilet humour until the whole plot unravels.<\/p>\n

\u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d commits three great crimes.<\/p>\n

First, it fails to give any sense of the strangeness of its character\u2019s lives. This story sees Jagger slip from a human-like body to a high-tech snooping device described as a \u201cflying lipstick\u201d and then into the body of a pigeon. But Longyear makes no attempt to describe how Jagger\u2019s perception of the world might be altered during or after these changes, which makes the remarkable technology seem rather bland.<\/p>\n

Second, the background setting of Exeter is poorly used. This is a cardboard cut-out city, reduced to a set street name routes between places of interest and the insertion of occasional travel-guide nuggets, such as: \u201cthe illuminated, columned gingerbread of the medieval Exeter Guildhall [was] still the oldest working municipal building in England…\u201d (p12)<\/p>\n

It feels unconvincing and, in places it is downright clumsy.<\/p>\n

But, finally, it is the way the story reaches its denouement that really sinks \u201cMurder in Parliament Street.\u201d The success of crime stories, even light-hearted ones, absolutely depends on the degree of satisfaction the reader gets from second guessing the author and the extent to which the author can surprise the reader while still being honest. \u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d fails in this respect. The plot suddenly unravels in a blur of new and previously unmentioned witnesses and remarkable discoveries which arrive without any foreshadowing or, for that matter, any sense that the central characters deserve their sudden good fortune. Much of the action is actually reported second-hand in a perfunctory round-up.<\/p>\n

Longyear\u2019s writing is slick and perfectly serviceable but how much you enjoy \u201cMurder in Parliament Street\u201d may well depend on how funny you find a gorilla in a nappy.<\/p>\n

The issue\u2019s next story is better. John G. Hemry\u2019s<\/strong> novelette \u201cThese are the Times\u201d is a zippy, enjoyable, time-travel lark, though a harsher critic might take Hemry to task for the casual cultural bias on display. Set in the days leading up the Battle of Lexington (18 & 19 April, 1775) and the start of the American War of Independence, Hemry simply assumes that these events will continue to have the same profound cultural, political and historical resonance for far future humanity as they do for a modern American citizen. Implicit in this assumption is a special place for America\u2019s domestic history above those of other nations and a continuation of US hegemony.<\/p>\n

But Hemry\u2019s adventure is too light to be the subject of such criticism and too much fun to treat so harshly. It takes a little while to get going, but by about the half way mark the story is in full stride and only a curmudgeon could fail to be rooting for the protagonists. \u201cThese are the Times\u201d is hokum but it is fun and it gallops towards an obvious but still satisfying conclusion involving the obligatory solving of a long-standing historical puzzle.<\/p>\n

It is difficult to know quite what to make of \u201cYearning for the White Avenger.\u201d Carl Frederick\u2019s<\/strong> story about Conradin, an abused young boy who longs for escape, has only the flimsiest fantasy element and a preposterously happy ending. The sf\/fantasy element, such as it is, sees Conradin and his friend attempt to teach a specially trained parrot to translate for a specially trained dog. This work may, or may not, play a part in the story\u2019s denouement, but it is hardly crucial to the story.<\/p>\n

But other problems with \u201cYearning…\u201d are more serious.<\/p>\n

Conradin\u2019s drunken, brutal father is hopelessly one-dimensional. There are, no doubt, nasty men out there doing horrible things to their children \u2013 but they are too often used lazily by writers as casual plot hooks that need no justification or fleshing out. A stereotype, even one with a grain of truth in it, is still the enemy of engaging writing and this is a particularly poor example. But it is in the resolution of \u201cYearning…\u201d that Frederick\u2019s story that is most baffling. It manages to be nauseatingly sweet, unintentionally creepy and utterly unrealistic in a single swoop. This is a tremendously na\u00efve treatment of a serious issue and \u201cYearning for the White Avenger\u201d is the weakest story in this collection.<\/p>\n

Bud Sparhawk\u2019s<\/strong> \u201cThe Suit\u201d is another weak story. A man has let his life become ruled by crappy, intrusive technology that resides in his suit, in his kitchen, in his bathroom and even in his shoes. By luck he finds the love of a good woman and they cast off their crappy tech to find happiness together. Everything in this story has been done before, done better, and done more convincingly and \u201cThe Suit\u201d adds nothing to the works that precede it. Sparhawk\u2019s characters seem stupid enough to deserve the crappy time they\u2019re having, so why should we care what happens to them?<\/p>\n

The heart of H.G. Stratmann\u2019s<\/strong> novelette \u201cThe Paradise Project\u201d is a pacy and smartly told flash story longing to be set free. Sadly, however, it finds itself weighed down by fleshy infodumps on (the largely irrelevant) geopolitical situation in the near future and sidetracked by (entirely unnecessary) contemplations on the sex lives of the lead characters. None of this serves to advance the plot or to cast significant light on the final reveal, instead it simply slows everything down and obscures the point of the story.<\/p>\n

That said, Stratmann\u2019s core idea is strong enough to survive this mistreatment and if the final scene does feel like a throw back to the old-fashioned stories of pulp sf\u2019s heydays, well \u201cThe Paradise Project\u201d is none the worse for that.<\/p>\n

The final story in this issue of Analog<\/em> is \u201cPermission to Speak Freely\u201d an intelligent and engaging story by David Walton<\/strong>. This is more a fiction about science than a science fiction story, but it is by some distance the most intellectually interesting tale in the magazine.<\/p>\n

However, the story is not straightforwardly engaging. The gizmo that drives the narrative (a \u201csympathology rig\u201d) is unconvincing. The device purports to allow a \u201csympathologist\u201d to experience a patient\u2019s pain and is touted here as a breakthrough in diagnosis. Whether, as occurs in the opening few paragraphs, a sympathologist having inflicting upon himself perhaps the worst headache in history would then be able to state with authority: \u201cbrain aneurysim, frontal lobe, left side\u201d \u2013 as though simply experiencing the pain ruled out all other possible diagnoses \u2013 seems doubtful in the extreme.<\/p>\n

Fortunately the sympathology device is a maguffin. Walton uses it as a means to place his protagonist \u2013 a scientist overseeing the clinical testing of sympathology \u2013 in a moral dilemma.<\/p>\n

Peter is under pressure from his university, from business sponsors, and from his friend \u2013 the device\u2019s inventor \u2013 to approve the gizmo as a potentially revolutionary breakthrough. Moderate fame, financial security, and enhanced job prospects all await. All Peter has to do is deliver a favourable report. But Peter has doubts. There are anomalies in the data. They are small, but they might be significant. They might be crucial.<\/p>\n

Yet delaying things by demanding more tests will put Peter\u2019s job and his future prospects at risk.<\/p>\n

\u201cPermission to Speak Freely\u201d is a smart and relevant story that deals with the role of \u201cdisinterested\u201d science in a realistic and convincing way. The story\u2019s moral complexity is let down only by an ending that allows Peter to have is cake and eat it.<\/p>\n

Also worth noting in this issue is Richard A Lovett\u2019s<\/strong> science fact article on the difficulty of identifying the origins of man\u2019s domestication of horses. \u201cThe Search for the World\u2019s First Equestrians\u201d was a fascinating read on a subject that turns out to be surprisingly interesting.<\/p>\n

On the whole this issue of Analog<\/em> contained as many hits as misses amongst its fiction offerings but it is the uncomfortable misses that remain longest in the memory. Analog<\/em> reads like a magazine determined to keep very firmly within the genre\u2019s comfort zone. Many of the writers here will be cosily familiar to Analog<\/em> regulars with Hemry (14th<\/sup> appearance), Frederick (19th<\/sup>) and Stratmann (14th<\/sup>) being frequent contributors. There\u2019s nothing wrong with any of this, and perhaps Analog<\/em>, with its long history, can fairly ask \u201cif it ain\u2019t broke, why fix it?\u201d But, then again, maybe it wasn\u2019t the whiff of nostalgia on the way in after all.<\/p>\n

questrians\u201d was a fascinating read on a subject that turns out to be surprisingly interesting.<\/span><\/p>\n

On the whole this issue of Analog<\/em> contained as many hits as misses amongst its fiction offerings but it is the uncomfortable misses that remain longest in the memory. Analog<\/em> reads like a magazine determined to keep very firmly within the genre\u2019s comfort zone. Many of the writers here will be cosily familiar to Analog<\/em> regulars with Hemry (14th<\/sup> appearance), Frederick (19th<\/sup>) and Stratmann (14th<\/sup>) being frequent contributors. There\u2019s nothing wrong with any of this, and perhaps Analog<\/em>, with its long history, can fairly ask \u201cif it ain\u2019t broke, why fix it?\u201d But, then again, maybe it wasn\u2019t the whiff of nostalgia on the way in after all.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

For a reader who hasn\u2019t been down these paths in a long time the first question was whether the strange odour in the air when opening the pages of the latest issue of Analog (Vol. CXXVII, no. 11 \u2013 November 2007) was the whiff of nostalgia or the tang of formaldehyde?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":920,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false}}},"categories":[8,15,10],"tags":[91,43,46,90],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"http:\/\/www.mmcgrath.co.uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/02\/analog.jpg","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p27AP7-eP","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.mmcgrath.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/919"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.mmcgrath.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.mmcgrath.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.mmcgrath.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.mmcgrath.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=919"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/www.mmcgrath.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/919\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":922,"href":"http:\/\/www.mmcgrath.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/919\/revisions\/922"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.mmcgrath.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/920"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.mmcgrath.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=919"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.mmcgrath.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=919"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.mmcgrath.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=919"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}