July 2021 SideTrekked A publication of Science Fiction London - 2 Issue #64 SideTrekked is the official journal of Science Fiction London ISSN 0715-3007 Science Fiction London meets in London, Ontario, Canada www.sflondon.ca [email protected] The front cover image was created by tonobalageur and the closing cover image was created by 3dsculptor. Both were obtained via www.123rf.com The logo on page 8 was designed by Ana Tirolese The image on page 12 was created by Robert Walsh This edition was edited by Stephanie Hanna and Mark C. Ambrogio 3 Book Review: Daphne du Maurier’s The House on the Strand The House on the Strand, a novel Daphne du Maurier, author Victor Gollancz, 1969 Kobo Edition: Little, Brown Book Group, 2012 Daphne du Maurier is probably best known for her gothic and haunting Rebecca (1938), a novel which has remained in print for decades and been adapted multiple times for film and stage. Many of du Maurier’s other novels, such as Jamaica Inn (1936), Frenchman’s Creek (1941), My Cousin Rachel (1951), and The Scapegoat (1957) have also received film or stage adaptations. The House on the Strand, first published in 1969, is somewhat less well known among du Maurier’s works, but might be of interest to SideTrekked readers, since it displays not only du Maurier’s notable grasp on character and suspenseful pacing, but also an interesting (if fairly light on the science) foray into science fiction. The novel follows our narrator, Dick, who is spending the summer in Cornwall, at a home belonging to his friend Magnus. Dick is a bit adrift in life at the moment that readers first meet him. He is between jobs, and his wife of three years, an American, is trying to convince him to leave England and take a position in her brother’s New York publishing firm, a prospect Dick doesn’t seem to relish. Magnus’ offer of the use of his Cornish home for the summer seems like a much- needed reprieve. But Dick’s relationship with Magnus, dating back to their school days, is complicated, and Magnus’ offer turns out to come with some strings attached. Magnus is brilliant, a professor of biophysics, and he’s been working on a new experimental drug, one he would like Dick to try out during his holiday stay. When Dick (who is, perhaps, not the world’s best decision maker) agrees to try a dose of Magnus’ new invention, he finds himself in the same place but in a different time. Suddenly, the world Dick sees around him is that of the fourteenth century. Dick can watch the lives of those who inhabited the area long before his own time, and gain a fascinating glimpse into their world. He quickly discovers, though, that he cannot interact with that world. While his mind roams around a Cornwall of a previous era, his body remains firmly in the twentieth century. He can observe the world of the past, but he’s relegated to the status of an observer, with no power to act or change things. 4 Daphne du Maurier; 1907 - 1989 As Dick tries Magnus’ drug again and again over the days and weeks that follow, returning repeatedly to the fourteenth century, he becomes increasingly drawn to those living in the past and less and less interested in returning to and living in his own time. While life in Cornwall’s past was difficult and dangerous, it was also simpler and somehow more vivid than the twentieth century life in which Dick feels increasingly unhappy and trapped. And as Dick’s obsession with his time in the past grows, his life in the present starts to unravel. The House on the Strand is an interesting blend of historic and science fiction, and it presents a captivating world and story while grappling with issues of psychology and addiction, the complexity of human relationships, the struggles of modern life, and the problems that have stayed with us through the centuries. - Stephanie Hanna 5 An Analysis of Ursula K. Le Guin's The Dispossessed: Part One The Dispossessed, a novel Ursula K. Le Guin, author Avon Books / Harper & Row, 1974 Some context So far, SFL has covered Ursula K. Le Guin's classic novel The Dispossessed twice: once in 1990 and, more recently, at our October 2020 meeting, at which yours truly presented. An author of wide acclaim, Le Guin (1929–2018) won the Gandalf Grand Master Award by the World Science Fantasy Society in 1979; won the World Fantasy Award for Life Achievement in 1995; and in 2003 was named the 20th Grand Master by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America – in addition to many other awards and prizes for specific novels. Published in 1974, The Dispossessed was released not too long before some of those lofty awards were named, doubtless helping to shape the favourable regard with which her corpus was regarded. Along with The Left Hand of Darkness, published in 1969, The Dispossessed is one of two seminal novels in her Hainish Cycle – a long-term creative project (or, to put it Biblically – a series of smaller projects) that is quite distinct from a series. Readers are accustomed to the traditional linear sequence of a series. For science fiction fans, a relatively recent example – and one that garnered mainstream attention – would be The Hunger Games series of novels and films. Published in 2008, the first novel in the series was appropriately named The Hunger Games. This was followed, shortly thereafter, by Catching Fire, published in 2009. And then, without missing a beat, came Mockingjay, in 2010. Each of these novels had a film interpretation released, of the same name – except for Mockingjay, for which two films were released. These films were released between 2012 and 2015. More recently, a prequel was published in 2020, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. Most properly, if one wanted to take a “deep dive” into The Hunger Games world, one would read each novel sequentially and then, if still wanting more, one would read the prequel. And, of course, watching the corresponding films, along the way. A slightly heterodox reader may read the prequel first, before the trilogy itself – an approach for which there would be some merit. Otherwise, though, the order of the series would need to be respected, for it to be appreciated. 6 Such is not the case with Le Guin’s Hainish Cycle. Although there are connections between each novel in that cycle (referring to some common fictional elements), they may also be read independently – hence the use of the term cycle, rather than series. Therefore, this analysis of The Dispossessed will focus on this novel as its own work, without referencing the broader Cycle. The beginning: setting On the first pages of The Dispossessed, readers are shown very simple images of two planets: Annares and Urras. An impatient reader would want to know why – what is the significance of two planets? Why two? How do they relate? A more patient approach would be required, as Le Guin teases out the images a little more slowly and thoughtfully; otherwise, what would be the point of the novel in the first place, if everything is explained to us all at the start? Instead, Le Guin asks us to explore, along with the novel's characters. Before exploring, though, one must first orient oneself, which is what Le Guin invites us to do. If one is walking through the crowded basement of a house – imagine being surrounded by boxes of old books and worn clothes – when the power and lights go off, one will want to first orient oneself. What is around me? And then, when one has one's bearings, one can start to walk towards the stairs and ascend them towards light, assuming it is daytime. That is what happens on page one; however, instead of old boxes in a basement, Le Guin shows us a wall: “There was a wall. It did not look important. It was built of uncut rocks roughly mortared. An adult could look right over it, and even a child could climb it.” (page one) So, we are shown what sounds like a simple wall, one that could be easily traversed, such that in some spots, the wall is even more notional than it is physical: “Where it crossed the roadway, instead of having a gate it degenerated into mere geometry, a line, an idea of a boundary.” At this point, the reader may assume that what is being described (this wall, this boundary) may not be of too much importance; otherwise, why have a wall if one could easily step over it, or simply walk over a line? Such is not the case, though, Le Guin tells us: “But the idea was real. It was important. For seven generations there had been nothing in the world more important than that wall.” 7 So, we are shown a wall that could be easily traversed, as if the demarcation was a pure formality, but whose existence is important (very important!), suggesting that it is not normally crossed – or at least not casually. One may ask if the wall is there to keep others out, or if it is there to keep those on the inside in. Either / both, suggests Le Guin: “Like all walls, it was ambiguous, two-faced. What was inside it and what was outside it depended upon which side of it you were on.” At this point, readers may wonder what, exactly, Le Guin is saying, but with some patience a reader will see the profundity in what is gently being teased out.