Read Ebook {PDF EPUB} Universe 13 by Terry Carr Terry Carr. Terry Gene Carr (February 19, 1937 – April 7, 1987) [1] was a United States science fiction fan, author, editor, and writing instructor. Contents. Background and discovery of fandom. Carr discovered science fiction fandom in 1949, where he became an enthusiastic publisher of fanzines, which later helped open his way into the commercial publishing world. (He was one of the two fans responsible for the hoax fan 'Carl Brandon' after whom the Carl Brandon Society takes its name.) Despite a long career as a science fiction professional, he continued to participate as a fan until his death. He was nominated five times for Hugos for Best Fanzine (1959–1961, 1967–1968), winning in 1959, was nominated three times for Best Fan Writer (1971–1973), winning in 1973, and was Fan Guest of Honor at ConFederation in 1986. Professional work. Though he published some fiction in the early 1960s, Carr concentrated on editing. He first worked at Ace Books, establishing the Ace Science Fiction Specials series which published, among other novels, The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin and Rite of Passage by Alexei Panshin. After conflicts with Ace head Donald A. Wollheim, he worked as a freelancer. He edited an original story anthology series called Universe , and a popular series of The Best Science Fiction of the Year anthologies that ran from 1972 until his death in 1987. He also edited numerous one-off anthologies over the same time span. He was nominated for the Hugo for Best Editor thirteen times (1973–1975, 1977–1979, 1981–1987), winning twice (1985 and 1987). His win in 1985 was the first time a freelance editor had won. Terry Carr commissioned a first novel from William Gibson for the second series of Ace Science Fiction Specials, shortly after the Denver WorldCon, 1981. The purpose of the series was to give attention to first-time novelists. Gibson's fellow Ace Specials first-timers were Kim Stanley Robinson, Michael Swanwick, and Howard Waldrop. [2] William Gibson mentions Carr in the introduction to the 20th Anniversary Edition of the book: "Having been talked into signing a contract (by the late Terry Carr, without whom there would certainly be no Neuromancer) . ." [3] Carr taught at the Clarion Workshop at Michigan State University in 1978, where his students included Richard Kadrey and Pat Murphy. Personal life. Carr married a fellow science fiction fan, Miriam Dyches, in 1959. [1] They were divorced in 1961. Later that year, Carr married Carol Stuart. He remained married to her until his death. Under her married name of Carol Carr, his widow has also sold science fiction: "You Think You've Got Troubles" (1969), "Inside" (1970), "Some Are Born Cats" (1973, with Terry Carr), "Wally a Deux" (1973), and "Tooth Fairy" (1984). Terry Carr died April 7, 1987 from congestive heart failure. A memorial gathering of the sf community was held in Tilden Park in Berkeley, California on May 30. An original anthology of science fiction, Terry's Universe , was published the following year; all proceeds went to his widow. [4] His papers and his large collection of fanzines (71 linear feet and almost 2000 titles) have become part of the Eaton collection of Science Fiction at the University of California, Riverside. [5] Science Fiction and Other Suspect Ruminations. Reviews of Vintage Science Fiction (1950s to mid-1980s) Book Review: Universe 4 , ed. Terry Carr (1974) (Robert Silverberg, Pamela Sargent, Jack Vance, R. A. Lafferty, Alexei Panshin, Ron Goulart, et al.) Jack Faragasso’s cover for the 1975 edition. 3.25/5 (collated rating: Vaguely Good) Terry Carr’s original anthology Universe 4 (1974) contains a cross-section of early 70s science fiction–from oblique New Wave allegories to “hard SF” first contact stories with unusual aliens. Despite clocking in last in the installments I’ve read so far– behind Universe 2 (1972), Universe 1 (1971), and Universe 10 (1980)—the best stories, R. A. Lafferty’s rumination on memory and nostalgia, Pamela Sargent’s bleak account of urban erasure, Alexei Panshin’s evocation of conceptual shift , and Gregory Benford and Gordon Eklund’s first contact tale with aliens who claim to speak to suns, are all worth the read. Brief Plot Summary/Analysis. “Assault on a City” (1974), Jack Vance, 3/5 (Average): Nominated for the 1975 Hugo Award for Best Novella. This exotica-drenched vision of a far future wonder-filled city presents an upper-class heroine who puts those below her in their place (it’s best not to read too much into the social message, if Vance meant one at all). Bo, a hyper-macho drifter who works in the shipyards, and Waldo, a local noble, each encounter and become obsessed with the visiting Alice Tynnott, a member of the interstellar aristocracy. Both Bo and Waldo, who represent decadent urbanism obsessed with “vicarious experience” and “inner space”, let their obsession get the better of them. As always, Vance excels at world-building. For example, fitting neatly into the novella’s ruminations of subjectivity and objectivity, the Hall of History contains tours that reinforce guided interpretations and grand narratives. Alice, “curious as to the local version of history” collides with the perspective of Bo, who thinks brutishly that “history was history” without any interpretive element (39). History as illustration of paradigmatic difference… If you’re a Vance fan you’ll probably enjoy this more than me. I tend to be ambivalent towards his planetary adventure SF visions even when they posture in the general direction of the profound. “A Sea of Faces” (1974), Robert Silverberg, 3.75/5 (Good): Utilizing new technology that allows one to enter a mind, a celebrated young psychiatrist, Richard Bjornstrand, attempts to treat a troubled patient named April Lowry. Despite warnings from his colleagues about the danger to both—“it’s the riskiest kind of therapy you could have chosen” (59)—Richard wanders the ever evolving landscape of April’s troubled mind. Like Christopher Priest’s Dream Archipelago novels and stories, the fractured human mind takes the form of a series of islands. In Silverberg’s formulation, they are masses in a continuous state of transformation and variation–dense forests, warm sand beeches, and single islands with “several distinct geographical zones” (63). And of course, Richard feels his control slipping as he wanders from isle to isle and his own sense of reality blurs. A solid outing from one of my favorite SF authors. While it doesn’t have the searing power of his other medical-themed fictions such as Thorns (1967) of “The Pain Peddlers” (1963), but his metaphoric representation of a fractured mind as multifarious islands is moody and beautiful. Fits firmly into the psychiatrist as singularly deluded mold…. Chelsea Quinn Yarbro’s Hyacinths (1982) remains the only positive portrayal of a psychiatrist I’ve encountered yet. “And Read the Flesh Between the Lines” (1974), R. A. Lafferty, 4.5/5 (Very Good): As expected, Lafferty weaves the most challenging story in the collection! First, imagine history as one would a memory–compressed, selective, porous, constantly rewiring itself. Now imagine a physical manifestation of memory—a throbbing room filled with ephemera of youth and the items of nostalgia and the language of comic books… This proximity of images collides with what could be an alternate-history, as a man ruminates out loud with his Australopithecus servant serving drinks. Memory as a passive myth-generating process? I want to reread this one and re-uncover its threads! “My Sweet Lady Jo” (1974), Howard Waldrop, 3/5 (Average): The twenty-seven-year-old director of public information in the Space Science Services Administration, Edward Smith, a brilliant orphan, welcomes home colonists who left their comrades on the first colonizing voyage to Alpha Centauri. But Smith’s life, despite his prodigious rise to power, is filled with sadness as his marriage winds to its end. Melding the strands of “scientific romance” from the Gernsbeck era with 70s character driven interior visions, Waldrop fools with self-aggrandizing narratives progress and humanity’s desperation to explore outward. There’s no way to escape the troubles of the heart. There’s a gimmick ending that echoes that famous work of Greek tragedy. While I am all for science fiction that satirizes our destructive desires to explore and exploit, I still have yet to encounter a Waldrop story that resonates with me. “Stungun Slim” (1974), Ron Goulart, 2/5 (Bad): Executioner Josh Birley, beset with the monetary demands of his “willowy blond wife” Glendora, invents a new scheme to raise money (103). Goulart satires feel like anthology filler. I might smile a bit at their kitsch (lizard men, drummer androids) and empathize with the empty materialistic worlds he presents, but the details and characters pass quickly from my memory… and “Stungun Slim” is no different. “Desert Places” (1974), Pamela Sargent, 3.5/5 (Good): An unsettling tale about the end of the world… Eggar Knute, Tiel Obrine, and Man Mountain L’ono are perpetually on the move as a city crumbles building by building around them. Eggar positions and repositions his cameras charting the mysterious act of urban erasure. Man Mountain L’ono whittles and whittles piling wood shavings across the floor. Tiel mumbles “I’m sick of it […] I want to settle down” (120). But a new building crumbles. And they must set off again. This is the best Pamela Sargent story I’ve read yet. Unlike The White Death (1979), the detached way of telling adds a sinister touch—and all the dialogue (and repetitive speech patterns that emerge) and actions feel like they have happened countless times in the past.