Fungus Gnat's Reviews > Dangerous Visions

This is Ellison’s self-proclaimed revolution in SF, comprising 30-odd original stories by the big names, and big-names-to-be, in the field. The 35th anniversary edition (2002) begins with five written pieces of front matter—a fair sign of the importance attached to this volume, at least by Ellison. The first is a brief, useful if a bit overly congratulatory foreword by Michael Moorcock. The last is Ellison’s original introduction, which is a breezy, entertaining read. It is certainly far superior to the ludicrous upchuck of megalomania that constitutes Ellison’s intro to the new edition. Ellison obviously (and explicitly) devalues humility, but where that cannot be had, one might hope for at least a little perspective by the time a man gets to a certain age. The other two forewords are Isaac Asimov’s, to the original edition, and it’s disappointing that even Asimov, perhaps infected by Ellison, cannot talk about a book without talking about himself.

In addition to all of this build-up, Ellison favors us with the introductions he wrote in 1967 to each of these stories. These amount to 55 pages’ worth--biographical background, generous appreciation of the authors as writers and as people, and, of course, how important they were personally to Ellison. As if that weren’t enough commentary, Ellison permits each author an “afterword.” Not being Ellison, the authors seem to realize that the less said, the better (exception: Ellison’s afterword to his own story).

Ellison promotes his revolution by allowing contributors to escape the trammels on their imagination enforced by magazine editors worried about sales. The stories included have been chosen to represent breakthroughs in form, style, and treatment of touchy elements like violence, sex, and religion. “Dangerous visions” is thus more than just a snappy title—it states the purpose of the collection, and Ellison alludes to it in his story introductions to explain the inclusion of the works chosen.

I am not well enough schooled in science-fiction to judge whether Ellison effected his revolution (he surely believes he did), but the volume as a whole strikes me as an impressive anthology. The plots are imaginative, the writing a step or two above what I expected (and the copy carefully proofed—not always the case in s-f). There is surprisingly little space opera, though perhaps not surprising, given the lofty purpose. Some stories are not exactly s-f, and I can think of one that is not any kind of speculative fiction.

Except for one 75-page novella, the pieces average about 12 pages, or some 3500 words, in length. This is kinda short to get anything halfway serious going, and it reflects what seems to be the devalued status of this form in s-f. Moreover, even in this avowedly path-breaking collection, many of the writers just can’t seem to resist the conventional s-f practice of throwing a plot twist in at the end. This is not to suggest that all such tricks are just gimmicks, but that, when so often present, they tend to trivialize the art of story-writing, as if novels were serious writing and stories merely exercises in cleverness or cuteness. To a certain extent, I’m willing to forgive this kind of thing. It is science-fiction, after all. It may be good, but it’s not Welty or Cheever or Trevor.

Be that as it may, a number of stories stood out to me as above the run of this decent mill:

“The Escaping” (David R. Bunch), a brief, nebulous tale depicting the state of the imprisoned creative mind on the knife-edge between the joy of resistance or dignity on the one side and the sadness of near-insanity on the other. This would have been a good story in any collection.

“Aye, and Gomorrah . . .” (Samuel R. Delany), the first short story this author wrote and representative of the imagination in his novels, it’s mostly a conversation between a neutered astronaut and a member of a group of sexual iconoclasts who idolize the “spacers” and pay them for romantic trysts.

“The Prowler in the City at the Edge of the World” (Harlan Ellison). Yes, yes, as much as I hate to say it, Ellison’s story is among the best in this volume. In a sequel to one of the other stories (“A Toy for Juliette,” a weak entry by Robert Bloch), Jack the Ripper is transported to a city of the 31st century. Lively characters, literate prose, and a wondrously described future.

“Go, Go, Go, Said the Bird” (Sonya Dorman). In a post-apocalyptic world of hunting and gathering, recurrent famine, and cannibalism, a woman runs and runs, attempting to return to her village. A strong story, very well written, and chilling.

“Gonna Roll the Bones” (Fritz Leiber). A low-class miner goes gambling at craps in a fantastic casino, where he faces off against the spectral Big Gambler. This is as much retold folk tale as science-fiction, but it works well. Leiber’s language hits hard and is up to all the demands on it.

“Riders of the Purple Wage” (Philip José Farmer). A long, rollicking, free-form, chaotic story equal to the chaotic world of the future it describes—one in which there is no need for productive work. A bit didactic at times, but more often challenging and entertaining.

Other good ones: “From the Government Printing Office” (Kris Neville), “Faith of Our Fathers” (Philip K. Dick), “What Happened to Auguste Clarot?” (Larry Eisenberg), “Carcinoma Angels” (Norman Spinrad), “The Night That All Tine Broke Out” (Brian W. Aldiss), “Ersatz” (Henry Slesar).

Coulda done without: “The Malley System” (Miriam Allen DeFord), “Shall the Dust Praise Thee?” (Damon Knight), “Auto-da-Fé” (Roger Zelazny), “If All Men Were Brothers . . .” (Theodore Sturgeon), “The Recognition” (J. G. Ballard), and the aforementioned “Toy for Juliette.”