Month: March 2020

The Golden Apples of the Sun, by Ray Bradbury – 1954 [Barye W. Phillips…maybe]

Though I’ve never been partial to the literary style or underlying themes of Ray Bradbury’s writing, I can still appreciate and respect the cultural and historical significance of his body of work.  And, from what I know “about” him, he was a genuinely kind human being, quite willing to bestow time and advice to budding authors.  In that regard, the foremost qualities that emerge from his interview by Charles Platt (in Dream Makers – The Uncommon People Who Write Science Fiction) are a sense of integrity, and, a deep dedication to his craft.

You can’t ignore somebody like that.

So, here’s Bantam’s 1954 anthology of twenty-two of his stories, entitled (by virtue of the last listed title) The Golden Apples of the Sun.  For the story “Embroidery”, originally published in the November, 1951 issue of Marvel Science Fiction, I’ve included the magazine’s cover (by Hannes Bok), while for “The Golden Apples of The Sun”, which first appeared in the November, 1953 issue of Planet Stories, I’ve added the issue’s cover (by Frank Kelly Freas).  Both images were downloaded from Archive.org, and Photoshopified just a little bit.

Contents

The Fog Horn, from The Saturday Evening Post, June 23, 1951

The Pedestrian, from The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, February, 1952

The April Witch (from “The Elliott Family” series), from The Saturday Evening Post, April 5, 1952

The Wilderness (from “The Martian Chronicles” series) from The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, November, 1952

The Fruit at the Bottom of the Bowl, from Detective Book Magazine, Winter, 1948

Invisible Boy, from Mademoiselle, Winter, 1945

The Flying Machine

The Murderer

The Golden Kite, the Silver Wind

I See You Never, from The New Yorker, November 8, 1947

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Embroidery, from Marvel Science Fiction, November, 1951

“This month’s 4-color cover by well-known cover and interior artist, HANNES BOK.  Using a mixed technique of dyes, color pencil, water-color, and ink.”

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The Big Black and White Game, from The American Mercury, August, 1945

A Sound of Thunder, from Colliers, June 28, 1952

The Great Wide World Over There

Powerhouse (1948?)

En la Noche, from Cavalier, November, 1952

Sun and Shadow, The Reporter, 1953

The Meadow, World Security Workshop (ABC Radio Network radio program), 1947

The Garbage Collector

The Great Fire (“Green Town”?) (1949?)

Hail and Farewell

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The Golden Apples of the Sun, Planet Stories, November, 1953

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References

Platt, Charles, Dream Makers – The Uncommon People Who Write Science Fiction, Berkley Books, New York, N.Y., November, 1980

The Golden Apples of the Sun, at Internet Speculative Fiction Database

The Golden Apples of the Sun, at Wikipedia

Ray Bradbury, at RayBradbury.com

The Nightmare of Reason – A Life of Franz Kafka, by Ernst Pawel – 1985 (1984) [Nancy Crampton]

Unlike Anthony Russo’s cover illustrations for the series of Schocken Books titles covering the works of Franz Kafka (published from the late 1980s through the early 1990s), the cover art of Ernst Pawel’s highly praised 1984 biography of Kafka, The Nightmare of Reason – A Life of Franz Kafka (Farrar – Straus – Giroux), is an illustration of a different sort:  Jacket designer Candy Jernigan used a photographic silhouette of Prague Castle to symbolize the physical, social, and psychological “world” of Franz Kafka’s writing.  Perhaps the image was made from a color negative, with the color saturation of the final image having been enhanced during printing.  Or, perhaps the picture is simply an accurate representation of the colors of the Prague skyline at dusk. 

Either way, the combination of black-clouded yellow-orange sky, with the castle in the distance, is quite striking. 

By way of comparison, this September, 2014 photograph, from Park Inn at Radisson, shows a sunset view of the Castle from the Charles Bridge.

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Some of Ernst Pawel’s other works include: From the Dark Tower, In The Absence of Magic, Letters of Thomas Mann 1889-1955 (selected and translated from the German by Richard and Clara Winston), Life in Dark Ages: A Memoir, The Island in Time (a novel), The Labyrinth of Exile: A Life of Theodor Herzl, The Poet Dying : Heinrich Heine’s Last Years in Paris, and, Writings of the Nazi Holocaust. 

He passed away in 1994.  

This is his portrait, by Nancy Crampton, from the book jacket.

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Ernst Pawel, 74, Biographer, Dies

The New York Times
Aug. 19, 1994
Section A, Page 24

Ernst Pawel, a novelist and biographer, died on Tuesday at his home in Great Neck, L.I.  He was 74.

The cause was lung cancer, his family said.

Mr. Pawel’s 1984 biography of Franz Kafka, “The Nightmare of Reason,” won several prizes, including the Alfred Harcourt Award in biography and memoirs, and was translated into 10 languages.  In a review for The New York Times, Christopher Lehmann-Haupt called the work “moving and perceptive.”

Mr. Pawel was also the author of “The Labyrinth of Exile,” a biography of Theodor Herzl, the founder of modern Zionism.  He had recently finished a book about the German poet Heinrich Heine and at the time of his death was working on his own memoirs, “Life in the Dark Ages.”  Both books are to be published posthumously, his family said.

He was born in 1920 in Breslau, then under German rule but now part of Poland, and fled Nazi Germany with his family in 1933, settling first in Yugoslavia and four years later immigrating to New York City.  After serving as a translator for Army intelligence during World War II, he received a bachelor’s degree from the City University of New York.

He was the author of three novels, “The Island of Time” (1950), “The Dark Tower” (1957) and “In the Absence of Magic” (1961), and numerous essays and book reviews.  Fluent in a dozen languages, he worked for 36 years as a translator and public relations executive for New York Life Insurance.  He retired in 1982.

He is survived by his wife of 51 years, Ruth; a son, Michael, and a daughter, Miriam, both of Manhattan, and a granddaughter.

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A Nightmare of Reason was published by Vintage Books in 1985, in trade paperback format.  (Unfortunately, I don’t know the cover artist’s name!)  

The Best of Barry N. Malzberg – January, 1976 [Robert Emil Schulz]

While common themes of science fiction art and illustration are inspired by technology, engineering, space exploration, let alone transcending the known and established physical laws governing the nature of the universe, another motif of the genre’s art pertains to the realm of the biological:

Genetic engineering, the effects of man upon his environment (and likewise, the effects of nature upon man – how jarringly topical now, in March of 2020…); relationships with alien species – whether romantic, sexual, or familial – as exemplified in striking combination through Philip Jose Farmer’s great “The Lovers“; the natural, random evolution of homo sapiens into forms and variants whose physical and intellectual abilities effectively create a new species of “man”.

These and other concepts have all been the basis of science fiction art, both in books and magazines.

A nice example of biological art appears as Robert E. Schulz’s cover illustration for The Best of Barry Malzberg.  No stylized, abstract spacecraft here, the symbolic center of the image is the form of a man, before whom are two helixes, probably representations of strands of DNA.  At his right side, glass laboratory-ware associated with chemistry (see that Erlenmeyer flask?), which seem to be involved in the condensation of some kind of chemical.  Plus, there’s that dark sphere outlined in a diffuse red halo (a planet?; a miniature black hole?), with an electrical circuit below.

But, his other side is different, for the symbolism isn’t scientific, it’s religious.  The central object is a huge chalice, above which is a crucifix, all ornamented by a seeming brass clockwork.  And, there seems to be a brass shield covering the man’s thigh.

Lots going on here!

As for the book itself?  – Oh, yes…  Though titled “The Best of…”, it’s actually a Pocket Books publication, rather than being part of the Del Rey / Ballantine Series “The Best of…” which covered the works of a variety of other authors.

Contents

Introduction to The Best of Barry N. Malzberg, by Barry N. Malzberg

Introduction to “A Reckoning”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“A Reckoning” (variant of Notes Leading Down to the Conquest), from New Dimensions III, October, 1943

Introduction to “Letting It All Hang Out”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Letting It All Hang Out” (variant of Hanging), from Fantastic, September, 1974

Introduction to “The Man in the Pocket”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“The Man in the Pocket” (variant of The Men Inside), from New Dimensions II, December, 1972

Introduction to “Pater Familias”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Pater Familias”, from The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, March, 1972 (by Kris Neville and Barry N. Malzberg)

Introduction to “Going Down”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Going Down”, from Dystopian Visions, 1975

Introduction to “Those Wonderful Years”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Those Wonderful Years”, from Frontiers 1: Tomorrow’s Alternatives, 1973

Introduction to “On Ice”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“On Ice”, from Amazing Science Fiction, January, 1973

Introduction to “Revolution”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Revolution”, from Future City, 1973

Introduction to “Ups and Downs”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Ups and Downs”, from Eros in Orbit, 1973

Introduction to “Bearing Witness”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Bearing Witness”, from Flame Tree Planet, 1973

Introduction to “At the Institute”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“At the Institute”, from Fantastic, 1974

Introduction to “Making It Through”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Making It Through”, from And Walk Now Gently Through the Fire and Other Science Fiction Stories, 1972

Introduction to “Tapping Out”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Tapping Out”, from Future Quest, 1973

Introduction to “Closed Sicilian”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Closed Sicilian”, from The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, November, 1973

Introduction to “Linkage”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Linkage”, from Demon Kind, 1973

Introduction to “Introduction to the Second Edition”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Introduction to the Second Edition”, by Barry N. Malzberg

Introduction to “Trial of the Blood”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Trial of the Blood”, from The Berserkers, 1974

Introduction to “Getting Around”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Getting Around”, from Frontiers 1: Tomorrow’s Alternatives, 1973

Introduction to “Track Two”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Track Two”, from Fantastic, July, 1974

Introduction to “The Battered-Earth Syndrome”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“The Battered-Earth Syndrome”, from Saving Worlds, 1973

Introduction to “Network”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Network”, from Fantastic, January, 1974

Introduction to “A Delightful Comedic Premise”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“A Delightful Comedic Premise”, from The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, February, 1974

Introduction to “Geraniums”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Geraniums”, from Omega, 1973 (by Valerie King and Barry N. Malzberg)

Introduction to “City Lights, City Nights”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“City Lights, City Nights”, from Future City, 1973

Introduction to “Culture Lock”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Culture Lock”, from Future City, 1973

Introduction to “As in a Vision Apprehended”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“As in a Vision Apprehended”, from The Berserkers, 1974

Introduction to “Form in Remission”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Form in Remission”, from The Berserkers, 1974

Introduction to “Opening Fire”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Opening Fire”, from Frontiers 2: The New Mind, 1973

Introduction to “Running Around”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Running Around”, from Omega, 1973

Introduction to “Overlooking”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Overlooking”, from Amazing Science Fiction, June, 1974

Introduction to “Twenty Sixty-one”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Twenty Sixty-one”, from The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, July, 1974

Introduction to “Closing the Dead”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Closing the Deal”, from Analog Science Fiction / Science Fact, March, 1974

Introduction to “What the Board Said”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“What the Board Said”, 1976

Introduction to “Uncoupling”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Uncoupling”, from Dystopian Visions, 1975

Introduction to “Over the Line”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Over the Line”, from Future Kin, 1974

Introduction to “Try Again” and “An Oversight”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“Try Again”, from Strange Gods, 1974

“An Oversight”, 1976, (variant of “Oversight”, from Strange Gods, 1974)

Introduction to “And Still in the Darkness”, by Barry N. Malzberg

“And Still in the Darkness”, 1976

References

The Best of Barry N. Malzberg, at the Internet Speculative Fiction Database

Robert E. Schulz, at the Internet Speculative Fiction Database

Facebook Page for The Art of Robert E. Schulz

The Revolt of the Masses, by José Ortega y Gasset – 1950 (1930) [Robert Jonas]

A very colorful cover by Robert Jonas, for a very serious work…

“…experimental science is one of the most unlikely products of history.
Seers, priests, warriors and shepherds have abounded in all times and places.
But this fauna of experimental man apparently requires for its production
a combination of circumstances more exceptional than those that engender the unicorn.”

“The civilisation of the XIXth Century is, then,
of such a character that it allows the average man to take his place in a world of superabundance,
of which he perceives only the lavishness of the means at his disposal,
nothing of the pains involved. 
He finds himself surrounded by marvelous instruments,
healing medicines,
watchful governments,
comfortable privileges. 
On the other hand,
he is ignorant how difficult it is to invent those medicines and those instruments
and to assure their production in the future;
he does not realise how unstable is the organisation of the State
and is scarcely conscious to himself of any obligations. 
This lack of balance falsifies his nature,
vitiates it in its very roots,
causing him to lose contact with the very substance of life,
which is made up of absolute danger,
is radically problematic.”

Reference

Jose Ortega y Gasset photo – Universitat Pompeu Fabra (Barcelona)

Battle of Britain: The Hardest Day, by Alfred Price – 1980 (1979) [Phillip Emms]

The cover art of the 1980 edition of Alfred Price’s The Hardest Day – covering the events of the Battle of Britain on August 18, 1940 – depicts an aerial battle from a vantage point highly unusual for aviation art:  Rather than viewing aircraft engaging one another in combat from a far vantage point, Phillip Emms shows an air battle from inside of an aircraft.  In this case, the battle is seen from the viewpoint of the bombardier of a Heinkel III bomber.  He’s firing a nose-mounted 7.9mm machine gun at attacking Hawker Hurricanes of Number 32 Squadron, with the English coastline in the distance. 

To present the reality of the day’s air battles, below, you can read about the experiences (and the unhappy fate, of one) of four RAF pilots mentioned in Price’s book, accompanied by their photographs.  The images of Hugo, Russell, and Wahl are from The Hardest Day, while Solomon’s portrait is from Winston G. Ramsey’s The Battle of Britain: Then and Now.

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Author Alfred Price’s biography, from the book jacket:  “As an air crew officer in the Royal Air Force for fifteen years, Alfred Price logged more than 4,000 flying hours in 40 different aircraft.  He specialized in electronic warfare, aircraft weapons, and air-fighting tactics.  He has written more than 14 books on aviation, including Instruments of Darkness, The Bomber in World War II, and Spitfire: A Documentary History, published by Scribners.”

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F/O Petrus Hendrik “Dutch” Hugo (Survived)
Hurricane I R4221

When Pilot Officer ‘Dutch’ Hugo of No 615 Squadron first glimpsed the Messerschmitt 109, it was already too late to do much about it.  With ‘A’ Flight he had been orbiting at 25,000 feet, nearly five miles, above Kenley waiting for the enemy to come to him.  The Germans did, with breathtaking suddenness, from out of the sun.  Seemingly appearing from nowhere the Messerschmitt curved in behind Sergeant Walley on the starboard side of the formation, there was a flash of tracer and his Hurricane went down in flames.  Hugo swung his aircraft round to engage the attacker but another Messerschmitt hit him first: ‘There was a blinding flash and a deafening explosion in the left side of the cockpit somewhere behind the instrument panel, my left leg received a numbing, sickening, blow and a sheet of high octane petrol shot back into the cockpit from the main tank.  My stricken Hurricane flicked over into a spin and must have been hit half a dozen times while doing so, as the sledgehammer cracks of cannon and machine-gun strikes went on for what seemed ages.’

Without conscious effort Hugo turned off the fuel and opened his throttle, to empty the carburettor and so decrease the risk of fire.  The cockpit was awash with petrol and his clothes were saturated with it: the slightest spark would have turned him into a human torch.  Finally the engine coughed and spluttered to a stop, the propeller slowed until it was just flicking over in the slipstream, he switched off the ignition and the immediate danger of fire was over.  Hugo pushed the stick forwards and eased on rudder to pull out of the spin.  He was just straightening out when there was a colossal bang behind him and the now-familiar sound of cannon strikes.  ‘I had the biggest fright of my life – I knew I was completely incapable of movement as a particularly vicious-looking Me 109 with a yellow nose snarled about twenty feet past my starboard wing, the venomous crackle of his Daimler Benz engine clearly audible.  Round he came for another attack, and although I did everything I could think of, gliding without power has its limitations and the next moment earth and sky seemed to explode into crimson flame as I received a most almighty blow on the side of the head.’

Hugo came to, feeling sick and shaken, to find his aircraft spinning down again.  Through a red haze he saw that he was now at 10,000 feet, so he had time to take stock of the situation.  His head was aching savagely and the right side of his face felt numb.  When he touched it, he found a jagged gash from the comer of his right jaw to his chin.  His microphone and oxygen mask had been torn off his helmet and were now draped over his right forearm; the microphone had a bullet hole through it.  The cockpit seemed to be filled with a fine red spray; it took Hugo some time to realise that the cause was blood running down his chest being whipped up by the wind whistling through the holes in the sides of his cabin.  He slid back the canopy and gasped his lungs full of clean air.

The next thing Hugo knew was that the Messerschmitt was curving round for yet another attack.  Enough was enough, he decided to bale out.  Hugo rolled the Hurricane on to its back and pulled out the harness locking pin but, instead of falling clear, to his consternation he fell only about twelve inches – sufficient to project his head, arms and shoulders into the blast of the slipstream, which promptly slammed him back against the rear of the cockpit.  Before the astonished pilot could decide what to do next the Hurricane solved the problem for him by pulling through a half loop.  With a thump Hugo fell back into the cockpit, puzzled but at least able to reach the controls again.

Then he discovered why he had developed such a firm attachment to his aircraft: during the rush to strap in for the scramble take-off, sitting on his parachute in the seat, he had inadvertently taken one of his leg straps round the lever which raised and lowered his seat.  Now his own fate was tightly bound up with that of his Hurricane.  The next minutes saw Hugo, as he later described, ‘as busy as a one armed one-man bandsman with a flea in his pants’, trying to avoid the attentions of his persistent foe, finding and doing up his seat straps in readiness for the inevitable crash landing, and seeking out a suitable field.  Finally he put down his battered Hurricane in a meadow near Orpington, and was picked up and rushed to hospital.

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F/Lt. Humphrey a’Beckett Russell – (Survived)
Hurricane I V7363

Nearly four miles above the exploding bombs Oberleutnant Ruediger Proske, piloting a Messerschmitt 110 of Destroyer Geschwader 26, dived down to head off a re-attack on the bombers by No 32 Squadron’s Hurricanes.

Squadron Leader Don MacDonell, leading the eight Spitfires of No 64 Squadron, had heard his controller, Anthony Norman, call ‘Bandits overhead!’ (as the low-flying Dorniers of the 9th Staffel swept over Kenley).  To MacDonell, orbiting at 20,000 feet, the call seemed a little strange: ‘Instinctively I looked up, but there was only the clear blue sky above me.  I thought “My God!  Where are they?”‘  Then he looked down and saw a commotion below, too far away from him to work out exactly what was happening.  ‘I gave a quick call: “Freema Squadron, Bandits below.  Tally Ho!”  Then down we went in a wide spiral at high speed, keeping a wary eye open for the inevitable German fighters.’

While MacDonell’s Spitfires were speeding down, the Messerschmitt 110s of the close escort had succeeded in getting between No 32 Squadron and the Dorniers.  So Flight Lieutenant ‘Humph’ Russell, 26, shifted his sight on to one of the twin-engined fighters wheeling in front of him.  He loosed off a 6-second burst and watched his incendiary rounds ‘walking’ along the fuselage of the enemy aircraft.  Several of the German rear gunners replied with accurate bursts, however, and the Hurricane was hit wounding Russell in the left arm and right leg.  Smoke began to fill the cockpit so he opened the hood, released his straps and leapt out.  Russell’s parachute opened normally but when he looked down he noticed that his leg was bleeding profusely.  In his right hand he still clenched the ripcord of the parachute and now he tried to use it as an improvised tourniquet.  It was useless: each time he knotted it, the stainless-steel wire simply unravelled itself.

In an air action events follow each other with great rapidity: almost everything described in this narrative, from the time the 9th Staffel had begun its attack on Kenley until now, had taken place within just five minutes: between 1.22 and 1.27 pm on that fateful Sunday afternoon.  The only events to continue outside this time span were the longer parachute drops: a man on a parachute falls at about 1,000 feet per minute and Russell, Gaunce, Lautersack and Beck had all baled out from above 10,000 feet.

After his unsuccessful attempt to improvise a tourniquet for his bleeding leg with his ripcord, while hanging from his parachute, ‘Humph’ Russell came to earth beside the railway track just outside Edenbridge.  A railwayman working on the line was the first to reach him and, as luck would have it, the man had just completed a course in first aid.  Delighted to have a chance to exercise his new-found skill, the man tore strips from the parachute and expertly bound up the wound, Russell was then rushed to the local hospital where he was treated by ‘an excellent doctor who saved my leg, and kept me supplied with Sherry all the time I was in hospital!’

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P/O Neville David Solomon (Killed in Action)
Hurricane I L1921

As the German aircraft reached the coast near Dover other British squadrons made contact.  Here the haze patches were quite thick in places and fighters of both sides blundered about seeking out the enemy.  Flight Lieutenant Harry Hillcoat of No 1 Squadron led two other Hurricanes in, to finish off a straggling Dornier of Bomber Geschwader 76; it plunged into the sea off Dungeness.  Then one of Hillcoat’s pilots, Pilot Officer George Goodman, spotted a Messerschmitt 110 flying low over the sea, streaming smoke from its left motor; probably it was a fugitive from No 56 Squadron’s snap attack a couple of minutes earlier.  Goodman went down after the German fighter, which jinked to avoid his fire but without success.  After Goodman’s first burst the left engine caught fire, after his second the right engine followed suit.  Then his Hurricane was hit, as a Messerschmitt 109 came round to attack from behind and forced the British pilot to look to his own survival.  Goodman hauled his fighter round in a steep turn to the right, and as he did so he caught a glance of the Messerschmitt 110 he had hit striking lie sea.  ‘In the turn I made half a mile on the Me 109 and tried to climb in order to bale out, but saw the Me 109 gaining rapidly on me so I pulled the plug and made for home with the enemy aircraft gaining I lightly,’ he later reported.  As Goodman pulled up over the coast at Rye the German pilot, probably running short of fuel, broke off the chase. 

For 28-year-old Sergeant John Etherington, flying a Hurricane of No 17 Squadron, the business of blocking the German withdrawal seemed rather like standing in the path of a cattle stampede.  Enemy aircraft of all types began streaming past, suddenly emerging out of the haze and then disappearing back into it.  At first it was not too frightening.  ‘As we moved out over the Channel four Messerschmitt 109s passed a little way under us going south.  We were there looking for bombers and left them alone; they took no notice of us,’ Etherington recalled.  Then Green Section, at the rear of the squadron formation, came under at-link from enemy fighters, followed by Blue Section; Yellow Section broke away to give the others support.  That left just Red Section continuing in search of enemy bombers: Squadron Leader Cedric Williams the squadron commander, Etherington, and Pilot Officer Neville Solomon weaving from side to side in the rear guarding their tails.  Solomon suddenly disappeared.  I never saw what happened to him, nor heard a peep from him.  It was his first operational mission and we never saw him again,’ Etherington remembered, ‘so I began weaving from side to side to cover the CO’s tail.  There were just two of us, and what seemed like hundreds of enemy aircraft.  I thought “How can we possibly get out of this?” And then, suddenly, the CO wasn’t their either.’ 

Cedric Williams had stumbled upon three Dorniers emerging out of the haze and went in to attack one of them, opening fire at 400 yards and closing in to 250 yards.  The Dornier’s left engine caught lire and he saw the bomber dive steeply away.  Then, as he was breaking away, Williams saw that he was being attacked by a Messerschmitt 109.  He pulled his Hurricane hard round to avoid the enemy fire, and three more Messerschmitts joined in.  After a hectic series of diving turns, which took him almost to sea level, Williams succeeded in throwing off the pursuit.  The Dornier he had attacked belonged to Bomber Geschwader 76 and one of those on board, war correspondent Hans Theyer, described how the aircraft had been attacked soon after leaving the coast of England: ‘We fired every gun that could be brought to bear, losing off magazine after magazine.  Then the “gangster” came in behind our fin, carefully, so that we could not fire at him.  He fired some bursts, then turned away.’  With the Dornier’s left motor badly damaged the German pilot, Unteroffizier Windschild, took the bomber down in h steep spiral turn and crash-landed near Calais.

After a frightening few minutes, both Williams and Etherington succeeded in joining up with some of the rest of the Squadron near Dover. 

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Sgt. Basil E.P. Whall – (Survived)
Spitfire I L1019 “G”

Dunlop Urie had got the twelve Spitfires of No 602 Squadron off from Westhampnett after the impromptu scramble.  Now, in position over Tangmere at 2,000 feet, he suddenly caught sight of a succession of Stukas swooping down on Ford airfield, five miles to the east.  Urie pave a quick call ‘Villa Squadron, Tally Ho!’ and led his squadron round to engage the bombers as they pulled out of their dives and passed low over the streets of Middleton-on-Sea and Bognor.  Urie himself fired bursts at five of the Stukas before he ran out of ammunition.  Sergeant Basil Whall, 21, singled out one of the dive-bombers, made four deliberate attacks on it and saw his tracers striking home.  The Stuka curved round towards the coast and Whall watched it go down and make a gentle landing on open ground behind Rustington, not far from the Poling radar station.

Away on the eastern side of the engagement Basil Whall had seen ‘his’ Stuka set down gently beside the radar station at Poling.  Then he opened his throttle and swung his Spitfire round to chase after the fleeing dive-bombers, like a hound after hares.  He rapidly overhauled Helmut Bode’s Gruppe moving away from Poling and, picking out one of the Stukas, closed in to 50 yards through accurate return fire and put a burst into it.  The dive-bomber burst into flames and crashed into the sea.  Whall’s Spitfire was also hit, however, and started to trail smoke.  Losing height, he hauled the wounded fighter round towards the shore.

From his vantage point at a searchlight on the coast to the east of Middleton-on-Sea, 23-year-old Lance Bombardier John Smith had watched the dramatic fight overhead and the German withdrawal.  Then he caught sight of a single aircraft about a mile out to sea, flying west.  It turned towards the coast, descending the whole time, then turned again and flew eastwards along the shore line.  By now Smith could see that it was a Spitfire, its propeller blades almost stopped and smoke trailing from the engine; the flaps were lowered but the undercarriage was up.  Obviously the pilot was bent on setting it down in shallow water.  With a splash the aircraft alighted, then the starboard wing struck a submerged groyne.  The aircraft leapt back into the air, spun horizontally through a semi-circle, and flopped into the sea going backwards.  Smith sprinted down the beach and waded out to the Spitfire, which had come to rest about 20 yards out in waist-deep water.  He scrambled on to the wing, to see the dazed pilot still in his cockpit: ‘I could not release the canopy from the outside but in no time at all the pilot opened up, unstrapped himself and with very little assistance from me (in fact I was in his way, if anything) climbed out.’  Sergeant Basil Whall of No 602 Squadron, having accounted for two Stukas and had his Spitfire shot up in the process, was safely down.

References

Franks, Norman L., Royal Air Force Fighter Command Losses of the Second World War – Volume I – Operational Losses: Aircraft and Crews 1939-1941, Midland Publishing, Leicester, England, 2000

Price, Alfred, Battle of Britain: The Hardest Day – 18 August 1940, Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York, N.Y., 1980

Ramsey, Winston G., The Battle of Britain: Then and Now, After the Battle Magazine, London, England, 1980

Air Combat at 20 Feet, by Garrett E. Middlebrook – 1989 [Fred Moore]

“May you live unenvied,
and pass many pleasant years unknown to fame;
and also have congenial friends.”
– Ovid

“A tribute which bears full truth and honesty
will refuse to apply the conventional words of courage,
gallantry, heroism and bravery to the acts
which every fallen soldier was performing at the time of his death.
Some of our beloved comrades died embittered, scared and lonely deaths.
None ever “gladly” died because they were inspired by patriotism.
But they all died in the fulfillment of their duty.”
– Garrett Middlebrook

Like R.E. “Peppy” Blount’s We Band of Brothers, Garrett Middlebrook’s Air Combat At 20 Feet is an account of the experiences of a B-25 Mitchell “strafer” pilot in the Pacific Theater of War, an aspect of Second World War military aviation history that’s generated far fewer first-hand accounts than – for example – fighter combat in general, or, the Eighth Air Force’s aerial campaign against Germany.  Perhaps this has been because the magnitude of Pacific Air Combat involved smaller numbers of men and aircraft – and thus total cumulative losses of either – than strategic bombing in Europe; possibly because due to factors of distance, climate, and living conditions, the Pacific engendered less attention and both public and media awareness than air combat in Europe.  And, maybe this is because – well, just an idea – in light of the above, in the decades following WW II, veterans of “strafer” units felt less impetus to preserve their memories in written form, out of the perception that the public would simply not be that interested in their memoirs.  (I don’t know.  Well, like I said, just an idea!)

But, there isn’t necessarily a relationship between quantity and quality, for Garrett Middlebrook’s book is almost singular in its nature (Peppy Blount’s book sharing the other half of the literary spotlight), and definitely singular in its historical, emotional, and literary quality.  At over 400 pages long and dense with detail, the book’s foremost aspect to me is actually the depth and sensitivity of Middlebrook’s writing, which – though very rich in detail about his military experiences – in a not-so-subtle way, directs a greater focus on recollection of his fellow aviators, both those who survived, and those who did not, in what might be deemed an understandably cathatric fashion.  Two such individuals, among many, are Major Ralph Cheli and navigator 2 Lt. Louis J. Ritacco, both of whom were murdered while POWs.  Another notable aspect of the book is that it provides a platform for Garrett Middlebrook to present thoughts of a philosophical nature, in forms of either lengthy musings, or dialogues with fellow members of the 405th Bomb Squadron, about the cruelty and comradeship inherent to war, government, economics, and, human nature.  To give you an inkling of the depth of his thoughts, this post includes – below – some passages from the book.

As for the book’s cover art, well, it’s unusual.  Though the B-25s (on front and rear covers), and Japanese Oscar (on the rear cover; the covers don’t form a continuous painting) are aren’t perfectly proportioned compared to the appearance of the actual aircraft, the symbolism of both covers is very striking, as are the colors that were used to create these compositions.  They’re both simple and complex at once, and reminiscent of the style of “Grandma Moses” (Anna Mary Robertson Moses). 

My only criticism of the book is its paucity of photographs, for images of the many men mentioned within its pages would give the text even greater impact.  And, though the book does feature an image of Garrett Middlebrook’s crew, it’s strangely lacking a good image of Garrett – himself. 

This blog post rectifies that:  Here’s a portrait of Garrett sitting in the pilot’s seat of a B-25.  It’s U.S. Army Air Force photo “A47039 / 4002”, from Fold3.com.  The caption?  “Captain Garrett B. Middlebrook, Springtown, Texas, Fifth Air Force bomber pilot who has been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross by General MacArthur “for extraordinary heroism in action” in New Guinea.”

“Print received from B.P.R. (Air Forces Group), date unknown.”

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Some passages, with mention of Major Ralph Cheli…

Even though I could not conquer my fear of death,
I felt it would be a sin and a violation of my manhood not to fight to live,
even though I might only extend my life one day or one hour.
It would also have been a grievous sin if I did not give all I had by way of experience,
skill, innovative methods, leadership and calm, collective demeanor to my comrades.
Perhaps if I did all that I could to assuage their fears and motivate them to fight,
one more crew would survive.
Besides, it only made sense that I had a better chance to survive if I did all those things.
I thought of Cheli; I knew he had experienced fear,
but he had controlled it never allowing it to surface in an apparent way.
Perhaps, I thought, notwithstanding centuries of rhetoric about courage,
all it really amounted to was the concealment of personal fear.
In all probability, that was all Cheli had done –
concealed his fear and kept it hidden even when he was going down.

For over a year I had lived within a few yards of the jungle
together with the other crewmen in my squadron.
Although we were all male and far from home and civilization,
we did form a little social community.
Values still existed, morals still prevailed
and it was important to me that my comrades respected me.
Respect was not something they accorded to me ceremoniously;
instead, they showed it only if I earned it through leadership
and I had to prove that leadership again on each mission.

When I came to grips with myself,
I knew I could not lose their respect nor fail to perform my duties to them.
I admitted to myself at last,
that although I fought first for personal survival,
I was also duty-bound to the survival of the group. (pp. 401-403)

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Here’s the insignia of an original (early 1945) Australian manufactured 405th BS “Green Dragon” squadron patch (from Flying Tiger Antiques).

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Images of Garrett Middlebrook with two crews, from the book Sun Setters of the Southwest Pacific Area – From Australia to Japan: An Illustrated History of the 38th Bombardment Group (m), 5th Air Force, World War II – 1941-1946, As Told and Photographed by the Men Who Were There.  Most, if not all, of the men in these images are mentioned or described in Middlebrook’s book. 

Captions appear below both photos.

The crew of 1 Lt. Garrett Middlebrook.  Front, from left, are S/Sgt.Robert J. Kappa, engineer-gunner; Sgt. Robert T. Lillard, Jr., radio operator; Sgt. George R. Pizor, gunner.  Back, from left, are 1 Lt. Middlebrook, pilot; 2 Lt. Leonard D. Perry, bombardier; 2 Lt. Louis J. Ritacco, navigator, and an unidentified airman.  (George Pizor collection)

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Capt. Garrett Middlebrook and his crew.  Front, from left, are S/Sgt. Robert S. Emminger, gunner, and T/Sgt. Robert T. Lillard, Jr., radio operator.  Back, from left, are 1 Lt. Everett L. Moffett, navigator, Capt. Middlebrook, pilot, and Capt. William H. Tarver, pilot and aircraft commander.  (Garrett Middlebrook collection)

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1 Lt. Louis J. Ritacco.  He was a member of Major Williston Madison Cox, Jr.’s crew in B-25D 41-30118 (“Elusive Lizzie” / “Miss America”), which was shot down by anti-aircraft fire during a search and destroy mission near the town of Madang.  One member of the crew of six was killed when the plane was ditched, and the five survivors swam to nearby Wongat Island, where four (including Major Cox) were captured later that day.  Lt. Ritacco evaded capture for several days, but without food or water, was forced to give himself up to the Japanese.

Eventually, Major Cox was flown to the Japanese base at Rabaul, and from there placed upon a transport ship and taken to Japan where, at Omori POW camp, he spent the remainder of the war as a POW.

Lt. Ritacco and his three surviving crew members remained at Madang, where – with another member of the 38th Bomb Group who was also a POW, 2 Lt. Owen H. Salvage – they were murdered by their captors on August 17, 1943.

You can read much more about this story at the history of B-25D 41-30118 and its crew, at Pacific Wrecks. 

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This image shows Louis J. Ritaccco as an Army Air Force aviation cadet…

…and his tombstone, at Saint Mary’s Cemetry, Rye Brook, New York, as photographed by FindAGrave contributor James Mayer. 

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And, below is Williston M. Cox, Jr.’s Aviation Cadet portrait.

Williston Madison Cox., Jr. passed away in 1980.  Of all the members of the 38th Bomb Group taken prisoner by the Japanese, he was the only man to survive captivity and return to the United States. 

The above two portraits are from the United States National Archives’ collection “Photographic Prints of Air Cadets and Officers, Air Crew, and Notables in the History of Aviation”, about which you can read more, here.  The story of Major Cox and his crew is addressed at length by Garrett Middlebrook. 

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EPILOGUE

The painful irony of war is that, aside from human loss,
suffering and agony, it creates more problems than it solves.
The victors, becoming powerful and dominating,
form new rivalries more intense than those which existed with the vanquished.
The peace treaties which are imposed upon the vanquished
are enigmatic riddles bereft of reason and certain
only to permit clever and ambitious politicians to start the next cycle of international friction
as a means of maintaining power.
Of course, in the process the memory of the war dead from the previous war must be dimmed;
otherwise enthusiasm for the next war would never be tolerated.

But we combat veterans dare not let their memory fade,
for God help a nation which forgets its war dead.
Hence this chronicler acknowledges a debt of immense gratitude to
the fallen World War II Service men and women.

A tribute which bears full truth and honesty
will refuse to apply the conventional words of courage,
gallantry, heroism and bravery to the acts
which every fallen soldier was performing at the time of his death.
Some of our beloved comrades died embittered, scared and lonely deaths.
None ever “gladly” died because they were inspired by patriotism.
But they all died in the fulfillment of their duty.
Courage, valiancy, dauntlessness, heroism and bravery are words used by the living
to try to place the altar of patriotism on the field of battle.
It does not belong there and it will not accurately reflect the sacrifices of our fellow comrades
even if it is erected.

But the Shrine of Duty,
embossed with walls of shining gold,
stands proudly upon that hallowed ground.
It stands because our war dead performed their duty to their comrades
and their commitment to themselves.
We do them a grave injustice if we condemn them for lacking the qualities we have selected for them.
They gave all they had to give
and their names must forever be spoken softly and reverently or else evil will fall upon this country,
for if we do not revere our war dead, we are unworthy of their sacrifice. (pp. 449-450)

References

Middlebrook, Garrett, Air Combat at 20 Feet – Selected Missions From a Strafer Pilot’s Diary (A World War II Autobiography) [2nd Printing – Expanded Edition], Garrett Middlebrook, Fort Worth, Tx., 1989

Hickey, Lawrence J.; Janko, Mark M.; Goldberg, Stuart W., and Tagaya, Osamu, Sun Setters of the Southwest Pacific Area – From Australia to Japan: An Illustrated History of the 38th Bombardment Group (m), 5th Air Force, World War II – 1941-1946, As Told and Photographed by the Men Who Were There, International Historical Research Associates, Boulder, Co. (and) The 38th Bomb Group Association – (or) Albert A. Kennedy, Sr. (or) David Gunn, 2011

Startling Stories – April, 1952 (Featuring “The Glory That Was”, by L. Sprague de Camp) [Alex Schomburg] [Updated post…!]

[Update, May, 2021! …  I recently learned from Mike Chomko, publisher of The Pulpster (affiliated with PulpFest), that the cover artist of this issue of Startling Stories was Alex Schomburg.  So, the text of this post has been updated accordingly.  Thanks for the tip, Mike.]

I’ve recently had the good fortune to acquire several issues of Startling Stories, giving me the opportunity to present my own scans of this magazine, rather than images randomly found on the ‘net. 

This post is the first such example:  Originally created on February 17, 2018, it’s been updated to include images of the front and rear covers of the the magazine’s issue of April, 1952.

Though no artist’s names appear in the issue’s table of contents, this softly-pink-horizoned-moonscape-with-cloudless-earth-floating-in-the-distance was created by Alex Schomburg.  It looks as if the light gray to silver to dark gray to black shadings of the lunar mining machine were done via airbrush…     

So, the front cover:

…and the back cover, with an advertisement for The Collected Works of Zane Grey. 

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Here’s Paul Orban’s Illustration  – on page 89 – for “The Intruder”, by Oliver E. Saari, whose life encompassed the realms of engineering and science fiction. 

I’ve not read Saari’s story, but the theme of the “header” blurb – below – reminds me of episode six from (the otherwise sadly and highly uneven) season four of The Man in The High Castle: (“All Serious Daring“). 

The concept is also highly reminiscent of Fritz Leiber, Junior’s, “Destiny Times Three” – one of the most brilliantly executed tales of parallel universes I’ve ever read!  Then again, Leiber was an extraordinary writer! – which appeared in Astounding Science Fiction in March and April of 1945. 

“To have an exact duplicate of yourself show up and take over your business, your wife? … brother, it’s murder!”

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Here’s the cover image – from Archive.org – that originally appeared in this post.

Future Science Fiction – September, 1951 (Featuring “Genesis”, by H. Beam Piper) [Milton Luros]

While perusing issues of Future Science Fiction at Archive.org, I discovered H.W. Kiemle’s evocative and interesting illustration for James Blish’s short tale “Elixir” – in the September, 1951 issue of the magazine – which I couldn’t help but download, edit, and put on display. 

The magazine itself features cover art by Milton Luros (Milton L. Rosenthal), while “Kiemle” is actually Henry W. Kiemle, Jr., – both of whose art hasn’t been previously featured in this blog, and interior illustrations by other artists, as well.  Like other “second string” science-fiction pulp magazines of the 1950s, the publication’s art is more striking than its literary content, and in visual quality equal to or better than interior art in better known publications of the same genre.

As for the physics and operation of rocket back-pack worn by “Jimmy”, well, that’s another question.  The propulsion unit as depicted utilizes a single nozzle, the outlet of which is located at or above the user’s center of gravity.  As such, in operation, the unit’s actual effect might be to simply induce a “head over heels” rotation around an axis parallel to the wearer’s mid-section, rather than forward, “flying through space” motion paralleling the “long axis” of the user’s body. 

In other words, you’ll go for a hell of a spin, but not much of a fly.  

No matter.  The picture’s cool. 

“Jimmy plotted his course carefully, to take himself safely out of the area of the burning ship.”

(Illustrating “Elixir”, by James Blish, pp. 38-46)

References

Henry W. Kiemle, Jr. at Pulp Artists

Milton Luros (Milton L. Rosenblatt) at Pulp Artists

 

The Bacon Fancier – 4 Tales, by Alan Isler – 1997 [Mark Tauss]

Thus far the only work by Alan Isler that I’ve read, I found the four stories collected within The Bacon Fancier (the title of the book having been derived from the “second” of the four) to be beautifully written, illustrating Mr. Isler’s skill in illustrating commonalities in the historical experience of the Jews transcending time, geography, and the human personality. 

Mr. Isler does this through the creation of vividly depicted protagonists whose lives are crafted in the same degree of fullness regardless of the tales’ setting, or, the predicaments or perplexities that fate or personal decision (but are not fate and personal decision sometimes one and the same?) has forced them to contend with. 

Similarly, the plot of each of the four tales is constructed with a sensibility that bespeaks of serious historical research, undergirded by an understanding of the complexities and contradictions of human nature.  Ultimately, the undercurrent of moral clarity that emerges in his stories could, I think, only have arisen from an author whose own life history or even nominal understanding of life, as a Jew, had included parallel experiences. 

And if not parallel experiences, parallel perceptions.   

While each of the four stories is excellent as a “stand alone” tale, my favorites are “The Crossing” (as relevant today in 2020, as it was when published in 1997, as imagined by Mr. Isler in the world of the late 1800s), and, “The Bacon Fancier”. 

So.  Accompanying the image of Mark Tauss’ cover illustration are quotes from those two tales, as well as Michiko Kakutani’s book review of 4 Tales from the New York Times in July of 1997.

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… the hold that time past exerts over time present …

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The New World, so bright and glistening in the pure and frigid air,
so inviting at the birth of the new year,
offered no solace,
no alleviation.
(The Crossing)

Portait of Alan Isler, by Jerry Bauer

________________________________________

I have not lived my life as a Jew, not really, not here in Porlock. 
There is a mezuzah on my door, of course,
but I do not observe the holidays,
not even the Days of Awe; all these pass me by. 
Candles are alight on my table of a Friday night,
and of a Saturday I do no work. 
Still, I eat what I eat, although before Queenie never pork, never shellfish,
never deliberately a mixing of milk and meat;
and since Queenie, well, as I gave said, I found it prudent not to inquire. 
Of course, as the year rolls round, I say kaddish for my parents;
that, at least, I have always done. 
And I have welcomed the infrequent visits of the occasional Bristol and,
even less frequently, London Jew. 
My co-religionists pressed their fingers to my stomach and conveyed them to their lips. 
In my home they took only ale or cider or porter, bread, and salted herring. 
They talked of the small Jewish communities in this sceptered isle,
in London, in Leeds, in Bristol,
of the importance of marriage, Jew and Jewess,
and of the few others, like me in isolation, the very few, scattered in the south and west,
but married, so far as they knew, every one. 
What could have possessed me, they wondered,
a young man, who, apart from a slight physical disability,
enough perhaps to have denied me a priesthood in the ancient Temple –
here, they smiled ironically –
to separate himself from his fellows, to deny himself a helpmeet,
the very heart and hearth of his home? 
(Queenie, who cheerfully plied them with that sustenance they would,
at least, hungry, accept,
who soon learned that her puddings and her most accomplished dainties were forbidden,
not to say hateful, to them, they ignored as a nonpresence.)
Why, in short, had I chosen to live alone in Porlock?
Why indeed?

(“The Bacon Fancier”, pp. 52-53)

________________________________________

But Gladstone had had enough.
It was not that he lacked the stomach

to sit through yet another of Miss Courtneidge’s “programs” –

although that much was certainly true,
particularly since she herself had spoken of this evening’s list as “jumbo”.
Nor was it that he longed to return to his stateroom,
where, a little before midnight,
he was to be joined by the lubricious Victoria Gammidge –
although that much too was certainly true.
It was that Gladstone had always felt something alien among his gentile countrymen,
even those of that class among whom he had spent most of his life,
those among whom he moved with seeming ease and freedom.
There was forever something behind their hooded eyes, he felt,
some unspoken thing, that locked him out.
Yet through that he had learned to navigate.
So long as the discreet signposts of social intercourse remained fixed in place,
he negotiated quite successful the world in which fortune had placed him.
But when they began to disappear, as now,
when tongues began to loosen from too much wine,
when eyes began to blear or grew fever bright,
when politesse began to sink into good-fellowship,
then Gladstone began to sense his own vulnerability.
He did not fear a physical attack, of course.
No, what he feared was that the unspoken thing would be given utterance,
that acceptance,
conditional upon a conspiracy of silence,
would be publicly revealed as sham.
Making his excuses to his table companions, he rose and left.

 

(“The Crossing”, pp. 134-135)

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Navigating in a World of Gentiles
By MICHIKO KAKUTANI

THE BACON FANCIER
Four Tales
By Alan Isler
214 pages.  Viking.  $21.95.

The New York Times
July 22, 1997

Alan Isler’s new book, “The Bacon Fancier,” reads uncannily like a distillation of his work to date.  His previously demonstrated weaknesses (most notably a tendency to italicize the significance of his stories) are on display in these pages, as are his previously demonstrated strengths: a gift for authoritative storytelling and an ability to combine comedy and tragedy in a unique, idiomatic voice.  What’s more, the volume’s four loosely linked stories recapitulate the central themes of his earlier fiction, the award-winning “Prince of West End Avenue” (1994) and “Kraven Images” (1996): namely, the hold that time past exerts over time present, the role that religion plays in shaping an individual’s identity, and the relationship between art and real life.

Spanning several centuries and two continents, the stories in “The Bacon Fancier” all deal loosely with what it means to be a Jew in a gentile world.  The first tale, “The Monster,” is a kind of improvisation on “The Merchant of Venice,” featuring a narrator who bears more than a passing resemblance to Shylock.  This narrator gives us his version of the notorious “pound of flesh” trial (he claims that Antonio tricked him into the agreement, as “a merry jest”), then goes on to recount another story that illustrates the anti-Semitism routinely directed against Jews in 16th-century Venice.  This second tale concerns a huge but harmless idiot named Mostrino who is beloved by the ghetto children.  To get rid of an annoying English tourist who’s intent on trying to win converts to Christianity, the narrator tells him that Mostrino is “the Defender of the Ghetto,” a golem with the power to destroy unbelievers.  It is a lie that will have tragic consequences when it collides with the city’s prejudice against the Jews.

In Mr. Isler’s other stories, the effects of anti-Semitism are both less violent and more personal.  In the title story, the narrator – a one-eyed violin maker who left the overtly anti-Semitic world of 18th-century Venice for the more covertly anti-Semitic world of London – contemplates leaving his gentile mistress,

Queenie, for a Jewish girl he can marry.  Though he loves Queenie and Queenie loves him, he knows that they can never enjoy a respectable life together.  Indeed Queenie will always be known as the “Jooey Zoor,” the “Jew’s Whore.”

Things are little better, Mr. Isler suggests, in the New World.  In “The Crossing,” a Jewish orphan named David, who has been adopted by the wealthy Gladstone family, boards a ship bound for America.  Though David’s adoptive parents own a financial interest in the ship, though David is traveling first class, he soon becomes aware of the prejudice directed against him.  He is mocked at dinner (“Gladstone?” says another dinner guest, “I’d’ve thought Disraeli”), put down by the father of a young woman he would like to court, and openly scorned by the ship’s captain, when he questions the actions of a drunken American bully.

Gladstone “had always felt somewhat alien among his gentile countrymen,” writes Mr. Isler, adding: “There was forever something behind their hooded eyes, he felt, some unspoken thing, that locked him out.  Yet through that he had learned to navigate.  So long as the discreet signposts of social intercourse remained fixed in place, he negotiated quite successfully the world in which fortune had placed him.  But when they began to disappear, as now, when tongues began to loosen from too much wine, when eyes began to blear or grow fever bright, when politesse began to sink into good-fellowship, then Gladstone began to sense his own vulnerability.  He did not fear a physical attack, of course.  No, what he feared was that the unspoken thing would be given utterance, that acceptance, conditional upon a conspiracy of silence, would be publicly revealed as sham.”

By the time we reach the last story, set in contemporary New York, anti-Semitism is less a conscious prejudice than a casual byproduct of callousness and greed.  In this case, the hero – an extra in a small Greenwich Village opera company – is offered the chance to star in a musical about the Dreyfus affair.  While he finds the show shallow and offensive, he – like many others – will profit from its success.

While Mr. Isler’s efforts to link these four stories feel highly perfunctory and his efforts to lend them resonance through a series of literary allusions can feel strained, his sheer abilities as a storyteller force the reader to shrug such misgivings aside.  There is an assurance to his writing that enables him to fold digressions and speculative asides effortlessly into his tales, coupled with a wry affection for his characters that makes their stories poignant and funny and sad.  Mr. Isler did not begin writing until late middle age – his first novel, “The Prince of West End Avenue” was published when he was 60 – but these stories make it clear that he’s a natural.