The Demolished Man

Alfred Bester's The Demolished Man is a classic of science fiction, and is also cited as one of the forerunners of the cyberpunk genre, due to the role corporate intrigue plays in the exposition, as well as one setting (a labyrinth of a brothel, built on a post-nuclear site). It's an engaging, entertaining novel, that holds true to many fifties-era sci-fi conventions. Whether that adds to its charm, or hurts suspension of disbelief is an exercise for the reader.

Despite the fact that the novel is set in the early 24th century, in a world where telepaths are commonplace, it's unmistakably a product of the fifties -- much of the dialogue has a "gee whiz" feel. So while this may be a forerunner or anticipator of cyberpunk, it's certainly not a cyberpunk novel -- both the pro- and antagonist are initially likable characters, and the plot is relatively straightforward.

Bester's treatment of the emergence of telepaths is slightly more imaginative than most sci-fi or fantasy -- he organizes them into levels (for whether they can read thoughts, or delve into the unconscious mind), and has them formed into a guild. Said guild is the center of life for the telepaths -- one who has been sanctioned by the guild is exiled, and no other telepath will communicate with them. This is maddening, and many go crazy with loneliness -- the analogy is made to deaf-mutes. (One thing that bothers me about novels in the future, that The Demolished Man is particularly guilty of, is that many analogies are made to the mid-late 20th century, but few, if any, are made to the intervening period between then and the present of the novel)

While The Demolished Man is not perfect, it's still one of the best science fiction novels produced in the 1950s. Bester is able to create a compelling, mostly believable world, and a hell of a detective story. Absolutely up there with anything by Arthur C. Clarke, and I'd prefer him to Heinlein or Asimov.

As Though I Had Wings

Chet Baker's As Though I Had Wings is billed as "the lost memoir", and is excerpts from his diaries covering from 1945-46, when he had joined the Army at age 16, up through 1963 when he was living and performing in Europe. Baker relates the events in a matter-of-fact, almost disinterested manner. This works well when dealing with the mundane, but when dealing with more exceptional circumstances (soldiers drinking Screwdrivers made with Aqua Velva rather than vodka, his drug use, gigs), it's very odd, and understated.

A second area where Baker's writing tends to the oblique is his drug use. His explanations as to why he was attracted to it are vague, other than "[he] was also the first person to turn me onto grass, bless him; I loved it, and continued to smoke grass for the next eight years, until I began chipping . . ." Throughout, Baker is unrepentant, as he never mentions a desire to stop, nor does he hit rock bottom, although he is often arrested, harassed by authorities, and pressured by parents of a girlfriend to stop using. He never mentions a struggle with the addiction, although he doesn't sing its praises, either -- it's just something he does.

One area where Baker's writing almost picks up is his travails with women. His first encounter is with a girl in the German countryside while he was stationed overseas, and he later meets his three wives. These are recounted in little detail (his first wife introduced with "she loved to be screwed, and I loved screwing her") and big events (marriages, births of children) are barely noted.

Overall, this is an interesting look at an icon in his own words, and it's inspired me to seek out a more comprehensive biography, but it's short and light on detail. Worth picking up solely to get a first person perspective, and because it's such an easy read.

Wartime

Paul Fussell lays out his reasons for writing Wartime in the first sentences of his brief introduction:

This book is about the psychological and emotional culture of Americans and Britons during the Second World War. It is about the rationalizations and euphemisms people needed to deal with an unacceptable actuality from 1939 to 1945.

He then proceeds to not necessarily puncture the myths of the Second World War, but to sweep away any romance associated with it -- from how "Precision Bombing Will Win the War" (title of Chapter 2), to chronicling new soldiers' harsh reaction to the new military discipline, (with one saying "I thought the caste system was restricted to India,") to the bullshit spewed by the propaganda apparatus, with all its rhyming, simplistic poster slogans. Fussell then moves on to the war's effect on English and American letters, (as one may expect from a professor of English), and despite being an unrepentant Anglophile there's a lot of insight here.

Wartime has a blurb from Joseph Heller on the back cover on the insanity of war, and honestly, this is the closest to a non-fictional version of Catch 22 that I've seen. In fact the chapter on "chickenshit" certainly reads like something out of Catch 22. Absolutely worth picking up -- shows the lack of glory and the horrors of war without becoming a polemic.