The Curse of the Mhondoro Nkabele by Eric Norden (Starsongs and Unicorns, 1978; F&SF, September 1980) is a very amusing, but now probably politically incorrect, story that begins with a writer called O. T. Nkabele, originally from Senegal, submitting his story Astrid of the Asteroids to F&SF. It is rejected, which brings forth a follow-up letter from the writer:
Esteemed Editor Ferman:
I’m afraid, as is sometimes unavoidable in all great publishing enterprises, that there has been a clerical error on the part of your staff. I have just received a letter, bearing what can only be a facsimile of your signature, returning my manuscript ASTRID OF THE ASTEROIDS, which I know you will be most anxious to publish. At first I was sorely troubled by this misunderstanding, but I soon realized that one of your overzealous underlings, as yet unfamiliar with my name, took it upon himself to reject my work unread. Thus I am resubmitting ASTRID, as well as two more of my latest stories, with instructions that they are for your eyes only. Do not be too harsh on the unwitting culprit, dear Editor Ferman, as such debacles are not unknown in literary history. The initial reception of James Joyce’s Ulysses is but one case in point. . . .
I should appreciate your check to be made out to cash, as I have not as yet opened a banking account in this city.
Hoping to hear from you forthwith, I remain,
Your obedient servant,
O.T. Nkabele, Esq pp. 84-84
Editor Ferman writes to Nkabele to tell him none of his stories meet the magazine’s requirements, and that manuscripts need to be typed, not hand-written. When the stories are resubmitted (Nkabele has subsequently engaged Ms Rachel Markowitz as a typist), Ferman again rejects the stories, saying that they are entirely unsuitable, pointing out that no-one says “Zut alors!” or “Zounds!” anymore, the Mary Tyler Moore show is unlikely to be broadcast on 31st Century Venus, and Nkabele’s aliens appear to be oversize lobsters who would be uninterested in ravishing Ursula (the love interest of one of the stories). He adds that Nkabele needs to study recent work in the field, such as the Dangerous Visions anthologies, and the annual collections of Nebula Award stories.
Nkabele writes another long letter to Ferman, and we learn about his upbringing in Africa and how he was given access to a missionary’s collection of SF (Father Devlin arrived in 1953 with his 1936 to 1952 collection, but never obtained anything newer than that, hence Nkabele’s dated output). After Nkabele praises various pulp writers—E. E. “Doc” Smith, Nelson Bond, and “the revered” Stanley G. Weinbaum,1 etc.—he resubmits his stories. Nkabele also adds a PS in which he notes the only prominent black writer in the field is Samuel R. Delany, and hopes that Ferman’s obtuseness is not “motivated by racialism”.
The back and forth continues even after another form letter, and then Ferman is ambushed by Nkabele while he is at the hairdresser in Connecticut (Nkabele has travelled from New York). Ferman, after he gets over his surprise, eventually thaws and suggests Nkabele write an essay on how he discovered SF, and also gives him some volumes of current SF writing. Then he finds what looks like a voodoo doll under his pillow, and starts developing headaches. . . .
You can probably guess what happens next and, sure enough, circumstances worsen for Ferman when (spoiler) his dog is eaten (his neighbour sees something that looks like a leopard), and he starts to hear drumming in the night. Then Ferman inadvertently discloses Harlan Ellison’s home address to Nkabele, which draws Ellison into his orbit too (a few rejection letters later Ellison goes bald, and is subsequently eaten by a python—which goes on to attack an old woman as it is “still hungry”—a very funny line).
Finally, Nkabele writes to Ferman dismissing the latter’s superstitious worries in one breath, while explaining how they work and can be ameliorated in another: Ferman takes the hint and finally accepts his stories.
Also included in the same letter is Nkabele’s hilarious response to the modern SF given to him by Ferman (this is an exaggerated version of the Traditionalist/New Wave feuds and other reactionary comment of the time):
I also want to thank you for the novels and collections of short stories. I have not as yet read them all, but I must confess I am shocked and depressed at the profound deterioration in our field since my apprenticeship in Africa. It is obvious that I was blessed with exposure to the Golden Age of science fiction, and that the downward spiral towards decadence and decay has accelerated horrendously since the midfifties. Writers like Theodore Sturgeon, whom I remember from an earlier, healthier stage in his career, particularly disturb me, as they must know the birthright they are betraying. (If I may be permitted a note of levity, the eggs Sturgeon lays are far from caviar!) Certainly, his current stories would never have been accepted by Thrilling Wonder Stories in the glorious days gone by. And this Barry Malzberg you suggested I read—my word, dear Edward, surely he is afflicted of the Gods! The man is a veritable pustulence on the face of the universe, a yellow dog barking in the night. We have another saying in my tribe, “The jackal dreams lions’ dreams.” How true! How tragically true. And how a creature such as Malzberg would cringe and whimper if ever confronted with the shade of Stanley G. Weinbaum, the Great Master himself. And these women, Ursula LeGuin and Joanna Russ, they should be beaten with stout sticks! I would not give one hamstrung goat for the pair of them. (It is apposite here to reflect on the words of the good Dr. Johnson, who pointed out that “A woman’s preaching is like a dog walking on his hind legs; it is not done well, but you are surprised to find it done at all.”) Of all the stories I have read recently, only Kilgore Trout’s Venus on the Half Shell is worthy to bear the mantle of the giants of yesteryear.
Truly, my good friend, the field we love is facing terrible times, and it is indeed providential that I have arrived on the scene to arrest the rot. Perhaps, in fact, there was a Larger Purpose of Father Devlin’s introducing me to science fiction. We shall see. pp. 94-95
The last part of the story also sees letters from a rational Isaac Asimov to a increasingly superstitious Ferman (one of Asimov’s letters contains a quip that at a recent autograph party he told some “nubile young ladies” that his hobby was “converting lesbians”). Meanwhile, F&SF publishes several of Nkabele’s stories, Ferman becomes an alcoholic, and the circulation of the magazine plummets—it eventually ends up as a mimeographed publication.
This story has some very funny passages and clever lines—and equally as impressive as the writer’s comic ability is his knowledge of SF and the writers involved.
**** (Very Good). 9,700 words. Story link.
1. The story’s original title (it was published in Starsongs and Unicorns, a semi-original short story collection, a couple of years previously) was The Curse of the Mhondoro Nkabele or The Revenge of Stanley G. Weinbaum. The collection’s contents can be viewed at ISFDB (I’ve already reviewed the excellent The Primal Solution here).