Category: Gene Wolfe

War Beneath the Tree by Gene Wolfe

War Beneath the Tree by Gene Wolfe (Omni, December 1979) opens with a young boy called Robin being sent to bed:

“It’s Christmas Eve, Commander Robin,” the Spaceman said. “You’d better go to bed or Santa won’t come.”
Robin’s mother said, “That’s right, Robin. Time to say good night.”
The little boy in blue pajamas nodded, but he made no move to rise.
“Kiss me,” said Bear. Bear walked his funny waddly walk around the tree and threw his arms about Robin. “We have to go to bed. I’ll come, too.” It was what he said every night.
Robin’s mother shook her head in amused despair. “Listen to them,” she said. “Look at him, Bertha. He’s like a little prince surrounded by his court. How is he going to feel when he’s grown and can’t have transistorized sycophants to spoil him all the time?”
Bertha the robot maid nodded her own almost human head as she put the poker back in its stand. “That’s right, Ms. Jackson. That’s right for sure.”

After Robin falls asleep, Bear leaves him and returns to the other robot toys, whereupon they prepare for a battle with an unspecified enemy. Later, Robin wakes and goes downstairs (spoiler) to see his mother, who is dressed up as Santa, put a new set of robot toys under the Christmas tree. Then, after she leaves, he watches as hostilities break out between the old toys and the new. . . .
I was impressed at how much Wolfe manages to pack into this short Pixar-like tale (albeit a Pixar tale with a very dark ending)—apart from the story and its evocative robotic milieu, we have Bertha the servant’s drift into a character like that of a black servant in a 1940s movie (Robin’s mother says the new robot chauffeur will be Italian and stay Italian), and there is a final revelation to Robin about a new baby that will be arriving (with the implied threat of his own obsolescence).
***+ (Good to Very Good). 2,150 words. Story link.

La Befana by Gene Wolfe

La Befana by Gene Wolfe (Galaxy, January-February 1973) opens with an alien called Zozz arriving at a human settler’s household on Christmas Eve. There Zozz waits for the man of the family, John “Bananas” Bannano, to come home.
Once Bannano arrives there are several conversations that run in parallel about (a) the family’s emigration to Zozz’s planet (b) the mother-in-law, who goes into the room next door to avoid Zozz, and (c) a story about a witch eternally dammed to look for the baby Jesus/Messiah.
The last line draws this together somewhat with (spoiler) the mother-in-law saying she’ll only have to search until tomorrow night.
This is either a simple idea complicated by the various lines of conversation (in one or two places it’s hard to work out who is talking to who), or I missed the point. Either way, I suspect it is a slight piece.
* (Mediocre). 1,450 words.

The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories by Gene Wolfe

The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories by Gene Wolfe1 (Orbit #7, 1970) is one of his ‘Archipelago’ series and opens with its child protagonist, Tackman Babcock, going to the store with Jason, a man who appears to be his ill mother’s boyfriend. When they get there Tackman sees a book he wants but Jason refuses to buy it. However, when they get back to the car, Jason takes the book out from under his jacket and presents it to the boy. Tackman is delighted, and flicks through the pages while Jason makes unsettling comments about his mother (he is told not to come into her room that evening, and that she is so soft that, when Jason climbs on her, “it’s just like being on a big pillow.”) This begins a thread of domestic unease that runs throughout the story.
The next section of the story is an extract from the book that Tackman has been given, which involves a Captain Philip Ransom floating alone on a raft in the middle of the sea. When he sees land in the distance he starts paddling towards the shore.
Then, when Tackman goes outside the next morning:

A life raft. You run to the beach, jump up and down and wave your cap. “Over here. Over here.”
The man from the raft has no shirt but the cold doesn’t seem to bother him. He holds out his hand and says, “Captain Ransom,” and you take it and are suddenly taller and older; not as tall as he is or as old as he is, but taller and older than yourself. “Tackman Babcock, Captain.”
“Pleased to meet you. You were a friend in need there a minute ago.”
“I guess I didn’t do anything but welcome you ashore.”
“The sound of your voice gave me something to steer for while my eyes were too busy watching that surf. Now you can tell me where I’ve landed and who you are.”
You are walking back up to the house now, and you explain to Ransom about you and Mother, and how she doesn’t want to enroll you in the school here because she is trying to get you into the private school your father went to once. And after a time there is nothing more to say, and you show Ransom one of the empty rooms on the third floor where he can rest and do whatever he wants. Then you go back to your own room to read.  p. 200-201

The rest of the book mixes three layers of reality: the first is Tackman’s real world (we learn that his mother is separated from his father but she is shortly to be remarried to a Dr Black); the second is the book’s pulp story (Ransom is caught and held captive by Dr Death, a scientist who is undertaking Moreau-like2 experiments); and the third involves scenes where both the real and book worlds merge, such as the one where Tackman talks to Dr Death on a restaurant balcony when he goes out for a meal with his mother, two aunts, and Dr Black.
The rest of the piece sees the appearance (in the story thread) of, among others, Talar of the Long Eyes (a female love interest for Ransom) and Bruno (an uplifted dog), the latter of which later visits Tackman in his bedroom. The climax of the real world thread (spoiler) eventually sees Tackman finding his mother overdosed at a party in the house and calling the police. The culpability (or otherwise) of Jason and Dr Black in her drug use remains ambiguous.
The final paragraphs show that Tackman is probably a character in a story too:

[The police] go away and you pick up the book and riffle the pages, but you do not read. At your elbow Dr. Death says “What’s the matter, Tackie?” He smells of scorched cloth and there is a streak of blood across his forehead, but he smiles and lights one of his cigarettes.
You hold up the book. “I don’t want it to end. You’ll be killed at the end.”
“And you don’t want to lose me? That’s touching.”
“You will, won’t you? You’ll burn up in the fire and Captain Ransom will go away and leave Talar.”
Dr. Death smiles. “But if you start the book again we’ll all be back. Even Golo and the bull-man.”
“Honest?”
“Certainly.” He stands up and tousles your hair. “It’s the same with you, Tackie. You’re too young to realize it yet, but it’s the same with you.”  p. 214

The last line arguably introduces a fourth level of reality into the narrative, that of the reader who is finishing Wolfe’s story.
I really liked this piece when I first read it but this time it struck me as a slighter effort—Tackman’s “real” life isn’t a particularly well-developed arc as much of the piece relates to what happens in the book and to Tackman’s interactions with the characters. That said, the story merges the various realities of the story in a highly accomplished (and for the time novel) manner, and I was attracted to the story’s evocation of the complete immersion of youthful reading—what a pity that seems to disappear with age.
***+ (Good to Very good). 6,050 words. Story link.

1. Gene Wolfe was on the Nebula Award final ballot with this story and was initially announced as the winner—until the master of ceremonies, Isaac Asimov, was told that it had placed second to No Award. Gardner Dozois picks up the story in Jo Walton’s An Informal History of the Hugo Awards (Tor, 2018):

I was there, sitting at Gene Wolfe’s table, in fact. He’d actually stood up, and was starting to walk toward the podium, when Isaac was told about his mistake. Gene shrugged and sat down quietly, like the gentleman he is, while Isaac stammered an explanation of what had happened. It was the one time I ever saw Isaac totally flustered, and, in fact, he felt guilty about the incident to the end of his days. It’s bullshit that this was the result of confusing ballot instructions. This was the height of the War of the New Wave, and passions between the New Wave camp and the conservative Old Guard camp were running high. (The same year, Michael Moorcock said in a review that the only way SFWA could have found a worse thing than Ringworld to give the Nebula to was to give it to a comic book.) The fact that the short story ballot was almost completely made up of stuff from Orbit [Damon Knight’s anthology series] had outraged the Old Guard, particularly James Sallis’s surreal “The Creation of Bennie Good,” and they block-voted for No Award as a protest against “nonfunctional word patterns” making the ballot. Judy-Lynn del Rey told me as much immediately after the banquet, when she was exuberantly gloating about how they’d “put Orbit in its place” with the voting results, and actually said, “We won!”

2. The book appears to reference H. G. Well’s The Island of Doctor Moreau and Richard Shaver’s ‘Lemuria’ stories, but I have no idea where Tala of the Long Eyes comes from.

The Ziggurat by Gene Wolfe

The Ziggurat by Gene Wolfe (Full Spectrum #5, edited by Tom Dupree, Jennifer Hershey, Janna Silverstein, 1995) wasn’t, given that the last two stories of his I read were Seven American Nights and The Fifth Head of Cerberus, exactly what I was expecting, and the piece initially feels more like something from Stephen King. To that end, the beginning is not only evocative of place—a snowed-in log cabin in the woods—but also of character—Emery is estranged from his wife Jan and is waiting in his cabin for her and their children to arrive, along with the divorce papers she is bringing for him to sign. While he tidies up before their arrival he broods about this, and also thinks about a visiting coyote1 he has been feeding and trying to tame:

The coyote had gone up on the back porch!
After a second or two he realized he was grinning like a fool, and forced himself to stop and look instead.
There were no tracks. Presumably the coyote had eaten this morning before the snow started, for the bowl was empty, licked clean. The time would come, and soon, when he would touch the rough yellow-gray head, when the coyote would lick his fingers and fall asleep in front of the little fieldstone fireplace in his cabin.  p. 391 (Year’s Best SF, edited by David Hartwell)

While he is outside, Emery also gets the impression he is being watched from the woods, a feeling that is confirmed when he sees a flash of a mirror . . . .
The rest of the first half of the story proceeds at a brisk pace. Emery gets dressed and goes to the area he saw the light, only to look back at his cabin to see he is being burgled. When he shouts at one of the small, dark figures, they raise the rifle they have taken from cabin and shoot. He takes cover. Five minutes later Jan and the three kids arrive, but when Emery hurries back he sees the interlopers have vanished. He decides to keep quiet about what has just happened.
The next part of the story switches temporarily from thriller to family soap opera, with a conversation between Emery and Jan about the details of the their divorce (and an allegation of child abuse by Emery on the twin girls). This culminates in Emery’s refusal to sign the papers, and Jan and the two girls leaving the cabin (unlike the twins, Brook is Emery’s biological son and he stays). Shortly after the mother and daughters exit Emery and Brook hear a scream, and rush outside to see the burglars under the hood of the car, seemingly once again looking for parts (as they did with Emery’s Jeep earlier on). There is a struggle, and a shot is fired: the interlopers flee. After the family regroup, they realise one of the twins, Aileen, is missing.
Emery then drives through the snow towards the lake to see if he can find her, eventually coming upon the burglars, who are dark-skinned and petite young women. They have Aileen, but Emery manages to trade the car for her—although the women don’t speak throughout the exchange—and, after another scuffle during which he is shot (a flesh wound in his side), father and step-daughter walk back to the cabin.
At this point (a third of the way through) the story starts becoming SFnal: Aileen says that she has been in a ziggurat (she later clarifies that it wasn’t actually an ancient terraced structure, it just had the same shape), where she was stripped and examined, shown pictures of things she didn’t recognise, and given food before she slept for a while. Emery is puzzled, and tells her she has only been gone a couple of hours.
When they get back to the cabin domestic hostilities resume as Emery undresses to tend his wound, and the girls are told not to look:

Jan snapped her fingers. “Oil! Oil will soften the dried blood. Wesson Oil. Have you got any?”
Brook pointed at the cabinet above the sink. Emery said, “There’s a bottle of olive oil up there, or there should be.”
“Leen’s peeking,” Brook told Jan, who told Aileen, “Do that again, young lady, and I’ll smack your face!
“Emery, you really ought to make two rooms out of this. This is ridiculous.”
“It was designed for four men,” he explained, “a hunting party, or a fishing party. You women always insist on being included, then complain about what you find when you are.”  p. 425

There is more of this kind of thing:

Privately [Emery] wondered which was worse, a woman who had never learned how to get what she wanted or a woman who had.
“You actually proposed that we patch it up. Then you act like this?” [said Jan.]
“I’m trying to keep things pleasant.”
“Then do it!”
“You mean you want to be courted while you’re divorcing me. That’s what’s usually meant by a friendly divorce, from what I’ve been able to gather.”  p. 426-427

“Emery, you hardly ever answer a direct question. It’s one of the things I dislike most about you.”
“That’s what men say about women,” he protested mildly.
“Women are being diplomatic. Men are rude.”
“I suppose you’re right. What did you ask me?”
“That isn’t the point. The point is that you ignore me until I raise my voice.”  p. 430

Emery finally agrees to take his wife and daughters into town and, for the next part of the story, it is just the two men, Emery and Brook, who are left to deal with any remaining problems back at the cabin. (Apart from a couple of phonecalls, the weather conveniently keeps the local sheriff and the other authorities away.)
As they drive back, Emery does some more pontificating to Brook on the nature of women (“For women, love is [. . .] magic, which is why they frequently use the language of fairy tales when they talk about it.”). Then there is talk of “Brownies” (fairies) and the like, and an information dump where Emery speculates (spoiler) about the women landing the “ziggurat” in the lake; that they are afraid of men and want to leave the area; and a possible time-distortion effect that would explain Aileen’s experience.
They sleep, and when Emery wakes up the next morning he realises Brook isn’t there. When he goes outside to find him he discovers one of the women has killed him with the axe. After he covers the body and puts it by the woodpile, he then calls the undertaker and sheriff. Then he calls the mobile phone in Jan’s car: one of the women answers, and Emery tells her he is going to kill them for what they did to his son.
The last section of the story sees the climactic encounters between Emery and the women, which take place in both the ziggurat/space-time ship (where he fights a woman with an axe) and in the cabin (where the other two ambush him, and he kills one and injures the other.
The final scene has him tending the wounded woman: Emery tells her he us going to burn the ziggurat and that she will just have fit into current day society. While she sleeps he plans a new company which will exploit the time-travellers’ technology. He also determines to make the woman, who he calls Tamar, his new wife. Emery talks to himself while she sleeps, saying that they’ll have a family, and build a house on the lakeside to take advantage of the still functioning time distortion device. She squeezes his hand, and the story ends.
Now the unfortunate thing about reducing this story to a plot summary is that it makes it sound like something that A. E. van Vogt might have cobbled together in one of his wilder moments, and I’d have to concede that at times it does have a whiff of that about it. However, it is a very readable piece. The problem is that is it a mixed bag, and the second half is not as good as the first. Part of this is due to the wild plot, and the way that key information is delivered (apart from the dumping a lot of this in the middle section, I’m not sure that there is a clear mention of a ziggurat in the middle of the lake until he goes into it later on). Then there are the Emery’s actions and his character: the former seem borderline reckless and/or idiotic at times, and he comes over, at best, as a complex character, or, at worst, as having patriarchal, misogynistic, and abuser tendencies. Whichever side you come down on regarding Emery’s character, this is something which threatens to bend the story into a no-man’s land between a dark, mainstream examination of a complicated man, and a highly entertaining SFnal potboiler (or as I found out later, make the account the delusions of a madman2). At times it’s an uneven mix.
These reservations notwithstanding, it is a fast paced read with some good description and characterisation, and, if you don’t pay too much attention to the bonkers plot, and the distractions of Emery’s character, it’s a pretty good read. I enjoyed it.
***+ (Good to Very Good) 27,200 words.

1. No doubt the coyote reference is Wolfe inserting himself into the narrative as per The Fifth Head of Cerberus.

2. After posting this review, one of my Facebook group members posted a link to a draft of an article by Marc Armani (a Wolfe scholar) which describes what the story is really about (spoiler): Emery is delusional and has killed/raped the members of his family (or something like that). I wonder what my blood pressure was when I read the line “If we accept that Wolfe might occasionally present delusion as objective narrative fact [. . .] then some aspects of “The Ziggurat” become easier to contextualize.”
I think I am now officially past caring about what this story, or any of Wolfe’s work, is about. But those of you who like walking on quicksand, knock yourself out.
The discussion thread and link to the Armani article are here (although the Armani link may have expired by now—buy the book).