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The Issue at Hand. Studies in Contemporary Magazine Science Fiction
From 1952 to 1963 the most penetrating critic of the field of magazine science fiction was known as "William Atheling, Jr." Guessing his real identity was not easy, because his dissection did not spare even his other ego, noted s-f author James Blish. Shedding his protective covering, Mr. Blish assembled many of the Atheling papers and edited them into this book. It is virtually a text for would-be writers of science fiction. Nor is its value limited to that genre; the rules of good writing are universal, and Atheling's critiques are not restricted to the peculiarities and special interests of science fiction. These essays take aspiring authors and editors by the hand and lead them painstakingly through the dense forests of "said-bookism," the treacherous moors of "repetitive phrasing," and other forbidden territories. And even old hands will find cause to wonder and reflect, and perhaps even to re-evaluate professional skills too long taken for granted. No subject is too sacred or taboo for Atheling's shredding typewriter; from sex to God, from religion to satirical poetry. No author is spared the bloody mark of his relentless lash; from Anderson to Heinlein to Zirul. No editor or publisher is spared his--or its--due share of responsibility. But most importantly, The Issue at Hand is not just--or even primarily--a textbook for students of writing. It is a vastly entertaining collection in its own right, affording many hours of pleasant informative reading and re-reading, urging the reader ahead with the wry comments, unexpected humor, and undeviating attention to standards that were the hallmarks of William Atheling, Jr.
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First published June 1, 1964
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
July 28, 2021
This is one for the real SF nerds. It's a collection of articles, framed around reviews but giving more opinion on what makes a good science fiction story than would be common in a review, written by James Blish in the late 50s and early 60s. Fairly obscure stuff, admittedly - I've only heard of about 10 per cent of the stories and half the authors mentioned - but it is still interesting both from the insights Blish (writing as William Atheling Jr.) gives and from the sheer vitriol he pours on stories he doesn't like, even from revered names such as Asimov and Bradbury.
Part of the usefulness to would-be writers of science fiction is that Blish underlines some of the pitfalls they face, whether they be basic writing errors (he tears into a couple of newish authors for the wild variety of alternatives to 'said' they use in reporting dialogue, a classic beginner's mistake) or problems that are specific to the SF genre. The only one of Blish's complaints I would fundamentally disagree with is that he insists that it is essential to describe characters, where often I find the descriptions that were common in the period he was writing entirely unnecessary.
I was quite surprised initially when Blish lays into Bradbury - but reading further it's clear that he very much admired Bradbury's writing talent. What he complains about, rather, is when Bradbury strayed from the natural home of his writing, fantasy, into science fiction, where his total ignorance or lack of interest in scientific matters makes the whole enterprise uncomfortable reading. I've always been mildly horrified that practically the only science fiction book from a supposed SF writer that the literary establishment were capable of celebrating was Fahrenheit 451 - it may be closer to SF than much of Bradbury's so-called science fiction stories, but it is still painfully flawed (and not just because, as I discovered by trying it as a youth, paper doesn't spontaneously ignite at 451 degrees Fahrenheit).
That acerbic side of Blish's comments reminds me of how much fun negative reviews can be to read. You hardly ever see vicious reviews anymore, and that's a real shame. (In fact, I was once asked by a magazine to make a review more supportive because they didn't like to run negative reviews.) It makes me feel like I ought to write more. Having said that I have been quite pleased with a couple of mine - one on the truly dire Murder in the Snow by Gladys Mitchell and the other about a colouring book by an otherwise respected author who I won't name here, but who rather embarrassingly (for him) messaged me to complain about it. It's a bit like the way we don't get enough scientific papers with negative results - if all the reviews you see are glowing, the whole process lacks context and value.
The Issue at Hand is very much a specialist title. It is only going to appeal to real devotees of the genre. But I'll be buying the sequel very soon.
Part of the usefulness to would-be writers of science fiction is that Blish underlines some of the pitfalls they face, whether they be basic writing errors (he tears into a couple of newish authors for the wild variety of alternatives to 'said' they use in reporting dialogue, a classic beginner's mistake) or problems that are specific to the SF genre. The only one of Blish's complaints I would fundamentally disagree with is that he insists that it is essential to describe characters, where often I find the descriptions that were common in the period he was writing entirely unnecessary.
I was quite surprised initially when Blish lays into Bradbury - but reading further it's clear that he very much admired Bradbury's writing talent. What he complains about, rather, is when Bradbury strayed from the natural home of his writing, fantasy, into science fiction, where his total ignorance or lack of interest in scientific matters makes the whole enterprise uncomfortable reading. I've always been mildly horrified that practically the only science fiction book from a supposed SF writer that the literary establishment were capable of celebrating was Fahrenheit 451 - it may be closer to SF than much of Bradbury's so-called science fiction stories, but it is still painfully flawed (and not just because, as I discovered by trying it as a youth, paper doesn't spontaneously ignite at 451 degrees Fahrenheit).
That acerbic side of Blish's comments reminds me of how much fun negative reviews can be to read. You hardly ever see vicious reviews anymore, and that's a real shame. (In fact, I was once asked by a magazine to make a review more supportive because they didn't like to run negative reviews.) It makes me feel like I ought to write more. Having said that I have been quite pleased with a couple of mine - one on the truly dire Murder in the Snow by Gladys Mitchell and the other about a colouring book by an otherwise respected author who I won't name here, but who rather embarrassingly (for him) messaged me to complain about it. It's a bit like the way we don't get enough scientific papers with negative results - if all the reviews you see are glowing, the whole process lacks context and value.
The Issue at Hand is very much a specialist title. It is only going to appeal to real devotees of the genre. But I'll be buying the sequel very soon.
April 8, 2014
Interesting and short, if also quite dated.
This is a collection of James Blish’s science fiction literary criticism. He originally wrote it for fanzines in the 1950s and 1960s under the pseudonym William Atheling (not coincidentally, the name Ezra Pound used in writing music criticism) because, he says int he introduction, he didn’t want to offend friends and because he wanted to discuss his own work without seeming too close to it. Only two people guessed his real identity, he said, before he admitted it.
Atheling himself is something of a character, different in ways than Blish. Indeed, Blish took to calling him “Sour Bill,” in reference to his dyspeptic take on science fiction of the day. And this is one of the more interesting aspects of the book. One cannot read, today, a history of science fiction without tripping over the paeans to John W. Campbell, revered editor of Astounding. Atheling (or Blish) is not so excited by Campbell—or his proteges, such as Isaac Asimov and even large swaths of Heinlein’s work—and is not afraid to say so. This is refreshing to read, even if it comes almost sixty years after the fact.
All of which is not to say that Atheling doesn’t have his affections. He is mad about Theodore Sturgeon and Damon Knight—neither of whom I have read extensively, and so might now have to look into—and also, unusually for science fiction criticism—is willing to expose the machinery of his criticism. He is interested in technical criticisms of the genre—not boy is it good, not necessarily if the science works—but if the story works as fiction. He again holds Knight up as an exemplar of such studies and in the dedication acknowledges Claire P. Beck (the P stood for Poor) as a forerunner. (The language here is sometimes odd, reflecting Atheling’s different purposes. It can be stodgy, at times, more in lines with literary criticism. But then “fennish” words get dropped in, like “stinker” which seem out of place.)
And here again the criticisms can get interesting. Atheling’s apparatus for judgment is basically the same as the New Criticism then ascendant in literary circles. He looked at how the story was constructed and looked at the techniques the author’s used to create their effects—in almost all cases, the wrong techniques, or the techniques badly applied. This part of the criticism wears no better, imo, than the New Criticism of the day. But where it gets interesting is where Blish tries to identify what makes a story in particular science fiction.
As a rough heuristic, he starts out with Sturgeon’s rule that science fiction is a human story with human problems that have a human solution told in a context in which science is central. Some of his interlocutors note that such a definition then admits stories like “Arrowsmith,” to which he says, “Good!” Blish acknowledges that contemporary science fiction—much against his own wishes—need not be perfect science—the story comes first—but also does not like stories in which the science fiction is just giving everyday objects science fiction-y names. He wants solid, thought out ideas, too. Blish never quite reconciles all these desires, especially as he considers the increasing role of religion in science fiction tales. But watching him wrestle with the ideas is the point.
This is a collection of James Blish’s science fiction literary criticism. He originally wrote it for fanzines in the 1950s and 1960s under the pseudonym William Atheling (not coincidentally, the name Ezra Pound used in writing music criticism) because, he says int he introduction, he didn’t want to offend friends and because he wanted to discuss his own work without seeming too close to it. Only two people guessed his real identity, he said, before he admitted it.
Atheling himself is something of a character, different in ways than Blish. Indeed, Blish took to calling him “Sour Bill,” in reference to his dyspeptic take on science fiction of the day. And this is one of the more interesting aspects of the book. One cannot read, today, a history of science fiction without tripping over the paeans to John W. Campbell, revered editor of Astounding. Atheling (or Blish) is not so excited by Campbell—or his proteges, such as Isaac Asimov and even large swaths of Heinlein’s work—and is not afraid to say so. This is refreshing to read, even if it comes almost sixty years after the fact.
All of which is not to say that Atheling doesn’t have his affections. He is mad about Theodore Sturgeon and Damon Knight—neither of whom I have read extensively, and so might now have to look into—and also, unusually for science fiction criticism—is willing to expose the machinery of his criticism. He is interested in technical criticisms of the genre—not boy is it good, not necessarily if the science works—but if the story works as fiction. He again holds Knight up as an exemplar of such studies and in the dedication acknowledges Claire P. Beck (the P stood for Poor) as a forerunner. (The language here is sometimes odd, reflecting Atheling’s different purposes. It can be stodgy, at times, more in lines with literary criticism. But then “fennish” words get dropped in, like “stinker” which seem out of place.)
And here again the criticisms can get interesting. Atheling’s apparatus for judgment is basically the same as the New Criticism then ascendant in literary circles. He looked at how the story was constructed and looked at the techniques the author’s used to create their effects—in almost all cases, the wrong techniques, or the techniques badly applied. This part of the criticism wears no better, imo, than the New Criticism of the day. But where it gets interesting is where Blish tries to identify what makes a story in particular science fiction.
As a rough heuristic, he starts out with Sturgeon’s rule that science fiction is a human story with human problems that have a human solution told in a context in which science is central. Some of his interlocutors note that such a definition then admits stories like “Arrowsmith,” to which he says, “Good!” Blish acknowledges that contemporary science fiction—much against his own wishes—need not be perfect science—the story comes first—but also does not like stories in which the science fiction is just giving everyday objects science fiction-y names. He wants solid, thought out ideas, too. Blish never quite reconciles all these desires, especially as he considers the increasing role of religion in science fiction tales. But watching him wrestle with the ideas is the point.
September 18, 2009
"William Atheling" is a pseudonym of James Blish.
He adopted it in order to write reviews of SF magazines in a fanzine. The reviews are technical in nature and brutal. They are also a useful lesson for beginner writers in What Not To Do. The harsh style is hilarious and it is notable that those who come in for the most severe criticism are not familiar names to the SF readers who came to the genre after the era of the pulp magazines. Readers of the column actually complained when Blish praised some material instead of simply dipping his pen in the vitriol bottle every time, but this further illustrates that no matter how acerbic the criticisms are, they are not indiscriminate.
The book is as easily read as any of Blish's fiction and as entertaining.
He adopted it in order to write reviews of SF magazines in a fanzine. The reviews are technical in nature and brutal. They are also a useful lesson for beginner writers in What Not To Do. The harsh style is hilarious and it is notable that those who come in for the most severe criticism are not familiar names to the SF readers who came to the genre after the era of the pulp magazines. Readers of the column actually complained when Blish praised some material instead of simply dipping his pen in the vitriol bottle every time, but this further illustrates that no matter how acerbic the criticisms are, they are not indiscriminate.
The book is as easily read as any of Blish's fiction and as entertaining.
September 3, 2024
A fun collection of essays, with some good tips about reading and writing. It makes me think we could use more outlets for literary criticism of popular fiction, these days. We might all benefit from something like Atheling today.
August 28, 2012
The essays collected here were some of the first serious general criticism of science fiction. They mainly address short fiction published in the sf genre magazines of the 1950s. Blish covers both technical issues of prose composition, and larger issues of plot, structure, and theme. Very little is said about character. The chapter on religious themes in sf spends a lot of time not saying very much, and the chapter on why British sf book critics are better than their American counterparts is useless. Blish's complaints about poor grammar are valid, but not especially profound.
There are a few quirks. Blish rails against ending a sentence with a preposition. He thinks less of Jack Vance's "The Dying Earth" because it isn't a novel. It isn't, it's short fiction with a shared world and some shared characters, but it has since been recognized as as seminal work in the field. Blish's voice here tends to be fussy and waspish, much more so than in his own fiction, which is generally excellent and well worth reading. Perhaps he felt ill at ease in writing these essays critical of his own colleagues, under an assumed name?
Today these essays are mainly of historical interest. Blish's best ideas have long since become commonplaces in teaching sf writing: avoid said-book-isms; don't call a rabbit a smeerp; it isn't enough for an sf writer to have ideas, he must have ideas about his ideas. Blish's criticism of specific stories in the sf magazines of the 1950s is less useful because many of those stories have been forgotten and are no longer available. Blish's complaints about plot and structure suffer from vagueness. However, it's been my observation that that is true of most criticism of plot and structure.
There are a few quirks. Blish rails against ending a sentence with a preposition. He thinks less of Jack Vance's "The Dying Earth" because it isn't a novel. It isn't, it's short fiction with a shared world and some shared characters, but it has since been recognized as as seminal work in the field. Blish's voice here tends to be fussy and waspish, much more so than in his own fiction, which is generally excellent and well worth reading. Perhaps he felt ill at ease in writing these essays critical of his own colleagues, under an assumed name?
Today these essays are mainly of historical interest. Blish's best ideas have long since become commonplaces in teaching sf writing: avoid said-book-isms; don't call a rabbit a smeerp; it isn't enough for an sf writer to have ideas, he must have ideas about his ideas. Blish's criticism of specific stories in the sf magazines of the 1950s is less useful because many of those stories have been forgotten and are no longer available. Blish's complaints about plot and structure suffer from vagueness. However, it's been my observation that that is true of most criticism of plot and structure.
August 30, 2017
First, an explanation of the very clever title, The Issue at Hand. There are many books now about science fiction but, I suspect, not a lot about magazine science fiction, discussed story by story. Blish reviews issues of what were then current science fiction magazines. The articles first appeared in science fiction fan magazines; the last two entries were originally speeches Blish gave.
The problem in reading this now is that "then current" was a relatively long time ago. The first stories discussed are from 1952 and the last from 1962. Unless you have an incredibly complete collection of old science fiction magazines or, if you are old enough, an even more incredible memory, you won't be familiar with much of the material Blish is writing about.
That doesn't mean that reading this book now has no value. The rules of grammar and other aspects of writing science fiction are, in many cases, still relevant. I don't share Blish's distaste for ending a sentence with a preposition (or else my previous paragraph would have ended with "the material about which Blish is writing"). It also doesn't bother me if a short story is written from more than one person's point of view or if it is all told from the view of an unspecified, omniscient narrator, both of which Blish evidently found akin to blasphemy. (Did Mr Blish happen to read a very good short story titled "Testament of Andros?" He probably did, since he wrote it.) But much of Blish's critiques are, as I said, still valuable and relevant.
More than once in this book, Blish quotes from a letter sent to him by the other best-known science fiction critic of that time, Damon Knight:
I think it's a waste of time to bring up your big guns against short-shorts by Charles E. Fritch [a relatively minor science fiction author]. You ought to aim at the top, where the cliches are being perpetuated, not down among the black-beetles.
Blish disagreed, saying that he was reviewing all magazine science fiction and all of it should meet certain standards. I agree with this, but it does lead to extensive criticisms of stories that nobody would remember except for Blish's criticism.
Blish does praise some writers and some specific stories. Although Blish does not refrain from some negative comments, he obviously likes the work of Theodore Sturgeon, Jack Vance, Alfred Bester, Damon Knight, Algis Budrys, Poul Anderson and others, as well as much of the fiction of Robert Heinlein and Isaac Asimov.
There is also another good reason to read this even now; it is very witty. I will limit this to just one example. Blish's most virulent criticism of any individual story is an entire chapter about "Final Exam" by Arthur Zirul. Blish thinks this story is totally inept, "one of the worst stinkers ever to have been printed in the field." Blish titled this article "One Completely Lousy Story, with Feetnote."*
James Blish died in 1975, at the age of 54.
*Well, I think it's funny.
The problem in reading this now is that "then current" was a relatively long time ago. The first stories discussed are from 1952 and the last from 1962. Unless you have an incredibly complete collection of old science fiction magazines or, if you are old enough, an even more incredible memory, you won't be familiar with much of the material Blish is writing about.
That doesn't mean that reading this book now has no value. The rules of grammar and other aspects of writing science fiction are, in many cases, still relevant. I don't share Blish's distaste for ending a sentence with a preposition (or else my previous paragraph would have ended with "the material about which Blish is writing"). It also doesn't bother me if a short story is written from more than one person's point of view or if it is all told from the view of an unspecified, omniscient narrator, both of which Blish evidently found akin to blasphemy. (Did Mr Blish happen to read a very good short story titled "Testament of Andros?" He probably did, since he wrote it.) But much of Blish's critiques are, as I said, still valuable and relevant.
More than once in this book, Blish quotes from a letter sent to him by the other best-known science fiction critic of that time, Damon Knight:
I think it's a waste of time to bring up your big guns against short-shorts by Charles E. Fritch [a relatively minor science fiction author]. You ought to aim at the top, where the cliches are being perpetuated, not down among the black-beetles.
Blish disagreed, saying that he was reviewing all magazine science fiction and all of it should meet certain standards. I agree with this, but it does lead to extensive criticisms of stories that nobody would remember except for Blish's criticism.
Blish does praise some writers and some specific stories. Although Blish does not refrain from some negative comments, he obviously likes the work of Theodore Sturgeon, Jack Vance, Alfred Bester, Damon Knight, Algis Budrys, Poul Anderson and others, as well as much of the fiction of Robert Heinlein and Isaac Asimov.
There is also another good reason to read this even now; it is very witty. I will limit this to just one example. Blish's most virulent criticism of any individual story is an entire chapter about "Final Exam" by Arthur Zirul. Blish thinks this story is totally inept, "one of the worst stinkers ever to have been printed in the field." Blish titled this article "One Completely Lousy Story, with Feetnote."*
James Blish died in 1975, at the age of 54.
*Well, I think it's funny.
December 30, 2023
Needful. This should be listed under Blish as a pseudonym. Review forthcoming
April 19, 2016
This is a good collection of bitchy literary criticism. James Blish wrote under an assumed name and went at the short stories appearing in SF magazines in the fifties. There is some good advice and some interesting views on what makes a story good, but what I think I liked best was the intense examination of stories meant to be read once and then tossed aside. This deep view was fascinating and at times infuriating, but by the end I was still into it, which can't be said about me when it comes to collections of lit crit.
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