Was Erik Frank Russell deconstructing space operas in the 1940s?

Men, Martians and Machines by Erik Frank Russell becomes an odder read the more you look at it. A collection of interlocking stories, it was published in 1955  but most of the book was originally published in the early 40s. 

On the surface, it’s the rollicking adventures of the solar system’s first interstellar spaceship as they explore one death world after another. A machine world, a plant world, a brain control world. It’s all very by the numbers, even back when it was written.

The next level, at least for me, is that Men, Martians and Machines is a definitive period piece. It felt that way back when I first picked it up back in the late 80s and it really feels that way now. Some critics say that every science fiction novel is about the time it was written, not the future. Russell was definitely writing about the navy and merchant marines of the 40s. (The lack of exterior weapons so they have to open the airlock to shoot back is so bizarre to me)

But it was when we dig even deeper that Men, Martians and Machines becomes really interesting. I thought the book was multicultural when I thought it had been written in 1955. But when I learned that part of it had been written over a decade before that, I was really impressed. I thought Voyage of the Space Beagle was the prototype of Star Trek but Men, Martians and Machines feels like Star Trek the prototype. The black surgeon is the most competent and mature human on the ship. Not only are the octopod Martians and the token robot treated as buddies by the humans, they are clearly more with it than the humans.

In every single story, the Martians and/or the robot have to save the humans. The humans would be dead every time if it wasn’t for the non-humans. The fact that Russell has this happen in every story turns the book into a deconstruction of the genre at a time when the standard trope was having humans always win, at least if John Campbell was editing. On top of that, the constant stream to death planets is clearly wearing the humans down by the end of the book. The book went from a yarn and period piece to something that made me think.

The other highlight of the book is the Martians. Not their cephalopod forms or limited telepathy but their laconic, easy going personalities. They never get worried or stop obsessing about chess even while dealing with fantastic threats. At one point, we learn that they can think in two threads at the same time so they are always playing mental chess. 

They never have to stop playing board games? I’m jealous!

Dunsany Dreams 16

The Architect and the Spider

The architect looked out his window, where a spider was spinning her web. In the distance, the architect could see a great bridge of steel that spanned a mighty river with long cables.

‘And this is why we have inherited the Earth,’ he said.

But the spider whispered to him ‘My people spun out webs lit before there was a human race and we will spin them long after you all are gone.’

Dunsany Dreams 15

The Happy Laughter of Children 

All the children remembered the puppet man, who would come to the village green every spring with his bag of puppets. There, on the grass and behind the curtain, he would speak with a funny voice and make the puppets come to life.

In some ways, the stories were always the same. Punch was the light-hearted murderer who could outwit even the devil. At the same time, the stories were ever-changing. The broad strokes remained the same but the details changed with every show.

And, oh, how the children would laugh with every swing of the club, laugh at every snap of the alligator’s jaws. As the puppets danced and the silly voices piped through the curtains, the children would laugh.

And oh, how the children still laughed when the puppet man’s body was found floating and rotting in the river. 

Dunsany Dreams 14

Spring’s Music

When the crocus bloom and the snow is only left in piles of weeping slush, the sing of spring begins. It is a song without words and the music is hidden. Yet, it is everywhere, carried by the merry winds and full of the rich, raw smells of wet mud and fresh grass.

The song dances in between the trees and whispers to  green buds that are beginning in the branches. The sing dances in the meadows, making the young grass bo and bend. The birds, still coming back from the south, know the sing of spring and so do the waking creatures in their burrows and beds.

Spring is here. The winter has gone and life has been renewed,

And in the little streams that wind their way to the rivers and then to the sea, black sludge flows.

Dunsany Dreams 13

A Simple Truth

During the day, the abattoir stank of blood during the day and reeked of bleach at night.

But it holds this truth. There must be death for meat to be born.

Dunsany Dreams 12

One Ending

It was war.

There’s nothing new about war. Indeed, peace is not nearly as common. But this was a bitter war that lasted for years upon years. It was a war where brother fought brother and sometimes streets and homes were battlefields as well.

The one place of peace was the grave yard and the grave digger found no rest, even though he was not a part of any fighting. The handle of his shovel grew shiny with wear as he worked day and night.

Then came the day that the grave digger looked up from a grave to see Death in half s dusty long coat.

‘Is it time for the war to be over?’ he asked.

‘Only for you.’

‘That will have to do.’

Dunsany Dreams 11

Courtesy

The grave digger had paused to eat a green apple when he saw Death in his dusty long coat coming down the lane.

‘Everyone has to have profession,’ said the grave digger, ‘and mine is as good as any and better than most. I’ve served kings and paupers in their time. But your profession comes before mine and it looks like it’s my time.’

But Death said to him ‘Not yet. But, as one professional to another, I wanted to let you know there is a powerful amount of work coming your way.’

Dunsany Dreams 10

The Poet in the Wilderness

The poet stood on the wilderness, speaking his words to world. Though there was no audience, he knew that the plants and the wild animals still heard his voice, although they could not understand his words.

The sun shone down upon him and warmed him. When the poet felt too warm, the wind came and cooled his brow.

Yet, the clouds came over the sun and wind grew too strong. At last the rain came, chilling and soaking the poet. He ended his words and left the wilderness to go back to his rooms.

Yet, as the poet went in to the fire in his hearth, the gravedigger continued to dig. He couldn’t stop digging graves just on account of the weather.

Dunsany Dreams 8

Three Learned Goals

The business man said ‘I will build factories and museums in my name. I shall be remembered forever after I die.’

The politician said ‘I will write laws and make treaties. I shall be remembered after I die.’

The post said ‘I will write poems and lyrics that will move every ear. I shall be remembered after I die.’

Death in his dusty long coat looked at the three of them. ‘I shall give you your chance,’ he said.

Dunsany Dreams 7

Finding Memory

I found myself walking in a field that I had never been in but I knew from dreams. It ended in a hill that was green with grass and seemed to rise up into the sky.

The hill seemed too steep to climb yet climb it I did. Up and up, the hill carried me and I knew that it was the place that I needed to be.

And at the top of the hill, I saw Pan before me, shaggy and hooved and horned. All I could do is fall face down with my face in the green grass.

And he said ‘I need neither reverence or fear. But remembrance is good.’

Dunsany Dreams 6

The Business Man and the June Bug

The business man regarded the June bug that buzzed around his head.

‘What have you done to fly around me and bother me so?’ he asked the June bug. ‘I am a man of means and wealth. I have leveraged trades and bought and sold companies. My decisions can be the ruin of thousands. I can make the markets dance at my command. What have you done?’

‘Me?’ asked the June bug. ‘I have lived.’

Dunsany Dreams 5

The Business Men and the Cat

In their stuffy board room with their overstuffed bodies sitting in overstuffed chairs, the great men of business looked over their plans for the markets and the stocks and all of the other things that they could control with their money.

And they nodded, very pleased with their wisdom, and said to one another ‘The future is ours.’

At the same time, in the alley behind the building, a mother cat gave birth to a litter of kittens. As she gazed at her feral children, the cat knew the future.

Dunsany Dreams 4

The Perfect Rose

Old Man Memory took down a heavy book from a shelf in his library. Both the book and the shelf are covered in dust. The light of a single candle on his desk cast dancing shadows about the windowless chamber, making it seem darker than it would have been with no light at all.

Opening it up, Old Man Memory took a perfect rose, cut from the garden, and placed it between two pages. He firmly shut the book, pressing the flower as flat as the pages it lay between.

Old Man Memory put the book back up on the shelf with its new treasure. He knew that the perfect rose, now pressed, would dry and remain for many years before becoming dust.

Meanwhile, Youth danced outside in the sunlight in a field filled with hundreds of dandelions.

Dunsany Dreams 3

Beneath the Tree

The poet sits beneath the cherry tree. In his hand is his manuscript and his eyes are shut.

From behind his eyes, there are dreams of the everlasting word. The power of the word to continue to dance in the minds and imagination of generations even after the bones become dust. Words that inspire until they are written in a dozen different languages for those would listen or those who read on every continent.

As the poet lies dreaming, he cannot see the rainwater dripping off of the leaves, dissolving the paper of his manuscript and turning the ink into black rivers.

Dunsany Dreams 2

Gravestone Whispers

As I sat in the cemetery, I heard a gravestone speak.

‘Flesh and even bone, all will melt away and become only dust. Only I am forever. Only I last. I am the only memory that matters. Forget the soul. I am the eternal part of man.’

When I looked over, I saw that the wind and rain had erased the words on the stone. 

Dunsany Dreams 1

The Voice of the Mountain

As I walked in the wilderness,  I heard a voice. It was the voice of the wilderness.

‘I am mountain. I am the giant of the world. I stand above all things. Even the clouds are below me. My strength is never-ending. I will outlast all things, that even eternity. I am mountain.’

All this I heard from the desert sand.