In article <vl6r8g$3f2df$1@dont-email.me>,
Tony Nance <tnusenet17@gmail.com> wrote:

Highlights and Lowlights - November-December 2024

Happy New Year!

Books are rated using a very primitive rating system:
“+” are good, and more “+” are better
“-” are not good, and more “-” are worse

I’m happy to answer questions about anything here.

Highlights - nothing … bunch of competent, fine stuff, but no real highlight

Lowlights - Space Opera - Vance

November
( + - ) Space Opera - Vance
Well crud … much as I enjoy Vance, this one just didn’t work for me. The >back cover mentions this is an homage to PG Wodehouse, and for whatever >reasons, bleah. Wealthy upper-crust opera fanatic Dame Isabel and her >treated-as-almost-worthless nephew Roger (who lives off an “allowance” >from his aunt) end up on a travelogue to several planets, trying to
bring music & culture to the inhabitants via opera. Very episodic, with
a sort-of-flimsy linking story, very class-ist (surely intentionally),
and mostly told from the point of view of long-suffering Roger. Meh.

Certainly minor Vance, but a) Great title & b) it gave him a chance
to do this sequence:

Sir Henry Rixon raised his baton for the overture: the
Mental Warriors as one man fixed their eyes upon him. The
curtain rose on the first act; the Mental Warriors sat as
if frozen; indeed they did not so much as twitch until the
final curtain descended and the lights came on; even then
they remained motionless, as if not certain that the
performance was over. Then slowly, uncertainly, they rose
to their feet, filed from the theater, exchanging puzzled
comments. Dame Isabel and Bernard Bickel met them outside.
The spokesman conferred with his fellows, and it seemed as
if they were somewhat resentful though the dour cast of
their features made any such judgment uncertain.

Dame Isabel approached. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

The spokesman said in his most resonant voice, "My people
are neither exercised nor taxed; is this the most vigorous
performance you are able to provide? Are the folk of Earth
so listless?"

Darwin Litchley translated; Dame Isabel was surprised at
the question. "We have dozens of operas in our repertory,
all different. We conferred at length last night and decided
that you might enjoy something light and not too rigorous
or tragic."

The Mental Warrior drew himself stiffly erect. "Do you take
us so lightly then? Is this our reputation across the
cosmos?"

"No, no, of course not," Dame Isabel told him. "By no means!"

The Mental Warrior spoke a few brusque words to his fellows,
turned back to Dame Isabel. "We will say no more of the
performance. Tomorrow we will honor you with an exhibition
by our trained company. You will attend?"

"Of course!" said Dame Isabel. "We are looking forward to
the occasion. Will you send someone to guide us to your
theater?"

"This will be done." The Mental Warriors stalked off across the plain.

Bernard Bickel shook his head. "I fear that they weren't
too impressed."

Dame Isabel sighed. "Just possibly they might have preferred
Siegfried ... Well, we'll see. Tomorrow's performance should
be very interesting, and I must remind Roger to bring along
recording equipment."





On the day following, a few minutes after the noon meal, a
pair of Mental Warriors presented themselves at the ship.
Not everyone was ready; Ramona Thoxted and Cassandra Prouty
at the last moment decided to change from afternoon frocks
to somewhat more casual clothes. Finally all who were going
assembled outside the ship: singers, musicians, Dame Isabel,
Roger, Bernard Bickel, Sir Henry, Andrei Szinc, and a number
of the crew. Neither Captain Gondar nor Madoc Roswyn was
among the group, and Roger felt an agonized pang at the
thought of the two together. Someone else seemed to have
similar feelings: Logan de Appling, the personable young
astrogator. He strode back and forth nervously toward the
debarkation ramp, and when neither Madoc Roswyn nor Captain
Gondar appeared, he abruptly marched back aboard ship.

Dame Isabel examined the amphitheater with lively interest.
"They pay not even lip-service to luxury," she observed to
Bernard Bickel. "The seats, or pedestals, whatever you call
them, appear absolutely uncomfortable. But I suppose we
must take things as we find them."

Bernard Bickel indicated the iron trusswork overhead.
"Evidently for special effects, or perhaps lighting
arrangements."

Dame Isabel looked about. "A strange sort of theater: where
is the stage? Where do the musicians sit?"

Bernard Bickel chuckled. "In my peregrinations across the
galaxy, I've learned to be surprised at nothing, not even
theaters without stages."

"Yes, we must not be too parochial ... Well, I believe I
will sit here. Roger, you take that seat or pedestal,
whatever, and Mr. Litchley, you sit there, beside Roger,
so that if necessary you can make interpretive comments
into the recording apparatus."

The company disposed itself about the amphitheater with
jocular remarks back and forth.

The individual who had acted as spokesman for the Mental
Warriors appeared. He clanked across the stone floor of the
arena to Dame Isabel. He spoke and Darwin Litchley translated:
"You have kept your word; you have not departed the planet."

"No, naturally not," declared Dame Isabel. "Such an act
would have been highly ungenerous."

At the translation, the Mental Warrior gave a brief jerk
of his head. "You are a strange folk; but certainly one to
be respected."

"Thank you very much," said Dame Isabel, extremely pleased,
and Bernard Bickel added a smiling nod of acknowledgment.

The Mental Warrior departed the arena. Silence persisted
for two minutes, and was broken by the chime of a great
gong. This was the signal for a set of astonishing and
harrowing circumstances. Jets of flame thrust up from the
floor; iron rails fell from above to crash into the aisles
between pedestals. Six razor-edged pendulums were released
from above, to swing back and forth. A siren screamed, and
was answered by another; a great boulder toppled down, to
be caught by a chain inches above the heads of the audience.
The fire jets thrust out horizontally, then vertically, and
down from the trusses dropped chunks of red-hot iron ...
After two minutes and fourteen seconds the company was
screaming, fainting, giving way to various styles of hysteria.

Abruptly the performance was terminated. The Mental Warriors
appeared on the truss-work and to the side of the arena.
They emitted hoots, cat-calls, harsh cries of scorn. Darwin
Litchley later remembered something of their comments: "What
sort of pusillanimity is this?" And "We sat through three
hours of your worst and never flinched!" And "The folk of
Earth are weaklings indeed!"

In a disorganized straggle the group returned to the Phoebus.
Dame Isabel gave instant orders to strike the theater and
depart with the most expedition possible.
--
columbiaclosings.com
What's not in Columbia anymore..

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