My previous New York Letters in Slant were really letters, because Mr. Willis actually compiled bits from my epistles, and, after much contumely back and forth across the ocean, one or another of us added a few conjunctions and offered the result as a Letter. Unfortunately our recent correspondence has been largely devoted to prosody with especial reference to a popular cinquain form which derives its name from an Irish town. Although the subject might be of interest to our readers, all of whom we know to be connoisseurs of verse forms, we feel it might be fraught with too much interest for the Post Office, so regretfully we refrain from quoting any examples. But you should hear the one about ... Oh, well.
The rest of my letters consisted mostly of scurrilous information about certain well-known individuals in the local sf orbit. This too I cannot quote -- although I am sure it would be of interest to all -- because my chief source was inebriated and impeachable (though I believe him implicitly myself since I always put a beautiful and childlike trust in anything of a slanderous nature) and I do not care to risk either a libel suit or a black eye. But remember, many of the sf authors who write like little golden-haired angels are not little golden-haired angels; although, to be fair, I must admit that a number of them are.
At any rate, Mr Willis graciously requested that this time I bend my wit and ingenuity to the creation of an entirely original column, or, to use his own kind words, "Since we're stuck, I suppose you'll have to do it out of your head, fathead." So I shall do my very best and remember, dear reader (I have been re-reading the Brontes and it has marked me) that if my best is but a feeble one, I am only a poor, weak woman, unskilled in the ways of the world and suffering horribly from sunburn complicated by cat-bite.
Up until quite recently, I had been reading only the pocket-sized sf magazines which could be quickly concealed in a handbag or like Galaxy, disguised as a little poetry magazine from the South by a thumb placed over the spaceship. It isn't that I have not the courage of my convictions --- well, it is that too --- but for commercial purposes it is not well for me to be seen about with large untrimmed magazines ornamented with bug-eyed monsters. You will ask whether I am ready to see my principles for a mess of pottage, and the answer is emphatically yes. If you will send a carefully wrapped mess of pottage to me in care of Mr Willis, I shall be glad to send a good principle with very low mileage on it. -(Would readers please check international pottage rates before mailing. -- WAW)-
Anyhow, I am now exploring the depths of the untrimmed pulps, and I see I have missed much. Not only the stories, many of which are fine ones, but the advertisements, which prove even more fascinating. Have I been wasting my time on sf when for a trifling sum I could learn hypnosis and bend editors and people to my evil will? Or perhaps I could be a detective. 'Experience unnecessary, particulars free' --- my qualifications to a t. I might cure myself of the tobacco habit; the fact that I don't smoke should make it even easier. Like all us materialistic Americans, I take a crass interest in filthy lucre and I understand from the back pages that there is money to be made in selling nylons from door to door. I could acquire a deeper, more powerful voice, or I could ... but no, this is a family magazine.-(it is? -- WAW)-
Startling's covers have become more and more refined, not to say handsome, and I could even carry the magazine in public if only it had a name that was a little less -- er -- startling. How about some nice quiet names for sf magazines, such as Entertaining and Informative Science Fiction, The Ladies' Home Science Fictioneer, or The North American Nebulous Review.
On the other hand, the covers of Galaxy Novels have grown increasingly lurid. Not only has the white stripe been omitted, but on the last two there were women's heads. Sex. What's more, I didn't get to read Foursided Triangle until weeks after it appeared, because the newstand had placed it next to Paprika The Gypsy Trollop, and I thought it was one of the same, and I never buy books like that. I only borrow them. On a recent birthday (his twenty-first I believe) Mr Gold had a cake made in the shape of a Galaxy cover --- with a white stripe north and west, a black background, and a spaceship, all cunningly worked out in marzipan. You see, sf editors not only really live their science fiction, they are even ready to die for it.
Before I forget, in the interim between my last letter and this one, I visited Europe and was privileged to meet Mr Willis himself. I found him a gallant and courteous gentleman who nobly refrained from hitting me over the head with his printing press, but is now sorry. The London Circle was equally delightful, and, on returning to my hotel from the White Horse, I was accused of being a Russian spy in the London Underground .... but all this would be dull stuff to an sf reader. I loved Europe, particularly the British Isles, and had many delightful adventures, but if I were to recount them they would probably cause me to burst into tears out of sheer nostalgia, and you wouldn't want that to happen to me, would you? Besides, I write with more elan about things I don't like.
-(And at greater length. However to fill up the page I might as well just hack a chunk off Ermengarde's last not-for-publication letter. That'll teach her. -- WAW)-
I was glad to hear from you and to know that you haven't given me up for someone with fancier notepaper., although the red ribbon is suspicious and I wonder whether we should really let you into the United States. When I got a passport I wasn't asked for my fingerprints because my noble character showed on my face. Besides, they had them anyway. My fountain pen leaked. I didn't have to get any visas either because Americans are Welcome Everywhere. Please step to the rear for knifing.
It's all right to fill out those forms any way you want as long as you keep your fingers crossed. The only person who could fill them without a qualm is Communist who can, of course, lie. Other people are not supposed to. Thus we fill our country with perjured Communists. You understand of course that our Congress is Communist because there was once a Communist member and everyone belonging to an organisation which also contained a Communist is, of course, automatically a Communist himself -- or so McCarthy says, only we don't have to believe him because according to his own rule he is then a Communist and, also according to his own rule, also a liar. I am not speaking of Justin McCarthy, author of If I Were King
You can't overthrow our government in any case because it is due to overthrow itself a month or so after your arrival. Although I am a Republican, I have decided to vote for Stevenson, because he is a sound man on cats. Since I have also heard he makes a mean limerick, I think I shall offer to trade my vote. It would be refreshing to have a president who can read and write anyway.
As you have doubtless heard, the flying saucers have been officially recognized by the US Govt; however, since the government is too dignified to recognize parts of a dinner service they have now been re-christened objects. The Government has had to recognize them because they have been hanging hopefully around Washington for three weeks and are probably a powerful lobby from Mars. The Government had issued peevish directives stating that they are not either of extraterrestrial origin and can undoubtedly be explained away as perfectly natural phenomena. I'd like to know what's unn! atural about extraterrestrialism.