Maps: The Uncollected John Sladek edited by David Langford
01/11/2002 . Source: Jane Palmer 

Pub: Big Engine. 358 page enlarged paperback. Price: £ 9.99 (UK). ISBN: 1-903468-08-6.

Buy from Amazon US - Buy from Amazon UK
nb: US titles may only be available from Amazon US, and UK titles from Amazon UK.

'Maps' is a collection of short stories and word games by the late John Sladek, edited by David Langford.

Unless you are a keen devotee of wordplay and word games, some brief elements of this book could be deeply annoying, which is unfortunate because the parts that make sense are worth the effort, where effort is required.

Here are some examples, beginning with the opening stories:-
'Bill Gets Hep to God!' This two and a half pages of atheistic anarchic is enough to seriously irritate any Jesus freak.

In a couple of stories, Thackery Phin wends his way, more Agatha Christie-like than Marlow, through the unfathomable Brit subculture much beloved and misunderstood by American tourists.

Peabody, a disreputable genealogist, takes delivery of a time machine and sets about fixing the fraudulent claims made to his clients in the only way open to him.

A 15 foot robot lusting after cars and other vehicles, which is pretty disconcerting for anyone in them at the time, lurches through 'Machine Screw'.

'The Future of John Sladek' treats our present as a possible future, emphasising technical advances in their frequently bizarre contexts.
'Robot "Kiss of Life" Drama' is a comment on American industrial relations so ironic it deserves an award, if only like the ones received by its metal strike-breaking hero.

'In Some mysteries Of Birth, Death And Population That Can Now Be Cleared Up', the stories/essays/ramblings take off into an enjoyable romp through implausibilities that could unnerve the deeply serious Science Fiction buff. As with some of the humorous stories this is a potential antidote to the leaden profundities of hardcore Science Fiction. John Sladek seemed aware that if there was ever a genre in need of a good piss-take, it is Science Fiction.

'Blood And Gingerbread' is a parody on Hansel and Gretel even nastier than anything the Brothers Grimm managed. Definitely not for children.

Later in the book, 'The Mystery Diet Of The Gods: A Revelation', is an acerbic Swiftian take on carnivorousness. For those without a sense of irony, here is a powerful argument for cannibalism.

Even the work of Eric Von Daniken is mustered to prove that vegetarianism is an aberration that flies in the face of the human propensity to devour each other. The arguments here are just as persuasive as in 'How To Transplant Your Own Heart' for anyone with 'enough manual dexterity to operate a pencil sharpener'.

As far as Sladek's poetry is concerned, I am a total Philistine (Philistines - a much-maligned people who did actually manage to produce comprehensible art if you want to be finicky). Though much of it will ring bells and gasps of admiration in certain quarters, to me it seemed ramblings with no horizon in view, let alone destination and a strong element of literary Dadaism that requires more than the average reader is willing to invest.

Though even when at its most obscure, there is sometimes that perceptive flash of wit that can compensate for lack of intelligibility. As the reader becomes more acquainted with the author's style, this is one of the rewards, along with some originally surreal ideas.

The stories are so many and varied, it would have helped if the name of each one appeared at the top of the page instead of the book's title. Some of them have little to do with Science Fiction and virtually all have a twist in the tail, many depending a little too heavily on coincidence, though the knack of making sure everyone gets their comeuppance is strangely satisfying.

In many of his stories and essays, Sladek could not be accused of seriousness but it is still a little disconcerting to suddenly come to 'The Marching Raspberries', a send up of the Caped Crusader and various other comic book conventions.

If it were not for the peculiar turn of the author's humour, it would be out of place. 'Sweetly Sings the Chocolate Budgie' which follows and several other stories are laced with a cod archaic English that is irritating out of any sensible context.

Taken as a whole, this collection is a worthwhile investment at £9.99, packed with more novelty and short stories - some unashamedly unpretentious despite the small amount of obscure poetry and wordplay - than the average anthology.

Jane Palmer