The Ultimate Egoist (51 page)

The original magazine blurb (run in large type under the title at the beginning of the story; presumably written by John Campbell) read as follows: HE WAS MOST EXCESSIVELY UGLY, AND HAD QUEER IDEAS AS TO HOW TO DEAL WITH TRUTH—BUT HE HAD POWER! There was also a blurb in the table of contents at the beginning of the magazine: IT ISN’T A GOOD IDEA TO TELL NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH—BUT A GOD MIGHT MAKE WHAT YOU TELL BE TRUE!

(The Joe Mancinelli character, with his broken English, is presumably a backhanded tribute to Achille Tronti, an Italian seaman whom Sturgeon lived with in Hell’s Kitchen in New York City at various times in 1938 and 1939. TS to his mother, March 10, 1938:
He says that anytime I come ashore in New York, let him know and “To my amenies I give not wan cop water, bot to you who is my fran’ to de ’eart is my ’ouse your ’ouse, my bread your bread, do you want it my pents your pents.”
)

“Fit for a King”:
syndicated by McClure, June 10, 1939. Sturgeon did not know when he wrote this that he would be managing a hotel himself in two years. The paragraphs about what a man will endure (overwork, unjust treatment) when he’s saving up to marry that special girl are a cute touch, not only a love note to Dorothe but a silent protest aimed at McClure and all the publishers rejecting his stuff.

“Ex-Bachelor Extract”:
syndicated by McClure, June 17, 1939. TS to David Hartwell, 1972, in response to a question about the syndicated short-short stories:
Some of them were kind of cute. A lot of them were boy-meets-girl type things, some of them were stories I wrote from … like, somebody once told me about the old sailing skipper, with this huge storm coming up, and his mate says to him, “Captain, you’d better shorten sail!” And the captain says, “If the Lord wants me to shorten sail, he’ll
blow
some off!” And take off and write a story about that, that kind of situation. And about the girl who catches her man by, there’s something so compelling about her and he never can figure out what it is, and the gimmick is that in the lobes of her ears and the crooks of her elbows and a little bit on her breastbone she’s putting extract of vanilla instead of … and every time he gets near her he thinks about cookies and yellow curtains in the kitchen and so on. And she nails him that way. There’s all kinds of gimmicks like that that I would use. Short-shorts are a
very
difficult form to write, and it always takes off from some little concept like that
. (This particular gimmick was apparently suggested by TS’s mother, or perhaps borrowed from a story of hers.)

“East Is East”:
syndicated by McClure, June 24, 1939.

“Three People”:
unpublished. Written late May 1939, clearly aimed at McClure’s Fourth of July slot, but rejected. An excerpt from a letter from TS’s brother Peter to their mother, November 21, 1929 (Ted was 11, Peter 13) offers some background: “Ted and I went out Saturday last week with Romeo Wagner, alias Waggy, alias Bunky Hill, or just ‘Bunky.’ We went up back and rang doorbells, which we had done almost every week before. We went up to our favorite doorbell and as it was Wagner’s turn he went up on the porch and—a man steps out of a dark corner and collars him! Ted and I did three blocks in five seconds in different directions. We met in an alley. So we march up and deliver ourselves to the man. ‘I did it too, Sir,’ I said, and he grabs me and Ted. ‘You’re going
to the police station!’ he said. Bunky starts crying, Ted halfway, and I was self-possessed (externally). He said ‘You kids have been
terrorizing
the neighborhood for weeks, what’s the idea?’ Bunky bawled to let us go, Ted argued and I reasoned. Then he said, ‘Well, since it’s your first capture—but if you are ever in this neighborhood again I’ll—’ We have never been on that street since!”

“Eyes of Blue”:
syndicated by McClure, July 1, 1939. Do all these stories of slumming rich girls falling for forceful guys who turn out to be of the proper class after all tell us something about young TS’s psyche, or his values, or just about his sense of what would sell?

“Ether Breather”:
first published in
Astounding Science-Fiction
, September 1939, as “The Ether Breather.” The title was streamlined when the story appeared in Sturgeon’s first book, the story collection
Without Sorcery
(Prime Press, 1948). Sturgeon’s notes on the story in that book read as follows:

Science-fiction sneers at science: A television ‘mirror,’ non-reversing, was a great crowd-catcher at Radio City this year (1948). Science sneers at science-fiction: Color television is already a commercial reality!

“Ether Breather” was my first science-fiction story. It might be of interest to remark here that the scanning-disc set, mentioned here in sneering terms, was, at the time of writing, the only widely-used method of videotransmission, while the iconoscope was a laboratory locus for the wishful thinking of ambitious electronicians
.

TS to Dorothe, May 31, 1939:
McClure’s turned down “Three People.” Bloomfield turned down “Salty Peanut.” The
News
turned down “Police Escort.” I had a fight with Hatch. He’s been following me around and I got sick of it. Two days ago I tore off six thousand words and submitted it to Campbell. It’s called “Ether Breather” and he may like it. Pray for it. Now I’m writing again, and well, but I don’t know … it’s a kind of writing I haven’t done before; it’s writing because I have to write, because there are stories within me that have to be told but which cannot be slanted at any market, because they are as they are. I must write them before I can clear my mind for more pen-prostitution … If Campbell doesn’t take that story I’m going to get a ship. I’ll stay on her three months and then I’ll marry you and the hell with the consequences
.

TS to his mother, November 11, 1939:
Thanx for the plot; I might be able to use it, tho war stuff is definitely not selling over here; escape is in
demand. The Austrian refugee makes it a war story, however, there are possibilities … what I need in the way of plots just now is sheer fantasy. That and science-fiction seems to be my forte. “Ether Breather,” which comes to you under separate cover, is truly a masterpiece, tho I do say so as shouldn’t. It took first place in that issue’s pop. poll, and was cited in an article on the subject by Henry Kuttner, one of the old-timers in stf., in his article in
Writer’s Digest.
Read the copy of
Unknown
I’m sending; it’ll give you an idea of the sort of stuff I write
.

The “pop. poll” was an
Astounding
feature called “The Analytical Laboratory”: readers of the magazine would rank the stories in each issue and the compiled results were printed a few issues later. It was considered a strong indicator of reader preferences; often the longest stories or serials had the strong advantage, so it was all the more remarkable that Sturgeon’s debut story received first place … and then went on to be the readers’ favorite story of the year in the year-end poll. “Ether Breather” was not a particularly well-remembered story in the science fiction field even a few years later—most readers and anthologists agreed that there were many far better stories in
Astounding
at that time—but something about it clearly made a huge impact on readers when it first appeared.

Note that there was no television industry when the story was written. The hack writer who narrates the story is named Ted Hamilton, TS’s first and middle names; he has a friend he went to high school with named Dorothe. (TS’s fiancee changed her name to Dorothe from Dorothy shortly after they met, in high school, because with the change the name becomes a near-anagram for “Theodore.”)

The original story-blurbs: (table of contents) VERY FRIENDLY, SLIGHTLY CHILDLIKE—AND EASILY OFFENDED. BUT THEY PLAIN RAISED BLAZES WITH THE TELEVISION SYSTEM! And at the start of the story: THEY MERELY MEANT TO AMUSE—BUT THEY CONSTITUTED THE WEIRDEST STATIC IN HISTORY!

“Her Choice”:
syndicated by McClure, July 8, 1939. This was originally called “The Fourth,” and was another attempt to write a Fourth of July story. TS to Dorothe, June 13, 1939.
“The Fourth,” though superior as a plotted little story, lacked the patriotic motif preferred by the jelly-bellied flag-flappers. It was deferred, with minor changes fitting it for any ol’ occasion, in favor of a juicy piece of lousiness by some woman who wrote a little number about a Bohemian mother who made a hideous sofa-cushion with the Stars & Stripes embroidered thereon … Do tell me
what you thought of the stories
[clippings that he sent].
I know that some of them are lousy; and I welcome any and all comments
.

“Cajun Providence”:
syndicated by McClure, July 15, 1939. For two very different TS assessments of this piece, see his comments under “One Sick Kid” and “Strike Three.”

“Strike Three”:
unpublished. Written June 1939. TS to Dorothe, June 25, 1939:
The other gentle little kick in the teeth I got
[the first was rereading a story he’d had high hopes for and discovering it was worthless]
was from McClure’s, by their giving me their first rejection in nine weeks—with vitriolic comments, by the way. Psychologically they are sound in doing it—it’s a more or less disciplinary measure. They don’t like any author selling them too often. They have the idea that if they buy too often from one source, then said source is probably going to dry up on them, or at least drop in quality. As far as the author’s cockiness is concerned, they are right—one can’t sell consistently without inserting, after a while, a slapdash element into one’s work. But what burns me is that they count manuscripts to determine when an author’s streak has lasted long enough, rather than consulting the mss themselves to determine whether the writer is suffering yet from literary declinitis, if I may coin a disease. Two weeks ago I sold them “Cajun Providence,” which was as hackneyed a piece of tripe as ever passed through this mill. “Strike Three,” which they rejected last week, was every bit as good as “Ex-Bachelor Extract” and “Her Choice.” I never thought they’d take the “Cajun” number; and I never dreamed they’d reject “Strike Three.” It only goes, again, to show you … you know, the last time they disciplined me thataway (it was in February, right after I sold the “Seaman”) I got seventeen consecutive rejects from them. It’s a lousy outfit, and I’m sick of their pickiness and their low wordage rates, but what can I do? It’s the one outfit on which I can count for a steady income. I’ve been getting five per from them alone for going on three months. But after July 15, due to this business, there’ll be no more for at least three weeks unless I can sell some other market this week. Nice, hey?

As far as McClure’s is concerned, I can, I am sure, break their jinx. The contact lens notion is brilliant, and I had, as you know, planned to give it to Nannine Joseph
[an agent]
for
Collier’s.
But I will have to give them a minor masterpiece if I want to resume my steady sales—I found that out by previous experience. After I sold the “Seaman,” you see, I
considered myself well established, and began submitting inferior stories—coasting as far as that outlet was concerned, and saving my energies for longer work. You know what happened. This time I’m going to break the jinx and break it well—I’ve got to. I hate to hand them a potential $250 worth of story for a lousy fin, but right now McClure’s is easily worth it to me. Their best point is their speed—I can submit a story any time and know about it within 24 hours. If I went ahead with that plan I had for Joseph, it would be at least three months before I got my check
—if any.
Impasse—almost. The only way out is to re-establish myself with McClure’s, and fast
.

The comments from McClure are handwritten on a printed rejection form, postmarked June 21, 1939: “How do you get that way? Where’s the action, reader interest, surprise ending, originality? Otherwise, it’s ok.”

Sturgeon spent a lot of time in his high school days writing sonnets and giving them to girls; it’s possible this piece is directly autobiographical.

“Contact!”:
syndicated by McClure, August 5, 1939. See comment under “Strike Three.” The idea for this story was provided by Dorothe.

“The Call”:
syndicated by McClure, August 19, 1939.

“Helix the Cat”:
first published in
Astounding, the John W. Campbell Memorial Anthology
, edited by Harry Harrison, Random House, 1973. Written July 1939.

This is the text of TS’s introduction to the story, from the Harrison volume:

There are times when one wonders, about one’s own life and affairs, “Who writes this plot?”

Over here is your editor, assiduously trying to round up original stories for what amounts to being a final issue of the olden, golden
Astounding Stories.
Back in the dim past is a story I wrote called “Helix the Cat,” which John Campbell had seen and rejected, not because he didn’t like it, but because it fell too exactly between
ASF
and his fantasy magazine
Unknown.
I do not remember writing the story, but to reason from the return address on the manuscript (Seaman’s Church Institute, New York) it must have been written while I was at sea as a teen-aged ordinary seaman, in 1938 or 1939, picking up my mail there whenever I was in port
.
In 1940 I got married and moved to Staten Island, renting the second floor of a little house in West New Brighton. The landlady was a nice quiet mind-her-own-business kind of person; I remember her particularly for the time when my wife was in the hospital for our first baby, and I proudly showed her the bassinet I had built. She went right to work with her sewing machine and covered it for me in pink sateen and dotted swiss, complete with a canopy; it was so beautiful my wife cried when she saw it
.

We went off then to run a hotel in the West Indies, and the war broke out while we were there, and all our stuff was put in storage. But a few things remained in the attic, and life went on, and we all lost track of one another. Then, just about the time your editor was beginning to gig the “Golden Age” writers for originals, this same Mrs. Myers, from Staten Island and more than thirty years back, wrote to my agent that she had a box of old papers of mine and did I want them. Want them I did, and in the box was “Helix the Cat.”