This novel has a history as fascinating as its plotline.
First published as a novella in Fantastic Adventures Magazine in
1950, Leiber expanded it for publication as a novel three year
later. Unbeknownst to him, Universal Publishers taglined it "they
were peeping toms—ravishers of womanhood—lustful despoilers of
everything decent!", added gratuitous and greedily-motivated
sex scenes, then bound it with another pre-pornage gripper, Bulls,
Blood and Passion ("each kill roused in her a merciless
love-lust"). The original novella was re-published by Ace
in 1972 under its first title, and, as if in some weird parallel
universe, Leiber followed suit and inserted his own sex scenes
then re-released it in 1980 as The Sinful Ones. I guess
the last is the "authorized" version, but my copy is
signed by Fritz so I don't dare break the paperback spine by
reading it. I'll just have to wait for the cinematic version
starring Jena Jameson as Jane Gregg. The following review is
of its 1972 original and sadly tamer version.
You're All Alone is an example of an exemplary idea
presented in a mediocre fashion. The execution has certainly
suffered from a half a century of culture, technology, and mores
at exponential speed, but the plot is strictly boilerplate delivered
in pulp prose. It is enjoyable to read as, say, a Cornell Woolrich
mystery, so you endure the melodrama and hackneyed character
scripting to see if there's more about the What If? around
the next plot twist.
The What If? Well, let's let Leiber
set the stage:
His feelings were like those of a man in a waxworks museum,
who speaks to a guide only to find that he has addressed one
of the wax figures . . .
What if the whole world were like a waxworks museum? In
motion, of course, like clockworks, but utterly mindless, purposeless,
mechanical.
What if a wax figure named Jane Gregg had come alive and
moved from her place—or been removed, unalive, as a toy is
lifted out of a shop window? What if the whole show was going
on without her, because the whole show was just a machine and
didn't know or care whether a figure named Jane Gregg was there
or not?
--Ace, ISBN 44195146095,
PBO, c.1972, p.15
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Just as Leiber introduces his What If? as
a simile, it should be understood as a metaphor for another
conceptualization rather than trying to assimilate it as a
factual experience for the characters. This, of course, is
a huge leap across suspension-of-disbelief territory. Leiber
softens the landing, but never quite breaks the fall. I mean,
exactly how does someone "wake"?
Or, "half-wake" (p.78),
for that matter? And, where'd Daisy come from, bigger than any
dog with eyes "like red coals in its short, ash-colored
hair" (p.106)?
Leiber tries the old deceiver's trick of misdirection with bolsterings
like the hero dreaming he's a puppet (p.56) or "in a Chaplin
film" (p.66), and even groany prose like "they were
prince and princess no longer, but wizard's children with stolen
cloaks of invisibility" (p.83). I'm sorry, but the leavings
of Leiber's What
If? are just too incoherent.
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But remember, the buzz in the coffeeshops
of the '50s was all about oppression from the Military-Industrial
Complex and a new philosophy from across the Atlantic called
Existentialism.
Among the tattered copies of Ginzberg and Kerouac littering
the café tables were fresh translations of Nietchez,
Sarte, and Camus. In this respect, Leiber's What if? can
be viewed as a response to the unfeeling coldness engendered
by timely thinking, as it works better as a representation
of an indifferent universe birthing alienation, conformity,
and acquiescence at the expense of individuality. The reaction
to it is more important than its physical reality. Besides,
it is working from a very common, shared feeling. Haven't we
all felt that the corporation we work for has "no more
feeling than a sausage grinder for the life oozing through
it" (p.23)? |
| What is more disheartening, however, is that besides
our hero and heroine, all the so-called "awakened" people
are monsters. The three main adversaries—the "big blonde",
the "portly man", and the "young man with a crew
haircut" (p.43)—are inhumane opportunists, that "glory
in being able to do whatever they want, no matter how cruel or
obscene, in a dead world that can't stop them" (p.76). They
delight in rape, torture, and "vicious little impertinences" of
the general, somnambulistic population, but have tired of merely "throwing
pepper in the eyes of [the] doll[s]" (p.94). The real fun
comes when their victims are awake. The other group of villains,
described only as four men in "black snap-brim hats" (p.39)
must be the clean-up crew for Murder, Inc., or, to get more prophetic,
the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Our heroes escape the novel
idealistically hoping to find other "people capable of love
and sacrifice" (p.110). Leiber, it appears, is uncannily predicting
San Francisco fifteen years later. |
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If being borrowed by other artists is the highest
form of praise, then Leiber holds reservations to sit alongside
Dumas, Dickens, and Shakespeare. It is hard to believe that
the Wachowskis didn't read this before creating The Matrix;
never mind Dark
City or
even The Sixth Sense. And Philip K. Dick wasn't represented
in the pulps until two years after You're All Alone was
published. This may not be Leiber's ceremonial banquet, but even
his table scraps are saporous.
© copyright
04/02/2006 by Larry Crawford |
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