Doomsday Warrior #19: America’s Final Defense

Doomsday Warrior #19: America’s Final Defense, by Ryder Stacy

July, 1991  Zebra Books

Well friends, this is a bittersweet moment – it’s the final volume of Doomsday Warrior! I can’t believe it’s finally come to the end; this series has been part of my life for 14 years, now, and it’s hard to believe I’ve finally read the entire thing. 

Of course, it only took Ryder Syvertsen seven years to write the series, which is half the time it took me to read it, but honesty – as I’ve documented here again and again in the reviews – Syvertsen lost interest in Doomsday Warrior long before it ended. I’m happy to say that he drummed up his enthusiasm for America’s Final Defense; none of the “I’m sick of this” vibe is evident in this last book, and for once Syvertsen doesn’t rip off most recent volumes…instead, he gives a sort of microcosm of the series entire, serving up all the staples of previous installments in this final volume. 

Before writing this review, I went back and read my pedantic, overly-comprehensive reviews of the previous books in the series. And abruptly I remembered why I’d made them so comprehensive in the first place: because I knew the day would come when I got to this last volume of Doomsday Warrior, and I’d no doubt want to refresh my memory on the series before I wrote my review. The prophecy has been fulfilled! 

Seriously though, Ryder Syvertsen clearly intended this to be the finale, as he was gearing up for it in the final pages of the previous volume. Syvertsen has always played fast and loose with the chronology of the series; I see in my reviews that “2089 AD” was frequently mentioned as the date in the earliest books, and then later we were told that “2096 AD” was the date. We’re told in this final volume that the year is now “2099 AD,” and Ted “Doomsday Warrior” Rockson and his comrades often reflect on things that happened “ten years ago.” 

What’s curious is that Syvertsen frequently refers to those earliest books, but jettisons most all references to recent things – for example, in the previous volume we were told that Detroit Green was the official representative to the USSR, and Schertantsky had returned to live in the USSR. Also, Archer had retired to live in the countryside. All of that stuff is never mentioned once in America’s Final Defense; the “series reset” that ran through the series is here, too; when the novel starts, the entire Rock team is operating out of Century City, same as they were way back in the the first volume. No mention is made of Detroit having been a rep, or Archer having been retired. In other words, nothing has changed – even though everything changed in the most recent volumes. 

Well, one thing has stayed the same – Syvertsen, around the ninth volume, decided he was sick of the “USSR invading the USA” storyline of the earliest books and decided to focus on other things. Reading my reviews of the earliest volumes, I was surprised to see how many subplots were dropped as the series progressed, like for example the political stuff between Zhabnov, the depraved ruler of the conquered US, and Killov, the KGB personification of evil. All that stuff was brushed aside, as were the frequent cutovers to Russia where we could read about supreme ruler Vassily and his Ethiopian manservant/best friend. 

Another thing, which I copiously noted in my reviews, was the removal of all the goofy, purple-prosed (but exceedingly explicit) sexual material. The earliest Doomsday Warrior novels were ultra-detailed on both the sex and the violence fronts, but gradually both of these factors withered away…for reasons I’d love to know. I wonder if Syvertsen realized that kids were reading his series and purposely decided to make the books less explicit; or maybe he himself had a kid and didn’t want junior to start reading them and think his dad was a psychotic pervert. Or maybe the sex and violence had been forced on Syvertsen by the publisher and later on they had an editorial change…who knows. 

Whatever the reason, the removal of the dirty stuff is one of the things that remains consistent with this final volume; in other words, Syvertsen did not pay true hommage to his own series in that regard, as he did with practically every other aspect – seriously, America’s Final Defense is essentially every volume of Doomsday Warrior rolled into one, save for the lack of XXX sex, gory violence, and appearances by any Russian villains other than Killov. 

It also features a big return of the psychedelic aspect of the series; indeed, this is the most psychedelic volume since #3: The Last American, which I believe was my favorite volume of the series. As with that early volume, there are parts of America’s Final Defense that are like a blacklight poster in literary form – one can only imagine the incredible illustrations gifted modern-day artist Alexis Ziritt could do with this material. 

Another thing I noticed in my pendantic reviews is my frequent declaration that Doomsday Warrior was essentially an R-rated Saturday morning cartoon. Again, this is entirely true for America’s Final Defense, which brushes reality to the side with the same eagerness that previous volumes did. I mean folks in this one Rockson and team go up to space, again, and end up fighting ancient alien gods that have lurched out of Erich von Daniken, during the course of which Ted Rockson is imbued with ancient wisdom that makes him “a million times smarter than before.” 

As mentioned, Syvertsen only picks up a few things from the finale of the previous book – despite which we learn, fairly late in the game, that all this is occurring one year after the events of American Dream Machine. Otherwise the series reset is in full force, and after an incongruous prologue, in which the setting for the series is established for us – as if we haven’t been reading the previous 18 damn books – we have an action opening in which Rockson and his forces try to finally take out Killov in a running battle.  Another interesting thing is that Syvertsen describes all of the main characters, for the first time in who knows how long; topical details on what Rockson looks like, and etc.  Again, quite strange, given that this is the 19th volume! 

A lot of important series stuff is mentioned in passing – like how America has worked out an agreement with Vassilly in the USSR which sees both countries destroying all of their nuclear warhead stashes(!). In other words, the entire impetus of the series is over and done with, and Syvertsen didn’t even cover any of it in the narrative, which indicates how little invested he was in Doomsday Warrior at this point. Indeed, one gets the impression that he was more into his concurrent series Mystic Rebel (which I collected years ago but held off on reading until I finished this series), what with the focus on New Agey concepts. Oh and speaking of which, there are all these random asides in America’s Last Defense, like how shunning fat in your diet could have health implications, and also a big part of the finale involves Rockson’s understanding that both science and mysticism should be embraced – very, very New Age stuff, and I’m assuming the Mystic Rebel series is rife with that sort of thing. 

Rockson is nearly killed in this opening, and Killov wasn’t there anyway (it was an imposter!), and Rockson is flown back to Century City’s hospital…where Syvertsen introduces an entirely new character to the series, for some reason: Charity Birdell, a “buxom beautiful nurse” in Century City who hero-worships Rockson and sees this as her opportunity to screw him. We get a refreshing return of that ‘60s vibe, gone for so many volumes, when Charity has Rockson smoke a “chi-stick” as part of his healing process. Indeed, Rockson is instructed to take “two tokes twice a day!” 

But brace yourself: the Charity-Rockson conjugation happens off-page, despite Syvertsen dropping kinky details before it occurs, like for example “[Charity] nearly came in her panties” when Rockson smiles at her, and whatnot. (Also we get the goofy tidbit that Charity has tattoos of “all forty-six presidents” on her body, with one of them hidden, and of course Rockson finds it…!) Actually, Syvertsen was doing this in the most recent volumes, too, so it appears that he was fine with writing ribald dialog and such, but when it came to the actual tomfoolery he decided to cut to black…a decided change from the early books, which left nothing unexplored. 

This is especially strange as, again just like in the most recent books, Rockson gets laid a lot in America’s Final Defense. Shortly after being with Charity, Rockson hooks up with his “girlfriend” Rona, the statuesque mutant redhead babe who was the main female character in this series once upon a time, before being shunted off into the narrative woodwork. I think the last volume she actually featured in was #6: American Rebellion, where she was worshiped as a post-nuke Eva Braun, a sequence that is actually mentioned here in America’s Final Defense; again, Syvertsen (and his characters) frequently reminisce about previous volumes, all the sign you could need that the author intended this to be the final story of the saga. 

But ever since then, Rona has been shunted aside, only given a line or two of dialog and having off-page sex with Rockson…and the same is true, here. Rona has more off-page lovin’ with Rockson, then the two are dancing to Judas Priest in her room (we’re told a Judas Priest CD was “recently unearthed” and is now all the rage in Century City), but Dr. Schecter comes along to take Rockson away, and that’s all we see of Rona. 

As for Rockson’s other “girlfriend,” Kim, she doesn’t appear at all in America’s Final Defense. This is especially galling, as my fellow sleazebags will recall the awesome premise upon which previous volume American Dream Machine ended: Kim and Rona had agreed to “settle their petty jealous differences” and, just as the novel friggin’ ended, they went together to Rockson’s room to double-team him(!). Well, fellow sleazebags, this little incident is not mentioned at all in America’s Final Defense, and we are told that Kim is off in some other city, handling business for her father, the newly-elected president of the (Re)United States (and he doesn’t appear in this volume, either). 

I’ve long suspected that Syvertsen had no interest in Kim – perhaps she was a creation of Jan Stacy, Syvertsen’s writing partner on the first four volumes – and her lack of appearance in this book would indicate that. Looking back on my reviews, I see that, even in Kim’s infrequent appearances, she’s barely had any dialog and has not contributed much to the overall storyline. But at least she’s mentioned this time around. 

That’s it for Rockson’s love life – at least in Century City. As America’s Final Defense continues, he has sex with many other women, from an Amazonian queen (a recurring series staple character) to a French space-babe. This is all standard for the series; I only mention it so as to confirm that there is no resolution whatsoever to the Rockson-Rona-Kim love triangle, which was so important to the storyline many volumes ago. Again, Syvertsen has moved on and lost interest, so reading this 19-volume series in one go would no doubt make for a bumpy ride. 

Not to mention a repetitive one; it’s been clear for a long time that Syvertsen is totally aware that his books all follow a template, and by god he’s sticking to that template, and he does so here again in this final volume. So we have the inciting incident: Schecter informs Rockson that a massive asteroid was just discovered, and it’s headed right for Earth and will destroy Earth in three weeks…headed right into Earth’s orbit due to Earth’s orbit being affected by the nuke blasts a century before. 

There follows that annoying mainstay of Doomsday Warrior: the interminable “democracy in action” bit as the Century City council argues for and against Rockson and team going out to save the day. It’s all just so time-wasting, but Syvertsen goes on and on with it regardless, leading to the inevitable conclusion in which the vote is “No” (due to political infighting reasons), but Rockson goes off anyway. From there to the other staple: surviving the mutated flaura and fauna of this post-nuke world. 

It’s just as juvenile as previous volumes: there’s an unused spaceship not too far from Century City, so Rockson and his usual team plus a few redshirts are to go there, fly it into space, and then blast the asteroid so that its path is changed. So like I’ve said in every previous review, total cartoon type of stuff. And meanwhile Killov, in the Inca ruins where he’s worshipped as a god, comes across ancient documentation of this very asteroid, which once upon a time visited earth and imparted some of its alien knowledge here – there was a high-tech city on the asteroid – and he plans to go into space himself and get this ancient alien technology. All so he can kill Rockson, of course. 

The only loose ends Syvertsen is bothered with tying up concern the Glowers, those superbeings who have infrequently appeared in the series, most notably in the third volume. Rockson eventually learns that the “main” Glower, Turquoise Spectrum, has died, and after a very psychedelic “astral commune” bit, Rockson teams up with a new Glower pal, not to mention an “interdimensional being” named Pruzac Ephedrine, a “full-figured” and beautiful half human/half Glower hybrid. She features in a lot of very out-there, psychedelic stuff in the novel, particularly the finale. 

Rockson and team suffer one setback after another, with Syvertsen clearly just winging it as he goes along – I mean, the old NASA spaceship is surrounded by Amazons, who insist on the Rock team banging five women each in one night, but Rockson himself is chosen by the beautiful, green-haired Queen – cue more off-page sex. (“The green-head was hellfire in bed,” and etc.) But the spaceship is in poor state and can’t fly; no problem, because the Glowers whip up a new spaceship for Rockson, and with it they head into space! 

Syvertsen here really ties back to #14: American Death Orbit, with Rockson again hooking up with the “space Frenchies” he met in that earlier volume. And once again we get a lot of mention of those “space Nazis,” without actually seeing any of them. Rockson here gets laid again, courtesy a French space girl “barely out of her teens;” this is Rockson’s last conjugation in the entire series, and again Syvertsen leaves the sleaze vague: “[they] made passionate, gravity-free love” being the extent of it. 

The asteroid is called Karrak by Schecter, and Rockson lands on it in the finale, propelled by visions he’s been given by Turqoise Spectrum, who appears Obi-Wan Kenobi-style to Rockson when Rockson needs him. But Killov is here, too, leading to a bizarre bit where both Rockson and Killov deal with ancient alien technology, one of them to save Earth, the other to destroy it. In the process Killov transforms himself into a nine foot tall, three-eyed ancient alien warrior called Mu-Temm, and he also has an ancient alien device that allows him to “think away” any weapons that are used against him. 

There follows an endless battle between Rockson and “Mu-Temm” that just goes on and on, like the Rockson-Chrome battle back in volume #9. But Rockson gets the shit beaten out of him by this transformed Killov, to the point that Rockson actually weeps in frustration. It’s all very much in a Biblical motif, with Rockson the slingshot-baring David getting the better of Killov’s Goliath.  But it is clear again that Ryder Syvertsen was a fan of Total Recall; previous volumes indicated that he was inspired by the Schwarzenegger film, but this one really brings it home.  From visions involving a pyramid on an alien planet to even the image of Killov’s eyes bulging from their sockets due to the pressure of space, it is clear that Syvertsen was influenced by that movie. 

Then we get the most psychedelic sequence yet in the series, with Rockson going into an ancient pyramid, again following Glower visions, and being imparted with all that knowledge – his memory now even “going back billions of years.” When he comes out of it, he starts talking in mystical phrases that are so profound that Chen insists on recording them. It’s all kind of cool but just totally unlike what one might have expected this series to conclude on. SPOILER ALERT, but the finale of Doomsday Warrior sees Rockson, recovering from his sudden knowledge and intelligence increase, telling the others to leave the dead Killov on the asteroid (Rockson having strangled Killov to death)…and that’s it. We are not told of the voyage home; the story – and series – ends right there, with Rockson declaring that the asteroid is a dead place for dead things. 

Actually, it sort of ends there. We are treated to an epilogue in which Syvertsen strives for a sort of quasi-metaphysical vibe, but it instead comes off as vacuous. It’s a thousand years in the future and a nameless woman attempts to become one with an apple tree, then there’s some gibberish about “the man from the sea,” and the gist seems to be that the two characters are reborn, immortal enemies. It has nothing to do with anything that came in the series before, but then it’s possible I just missed the profundities Syvertsen was trying to bestow. 

And that, folks, is that – the 19-volume saga of Doomsday Warrior comes to a close. What a weird trip it was, too. To be honest, I’d forgotten most of the earlier volumes, so I’m glad my reviews were so pedantic. I can’t say I’ll ever read these books again, but you never know. In the end, I will think of this series in a positive light; it’s just too goofy – and the earliest volumes so outrageously violent and explicit – that you can’t help but like it. Yet at the same time, Ryder Syvertsen’s disinterest in the series was very pronounced in the later books, and one gets the feeling he should’ve ended it many volumes ago.  But clearly he realized that more effort was needed for this final volume; I particularly appreciated how he gave each member of the Rock Team a moment to shine. 

Next I need to get back to the C.A.D.S. series, another post-nuke pulp Syvertsen was writing at the same time. And also I’ll now get to his Mystic Rebel books, which judging from these final volumes of Doomsday Warrior, with their focus on New Age concepts, was probably more the sort of thing Syvertsen wanted to be writing. So maybe he was a little more invested in that series than he was in Doomsday Warrior.

SOBs #8: Eye Of The Fire

SOBs #8: Eye Of The Fire, by Jack Hild

September, 1985  Gold Eagle Books

Not sure why I took so long to get back to SOBs. Eye Of The Fire is another strong entry that again proves that this series was the unsung jewel of the Gold Eagle line; as I’ve mentioned before, I got a copy of SOBs with every Gold Eagle shipment, and would place each volume side-by-side on my bookshelf, but I never read a single one of them. 

I think I tried to, though, and the cover of Eye Of The Fire (by Ron Lesser?) is so familiar that I’m certain I had it as a kid; I also seem to recall trying to read it and giving it up after a chapter or two. Likely at the time SOBs seemed too slow-going for me, and I probably just wanted the more action-focused stuff typical of the Gold Eagle imprint. Reading the books now, as an “adult,” I appreciate the series a lot more than I ever could have as a kid; the small group of writers who handled the series clearly were working together to retain a sense of continuity and vibe, and there’s a focus on characterization that isn’t as evident in the other Gold Eagle publications. 

This volume was handled by Robin Hardy, who I believe wrote the majority of the books in the series. Hardy also wrote the previous volume, but there’s not much pickup in this one; indeed, it mostly picks up from #6: Red Hammer Down, if only in how we finally get pickup on what’s going on with Billy Two. As we’ll recall, in that earlier volume the American Indian Sobs member was captured and mentally tortured and whatnot, and he’s been out of the series since then; now he’s back, and he’s in full-on “Billy from Predator” mode. 

It seems very suspicious how similar the two Billys are; one almost wonders if the movie character was inspired by Billy Two. Just as Billy became increasingly spaced-out and “Indian” as Predator progressed, up to putting on warpaint, so too is Billy in SOBs; he spends the majority of Eye Of The Fire in facepaint with feathers in his hair, and is prone to talking to visions or hallucinations. 

In short, Billy Two is by far the most interesting character in the series, and the most entertaining, to the extent that “series protagonist” Nile Barrabas is sort of lost in the shuffle. Occasionally Hardy will give us scenes from Barrabas’s perspective, and we learn he’s a no-nonsense, taciturn leader of men and whatnot…but he’s just not very memorable. Same goes for most of the other Sobs, but at least the series authors strive to make them somewhat identifiable: Nanos is the ladies man, Beck is the computer guy, and Claude is the, uh…well, he’s “the black one.” 

The back cover will tell you that the plot of Eye Of The Fire concerns the Sobs rescuing “Colonel D” from a Cuban prison, and while that’s sort of true, it takes a goodly portion of the narrative to get there. Rather, the main thrust of this 222 page installment is the Sobs trying to track down young Tony Lopez, 17 year-old brother of former Sob Hector Lopez, who was killed in action in #4: Show No Mercy. 

Tony takes up a goodly portion of the narrative; he’s run away from home now that he’s a “man,” determined to look up these bad-ass mercenaries his big brother hung out with. Instead Tony nearly gets blown away by Nanos and the others when he sneaks into the temporary Sobs headquarters in Tampa, then later he’s kidnapped by this right-wing group calling itself X Command, which reports to the senator who has been a recurring character in the series – a never-named senator who has a grudge with the Sobs and is constantly plotting to get them killed on a mission. We are reminded how this guy was crippled in the fourth volume (another Hardy installment), but we still don’t know why he hates the Sobs so much…or maybe we were told but I forgot. 

The Colonel D stuff only comes and goes sporadically, but basically he’s a sadist known for training death squads in Latin America. Now the Cubans have him and are interrogating him, and Walker Jessup – the fixer for the Sobs – wants Barrabas and team to slip into Cuba and exterminate Colonel D, to keep his mouth shut. “I’m not an executioner,” Barrabas angrily states, making one wonder if Robin Green were slyly taking a dig at Gold Eagle’s most popular series. 

It seems that the schtick with SOBs is that each volume goes for the slow build; Barrabas and team in their normal life as they prepare for the mission, with the mission itself taking up the final quarter. That is certainly true here, with action sporadic in the first three-thirds of the book; perhaps a reason why I was never able to get into the series as an action junkie kid in the ‘80s. 

But when Billy Two enters the narrative, the game changes big time. First we have a great psychedelic bit where he’s meditating nude in the desert, and approached by the ghost of Hector Lopez, who tells Billy that the team needs him. So Billy, still naked, walks off. When he shows up later he’s in full-on “mystical Indian badass” mode, making profound, spaced-out statements before killing guys with his bare hands. There’s a great part where he dives into the ocean and takes on a pair of frogmen. 

The cover art is not a lie, as this is very much a scuba-based mission for the Sobs. Colonel D is in an old fortress, and the only way the team can get in is by swimming underwater for a mile and then infiltrating from the ground up. This is a tensely done sequence that reminded me of a similar sequence in the never-published The Baroness #10. Robin Hardy ups the ante with not only the Cubans after the Sobs, but X Command as well; the busy plotting has these right-wingers using Barrabas to do the heavy lifting of freeing Colonel D, so that they can take Colonel D from Barrabas. 

When the action does go down, it is competently handled if not super gory. Also, there’s hardly any of the excessive gun-detailing Gold Eagle books could get mired in. That said, Robin Hardy has an annoying tendency to deliver clunky writing in the action scenes, often resorting to stuff like “Ka-blamm!” and also relying hugely on single-line paragraphs. I know this is to make things seem punchy and tense, but when you have several single-line paragraphs per page, the effect is a little squandered. 

Overall, though, Eye Of The Fire keeps moving for the majority of its 222 pages, though the stuff with teen psycho “The Kid” is a bit much. Hardy uses this in the finale as the opportunity for Barrabas to exposit on how he’s no hero, but he’s no killer, but all of this seems a bit too “deep” for a men’s adventure series. But then, stuff like this is what separates SOBs from the Gold Eagle line; as stated, there is more care to the characterization and the narrative structure. The highlight is Billy Two – if the series had been published in the ‘70s, he would have been the main (and perhaps only) protagonist – and if anything I look forward to seeing how the other SOBs writers handle him. 

I’ll let you all know if I win that 1986 Jeep they’re running the sweepstakes for on the cover. I just mailed in my entry!

Var The Stick (Battle Circle #2)

Var The Stick, by Piers Anthony

December, 1973  Bantam Books

I didn’t mean to read this second installment of the Battle Circle trilogy so soon; in fact I meant to post a review of a Sobs novel this week. But I started reading Var The Stick and ended up finishing it first. Piers Anthony continues on with his post-Blast storyline, world-building but at the same time moving away from the post-nuke Iliad vibe of the previous volume. 

It’s curious that the Battle Circle trilogy seemed to resonate more in the UK than here in the US; Var The Stick was first published there in hardcover in 1972, a year before this Bantam paberback original was published in the US. And final installment Neq The Sword (1975) was only published in the UK, not coming out in the US until it’s inclusion in the 1979 collection Battle Circle. 

It’s a year or so after the events of Sos The Rope and everything is essentially status quo; Sos, now known either as “The Master” or “The Weaponless” (and never referred to as “Sos” in the narrative) rules the empire he was supposed to dismantle in the previous book – the empire that was ruled by Sol, who went to suicide mountain with his daughter Soli at the climax of the previous book. Now Sos has everything he ever wanted, in particular Sola, the busty babe who married Sol in the previous book but really loved Sos (and also, uh, had a child with him), but a Piers Anthony protagonist can never be happy, and thus Sos finds his crown heavy. 

Piers Anthony has written Var The Stick so that it could be read as a standalone; reading it in the collection Battle Circle, immediately after Sos The Rope, one encounters a lot of repetition. This is because titular Var the Stick spends a lot of the narrative wondering over – and gradually learning – things we readers already learned in Sos The Rope. It does not add to the mythos nor inject any drama into the proceedings, and instead just comes off like a bunch of repetition of material that was handled better in the previous book. 

The shame of it is, Var The Stick has a wonderful opening. One of the tribes in Sos’s empire is under attack by a beast in the cornfields; The Master himself is called in to look into it. The cyborg master of karate soon deduces that the beast is really a mutant boy. There follows an unexpectedly touching (but in a masculine way, of course) scene in which man and mutant boy start off as hunter and prey before turning to each other for survival in the radioactive badlands. 

The effective opening only continues as we pick up four years later and the mutant boy – Var – heads back into that same tribe to test himself in the battle circle and thereby earn a name for himself. Despite winning, Var finds no willing women to take him, due to his mutant looks…until none other than Sola, “middle-aged” and “old” at 25, gives herself to Var that night in the tent they share; Sola, married to Sos but in love with his previous, pre-cyborg version and not the current model, reveals that the Master cannot have children, so once again the poor girl hasn’t gotten any in a while (a recurring theme for poor Sola, whose first husband, Sol, didn’t even have a dick). 

Anthony handles this sequence with more of a touching tone than a sleazy one, but we are told without getting too explicit of Sola’s ripe curves and whatnot; again we are firmly reminded that Sola has a kick-ass bod, but unfortunately she is barely in this novel. Same goes for Sos, and same goes even more so for Sol, who only shows up in passing. Even small-natured karate gal Sosa, whom Sos really loves, only appears in passing. As mentioned, Var The Stick is essentially a standalone tale. 

Instead of building on the storyline in the previous book, Anthony this time delivers a long chase sequence that encompasses the majority of the narrative. But still, it starts off seeming to pick up from the previous story; Sos, it develops, is planning to wage war on Helicon Mountain, aka the mountain he climbed to commit suicide but in reality is staffed with tech-loving “crazies” who live underground and who gave Sos his cyborg augmentations. Sos wants to wage war on them, certain that Sol and little Soli (who is actually Sos’s daughter, given Sol’s aforementioned lack of a dick) are being held captive there. He also wants to hook up with the little karate woman, Sosa. 

The only issue is, all this is relayed through the perspective of Var, a mutant kid of 15 or so who has no idea who any of these people are – and, what’s more, is so new to society that he has a hard time relating to anyone at all. This means there is a lot of obsfucation and vaguery, with Var only belatedly figuring out what is going on – figuring out stuff that would be dealt with posthaste if the tale had been told from Sos’s perspective, as the earlier book was. 

But Sos has become a remote figure now, and rarely do we enter his thoughts. It’s like the star of the trilogy has been reduced to a supporting character, and I can’t say we got a better character with Var. If I was prone to lame puns, I’d say we were given the short end of the stick. Well anyway, Var fights with sticks, and after a belabored battle sequence where Sos’s army attacks the mountain – a scene which is mostly told in summary, robbing it of any drama – it’s determined that Var will represent the empire and Hellicon will choose another hero to battle him, a hero-vs-hero match for control of the mountain. 

I’d write “spoiler alert,” but we’re still fairly early in the book; the champion turns out to be eight year-old Soli, aka the daughter of Sol (but really the daughter of Sos)…who, per tradition, fights in the nude. Not to sound like one of those perennially-aggrieved Goodreads reviewers, but this set off my “ick!” radar…only compounded by the fact that little Soli, who again is only eight years old, talks and acts like a regular adult. 

My son happens to be eight years old, and granted he’s a boy and also he wasn’t born after the nuclear Blast, and also he’s not a karate master, but still…I think from him I have a fairly good understanding of how well an eight year-old can communicate. Soli sounds nothing like this; she evidences logic and understanding well beyond her years, hell even at some points she’s beyond an adult of our own era (which, granted, isn’t really saying very much), to the point that it really drew me out of the book. I mean, I’m good with post-nuke pulp, and societies built around formalized battle in a circle, and even mutants…but too-intelligent and too-communicative eight year-olds is where I can no longer suspend my disbelief. 

It gets even harder to believe, as Soli is such a great fighter that her battle with Var, waged atop a cliff where hardly anyone can see them, goes on for hours, to the point that they call a temporary truce so they can each take a piss off the cliff! Then Soli – who, again, acts like the adult throughout – realizes that due to the fog no one can see them anyway, so they decide to sneak down the cliff and get some food. 

Anyway, let’s just cut to the chase…for “chase” is essentially all Var The Stick soon becomes. Piers Anthony jettisons the post-nuke love triangle meets Homer vibe of the previous book in favor of an endless sequence where Var and Soli head off together into post-blast America, with Sos chasing after them – and Sos is chasing them due to a harebrained subplot in which Var lies that he killed Soli on the clifftop, and thus has no idea why Sos would suddenly be so angry at him. Again, this novel is a very frustrating read for anyone who read the previous book, because the protagonist has no idea what happened in that previous book, while readers on the other hand do know, hence you spend the entire novel wishing Var the Stick had stayed in the cornfields and never gotten involved with the storyline in the first place. 

And this chase goes on for like a year or more, too! Things finally pick up when Var and Soli make it to the Pacific, where they run afoul of a Queen and her army of armored amazons, and here we have a strange bit where the mega-fat Queen wants to have sex with Var, given that all the men in her empire are eunnuchs. Fortunately, though, Anthony has refrained all this time from exploiting little Soli too much; my blog should be a testament to how much I love the lack of boundaries in ‘70s pulp fiction, but at the same time I believe that there are some boundaries that should not be crossed. 

Unfortunately, Anthony does cross those lines in the final quarter. Keeping up with the overall Greek myth vibe of the trilogy, Soli is at one point lashed up naked to a large rock by the ocean so as to be devoured by the god Minos. It’s all very Clash Of The Titans, and all this occurs on the island of New Crete after Var and Soli have been traveling together for some time; indeed, Soli is held captive in a temple for around two years while Var bides his time, working odd jobs and trying to figure out how to save her. 

There is, I’ve dicovered, always an oddball sort of vibe to a Piers Anthony novel, and such is certainly true in Var The Stick. I mean, it’s a post-apocalypse and the gal’s about to be sacrificed, but there’s literally a two-year interim where Var goes to work so as to make money for himself! Just not the sort of thing you’d expect to read in a post-nuke fantasy. Even odder, Minos is a bull-headed man who is capable of intelligent speech, as he’s been augmented by the crazies, same as Sos was, and he has a casual and friendly conversation with Var. 

Anyway, to keep Minos from ravishing Soli – we’re told the pseudo-god’s dick is so big it rips his victims apart – Var and Soli have sex on the rock, as Minos’s violent lust is only aroused by virgins. If my math is correct, Soli is only like twelve years old here. Anthony does not get explicit, leaving it as an “embrace” the two have, there on the rock, giving vent to their feelings for each other…but still. The “ick” factor returns in force when Minos comes back with a couple female corpses, girls “about the same age as Soli,” and it’s made clear that he’s raped them to death. 

And then we’re back to the oddball stuff; Var and Soli, pretending the moment on the rocks never happened, make it all the way to China, where Var suddenly decides Soli would be better off without him, and thus puts her in a “posh” school, paying her tuition by getting a job as a trash collector. I mean seriously, WTF? I’m not making any of this up. Two years pass, after which Soli is about to be given over to the emperor’s harem or somesuch, and Var has to act fast, as he’s finally realized he loves Soli…but how does she feel about him? 

At this point, the cool, “augmented warrior in a post-nuke wasteland” vibe of Sos The Rope is long, long gone. As even more of a slap to the face, we learn – in passing! – that Sos and Sol have been traveling together all these years, looking for Var and Soli. If you’re taking notes, this is the story we should’ve gotten in the sequel! But as mentioned, those two are supporting characters now – Sol, actually, is even less than that – and the reader can only wonder over the better novel this could have been. I mean we’re even told, again in passing, that Sol destroyed Helicon mountain in his wrath…like, couldn’t we have read about that instead of Var getting a job as a trash collector in China?? 

The finale sees Var and Soli (now named Vara, as she’s the wife of Var, even though she’s only like 14 or 15 now) heading back to America, to spread the word that “American society is the best.” Who would’ve expected a proto-MAGA sentiment at the end of a novel titled Var The Stick? 

I think this time I truly will take a bit of a break before finishing off the Battle Circle trilogy; next week I’ll have that Sobs review up. Actually one of these days I’d love to get back to a twice-weekly posting schedule…I’m working on it!

Sos The Rope (Battle Circle #1)

Sos The Rope, by Piers Anthony

October, 1968  Pyramid Books

Sos The Rope started life as a three-part serialized novel in The Magazine Of Fantasy And Science Fiction (July-September, 1968), before being published as this slim paperback. Then in 1978 it was collected with its sequels, Var The Stick (1972) and Neq The Sword (1975), as a fat mass market paperback titled Battle Circle. It was the collected edition that I read, but I’ll review the titles separately because I’m just that kind of guy. 

I recall picking up Battle Circle sometime in 2017, and recently discovered it in a box in my garage, of all places. Indeed, I discovered it on the very same day I (re)discovered my copies of The Virtue Of Vera Valiant (those were in a different box in a different room, though; I guess I’m just a hoarder at heart). 

While he is incredibly prolific, the only Piers Anthony novels I have read are the Jason Striker series and the Total Recall novelization. Thus I cannot say I am an expert in the style of Piers Anthony, but Sos The Rope reads very much like those other books: a somewhat formal tone to the narrative, with a somewhat lurid feeling (this is a good thing, of course), but nothing too exploitative or explicit (this is a bad thing, of course). 

The biggest comparison to Jason Striker is the dumb-ass protagonist. As we’ll recall, Jason Striker was this tough judo master who happened to be a ‘Nam vet, but he blundered like a fool from one situation to the next. The same holds true of this novel’s protagonist, the titular Sos The Rope, who basically gets his ass handed to him again and again in the battle circles of this post-nuke America. And like Striker he makes one poor choice after another, usually a victim of his own nature. 

Anyway, we know from the outset that Sos The Rope is set in a post-nuke world; or, post “Blast,” as the characters refer to it. In the first pages we have references to plastic, a refrigerator, and even television, yet at the same time it is clear this is a primitive society, with men wandering around on foot and challenging one another in the formalized, ritualized practice of battle-circle dueling. 

It’s worth noting however that this is not a bloodthirsty post-nuke society by any means; the battle circle fights are rarely to the death and are more so ritualized ways of settling differences or matters of honor. Brawny men choose their names, specialize in one of the weapons allowed in the battle circle (swords, staffs, knives, etc), and roam the post-nuke country like nomads. What sets off the course of Sos The Rope, and the ensuing trilogy, is a meeting between two men who have the same name: Sol. 

I’ll admit, the first several pages were a bumpy read. There’s nothing like trying to make sense of a post-nuke pulp from decades ago in which two muscular men, both named Sol, challenge one another in a battle circle on the windswept plains while a nameless young woman (with a “voluptuous body”) watches on. I had a helluva time keeping track of which Sol was which, but basically one of them has long black hair and a beard, and the other one has long blonde hair and no beard. 

The bearded one is Sol The Sword, because that’s his weapon; the beardless one is Sol of All Weapons, and he carries around a wheelbarrow or something with all his fighting gear. The two men meet at a hostel – a place, we’re informed, that was set up by “the crazies” and is used as lodging for the nomadic warriors – and they have a friendly disagreement over who “owns” the name Sol. They decide to settle their differences in the battle circle by the hostel, all while some busty chick who works at the hostel watches on, ready to give herself to the winner. 

Anthony, given his martial arts background, is pretty good with hand-to-hand fight description, as proven with Jason Striker. But still, it’s hard to know which Sol is which, let alone which one to root for. Not that it matters, as neither is killed and indeed they become lifelong friends: but, for what it’s worth, “our” Sol, ie the supposed hero of this novel who will become “Sos,” gets his ass kicked and loses – which, of course, sets the tone for the rest of the book. 

The fight was for the name of Sol, and now that this Sol has lost, he needs a new name. Eventually he will become “Sos.” As for the busty girl, she gives herself to Sol, the winner, and so she becomes Sola – in other words, women don’t even have a name until a man has taken them, a sign of how male-dominated this post-Blast society is. If you listen closely, you can hear the piteous wailings of the ever-indignant wokesters over on Goodreads: “How dare Piers Anthony stoop to such misogyny! His female characters have no agency!” And etc. 

An interesting thing is that Anthony works his world-building into the narrative, never shoehorning us with info; eventually we learn that there is no rape in this post-Blast world, where the men actually respect the women. Indeed, there is a later part where Sos sleeps in a hostel that is occupied by a girl who has expressly come there to find a man, and since Sos is not interested in her (not suprising, given his overall lameness), she sleeps by him without concern of being raped. 

The nomadic warrirors wear metal bracelets, and the women they choose – whether for life or just for the night – wear the bracelet when chosen. Gradually I realized this was Anthony’s post-nuke spin on a wedding ring. But this is how Sola becomes Sola, wearing the bracelet of Sol – and she, Sol, and Sos will prove to be the three main characters of Sos The Rope. 

The trio venture into the Badlands, ie the still-radiated wastelands around the countryside, and encounter all kinds of brutal flora and fauna. The latter is evidenced by a rat swarm that might raise the hackles of more sensitive readers (as if sensitive readers would be reading a book titled Sos The Rope!). The bigger threat however is the love triangle that develops: Sola belongs to Sol, but Sos and Sola have a thing for each other. 

Sadly, it develops that Sol does not have a, uh, thing; left comatose from the bite of a mutant moth, Sol is dragged to safety from the rats and loses his clothes in the process, and Sos discovers that Sol is castrated; something Sola was already aware of. So basically she’s “married” to a guy who cannot give her the goods, yet still – for reasons of honor and such – Sos won’t give Sola what she clearly wants. 

I forgot to mention: Sos as a child was reared by “the crazies,” ie the tech-savvy overlords who run things behind the scenes. They are the ones who stock the high-tech hostels and whatnot, and have all the learnings of the pre-Blast world, and Sos has not only learned to read but knows a fair bit of history…though he is uncertain how true those ancient books really are. 

Piers Anthony does a good job of keeping the story moving while doling out small bits of background about the post-Blast world. Meanwhile the main narrative has Sos becoming Sol’s best buddy and sidekick; Sol dreams of starting an empire, but he knows he isn’t smart enough. Sos, meanwhile, is smart in all those ways, so Sos agrees to serve Sol for one year and help him gather men into an army. 

Meanwhile Sos and Sola become an item while Sol is off gathering men, but Anthony leaves it off-page. About the most us sleazehounds get are random mentions of Sola’s “voluptuous” build and pretty face…not much. But Sos manages to knock her up, though this tidbit is left off-page; curiously, Anthony leaves many important events off-page…most notably, a part where Sos challenges Sol in the battle circle for Sola and her newly-born daughter. 

Yes, Anthony cuts immediately to some time later, and we learn that Sos has once again had his ass handed to him. So much for the “rope” he’s learned to fight with; all this is after the empire has been started, and Sos has gone back to the crazies to learn what to fight with now that he’s lost the right to use a sword. A rope wouldn’t be my first choice, and anyway Sos still can’t beat Sol, so whatever. 

Here’s where Sos The Rope gets real interesting. It’s some time later and Sos has decided to end his life by climbing this big mountain that people go to when they’re ready to commit suicide. He climbs up and up, then “dies,” then wakes up in this high-tech “underworld” that is run by the crazies. He will eventually hook up with a lithe young (and small-statured) lady with major karate skills (again, the hanky-panky occurs off-page), but most importantly Sos here is augmented into a sort of cyborg warrior so as to be sent back out into the world to kill Sol and topple his empire. 

My assumption is Piers Anthony was influenced here by Achilles in Homer’s Iliad, and this sequence – where Sos dies and then goes to an underworld where he has plastic armor embedded beneath his skin, and his muscles augmented, and etc – reminded me very much of the Neoplatonist readings of The Iliad. 

Simply put, the Neoplatonic reading of the Iliad goes like this: when Achilles’ best friend/lover Patroclus is killed in battle by Hector while wearing the armor of Achilles, the idea is that Achilles himself has died. After Patroclus dies, Achilles stops eating the food of mortals and instead eats ambrosia, the food of the gods. He goes to his mother, who happens to be a minor-grade goddess, and she in turn goes to Hephastus, aka Vulcan, and asks this major god to forge divine armor for Achilles. Dressed in this divine armor, Achilles is unstoppable when he goes back to the war at Troy, eventually killing Hector. The Neoplatnic reading here is that Achilles the mortal has died, reborn in his divine armor – ie his divine soul. 

That’s all very basic, and I’m sure I missed quite a bit, but that’s the essential idea, and more importantly for the goal of this review – that is what Piers Anthony has happen to Sos the Rope. It was at this point, around a hundred pages in, with Sos transformed into a sort of walking tank, with armor plating beneath his skin, that I realized Sos The Rope was a post-nuke Iliad. 

At this point I was very much into the novel; it was just that sort of late ‘60s/early ‘70s sci-fi I love, with a metaphysical and slightly psychedelic edge, but again it was slightly undone by the blunderings of Sos – or, “The Nameless One” as he is now known, a giant who towers over the average men. Piers Anthony again gives us a doofus protagonist who can’t make up his own mind; Sos has carried a torch for Sola all this time, and indeed he decided to climb suicide mountain over his loss of her. But, despite only thinking of the little karate lady as a casual lay in the underworld, Sos realizes, after leaving her forever, that he was truly in love with her, not Sola! Actually, now that I think of it, Piers Anthony might understand male characters better than any other sci-fi writer. 

Seriously though, this kind of gets to be a little much, and takes away from Sos’s post-death meta-human makeover (we’re told his hair has even gone white, like he’s some sort of super-deformed anime hero). But even in his superhuman state Sos blunders, outing himself on his first night back in the real world and inadvertently letting one of Sol’s men know who he is – the idea is, see, that Sos takes the job from the crazies to kill Sol, but really he plans to sneak into the empire and tell Sol to end his empire, so that Sol doesn’t have to die. 

This entails a lot of fights with Sol’s underlings so Sos can prove himself – again, the fighting is for the most part bloodless (save for one fight where Sos accidentally kills someone), but it’s cool how Sos has essentially become the post-Blast Hulk. Even here Piers Anthony does a curious skipping of important parts and suddenly has Sol and Sos confronting each other, though Sol apparently doesn’t realize this huge cyborg creature is actually his old buddy, Sos (or maybe he does; Anthony leaves this vague). 

The finale of Sos The Rope is quite curious, with the two characters arguing with Sol’s chieftans over whether or not Sol’s empire should be disbanded. SPOILER ALERT: The finale is rather downbeat, with Sol himself deciding to head on up suicide mountiain, his little girl demanding to go along with him – and Sos sadly watches his old buddy stalk off, kicking himself that Sol will no doubt make it up the mountain alive and end up banging the cute little karate girl that Sos has only now realized he’s in love with. In other words: wash, rinse, repeat – Sos now has the woman he wanted, Sola, but again he is jealous of Sol, who will no doubt soon be giving the little karate girl some good lovin. 

Well, all this no doubt is covered in the next volume, Var The Stick, which I’ll be reading soon. I have to say, I quite enjoyed Sos The Rope, especially the unexpected eleventh-hour jump into a sort of meta-human Iliad riff. I hope Piers Anthony continues with this vibe in the next books; one can only imagine the surreal, over-budgeted, psychedelic mess of a film Alejandro Jodorowsky might’ve made out of it.

The Virtue Of Vera Valiant #2

The Virtue Of Vera Valiant #2, by Stan Lee and Frank Springer

October, 1977  Signet Books

The second (and final) volume of The Virtue Of Vera Valiant is better than the first volume. This slim, 121 page paperback picks up directly after the preceding volume, which collected the strips from October 11, 1976 through January 15, 1977; The Virtue Of Vera Valiant #2 collects another three months: January 16, 1977 through April 17, 1977. 

Curiously, the last page states that a third volume would be released soon, but it was not to be – no doubt because The Virtue Of Vera Valiant had already been canceled by the time this paperback was published, the last strip having been published on August 28, 1977. My assumption is The Virtue Of Vera Valiant #2 went to press before the cancellation happened. 

But even then, another insallment could have been published; the April 18, 1977 through August 28, 1977 strips could have comprised a third and final paperback, thus completing the series for those few readers who were interested. But I guess that is the key point; it seems clear that The Virtue Of Vera Valiant was not a succes, neither in newspapers nor in paperback. And, as I mentioned in my review of the first volume, it has yet to garner any kind of interest, or even any cult fame – to this day the full strip has not been collected. 

The unfortunate thing is that The Virtue Of Vera Valiant #2 is much better than the first volume, and indicates that Stan Lee had figured out how to write the series. Whereas the first volume came off as tepid, given that Lee was spoofing soap opera melodrama and pathos without bothering to offer compelling storylines, in the strips collected here he has realized he needs to deliver a plot that pulls readers in, while still coming off as overly melodramatic. 

Again, though, Stan Lee has a tendency to jettison subplots without warning. The Virtue Of Vera Valiant ended with Vera Valiant being approached by elderly but dashing network CEO Martin C. Martin to be the star of a soap opera that would be real – in other words, reality TV before reality TV. The stories at the beginning of The Virtue Of Vera Valiant #2 sort of follow on from this…but the “reality TV” thing is dropped posthaste, Lee focusing more on Martin C. Martin’s abrupt love for Vera. 

The reality TV stuff is ignored, save for a staff writer who sporadically appears, “taking notes” on the goings-on of the Valiant family (as a refresher, in addition to Vera there’s air-headed Aunt Gladys and portly loser Herbert). But even here the focus is more on romance; Aunt Gladys develops feelings for the writer, leading to the crazy-for-a-newspaper-in-1977 revelation that the writer is gay. I was a little surprised this made it into a mainstream newspaper; as it is, “gay” is never specifically stated, but twice we are informed the writer “doesn’t go for women.” 

But really the main focus of the first half of The Virtue Of Vera Valiant #2 is Martin C. Martin pushing himself on Vera, who meanwhile pines for her boyfriend, Winthrop, who by the way has abruptly “disappeared.” It’s all very soapy and melodramatic, but done much better than such stuff was in the first book. Also, it gives artist Frank Springer a chance to do more than the threadbare, humdrum surroundings of the previous book; there’s a part where Vera and Martin C. Martin’s lothario son go to a disco, and there meet a femme fatale with the awesome name Ramona Rapture. 

This leads into a bizarre twist where a goon, who happens to be Ramona’s boyfriend, kidnaps Vera – but it turns out the goon works for Martin C. Martin, who moonlights as a crime kingpin! The whole “reality tv” angle is gone and forgotten and the second half of the book is all about crime boss Martin trying to blackmail Vera into being his woman. 

Herbert, the loser brother, has been talking about a new business deal he’s working on, and it turns out he’s been working with Martin C. Martin. But the crime boss opens an adult bookstore in Herbert’s name, and will only take Herbert’s name off of it if Vera agrees to be his woman – the adult bookstore, by the way, also being a bit more risque than what I would’ve expected from a 1977 newspaper strip, but the only thing we see of it is the marque out front with “Herbert’s Adult Books” in big letters. 

Stan Lee also opens up the storyline with the return of Winthrop, and also the brief “awakening” of his wife Melba, who has been in a coma for the past 14 years. Melba, whose face is never seen, starts talking in her sleep, providing oracles and whatnot, and her latest revelation is that Vera Valiant will soon die. When Vera claims that Melba never met her, thus throwing into question how accurate Melba’s predictions could be, Winthrop responds that Melba “didn’t know Jimmy Carter, either, but she predicted his election!” 

This brings a subtle but interesting supernatural bent to The Virtue Of Vera Valiant #2, as Vera is freaked out in the final strips collected here that Melba’s prophecy will be fulfilled. Again it’s played for laughs, and Stan Lee has a hard time being both serious and funny – for example, Martin C. Martin’s goons take Herbert into a back room to torture him for not paying on his loan, but in the next strip we see that all they’re doing is forcing him to watch three soap operas on three televisions. 

Still, though, I enjoyed The Virtue Of Vera Valiant #2 more than I thought I would, given that I didn’t enjoy the first one very much. Stan Lee has better found his footing and Frank Springer’s art is great as it was the first time, but it did seem as if some of the panels here were a little blurry. Not sure if it’s just my particular copy or if the reproduction process wasn’t done as well as it was for the first volume. 

Until the series is fully collected – that is, if it ever is – we’ll just have to wonder what else happened in the ensuing (and final) four months of The Virtue Of Vera Valiant. As mentioned the last page of The Virtue Of Vera Valiant #2 mentions what will happen in the never-published third volume, noting a stranger who comes into the life of Aunt Gladys.  This no doubt refers to her runaway husband – the one who ran off with “a defrocked television repair person.” Recently I came across an eBay listing for a few Virtue Of Vera Valiant strips, and the seller happened to have the final strip listed. Here it is: 

This is the August 28, 1977 strip, aka the final strip of the series, so not only did Aunt Gladys get a Happily Ever After, but it looks like Vera and Winthrop did as well – Melba herself being on the phone was a perfect way to end the series, as she’s remained off-page the entire series…sort of like Niles’s wife on Frasier, now that I think of it. 

It’s debatable if Lee and Springer knew that the series was cancelled at the time. I’m betting they did, as the “cliffhanger” climax is in keeping with the series, and also brings the storyline full circle, as Melba, Winthrop’s wife with “sleeping sickness,” was one of the first subplots. Also the final “Next” caption, which is in keeping with the overdone, “melodramatic” tone of all the preceding such captions, plays in on the joke: “Did he say Melba?” 

Despite knowing that it no doubt played out on a goofy angle, I still find myself interested in the mention of the “psychic spell” that Vera falls under on the last page of The Virtue Of Vera Valiant #2. I wonder what that refers to. And also it sounds like poor Herbert is sent to jail, but I bet all of that was lame; as I mentioned in my review of the first book, Herbert seems to have come out of another strip entirely. Thankfully he’s hardly in the series. 

Anyway, I’m glad I picked up these two books back in 2009, and I’m still surprised that the entire run of The Virtue Of Vera Valiant has yet to be collected. If it ever is someday, I will be sure to read it. And also, it’s only now occurred to me that the series title is strangely similar to one of the more famous newspaper strips in history: Prince Valiant. I wonder if Stan Lee did this on purpose?

Here are more random photos of the inside of the book, but same as last time: the binding is so tight I could barely get a good photo of the interior!

The Virtue Of Vera Valiant

The Virtue Of Vera Valiant, by Stan Lee and Frank Springer

June, 1977  Signet Books

Last weekened I was in the room we use for storage and going through a bunch of boxes of junk. I came across a big printer box that had books in it, all of them still in the padded envelopes in which they’d been mailed to me (not sure why I never put them in a bookcase or whatever, but anyway). The majority of them were hardcover editions of the Greek/Roman poetry I was into many, many years ago (I guess my estrogen level must’ve been high at the time), but on the sides of the box were two smaller padded envelopes with mass market paperbacks in them. 

Of course, those were the packages I opened first – and they turned out to be this book, The Virtue Of Vera Valiant, and the sequel The Virtue Of Vera Valiant #2. According to the postage stamps, each book was mailed to me in June of 2009…pre-blog, baby! As I mentioned before, one of the reasons I started Glorious Trash was to force myself to actually read all the books I bought, so these two Vera Valiant paperbacks would’ve been read back then if I actually had a blog. 

I am not sure how I discovered these books, which were scarce and obscure then and apparently even more today; I am surprised to see that The Virtue Of Vera Valiant, a daily/weekly newspaper strip by Stan Lee and Frank Springer that ran from October 11, 1976 to August 28, 1977 has still not been collected, other than in these two old paperbacks.  And even then the full series was not collected, so even if you get these two paperbacks you aren't getting the entire strip run.  This perhaps shows how obscure the series really is, as even Lee’s other newspaper strip, The Amazing Spider-Man, has been collected. But then, it’s kind of unfair to compare Spider-Man to The Virtue Of Vera Valiant. 

I think I found out about these books shortly before I bought them from online sellers in June of 2009 thanks to the then-recent DVD release of soap opera satire Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman. This was a soap that mocked soap convention, and since it was before my time (I was born in 1974, so would’ve been 2 years old when it was on TV) I’d never seen it. But I recall thinking the commercials for the DVD release were funny (to this day I still haven’t seen the show, though I still think it looks funny)…and somehow, somewhere, I learned that Stan “The Man” Lee had done a short-lived newspaper strip “inspired” by Mary Hartman. 

How inspired? Well, just check the back cover of this first Signet paperback collection, which even mocks the title of Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, repeating “Vera Valiant” twice: 

So, Signet Books was aware that this strip was intended to be a soap opera spoof, same as Mary Hartman was. I wonder if actual newspaper readers knew this. I’m guessing not, hence the short life of The Virtue Of Vera Valiant. The book, by the way, is copyright The Los Angeles Times Syndicate, so I’m assuming they too were in on the joke. It’s also my understanding that some papers printed the series under the title “Vera Valiant, Vera Valiant,” to give further evidence of the strip’s inspiration. 

But the sad fact is that, judging from this 126-page paperback that collects the first three months of the series (October 11, 1976 to January 15, 1977), The Virtue Of Vera Valiant just isn’t very funny. This really surprised me; just the other month I mentioned how funny Stan Lee’s work was in the The Amazing Spider-Man strip. Here though his humor falls flat; the jokes do not seem very natural, given the artificial nature of the series itself (it’s intended to be a spoof of a stilted, melodramatic soap opera), and the jokes themselves are often of the groaner variety, or just lame in general. Also, there is a lot of repetition in setups and payoffs, but that seems to be standard in the disposable, ephemeral world of newspaper comic strips. 

We don’t get any setup or intro, and the strips are arranged on each page without the series banner. The Sunday strips, as they are longer than the dailies, take up a few pages – and more often than not they cover the same material as the dailies, only offering a little “new” material. And the Sundays are here printed in black and white, even though they were in color in the original newspaper printings. 

As I say, there is a lot of repetition, given that the audience might not be with the series every day; there could be weekend readers who only saw the Sunday strips, or weekday readers who didn’t see the daily strips, so Lee has to ensure the story is understandable for both parties. 

This also means there isn’t much in the way of continuity; subplots come up and are dispensed with wily-nily, with no explanation. This was another surprise, as the Spider-Man strips did have continuity, so my assumption is Lee was either finding his footing with this series (and perhaps dealing with editorial mandates), or he was spoofing the often surreal nature of soap operas themselves. But still, this makes for an unsatisfying read at times. 

The setup is simple: titular Vera Valiant is a young, dark-baired beauty in Hackensack, New Jersey – a lot of the easy jokes come from the fact that the story occurs in Hackensack, by the way. She lives with her Aunt Gladys (parelells to Peter Parker and Aunt May) and her brother Herbert; Aunt Gladys, in the little we see of her, is a doting but air-headed older lady, and Herbert is a heavyset buffoon. A lot of the repetitive “groaner” comedy comes from Herbert; there’s a lot of jokes about him flunking out of various correspondence courses, his latest subject being podiatry. 

There’s even more repetitive jokery around Vera’s boyfriend, Winthrop, a meek C.P.A. That Winthrop is a C.P.A. is constantly mentioned, usually in a facetious light – Winthrop going on about how being a C.P.A. is a noble profession and whatnot. It’s funny the first time, sort of, but by the tenth time it gets old. Also, Winthrop happens to be married, but for the past 14 years – since his wedding night, in fact – Winthrop’s wife Melba has been a victim of “sleeping sickness.” Thus she is asleep in a hospital and has been so throughout the marriage; Lee plays up the melodrama of Vera wanting to be with Winthrop, but feeling he should be true to his wife, even if she’s asleep, and etc…all of it done in a satirical way, of course. 

Thus each strip ends with a big “shock” moment, usually with Vera putting her hand to her mouth in terror, but it’s always something goofy or dumb that causes this…like late in the book a limo keeps circling the house and “strangers” barge in, and Vera is terrified..but it turns out the strangers are from a TV show and want to make Vera a real-life soap opera star. It’s stuff like this throughout, but then again this particular subplot is a curious prediction of reality TV. 

The bit with the “sleeping sick” wife takes up the first storyline, then we have a random storyline where Aunt Gladys falls for a guy who claims to be from Beta-III and who wants to sell condos on other planets; he has a spaceship that apparently is a hunk of metal sitting on the Valiant lawn, but the black-and-white reproduction of the panels kind of prevents us from seeing what Frank Springer intended it to look like. There’s more lame, repetitive comedy with the joke that Gladys’s husband “ran off with a defrocked TV repair person.” 

As for the supposed alien, he too is presented as a meek looking CPA type; overall The Virtue Of Vera Valiant occurs in a rather bland world, with most panels taking place in the Valiant home. There is little of the escapism of a true soap, with rich characters in rich surroundings, and it’s altogether more of a threadbare, humdrum sort of affair. 

Then there’s the problem of Vera Valiant herself. She’s such a cipher she is hard to relate to, but then I’m not sure it was even Stan Lee’s intention that we would relate to her. She’s there to act as a spoof of the perennially-shocked and worried female protagonist common in soap operas, so her dialog is generally reduced to voicing concerns or gasping in surprise. Her brother Herbert meanwhile seems to have wandered in from an out-and-out comedy, and doesn’t fit with the vibe Lee is trying to create for the series. 

It’s interesting how Stan Lee seems to lose interest in his subplots so quickly, but again this could be his reacting to editorial demands. The subplot with the Beta III salesman is lame, and Lee himself seems to get sick of it; after spending so many strips on the storyline, he abandons it with Vera being sent to an insane asylum (a cop shows up and doesn’t believe her when she says that Aunt Gladys’s boyfriend is an alien), and the Beta III guy is never mentioned nor seen again. 

The next storyline is no less annoying, and just as long; Vera in an insane asylum, where the hunky psychiatrist seems to have a thing for her (he’s also treating Winthrop’s sleeping wife, by the way) and thus won’t let Vera check out. But Lee gradually loses interest in this plotline, too, with the abrupt reveal that Vera works in a library and is visited by a coworker, an outspoken feminist who rails that there are more men in the insane asylum than women. 

This takes us into the homestretch, where a dashing, older man who runs the network’s biggest soap operas (Martin C. Martin) shows up at Vera’s home, having seen her on TV (another gag has Vera being put on a late-night TV news program while in the insane asylum), and coming up with the idea of making a real-world soap about her life. 

That’s it for The Virtue Of Vera Valiant, but more of the storyline was soon published in the second paperback, which I’ll be reviewing soon. A curious note, which I’ll belabor in the next review, is that the second volume states that a third volume would be forthcoming, but one never was – so The Virtue Of Vera Valiant not only failed to secure a long newspaper run, but also failed to garner paperback readers. 

Here are some random photos of the book, but the photos suck because the binding of my copy is so tight I could barely hold the book open with one hand while snapping pictures of the pages with the other. At any rate, Frank Springer’s artwork is great throughout, fully capturing the spoofy pathos of the series and giving each character their own look. However, unlike the Spider-Man strip, there is little in the way of risque material; Vera wears a full dress throughout the series and there’s nothing in the way of sex appeal. It’s just not that kind of story, I guess, but still the creep in me wishes there was at least a little of it…but then maybe I was just spoiled by the T&A John Romita brought to the Spider-Man strip. 

Mr. Right

Mr. Right, by Carolyn Banks

May, 1980  Warner Books

I recently discovered this one at a Half Price Books. Apparently making a bit of a splash upon its original 1979 hardcover publication – the back cover quotes a glowing review from Cosmo – Mr. Right was republished in 1999 under much “parafeminist” ballyhoo. Curiously this 1980 paperback doesn’t mention that at all, and indeed does a better job of describing the book. 

To be honest, I didn’t get any “feminist” angle from the novel. Sure, protagonist Lida is a sexually-liberated young woman who keeps a list of the 30-some men she’s been with, but at no point does she use this as a proclamation that “a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.” Indeed, in another of those unintentionall “tells” that I love so much, Lida thinks something is wrong with her and wonders if she’ll ever find true love. Lol, there goes the “feminism” thing; Lida needs a man, after all. 

Another humorous thing is how much the sex angle is exploited on the back cover. Folks, I have to report that again we have that curious ‘70s phenonmenon of a “sexy book” that hardly has any sex in it, and indeed the vast majority of the sex occurrs off-page. There is nothing in this book to the sleazy length of, say, The Baroness, or even of contemporary popular fiction like Harold Robbins. Rather, the sex scenes we do get to read about are over and done with in a few sentences, and seldom if ever dwell on any juicy details. 

I also found it interesting that there’s nothing different about Lida, at least when compared to the average female protagonist of the day – in Robbins, in Hirschfeld, in Susann. Those authors, and innumerable others, gave us female characters who were both strong and promiscuous, who were literate and witty. All told, the only thing different about Lida is her self-doubt (she’s certain something is “wrong” with her), and also she has small boobs – though, again demonstrating the lack of focus on anything risque, we aren’t even told this until rather late in the game. 

Well anyway, Mr. Right is really more of a mystery, anyway, one that just happens to feature a promiscuous single woman in her 30s who fears that the man she is falling in love with might be a murderer. This is Duvivier, a famous mystery author who writes under other pseudonyms and who might have murdered a woman back in the early ‘60s, though Lida only learns this through coincdental plotting – her friend, Diana, happens to sleep with a guy who knew of a murderous colleage, years before, and Diana fears this man might have gone on to become Duvivier. 

A big problem with Mr. Right is that Duvivier is not built up enough. Lida reads one novel by the guy, brought to her in the hospital by Diana (Lida’s there to have an abortion!), and Lida likes it so much that she writes Duvivier a fan latter. It would have helped tremendously if we had been told more about the man’s novels, or maybe even gotten to read snatches of them; author Carolyn Banks could have had a lot of fun spoofing the mystery thrillers of the day, but apparently this thought did not occur to her. 

So, as with so much of the novel, we are only told of how great Duvivier’s books are, particularly his murders. Lida also responds to the fact that Duvivier clearly enjoys writing his books – Lida is an English teacher at an all-black college in Washington, D.C., and thus responds to what she sees as Duvivier’s gifted mocking of literary conventions. 

We also have a lot of scenes from Duvivier’s point of view; the novel hopscotches a lot, and I’m happy to report that Banks either gives us white space to denote this or just starts a new chapter. In fact there are a lot of chapters in Mr. Right, some of them as short as those in the average Richard Brautigan novel. Anyway, Duvivier is droll, elitist, and condescending – and also enjoys masturbating when devising the murder scenes in his novels. 

The gist of the novel is that Lida belives she’s found “Mr. Right” in Duvivier, due to that one novel of his she’s read; again, it would have been so much better if we’d learned more about his books. It would have helped explain why Lida, a woman who is having sex with one guy on the very first page and will with another not many pages later – and who chastizes herself for being screwed up and whatnot – would fall in love with Duvivier in the first place. 

There’s some cool stuff that resonated with me where Lida tracks down Duvivier’s real name. Showing how this sort of thing was done before the internet, Lida calls the Library of Congress and has them root through varous files; it’s a nice bit of investigative work that impresses even Duvivier, when he learns of it late in the novel. This “uncovering an author’s real identity” was right up my alley, and I’m also happy to report that Mr. Right even refers to Jimi Hendrix, not just once but a few times. 

The pseudonym stuff might have seemed revelatory in the day, but is altogether quaint n our internet/AI world. But it was cool to see the work one had to do to find the real name of an author – and, as Duvivier is told by a librarian who takes his job very seriously, there’s nothing to be found if the author specifically tells the publisher not to share his real name, something Duvivier never thought to do. 

Banks drops more ‘70s topical details here, like mentions of the pseudonymous bestsellers The Sensuous Woman and The Sensuous Man; she also references The Sensuous Dirty Old Man, another real book, but the librarian states that it was by “Mr. X;” in reality it was by Dr. A. This same librarian claims to know who “Mr. X” really is, and tells Duvivier that he’d never believe it; one wonders if Carolyn Banks herself knew that Dr. A was really Isaac Asimov. 

All these things are up my alley, but unfotunately a big problem with the novel is Lida. In another “tell,” instead of coming off as the strong and independent woman the author and publisher(s) intend, she instead comes off like a self-involved whore. Perhaps this is another “tell,” or self-own. Lida sleeps with a married man and even visits him for more sex while he’s in the hospital, all while wondering why she can’t meet a real man – we even learn she had sex with one of the students in her class, a black kid named “George Washington,” just so she could write that particular name down on her list of conquests. Or, as the kid told her – all of this relayed to us via dialog, as a lot of the story is – Lida would be able to put up a sign over her bed that stated, “George Washington slept here.” 

There is a lot of pre-PC humor here that had me laughing at times, but I’m sure it would be forbidden today, as a lot of it has to do with Lida’s comments about her black students, the majority of whom are not intelligent. When Lida and Duvivier meet, there’s also a lot of witty repartee between the two; Banks capably demonstrates how the two were made for each other. There’s also a very funny part where Diana tries to come to Lida’s rescue during a play and starts yelling that she can’t see when the house lights go down, much to the annoyance of the audience. 

But a lot of Mr. Right is made up of incidental scenes that have little bearing on the plot. Also, Banks has a tendency to write in short, punchy sentences, not much setting up scenes or giving us an idea why they are important to the story. In a lot of ways – from plotting to writing – the novel reminded me of another contemporary “spoof” of popular fiction, The Serial. 

Also, a lot of the book occurs in the early 1960s, right after the JFK assassination. This part is very much out of a mystery novel, concerning a nebbish and possibly homosexual young man who might or might not have murdered a woman, and who might or might not have become Duvivier. Banks hopscotches from the ‘60s to Lida in the ‘70s and also Diana (who has her own share of the narrative), so there really is a lot of jumping around in the novel. 

What puzzles me is why contemporary reviewers would think this novel was so different. I mean, this was an era in which a mainstream bestseller featured characters giving each other golden showers, so how in the hell could anything in Mr. Right have been considered risque or boundary-pushing? It’s altogether tame in comparison. And Lida, despite her sparkling wit, isn’t too different from sundry other female protagonists of the time. Only in her previously-mentioned self-doubt is she different, and that begins to wear thin quickly. 

Overall I’m glad I came across Mr. Right in the bookstore, as I doubt I would’ve have learned of it otherwise. Carolyn Banks proves she can deliver witty dialog and memorable situations, but all told I didn’t feel that the actual novel lived up to the sordid spectacle promised by the back cover. But then, do they ever?