The White Papers
(1996)*
James White
Contents
Introduction by Mike Resnick
James White by Walt Willis
Fiction
Custom Fitting
Commuter
House Sitter
Sanctuary
Christmas Treason
The Secret History of Sector General
Accident
Medic
Countercharm
Visitor at Large
Fan Writing
An Introduction to Real Virtuality by Bruce Pelz
The Last Time I Saw Harris
The Beacon
The Not-So-Hot Gospeller
The Long Afternoon of Harrogate
The History of IF #3
The Quinze-y Report
Fester on the Fringe
The Exorcists of IF
The Unreal George Affair
More about Sector General
Sector General Timeline by Gary Louie
Notes on the Classification System
The Classification System by Gary Louie
Acknowledgements
The White Paper
INTRODUCTION
by Mike Resnick
I'm about to make public a secret vice. Its name is James White, and for well over a third of a century I have been searching for a James White book or story that I could put down before finishing.
I haven't found one yet—and I've read every word of science fiction he's written to date. I even stopped by a British book store to buy Underkill, the one novel he didn't sell to the United States.
The strange thing is that each time a new White book comes out, I look at the cover blurb and say, "This time you've done it, James my boy. This time you've picked a subject even you can't make interesting."
I must confess that over the years I've learned to say it very softly, because he makes a liar out of me every time.
-
I do a lot of speaking at conventions, and I write some columns about science fiction, and one of the things I keep pointing out is that there is really no need for five-book trilogies, that good writers can usually say what they have to say in one well-conceived and well-executed book. I take great pride in the fact that I turned down a StarTrek novel and a Star Wars trilogy in the same calendar year.
That said, I must point out that there are exceptions to every rule— and I publicly promise that if James White ever stops writing his Sector General books, I will personally break one of his knees each day until he relents. And if it takes him more than two days to give in, I'll go to work on his elbows.
If White is addictive (and he is), then beware the tales of this fabulous hospital in space, because once they grab hold of your sense of wonder you will be hopelessly hooked for life. And like any addict, you'll find that you don't mind in the least.
The stories are populated by the most memorable crew of aliens ever created—and that includes every creature from Stanley Weinbaum's to (insert the author of your choice here). The four-letter biological classification system is a marvel, and has been swiped—well, let's be generous and say built upon—more than once. The tapes that each surgeon carries around inside his head are another touch of genius. The problems O'Mara and Conway and the empath Prilicla and the elephantine Thornnastor and the rest of the crew must face in each story are always fascinating, and the solutions are both logical and fair.
The books began as simple—well, actually, incredibly complex— medical problems in the brilliantly realized Sector General, but as the series has continued, the focus has become more serious and mature. By the time of The Genocidal Healer, White was dealing with themes as important and powerful as any writer in the field—and handling them better than most.
White didn't exactly create the sub-genre of Medical Science Fiction, but I don't think there's any doubt in anyone's mind at this late date that the Sector General stories define it.
I don't want you to get the idea that James White is a one-shot artist, a guy who lucked out on the Sector General stories and didn't do much else worthwhile.
Take, for example, The Escape Orbit. Here's a good old-fashioned science fiction problem story. There's a war. Human prisoners are dropped onto a planet that possesses no metals and no fissionable materials. The enemy ships never land.
Okay—how do you plan an escape?
White not only plans it and pulls it off, he has you believing it. The only problem I have with the book is why Hollywood hasn't bought it, adapted it, and made umpteen gazillion dollars at the box office with it.
Then there's All Judgment Fled, my personal favorite. I never knew quite how to describe it until Rendezvous with Rama came out and won the 1974 Hugo. Now I just tell people that if they want to read Rama done right (sorry, Arthur), pick up All Judgment Fled.
Like Rama, this one has a mysterious space vehicle approaching the Earth, and, like Rama, a human crew goes out to investigate it.
But unlike Rama, the solution to the multitude of frustrating puzzles is logical and satisfying—and you don't have to hunt up the sequel(s) to find out what it is.
What can I tell you about Lifeboat except to say that it's a totally fresh and intriguing handling of an old theme. Too bad Hitchcock didn't make this one instead of the mundane one about a bunch of men and a Tallulah duking it out in an ocean liner's lifeboat.
Deadly Litter? It's a notion so unique, so out and out brilliant that I use it whenever I'm lecturing beginners about what science fiction actually deals with when it's done properly.
The Watch Below? Fabulous story. In fact, two fabulous stories that dovetail beautifully by the end of the book.
Hopeful science fiction writers could learn a lot about then craft by studying White's various novels and short stories. No one presents a wider selection of consistent, believable aliens. But just as important, I consider him without peer in creating alien environments.
He's not so bad on human environments, either, Once he's described a room, or a ship, or a hospital for that matter, you feel like you've been there. He doesn't content himself with physical outlines, but adds textures as well.
Perhaps the most distinctive thing about him—it runs through every story, never intrusive but always there—is his devout belief in a benevolent, ultimately reasonable, universe. Like Clifford D. Simak before him, James White believes in the decency of all intelligent beings.
So why (I hear you ask) do I, who can most charitably be termed cynical, and whose endings are not always the happiest, have such admiration for James White?
First, because the man's a craftsman and an artist, and I have unbounded respect for both traits.
And second, and perhaps more importantly, because while I may write about my universe, I wish I could live in his.
JAMES WHITE
by Walt Willis
This is not the first such piece I have written. The very first one was written at the request of a now almost forgotten fan called Henry Oden, before James started his professional career and while he was known only as Art Editor of our fanzine Slant. Each of us wrote a brief description of the other, and I wrote the following in response to James's picture of me dashing off the tennis court to supervise the printing of Slant.
Those keen-minded, or crossed-eyed, readers who have been reading between the lines of that account may have conjured up a mental picture of James spending the long summer evenings slaving over a hot press turning out Slant while I enjoy myself in the sunshine, tanning my knobbly face and thin sensitive knees. They may even have got the impression that James does all the real work on Slant while I collect all the egoboo.
Nothing could be nearer to the truth. With real feminine intuition, Lee Hoffman, without ever hearing directly from James, summed him up as follows: "I've always had a special sense of affection for James White, partly because he is—so far as one can tell—so quiet. He seems to go quietly about his tasks, performing them all with efficiency and dispatch, and never gets so much as a nod or a thank you for doing them." This is very true indeed. James puts more into fandom and gets less egoboo out of it than anyone I know. Each issue of Slant is more his work than anyone else's, and yet he is so quiet and unassuming that even me and Bob Shaw, who like and respect him more than anyone we've met, are inclined to overlook the fact that he is the mainspring of Irish fan publishing, the power behind the zines. Nevertheless, it is quite true to say that without James, Slant would not be what it is today, nor even exist at all. Apart from the linocuts, where without any previous training or experience he has worked up a technique which puts most professionals to shame, every issue represents hours of patient work by him setting type and working the press. We all look up to James here, and not just because he is about 6 1/2 feet tall.
That piece for Henry Oden wasn't quite the first published writing by James. That distinction belongs to a disclaimer "These views on the great Smith are not those of the typesetter, J. White" diffidently but stubbornly inserted after a disrespectful reference to E.E. Smith in Clive Jackson's column in Slant 4. More important was a report James wrote on the London Convention of 1951. It was too long for Slant ... after 24 closely hand-written pages it had reached only 8:30 p.m. on the night before the convention started. They don't write convention reports like that nowadays. However I persuaded him to send an extract from it to Vince Clarke, who duly published it in his SF News under the title "The Unconventional Fan." Bob Shaw and I were determined that this debut shouldn't pass unnoticed, and for weeks Vince was getting letters of comment like these:
Dear Sir,
I have been writing to fanzines for 74 years now, yet I have never read one before. But something drove me to read James White's story in the current SFN. I was profoundly stirred, as if I had swallowed an eggbeater. This story, Sir, is a masterpiece. It will stand the test of time. Indeed I venture to say that when the ephemeral scribbles of lesser authors. ..Heinlein, Van Vogt, even Willis ... are forgotten, this story will live on, bringing inspiration to countless thousands. When I read this story first I was unable to contain myself, and pored over it again and again. But now I am exhausted and can only offer these pithy comments.
Yours thintherely,
Prof. Harold Urine (No. 1 Fan)
Or this, on the back of a picture postcard of Windsor Castle:
Dear Mr. Clarke,
We were amused by the story about the UNCONVENTIONAL Fan by Mr. White. This is one of our favourite Subjects.
X This is Our room.
My grandmother's postcard album wasn't restricted to British scenery:
CAPETOWN. Great. Colossal. Goshwowboyoboy. This guy White is terrific. Why doesn't he try for Slant? Don't let Gold get him. Throw out all those other hacks of yours and let White fill the whole magazine. Give him his head. What are you doing with it anyway?
Yours for more White A White Fan
(A Caucasian Winnower, Mr.)
Dear Vincy-wincy,
I have just read your cute little SFN. I love every line of it. Would you do a little girl like me a b-i-g favour. You would! Oh you dear boy. Just send me the address of James White who wrote that adorable story. I feel we are soul mates. I can just imagine him—dark, strong, and ever so brutal. I must meet him—that super-duper story convinced me. It was great! So vital, don't you think?
Yours sincerely,
Lava Firestone (Miss)
...
allforjesus2001