J.M. Hushour's Reviews > Slan

"He was on the run, and there could be no turning back--for behind him was swift death!"

More like 1.5 stars...
When we're not being arrested at COVID super-spreader sex parties, what do we do? We read. I love reading. I love books, too, because without them reading would feel empty. I enjoy lists of things, especially lists of books that other people decided that they have the power to tell me to read. I've been going through a top 100 sci-fi novel list for a couple of years now and I finally got to this little awful gem of the 1940s: the story of mutant Jommy Cross. (That name! It sounds like a brand of pornographic chewing gum. Say it really fast and you'll see what I mean.)
Anyway, Jommy, as you can see from the cover of the edition I read above, is a kind of Aryan mutant running around wielding a glowing space dildo. In our highly litigious society, this would get you arrested in minutes! (Less, if you're in a Starbucks. Trust me. Damn you, barista!)
Jommy is the titular "slan", which isn't a kind of tire grime, but a psychic mutant with weird tendrils in their hair. Jommy was orphaned when the authoritarian racist state murdered his parents and he spends most of his time wandering around in the company of an alcoholic old woman and building advanced technology on various farms, all the while seeking his own kind and maneuvering through some thickly-plotted miasma of other mutants and the humans who do not love them.
I admit, this stupid novel has that kind of wacky charm that all old science fiction novels do, hence the one star I did give it, but what might have seemed groundbreaking then nowadays just had me cursing Jommy's goddamn name every time I went to pick up the book. It's hard to believe that there were once obsessive fans of this novel ("fans are slans!" was their hideous cry) who actually thought of themselves as the titular morons. I'm sure glad that doesn't happen these days!