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Page 24

24  Turkeys in Printer's Ink
by Boob the Tucker [Bob Tucker]

Being a pair of books that ought never to have seen the light of day, and we might say the same for their authors.
VEILED VICTORY by 0. Chester Brodhay. Published by Dorrance & Co., Philadelphia, 1941.   $2.50; 357 pages.

And here, dear friends, and you other readers, we have 357 pages of drip, sheer, unvarnished drip that trickles from the eaves and forms sloshy puddles at your feet whenever you pause or flounder. ((Sounds fishy to me)).   There is an illustrated dust-jacket to the book that promises much: the artist pictures a rocketship hanging near Saturn, But oh! How the book fails to deliver. (The
storks are now welding at Lockheed)). The planet Saturn has nothing whatsoever to do with the story nor does at any time a character approach it, either with or without a ship.   We can only assume the amusing idea that the artist thought Mars had rings. ((My Mars got a ring)).

For Mars is the planet that figures in the story. On the second paragraph of the seventh page our hero, John Westfall, establishes communication with Mars, aided and abetted by his assistant, Leslie. First there is wireless telegraphy, followed in about ten years with radio-television.   All that happens
on the first ten pages, ((musta been a big book)). The book should have stopped right there. Instead, the author saw fit to drag it out an additional 347 pages, pouring on the blue-purple drippings by the gallon. ((Deep Purple Falls);
       In the next 340 pages  absolutely nothing worthwhile is accomplished. Promptly after visual communication with Mars the hero falls in love with a beautiful Martian girl, Marcia, who is the daughter of the aged scientist on the Martian end of the communication beam.   Sounds slightly familiar doesn't it? You will be further astounded to learn that the Martians look just like we
do, only taller, handsomer, and more peaceful.  ((Heavens, are there flans on Mars?))
    As I said, this love affair drags along for 340 pages, and then all of a sudden both interested parties decide it's high time they join the other on the other planet. ((Other is a nice word, isn't it.)) Unknown to the other ((see
what I mean)) each of them takes off in a newly-constructed anti-gravitv ship,
pass each other (other, other, other, it's driving me mad)) in space, and land on the opposite planet. Here the author steps in and brings the yam to a blundering ((pardon, should be thundering)) finish.   The girl from Mars, in her
anti-gravity ship, crashes in the Pacific and dies. Our manly hero in turn, falls into a pool of quicksand and promptly dies. How quaint. ((See last line, next review))
'Tls a pity this final chapter didn't follow the first ten pages I spoke of above. We would then have been spared the 340 pages of d-d-drip! ((Have you ever read a Tucker yarn? I hate to say it, but even the first ten pages--))

In all fairness to "Undying Monster", which Tucker reviews on the following page, I am forced to inform all and sundry that I enjoyed this book immensely. So did Widner. After all, how could ry? He's one himself.

If you can stand more—next page

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24 Turkeys in Printer's Ink by Boob the Tucker [Bob Tucker] Being a pair of books that ought never to have seen the light of day, and we might say the same for their authors. VEILED VICTORY by 0. Chester Brodhay. Published by Dorrance & Co., Philadelphia, 1941. $2.50; 357 pages. And here, dear friends, and you other readers, we have 357 pages of drip, sheer, unvarnished drip that trickles from the eaves and forms sloshy puddles at your feet whenever you pause or flounder. ((Sounds fishy to me)). There is an illustrated dust-jacket to the book that promises much: the artist pictures a rocketship hanging near Saturn, But oh! How the book fails to deliver. (The storks are now welding at Lockheed)). The planet Saturn has nothing whatsoever to do with the story nor does at any time a character approach it, either with or without a ship. We can only assume the amusing idea that the artist thought Mars had rings. ((My Mars got a ring)). For Mars is the planet that figures in the story. On the second paragraph of the seventh page our hero, John Westfall, establishes communication with Mars, aided and abetted by his assistant, Leslie. First there is wireless telegraphy, followed in about ten years with radio-television. All that happens on the first ten pages, ((musta been a big book)). The book should have stopped right there. Instead, the author saw fit to drag it out an additional 347 pages, pouring on the blue-purple drippings by the gallon. ((Deep Purple Falls); In the next 340 pages absolutely nothing worthwhile is accomplished. Promptly after visual communication with Mars the hero falls in love with a beautiful Martian girl, Marcia, who is the daughter of the aged scientist on the Martian end of the communication beam. Sounds slightly familiar doesn't it? You will be further astounded to learn that the Martians look just like we do, only taller, handsomer, and more peaceful. ((Heavens, are there flans on Mars?)) As I said, this love affair drags along for 340 pages, and then all of a sudden both interested parties decide it's high time they join the other on the other planet. ((Other is a nice word, isn't it.)) Unknown to the other ((see what I mean)) each of them takes off in a newly-constructed anti-gravitv ship, pass each other (other, other, other, it's driving me mad)) in space, and land on the opposite planet. Here the author steps in and brings the yam to a blundering ((pardon, should be thundering)) finish. The girl from Mars, in her anti-gravity ship, crashes in the Pacific and dies. Our manly hero in turn, falls into a pool of quicksand and promptly dies. How quaint. ((See last line, next review)) 'Tls a pity this final chapter didn't follow the first ten pages I spoke of above. We would then have been spared the 340 pages of d-d-drip! ((Have you ever read a Tucker yarn? I hate to say it, but even the first ten pages--)) In all fairness to "Undying Monster", which Tucker reviews on the following page, I am forced to inform all and sundry that I enjoyed this book immensely. So did Widner. After all, how could ry? He's one himself. If you can stand more—next page