The Dreaming Jewels

The Dreaming Jewels (also published elsewhere as The Synthetic Man) was Sturgeon's first novel. Written circa 1950, it is also set in mid-20th-century America, with an emerging substratum of non-human strangeness. "Yet--how many men walked the earth who were not men at all; how many trees, how many rabbits, flowers, amoebae, sea-worms, red-woods, eels and eagles grew and flowered, swam and hunted and stood among their prototypes with none knowing that they were an alien dream, having, apart from the dream, no history?" (181)

The comparisons I found myself making for this story were not to other pieces of science fiction, but rather to the horror genre. Without even engaging any extraterrestrial scenario, Sturgeon manages to evoke a show more cosmic indifference more effectively than H.P. Lovecraft ever did. And, by way of further contrast, he succeeds in making his characters both more detestable and admirable than any Lovecraftian people. Sturgeon had had plenty of experience in his short fiction at drawing vivid personalities, and it shows in this novel.

There is one element of the plot in the closing pages that I was not able to quite reason out: a happy twist for which I can imagine a justification, but which the text doesn't seem to square away as well as a reader might desire. The prose throughout is graceful and efficient, and The Dreaming Jewels is a speedy, pleasurable read. show less

Although it definitely falls into the science fiction category by the very end (perhaps a little clumsily at its first entry early in the book), 'The Dreaming Jewels' (also called 'The Synthetic Man') might just as easily be regarded as a masterpiece of weird fiction for much of its length.

Science fiction has an unfortunate problem in that, whenever it is published (1950 in this case), its content is likely to become fantasy within a relatively short period of time whereas weird fiction tends to be emotionally timeless even when it is set in Gothic castles or crumbling churchyards.

The setting amongst 'carny' folk is classically weird while its science theme of a world eternally present in ours but oblivious to our human concerns, show more producing 'monsters' simply by accident, is on the very edge of being Lovecraftian.

It certainly avoids the credibility issues of most pulp scifi. The science may not be plausible but it is not implausible just because we have progressed to something else but only because it is Fortean (Charles gets name-checked towards the end of the book). We are in the weird.

Because the science is Fortean rather than Darwinian, a 'weird' alternative notion of evolution is suggested. Although God is never mentioned, what we might put down to the callousness of God can here be put down to the callousness and disregard for us of the totally alien.

At any one point, key characters may be human or inhuman but of human origin or the creation of non-humans or self-created (there are even shades of Frankenstein as Mary Shelley originally conceived the monster). The book is an undoubted tour de force but its genius is worn lightly.

It has two characters who represent evil, one the cruel, corrupt, exploitative Judge Bluett (of which no spoilers here) and the other being the 'Maneater' who seeks to do evil out of simple hatred for humanity with twists and turns in his presentation that keep the reader guessing.

To say more of these types of evil might result in accusations of offering spoilers but let us say that Sturgeon is clever at separating the alien from the inhuman and recognising that corruption and evil are not the prerogative of any species any more than is the good and the kind.

This is what sets this book apart - its humanity in exploring what it is to be human and inhuman and postulating a situation where the apparently inhuman can be more true to what we believe it is to be human at its best than can be the human at its worst.

Early in the book, Sturgeon gives us a haunting picture of the mistreated child and of the cruelty of the social as well as of the kindness of the individual. He is of that school that sees goodness lying in what we do as individuals and not inherent in the world or society.

He is also arguing for nurture rather than nature as the driver of the good. If the aliens are intrinsically morally neutral what an alien or human becomes derives from circumstances, kindness and cruelty even if there is also intrinsic warped evil also to be found from nature.

Perhaps Sturgeon's nature is indifferent, cruel and evil or filled with potential for the good and the potential for good unfolds as a process whereas evil is just an event repeated remorselessly - as the Maneater repeats his delivery of cruelties around America.

The central location is a travelling carnival - the tool of Maneater but also the home to the aberrations created by the Fortean aliens or by nature. It enables Maneater to perform his obsessive small evils and manipulations but also is a refuge for the good and weak who society rejects.

Part of his art lies in 'humanising' the carny folk who, of course, would be regarded as more alien and monstrous to readers in mid-twentieth century America than in our more enlightened age (or so we would hope). The carny folk add another layer of complexity to the alien-human dynamic.

There is yet further layer of complexity that can easily be missed - the subtle references to erotic transgression expressed through gender bending shape shifting and even what might be considered 'age play' and even a strong implication of the sado-masochistic.

And yet these peculiar aspects of the story are presented so naturally that they cease to be tainted with the 'monstrous' (as they certainly would be in 1950 and in some respects would be today) and become part of a language of love. There is nothing exploitative here in the use of such ideas.

Simple humanity is present but marginal - working away to survive as best it can in a world with hidden dangers of which it can know little and, generally, kind if ignorant, wanting to do its best and terrified when the world of monsters appears unasked-for.

In the end, it is good 'people' that matter. The callous indifference of the universe really does not matter if the good continue to do good and fight corruption and evil. You may not be able to do much about the universe but you can stop and undo wrongs whatever you are.

It is as if Sturgeon is expressing a love-hate relationship with his own species. His skill at giving us a deeply emotional content to a genre novel (a rare accomplishment) is remarkable - we come to feel for characters independent of their status as human or inhuman.

What comes across most is that Sturgeon cares about people and the good without having any illusions about them. There is a happy ending of sorts but only amidst tragic waste. Evil may not triumph but it is a close run thing. And species remain separate in their destinies. show less

A taut magical realism story with solid SF under-pinnings. Horty is a young orphan who, abused by his step-father, runs away and gets picked up by a strange group of carnies. Impersonating a girl midget, he lives for several years on the road with the carnival. But there is something different about Horty - and about the Maneater, the sinister figure who runs the carnival...

Sturgeon weaves a wonderfully realized tale of humans who are enthralled and endowed with super-human talents by the hidden powers of an ancient species - The Dreaming Jewels.

First published in 1950, this is one of the better stories I have read from that era. For character development alone, it stands head & shoulders above much of the 'Golden Age' material of the show more time. If you happen upon a copy of this out of print gem - grab it before the next person does! show less

The original cover is incredibly pulpy. I love it so much.


The way this book unfolds is so subtly scifi and I love it. There’s no robots, no space travel (except implied), no aliens trying to take over (intentionally). Just aliens that aren’t intednding to impact humanity at all.

Theodore Sturgeon builds a word that has one foot in the mundane and one in the unusual. The introduction of carnies will tend to do that. For some reason I can’t explain, Sturgeon’s world works incredibly effectively even when logical leaps are made that I just can’t make. It all seems totally consistent. When another character says “wait that doesn’t make any sense”, the first says “of course it doesn’t!” and the narrative powers on. This sounds negative, but show more it isn’t! I think this may be due to Sturgeon’s sparse, efficient style and not at all the author trying to skim over something he hasn’t fully thought out. You get the feeling that Sturgeon has sat on this one for quite a while, and thought about this from every angle.

Just because it’s sparse doesn’t mean it isn’t memorable. Horty, the midgets of the carnival, and the Snidely Whiplash-esque Maneater (née Monetre) all seem fully-realized, which is kind of remarkable of a feat in a story as short as this. As the book progresses, Horty learns what it is to be human on the inside and the outside, and sometimes being biologically human doesn’t mean your mind is. Interestingly, my next Sturgeon book to read is More Than Human. With where this book goes, and knowing what I know about Sturgeon’s Vulcan work on Star Trek, I’m starting to think that might be a theme of his career.

If I was underlining in this book (I can’t, it’s Lauren’s), I would have underlined…

- I used to think everybody had something like that. Something they'd be sick if they lost it, like. I never thought to ask anyone about it, even.

- There was something in this man, with his frightening changes of voice and his treacherous humor, his kindness and his cruel aura, which the boy found deeply appealing.

- But a man with [an attitude of disgust and hatred] is like a child with a whip–or a nation with battleships. For a while it is sufficient to stand in the sun, with one's power in sight for all to see. Soon, however, the whip must whistle and crack, and rifles must thunder, the man must take more than a stand; he must take action.

- You don't know what you think until you tell someone else about it.

- Human affairs refuse to be simple... human goals refuse to be clear.

- There are two ways of hurting people–outside, where it shows, and inside, in the mind, where it scars and festers.

- There are things a man can do, and things he can't. When he does something, what's the point of wondering whether or not he's actually done it? Don't you think he knows? show less

Piccolo capolavoro della fantascienza, quella bella della golden age degli anni 50, ma potrebbe anche essere catalogato nel genere fantastico, visto che evita sapientemente gli stereotipi classici degli alieni umanoidi verdi con gli occhi grandi su una faccia triangolare così come quelli delle astronavi e dei pianeti sconosciuti.
Scrittura scorrevole e piacevole, si divora in pochissimo tempo; la storia si svolge tutta sulla terra e parla essenzialmente di "umanità", toccando con delicatezza e sensibilità i temi dell'accettazione del diverso e dei freaks e rendendo di fatto questo libro un piccolo gioiello.

Theodore Sturgeon sold his first short story in 1938, but The Dreaming Jewels (retitled The Synthetic Man in a 1957 reprint) did not appear until 1950. It was an impressive launch for Sturgeon’s career as a novelist. In only 160 pages, it builds a nuanced world with a tense narrative and edgy characters. Horty, an abused 8-year-old orphan, runs away from his adoptive family with only Junky, a battered, beloved jack-in-the-box with jewels for eyes. He is taken in by some warmhearted carnies who disguise him as a girl and put him in their show as a midget singer and protect him from the carnival’s tyrannical owner. No one in the cast, including Junky, is quite what they seem. A key to what Sturgeon is up to may be in the assertion show more that one of the little people at the carnival “worshipped Charles Fort, who refused to believe that any answer was the only answer.” These carnies are all the sort of paranormal anomalies that would have made fine entries in Fort’s Book of the Damned. The Dreaming Jewels deserved its 2001 Retro Hugo nomination. 4 stars. show less

"They caught the kid doing something disgusting out under the bleachers at the high school stadium and he was sent home from the grammar school across the street. He was eight years old then. He’d been doing it for years."

Come with me back to 1971. I know it's a scarily long time ago, and many of you weren't even born, but picture a wee Scots lad, 13 years old, and a science fiction geek in love with Asimov, Clarke, Wells and Wyndham. That's me that is. I'd also read a few of Dennis Wheatley's books by then, and I'd been thrilled by the horror / satanic aspects of the old bigot's work, but his upper-crust characters were so far removed from my Scottish council estate life that I couldn't identify with them at all.

One day that summer show more I was in the local library looking for something new as I'd burned my way through my aforementioned favorite authors. A name caught my eye - Sturgeon, which I knew was a kind of fish, and thought was a strange name for a person. But it said it was science fiction on the front, so I took it home.

I quickly found out it wasn't really science fiction at all - but I was hooked after the very first paragraph anyway, so that didn't matter any more. The Dreaming Jewels isn't really science fiction. But it's not really fantasy either, or horror. It's what gets called Dark Fantasy these days. I imagine back when it was first published in 1950 they had a bit of trouble classifying it, containing as it does child abuse, sex changes, murder, infidelity and some close to the bone innuendo. It also has magic, carnivals, puppets, scenery chewing bad guys, extraterrestrial lifeforms, acts of selfless heroism, and a lovely twist ending that fits just right.

And there is definite horror along the way, including the aforementioned child abuse, and one of the best descriptions of what it means to be a frightened child I've ever come across. It's all quite Bradburyesque in some ways, but with a harder edge - less misty sentimentality for a bygone era, more down and dirty.

As for the plot - on simple reading, it too is Bradburyesque. An 8-year-old boy named Horton "Horty" Bluett, runs away from his abusive family and takes refuge among the "strange people" in a traveling circus. Carrying only a smashed jack-in-the-box named Junky, Horty is hidden away, and disguised as a girl. The owner of the carnival, Pierre Monetre has discovered intelligent extraterrestrial life in the form of crystal-like jewels and is attempting to use them to get magical powers. As it turns out, Horty is the key to Monetre's plans, and will be the only one powerful enough to stop him.

Now, that reads very pulpy, and in some respects it is, but Sturgeon knew how to put flesh on simple bones. You believe in all the characters in this book, some grotesque, some plain evil, others full of love and hate and despair all at the same time.

That first read opened my eyes to what was possible in genre fiction outside the names I mentioned earlier. It led me almost directly to Bradbury, and to Lovecraft a few months later. A couple of years after that some chap named King came along and changed everything again, but I've never forgotten the impact The Dreaming Jewels had on me.

It stands up well to rereading too. I read it again today before writing this and was drawn in all over again. It's a lovely, lovely book, and I recommend it to all horror fans.

This review first appeared in THE BOOK THAT MADE ME section of the GINGER NUTS OF HORROR site in JAn 2014 ( http://gingernutsofhorror.com/books-that-matter/the-book-that-made-me-willie-mei... ) show less