The Life of Izaak Yu. Azimov, Soviet Science Fiction Writer

Let us remember among SF’s martyrs the famed Soviet SF writer Izaak Yu. Azimov.

Born in Petrovichi, Russia (now in Belarus) in 1920, Azimov attributed his introduction to the world of science and fiction to the fortutious decision of his father to relocate to Moscow, instead of emigrating, in mid-1920. “Had we emigrated to the capitalist countries,” Azimov said in an interview published in the late forties, “I would have been denied a higher education, condemned to unrewarding physical toil, and condignly punished had I happened to write. As is well known, expression of any opinion contrary to the views of the bourgeois oligarchy is potentially punishable by death. In the Soviet Union, I was encouraged to attend institutes of higher education and no obstacle was placed to my advancement, or to my writings.”

The key element in his decision to write what he called “fiction of scientific speculation”, or what in Western countries is called science fiction, seems to have been an encounter with students of rocketry, during Azimov’s studies in chemistry at Moscow University, at which he was a Stalin Student. Attracted by their interest and enthusiasm, Azimov learned that Russian rocketry theorist Konstantin E. Tsiolkovsky had begun his interest in space flight through reading the works of Jules Verne. He speedily devoured all the Verne available, going on to read the works of H. G. Wells, even learning English to be able to read more.

It was at that time that he learned of the flourishing market in American pulp literature of what was then more commonly referred to as “scientifiction”. This was however unavailable to him at the time due to currency restrictions. The fact that such stories were still being written seems to have encouraged him to do so himself.

Even then, a number of Soviet popular-science magazines occasionally published a work of “scientific fiction”, and it was in such publications that Azimov’s work first appeared. His first published story “The Weapon Too Dreadful to Use” (1939) described how the World Soviet, faced with an onslaught from the Empire of the Asteroids, a settlement of reactionaries and white guards, employed a device developed in the Stalin Laboratories in Moscow to evaporate the Asteroid Emperor, after which the surviving Asteroides petitioned to be admitted as the Asteroid SSR.

His principal achievement came however in 1940, when a chance reading of Karel Capek’s “Rossum’s Universal Robots” persuaded him that “under the shining scientific light of Marxism-Leninism-Stalinism there must be rules for such creations”. This insight led him to begin writing the famous Robot Series, about the adventures of roboticist Svetlana Engels, robot investigators Dymchenko and Popov, and their explorations of the Three Marxist-Leninist-Stalinist Laws of Robotics. During the war he wrote over a dozen of these works, all of which were published in various Soviet popular-science magazines.

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In 1945 this author’s works swam into the gaze of Western fandom, due to the translation of his story “Little Lost Robot” (1942), about a Red October Seven model robot lost on the plains of Mercury, but recovering its sense of duty thanks to an application of the correct political line, from a copy of the magazine given to Big Name Fan Forrest J Ackerman, who was then stationed in Germany. Ackerman has recounted how an officer said, “This is your kind of Buck Rogers stuff,” and handed him a copy of a German edition of a Russian popular-science magazine. “It was like finding a new area of Metropolis,” Ackerman said.

After reading the story, he began inquiries among Soviet soldiers for more information about this author, and simultaneously wrote a cascade of letters to various fanzines and prozines describing this “white-hot Soviet scientifiction writer”. His search eventually uncovered a Russian version of Azimov’s “Liar!” (1943), in which an Honored Chekist applies the principles of the dialectic to determine which of a group of robots has been secretly modified by capitalist saboteurs and wreckers. He wrote to the address given in the magazine and within months received an astonished response from Azimov.

During this period several American SF editors began to request translation rights for Azimov’s stories, some of which eventually appeared in Astounding. The translations seem to have been heavily rewritten by Campbell to elide or omit the heavy-handed Stalinist doctrine. Azimov himself participated in correspondence debates with various American and British fans. His observation that “Comrade John B. Michel is the closest in adhering to the correct political line,” when accidentally revealed to the FBI is said to have provoked an investigation that contributed to Michel’s suicide in 1958.

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This wave of interest led to the famous APF (Azimov Pro Fund) appeal of 1947-9, when various fan editors and eventually pro writers and editors (though, curiously, not John W. Campbell) led a drive to raise money to pay for a visit by Azimov to the U.S. It took a further year for Azimov to be in a position to accept, but in 1950 he was Visiting Guest of Honor of the Norwescon, the eighth World Science Fiction Convention, in Portland, Oregon.

Among the recent releases from the former Soviet archives are Azimov’s diaries for the period. They reveal his disappointment at the composition of the attendees. The entries include such comments as “This group should have been the vanguard element of scientific, technical, and intellectual activists in the bourgeois countries. Instead they are overexcited teenage boys and adults acting like teenagers. They have no conception of literature or science.”

Fan reports at the time expressed disappointment that Azimov’s participation was limited to only one speech, which furthermore was given in Russian and translated, turning out to be a string of official Soviet cliches. It was not until the release of the Azimov Diaries that it was confirmed what had been suspected, namely that the speech had been delivered by the “translator” and bore little resemblance to what Azimov had actually said. Attempts by editors John W. Campbell, Horace Gold, and Guest of Honor Anthony Boucher to obtain new Azimov stories for publication were rebuffed, although in 1951 he submitted a story about a Galactic Soviet Union, “The Big and the Little”, to Boucher, who rejected it. (The story was eventually published in The Worlds of I. Yu. Azimov (2002).)

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His career after the APF trip began to decline. His last story, “The Martian Way”, was partially destroyed; the surviving fragment, published in The Worlds of I. Yu. Azimov, recounts how a counterrevolutionary intriguer in the higher ranks of the World Soviet was attempting to gain power in order to restore captialism by launching a Trotskyist whispering campaign against the Soviet Space Service for its depletion of seawater through using too much of it in the engines of their Stalin Reaction Drive powered spaceships.

In 1952, Azimov was among the defendants in the so-called “Crimea Plot” trial. This was an attempt by the Soviet leadership to discredit and decapitate the Jewish community in the Soviet Union; the defendants were accused of conspiring to have the Crimea established as a Soviet Jewish homeland, after which they would secede from the Soviet Union and invite in the capitalists. Azimov confessed, or “confessed” to having delivered plans for the intervention to the other plotters and having coordinated the intervention with “American Naval Officers Robert Heinlein and Sprague de Camp, and Air Force Officers Harry Stubbs and David Kyle.” Like most of the other defendants, he was convicted and executed. It is believed that the publicity attendant upon this event drew attention to certain science fictional works that denigrated Communism, putting Cyril Kornbluth’s Not This August and Robert A. Heinlein’s The Puppet Masters on the N.Y. Times best seller list. In his autobiography Space and Time (1992) de Camp described with some annoyance how he was questioned by three obtuse and otiose FBI agents. By way of contrast, in the letters published in Grumbles from the Grave (1992), Heinlein revealed that it was the success of The Puppet Masters that led him to write Red Dawn (1958), his controversial story of American engineer Hugh Farnham (from various references in the text apparently a thinly-disguised version of Heinlein himself) caught in a Soviet invasion of America.

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Azimov’s work became unavailable, placed among the Lost Classics of SF in the sixties, due to the Soviet government refusing to allow its reprinting. A technically illegal and poorly-assembled volume with a cover by artist Hannes Bok, Trends (the title story was published in 1947 in the Soviet Union and in 1950 in Galaxy; it deals with the efforts of the Soviet Space Force to send the first man to the moon in spite of the presence of a “capitalist” space station, called the “Strategic Defense Installation” by its crew and the “Death Star” by the Soviet rocket men), was published by Shasta Press in 1953, and has become a prized collector’s item due to the pulping of the unsold books by Shasta’s creditors.

It was not until the collapse of the Soviet Union that Azimov’s work became freely available again. The biography I. Yu. Azimov by Israeli author Marcia bar-Yehudah (1995) stirred a renewed awareness of his history and writings throughout the fan community. An attempt sponsored by a collective of writers to publish his works foundered when the prospective editor was kicked out over a doctrinal dispute. An American publisher with a program of repeating classic SF that had fallen out of print published Mind and Iron: The Robot Stories of I. Yu. Azimov in 1999. The book was a disappointment. The editor had taken the liberty of heavily editing the stories, deleting over 1500 words from a 7000 word story and “upgrading” the other technology in the stories. The heavily-publicized book was a flop.

In spite of this disappointment, fond Azimov fans persevered, and in 2002 a publish-on-demand firm issued The Worlds of I. Yu. Azimov, a complete collection of his stories, with an introduction by Ackerman describing his discovery of the author, attempts to publicize him, and subsequent grieving over his demise. Sales were not high, but most Azimov specialists blame the inadequate distribution by the publisher.
 
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