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1. Isaac Asimov, All the Troubles of the World, p. 1-16.
   
   Ben Manners' father has been arrested—Multivac has been programmed to analyze every individual human’s psyche and prevent them from committing crimes before they actually do so; Ben’s father is accused of being on the verge of committing some horrible crime, but nobody says what it is. As Ben sets out to clear his father’s name, it turns out that Multivac is manipulating him, since it is contemplating the commission of a horrible crime itself. One of the numerous strong stories which abound in Nine Tomorrows, this one has also been extracted into a book in its own right (called, naturally enough, All the Troubles of the World). As with a number of Asimov stories, the individual characters are not terribly memorable here, but the world they inhabit and its implications are—particularly, here, the vivid image of a computer saddled with the dark side of every human being to mull over and analyze. Super Science Fiction Apr ’58
2. Isaac Asimov, A Loint of Paw, p. 17-18.
   
   Montie Stein saves his neck by judicious use of a stolen time machine. OK, OK. So it’s a Ferdinand Feghoot—a short-short story with a bad pun at the end. It’s a good one, Asimov’s second best after "Dreamworld". I love it. F&SF Aug ’57
3. Isaac Asimov, The Dead Past, p. 19-64.
   
   Andrew Potterly is desperate to prove via "time-viewing" that the object of his research, the ancient Carthaginians, did not practice human sacrifice. When he cannot get government permission, he pressures a young physicist, Jonas Foster, into constructing a time-viewing device illegally—and naturally enough get caught. More or less. If we eliminate Asimov’s Foundation stories from consideration, I'd rank this as his third best piece of short fiction, right after "The Last Question" and "The Ugly Little Boy"—which means, yes, I would rank it ahead of "The Bicentennial Man" or "Nightfall". And there are only two Foundation stories which I think are better, "The Mule" and "And Now You Don’t", so it still is way up there. There is very little to criticize about this story. The characters are sharply drawn, and the conflict is vivid—until the last couple of pages when you find out that the real conflict of the story is other than what one would imagine. Meanwhile, Asimov is bringing in threads from all over the place—careless cigarettes, the pain of a lost child, frustration at "the system", science popularization, Carthage—and pulling them together into a marvelous tapestry of incredible richness. It is hard to praise this story too highly. Astounding Apr ’56
4. Isaac Asimov, Death of a Foy, p. 65-66.
   
   An extraterrestrial has an unusual request as it faces death on Earth. This is not my favorite of Asimov’s Feghoots—short-short stories with a bad pun at the end—because he really as to press hard to get the pun at the end—but it’s a good one, and the pun itself is delightful and utterly unexpected. F&SF Oct ’80
5. Isaac Asimov, Dreaming Is a Private Thing, p. 67-82.
   
   Jesse Weill runs a company that manufactures "dreamies"—prerecorded dream sequences for artistic consumption. We follow him through the course of the day as he deals with various problems: acquiring new talent, fending off the government which wants to crack down on pornography, and keeping his best talent in line. This is a gentle story. Robert A. Heinlein accused Asimov making money off of his own neuroses in it, however, since it ends with the pathetic description of Sherman Hillary, perhaps the most talented author of dreamies in the world, who cannot live a normal life because he’s always off in a corner, making up a new dreamie no matter where he is or what he should be doing. Asimov admitted he was guilty, but it doesn’t matter. Hillary is definitely a sharp character and well-portrayed. One ends up with an awful lot more sympathy not so much for Asimov himself, but for his poor first wife who had to put up with his eccentricities without—unlike Janet, Asimov’s second wife—really enjoying the result. Hillary and Weill himself are sharply drawn, as I say, and interesting. Most of the other characters are background and not worth remembering. The concept of a dreamie— sort of a VR experience, really—is interesting, and Asimov cannot help but make the comparison to motion pictures which it killed off. Strangely, he downplays the idea of a mass-media here, and might be accused of a certain amount of elitism in that. Certainly one cannot blame him for failing to appreciate just how powerful a phenomenon TV would become. F&SF Dec ’55
6. Isaac Asimov, Dreamworld, p. 83-84.
   
   A young boy with an overactive imagination finds himself facing the worst of all possible science fiction fates. Of all of Asimov’s short-shorts ending in bad puns, this is the best. F&SF Nov ’55
7. Isaac Asimov, Eyes Do More Than See, p. 85-88.
   
   Energy beings confront the memories of their physical past. I do not like this story. Asimov describes in Nightfall and Other Stories as having been commissioned by Playboy (shades of "What is This Thing Called Love?"!) and violently rejected by them. Well, I'm sorry, but I agree with them. The story is overblown and mawkish. Asimov tries for a poetic effect here and very nearly manages it—but a miss is as good as a mile and the result is something which just doesn’t work. F&SF Apr ’65
8. Isaac Asimov, The Feeling of Power, p. 89-98.
   
   Technician Myron Aub discovers how to do mathematics without a computer. I love this story. It’s one of Asimov’s more prescient tales, talking as it does of an age when everybody has a small computer to do arithmetic for them so why bother knowing how to do it one’s self. When I was younger, I was one of those who agreed with one critic that it didn’t seem likely that people would ever forget how to do arithmetic, but seeing my daughter struggle with her times tables when it really isn’t all that necessary any more, one is tempted to follow the advice of one of Asimov’s essays and "Forget It!" Some parts of the story are ironically unbelievable (spaceships steered by people are cheaper and therefore more expendable than spaceships steered by computer), but Asimov is clearly being sarcastic here in a topsy-turvy fashion. A marvelous, unforgettable story. If Feb ’58
9. Isaac Asimov, Flies, p. 99-105.
   
   A researcher trying to determine the psychology of lower animals discovers that a friend is continually pestered by flies because they worship him as their lord. This story doesn’t work for me. As with "The Dying Night", we see old school chums coming together for a reunion, but here it is questions which have not been openly answered which are the source of conflict. The characters are weak: Kendell Casey, the man worshipped by the flies, is well-drawn as a bitter chemist trying desperately to free himself from his curse, but the others, John Polen (the psychologist) and the Reverend Winthrop are weak. Moreover, one cannot imagine how the three came together in the first place. One reason why the story doesn’t work is that we don’t get much of a sense of the flies perspective. Why are they worshiping Casey? Why is he cursed with them? The whole point of the story is to build to the horrifying climax to find out that Casey is "the lord of the flies", but that revelation seems somehow silly in the end, and the structure which builds to that climax otherwise unsatisfactory. F&SF Jun ’53
10. Isaac Asimov, Found!, p. 106-120.
    
    Two astronauts on a repair mission to a navigation satellite discover that it’s been infested by a strange, interstellar virus. This story has a very clever idea at its center, and if there is any weakness to it it’s that one has to stretch one’s credibility rather far to accept the premise—but what the heck, it’s clever anyway. Asimov also goes to great pains to disguise the fact that his protagonist is a woman as an illustration that when the protagonist’s gender doesn’t matter, one can work as well one way as the other. I still don’t count this as a highly memorable story, however, because it’s core is the idea only and not the people surrounding the idea— but it’s good and definitely worth reading. Omni Oct ’78
11. Isaac Asimov, The Foundation of Science Fiction Success, p. 121-122.
    
    In which Asimov lays out the easy way to become a science fiction legend. This is one of two delightful bits of comic verse ("The Author’s Ordeal" is the other)—with rhythm and rhyme schemes blatantly stolen from some guy named Gilbert—found in Earth is Room Enough. It’s very clever, a lot of fun, and easy to sing; it’s worth buying Earth is Room Enough or The Complete Stories, vol. 1 just for this piece. In particular, Asimov is making fun of himself and his own Foundation stories (get it?), and admits to using "a tiny bit of cribbin' from the works of Edward Gibbon and that Greek Thucydides"— which, if nothing else, helps burn into one’s mind how to say "Thucydides". Anyway, it’s a terrific little gem, much appreciated. F&SF Oct ’54
12. Isaac Asimov, Franchise, p. 123-138.
    
    Normal Muller gets to vote. Even if Asimov didn’t explain himself what he was doing in this story, its raison d'etre is obvious enough—computers were first being used in a big way in the 1950’s to predict the results of elections from only a small number of votes. Asimov merely extrapolated where it all might lead. This story is an interesting perspective on elections and what we want from them, what we mean by them, and how we got about them. It’s also an example of Asimov’s paternalistic attitude towards robots and computers—properly programmed, they can be far more benign about our futures than we can ourselves, something we also see in I, Robot and particularly "The Evitable Conflict". It’s an interesting story for that, as a window into Asimov’s ideas. The characters are stronger than usual for an Asimov story, but still not among his most memorable. Their situation is memorable, however, and how they react to it, also typical for an Asimov tale. If Aug ’55
13. Isaac Asimov, The Fun They Had, p. 139-142.
    
    Margie Jones glumly compares the dull computerized education she gets with the wonderful social world of schools described in an old book (on paper!) her friend Tommy discovers. As with "Nightfall", Asimov was rather mystified by the popularity of this story, for which he received more requests for anthologization than any other. In part, of course, that’s because it lends itself so well to being put in grade school literature texts, but it is a nice story. It’s prediction of the future of computerized education is rather off—for some reason, Asimov has his heroine spend time learning how to manually punch what appear to be Hollerith codes rather than typing directly into her computer—but his main concepts are right on. For that matter, he understands exactly the fundamental point of the American education system, which is socialization more than learning—but that’s another discussion. This is definitely a tale appropriate for younger readers, and not entirely inappropriate for older ones, too. The Boys and Girls Page Dec 1 ’51; F&SF Feb ’54
14. Isaac Asimov, How It Happened, p. 143-144.
    
    An important literary figure gets some much-needed advice. This short-short is funny and pleasant—not fantastic, perhaps, but still very, very nice. Asimov’s SF Adventure Magazine Spr ’79
15. Isaac Asimov, I Just Make Them Up, See!, p. 145-147.
    
    This is one of two pieces of comic verse included in Nine Tomorrows ("Rejection Slips") is the other. Now, I'm not a big fan of Asimov’s limericks, but the four bits of verse in Nine Tomorrows and Earth is Room Enough I adore. Here Asimov vents his frustration with a problem that pestered him all his life—where did he get his ideas from? (Even his first wife wasn’t immune to asking, hence the story "What If?".) The poem is in the form of a monologue from a fan who asks the question and then raises possible answers—drugs, alcohol, what? In the end, Asimov leaves unable to respond. It’s a funny poem, very good indeed. F&SF Feb ’58
16. Isaac Asimov, I’m in Marsport Without Hilda, p. 148-161.
    
    A Class A Galactic Service agent named Max something-or-other is on Mars on a layover—and his faithful wife is not with him. Anxious though he is to while away the evening with an old acquaintance of his, he finds himself stuck in a room with three major industrialists—two are drugged, and one is faking it. His future depends on his figuring out which is the fake. This is a hilarious story, absolutely delightful. Asimov has a lot of fun here, with Max, with his "friend" Flora, and with the drug-induced mental meanderings of the industrialists. Max’s increasing frustration over the course of the story is vividly portrayed. Not really a dirty story, it definitely has an erotic tinge (Max figures out which man isn’t drugged by describing Flora to them so vividly that he gets an erection)—Asimov was pretty tame about his description in the original story but was forced to edit it out of the version which appeared in Nine Tomorrows away. Did Asimov himself not explain why, future scholars would be able to write doctoral dissertations on the text of "I'm in Marsport Without Hilda". Alas. (The change is so trivial, too. Interested readers are referred to Nine Tomorrows and The Complete Stories, volume one, which contain the bowdlerized version, and Asimov’s Mysteries which contains the original version and try to figure out for themselves why "ribald stories" had to be changed to "about a girl" to avoid being too smutty. Interested readers are referred to the books in question anyway.) Venture Nov ’57
17. Isaac Asimov, The Immortal Bard, p. 162-164.
    
    Shakespeare is brought to the present and takes a course in Shakespeare. This is fluff, short, funny enough in its own way, and done with quickly— rather the literary equivalent of a candy bar. The punch line is perhaps kind of silly (but reasonable, considering the fact that Asimov himself was once asked, "Just because you wrote a story, why does that make you think you know anything about it?"), but that’s neither here nor there since the story has no higher ambitions than what it achieves: nice, but not outstanding. Universe May ’54
18. Isaac Asimov, It’s Such a Beautiful Day, p. 165-187.
    
    Twelve-year-old Richard Hanshaw is forced one day to walk to school when the teleportation device in his home, the Door, breaks down. He enjoys it so much he starts doing it every day, driving his teacher and mother to distraction. Eventually, his mother calls in a psychiatrist who goes on a walk with Richard to find out why the boy likes walking to school so much, and the answer ends up being a surprising one. This happens to be one of my favorite stories by Asimov. There are a number of reasons for this, but chief among them, I think, deals with one of the main differences between Asimov and me: he was claustrophilic, and I am agoraphilic. He worked best shut up in a window-less room, where he could limit his horizons to himself and his typewriter. I, on the other hand, like nothing more than to go outside by myself and go for a walk. The result is that I can really relate to young Richard Hanshaw, and have been doing so from the time when I was his age myself. Attractive though I find the idea of teleportation, I would agree with him that a long, peaceful walk cross-country walk in the open air beats it hands down. In any event, this is a delightful little story and an interesting look at a teleport-driven future. Well, well worth while. Star Science Fiction Stories #3, ed. Frederik Pohl, Ballantine, 1954
19. Isaac Asimov, Jokester, p. 188-201.
    
    Multivac explains why jokes are funny. This story might almost be taken as a satire of the religion of science, with scientists as its priesthoods (a concept Asimov used to different effect in "Bridle and Saddle"). Only the best minds can work with Multivac, and the best of the best are the Grand Masters, whose actions cannot be questioned. Beyond that, and beyond the characterization of Noel Meyerhof, the Grand Master who asks Multivac why jokes exist, the story still has some interest. The answer to Meyerhof’s question is that humans are being experimented with (shades of "Breeds There a Man?"), and that humor is a technique to test our psyches. The ending builds on this well enough—to a point, beyond which it becomes melodramatic and exaggerated. It is for this reason, the lack of proper punch at the ending, that the story does not end up as completely satisfying, just largely so. Infinity Science Fiction Dec ’56
20. Isaac Asimov, The Last Answer, p. 202-208.
    
    The soul of a scientist is preserved by an immortal, omnipotent being in the hope that he can bring its painful existence to an end. This is perhaps Asimov’s strongest statement in his fiction denouncing the very idea of immortality, but he does a better job in his nonfiction. The dialog between Murray Templeton and "God" is really not terribly interesting. Analog Jan ’80
21. Isaac Asimov, The Last Question, p. 209-221.
    
    The last computer ever built finds an answer to the last question ever asked. This is Asimov’s best piece of short fiction, hands down. He thought so, and a lot of people agree, myself included. The story moves through a series of visions of humanity’s future, reasonable and ever expanding until the end, which comes with a literal wallop both terse and mind-blowing. This is a story with deep and important implications, I think, and one of the great classics of science fiction. Science Fiction Quarterly Nov ’56
22. Isaac Asimov, My Son, the Physicist!, p. 222-225.
    
    An interfering Jewish mom helps her son solve an interplanetary crisis. This is a silly, silly story. It may be useful for a bit of a laugh—or, more, a slight chuckle—but that’s about it. The one character who is even faintly memorable here is such a stereotype that Asimov didn’t have to even blink to conjure her up. Rather a disappointment, despite the fact that the actual crisis and its solution are, in fact, faintly interesting. Scientific American Feb ’62
23. Isaac Asimov, Obituary, p. 226-242.
    
    Lancelot Stebbins, as he grows older, becomes increasingly irate at the world that refuses to recognize his greatness as a scientist. When the discovery of a form of time travel promises him immortality, it’s a race to create a spectacular demonstration which cannot be forgotten before his wife manages to bungle everything and leave him in obscurity. In virtually every respect, this is a superior story. The time-travel gimmick is unusual and therefore interesting, the characters—basically Stebbins and his mousy wife—are both good. The plot is plausible, and the ending unexpected by satisfying. And yet somehow the story doesn’t appeal to me particularly, I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because the focus of the whole story is just how unpleasant Stebbins is, and I don’t like having unpleasant people thrust into my face so insistently. I'm not sure. Still, in terms of technical quality it’s a good story and definitely one worth reading. F&SF Aug ’59
24. Isaac Asimov, Spell My Name with an S [“S as in Zebatinsky”], p. 243-257.
    
    In a desperate move to make something of his life, an obscure physicist named Marshall Zebatinsky follows a hare-brained suggestion of his wife’s and consults a peculiar numerologist. The numerologist suggests he change his last name to "Sebatinsky"—and the change succeeds in ways Zebatinsky/Sebatinsky could never have dreamed. This delightful little story is the result of Asimov spending most of his life having to correct the inevitable misspellings of his surname. As is common, the twist at the end is entirely unexpected, as it’s revealed that Zebatinsky has been the pawn of a bet of universal proportions. Meanwhile, the "butterfly effect" of the one name change is carefully and plausibly plotted out to its own surprising climax. Star Science Fiction Magazine Jan ’58
25. Isaac Asimov, Strikebreaker [“Male Strikebreaker”], p. 258-271.
    
    Steven Lamorak, a sociologist from Earth, is visiting the unique asteroid-world of Elsevere. While there, the man in charge of processing human waste—the very bottom of the totem pole in the rigidly caste-driven society of the worldlet—goes on strike and Lamorak intervenes, to his own grief. Like Asimov, I consider this to be a cleverer story than other people appear to have, although I admit this is largely because it’s grown on me and I enjoy it now rather more than I did when first I read it. I think the situation is a little obvious, but it’s handled well. Ragusnik, the waste-processor, is actually on stage very briefly, but it’s a marvelous little scene with a kick to it. And one can sympathize well with Lamorak and the dilemma he finds himself in. (One wonders how somebody saddled with Star Trek’s "Prime Directive" would have managed!) Science Fiction Stories Jan ’57
26. Isaac Asimov, Sure Thing, p. 272-273.
    
    A race between two non-Earthly creatures has an unexpected winner. OK, so it’s a Feghoot—a short-short ending with a bad pun. This one makes me laugh, and I enjoy it. It’s well set up and believable (more-or-less) up until the very last line, which makes it a winner for me. IASFM Sum ’77
27. Isaac Asimov, The Ugly Little Boy [“Lastborn”], p. 274-312.
    
    Nurse Edith Fellowes cares for a very ugly little boy. This is Asimov’s third favorite of his own stories, after "The Last Question" and "The Bicentennial Man". I would probably not rank it quite so high, but it is definitely among his best half-dozen, an unforgettable tear-jerker with a beautiful ending that doesn’t just tug at the heart-strings, it all but rips them out. It’s one of Asimov’s stories turned into a novel by Robert Silverberg (see The Ugly Little Boy), but the novel isn’t nearly as good as the story. Galaxy Sep ’58
28. Isaac Asimov, Unto the Fourth Generation, p. 313-320.
    
    A Jewish man finds himself following a bewildering trail of surnames, variants on Levkovich, to a meeting with his great-great-grandfather and destiny. Yes, it’s significant that the hero, Sam Marten, is a Jew here—not very significant, but significant. This is that rarest of rare birds, a religious story from Isaac Asimov, one with genuine religious feeling and not simply using a religious background to tell a story (as in "The Last Trump"). Of course, the religious sentiment here is what one might expect to find in a man of Asimov’s background predilections—there’s no devotion to God, but an overwhelming sense of continuity with the past and with one’s heritage. I'm tempted to rate the story highly because it is a rare glimpse into a neglected corner of Asimov’s life, but the fact is that as a story it doesn’t work very well. I'm not entirely sure why, but the situation seems truly bizarre and its ultimate resolution forced and unsatisfactory. The result is something which is vaguely interesting because of its topic, but which is not well-handled and not really enjoyable or interesting to read. F&SF Apr ’59