He made it to 1882 – first tentatively and carefully, then boldly and recklessly. And finally, once he had a difficult choice to make – to let the project turn into a weapon in the government’s hands, more powerful and scary than the atomic bomb, or to change the future in a less drastic way – he came to 1882 to stay. For he had met his true love in 1882… Kate, his girlfriend in the 20th century got what she wanted – the solution to the family riddle. Julia, the one who belonged in 1882 and couldn’t adapt herself to the New York of 1970 or thereabouts, got Si.

Once I started reading the book I couldn’t stop. Few books affect me this way, but this one did. It reads very easily – there is no character torture as such (which I hate), but there is excitement, when, for example, Si and Julia escape death in a burning building or when they run for their life from a corrupt police Inspector. And the depth of the decision Si had to make in the last chapter is mind-boggling. I can imagine how hard it was for him to do what he did – but I know there was no other way, and I admire Si for his decisiveness.

I disagree with the author on a few important points. It so happens that, as a teenager, I used to think a lot about how the tiniest and most insignificant of events can affect other and more significant happenings, and grow, like a snowball rolling down from a mountain. I just can’t bring myself to believe that Si would come back from the past over and over again and find (as proved beyond doubt during the so-called “debriefings”) the world he remembered completely unchanged. The world, in which – as he had the chance to see for himself – a two-line letter mailed by a man caused a destruction by fire of a huge building just a few days later. Of course, should time travels be real, Si would have returned to a completely new world each time. More likely, he himself would have ceased to exist after his first tentative and short walk in the park of 1882. The idea of being able to jump from one century to another and back by means of a little self-hypnosis seems a bit too far-fetched too. But such is the law of literature: we have to allow the writers to re-invent the world if it helps them write better prose. And Jack Finney, back in 1970, wrote a masterpiece.

Glad to see that instead of shooting words of arrogant ignorance at my country, as so many western writers do, Jack Finney reserves all the criticism for his own country and government. That’s brave and not often met. But that is not why I’m going to re-read the book at least once before returning it to the library – it’s just a very good book, that’s all. The library keeps revealing its little gems to me – just not all of them at once.

Biron is a youth of noble origins, a heir to the throne of no less than a planet. Unfortunately, his father is a known leader of a rebellion just convicted and executed by cruel Tyrannians, who control every planet in this sector of the Galaxy. Biron can forget about the throne; his main task is to save his life. To achieve this he travels through light years, and his excellent ability to reason and analyze saves him more than once from Tyrannian pursuit and murderous treachery of supposed friends. He survives when everything seems hopeless, gains support of an enemy – against all odds – and even marries the girl he loves.

“The Stars, Like Dust” stands out among Asimov’s books I’ve read. Even the language is different: the book about our very distant future sounds more like a legend of the past. There’s less schience fiction as such in it than is usually seen in Asimov’s books – but more psychology and a more clearly outlined social aspect. The characters are more carefully drawn, less perfect – even the amazing Biron, though as clever as Lucky Starr, has little of his coolness. He can show perfect self-control when circumstances require it, but otherwise he shows emotions readily. He rages, rebels, accuses, he has his fits of temper – and he loves, too. I could never imagine Lucky Starr falling in love with anyone – not in a million years.

Biron’s sweetheart, Artemisia, has even more temper – no wonder they quarrel all the time. Their married life promises to be rather interesting

But it’s because they are so real they are so dear to me, I think. One seldom loves perfection.

The book won’t make the readers suffer any pains: even when its characters find themselves in an apparently hopeless situation, it’s quite clear that – by the law of the genre – everything will end well. And so it does – usually quite quickly.

Jules Verne’s ideas of what it’s like below the surface of the Earth are very fantastic (though I can’t prove that they are wrong). I don’t believe that people can ride a hurricane on a raft (however well made) and never get washed out to the sea. Our heroes even managed to save most of their belongings – how’s that for being fantastic? As for the way they travelled back to the surface, that is, perhaps, the most incredible part of the whole story – but I won’t disclose it, as I don’t wish to spoil anything. Incredible as it is, the book entertains.

It will be your friend if you need rest and relaxation.

Bigman is a different story altogether. While Lucky seems to never lose temper at all, Bigman does enough of that for the two – not only when anyone dares to refer to his small height, but upon any provocation, however small and insignificant. And, of course, the circumstances of their investigation are such that provocations surround the two friends day and night, so Bigman seldom goes without his fists clenched.

He also tends to act before thinking, thus giving Lucky additional trouble sorting out his messes. Still, when the important moment arrives, Bigman, as usual, plays his role in the game – a role of vital importance. Without him, Lucky wouldn’t have succeeded. As it is, an extremely dangerous – almost impossible – situation once again ends happily for all involved people, except, of course, the bad guys.

Some parts of the book look really naive. The book is about distant future – five or more thousand years from now. They harness gravity, travel to distant stars through hyperspace – and at the same time still use a computer whose description makes me think of ancient punched tapes or, at best, tape cassettes. Certain ideas about some of the planets in the Solar system, common at the time the Lucky Starr series was written, have now proven to be wrong, too. But the book itself is so good that I readily forgive the author for these small omissions.

I don’t know the reason why some books keep calling me to re-read them again and again, whereas others (often written by the same author) return to the shelf for good after the first time. There must be something subtle and deeply personal involved here, but the book either resonates with the wave length of my heart, or it doesn’t.

“Lucky Starr and the Moons of Jupiter” resonates very strongly with me.