Sibyl Sue Blue

Introduction

Sibyl Sue Blue was not what I expected.

Set in the futuristic year of 1990, Rosel George Brown’s Sibyl Sue Blue takes place in a world both like and unlike 1966— the year it was released. Sibyl is a tenacious and smart detective working for the city’s homicide department. When a series of bizarre ‘suicides’ start plaguing the city’s youth, she’s called in to investigate. As she follows the clues, she’s drawn into increasingly strange events, from trying alien drugs to being invited to join a spacefaring millionaire on an off-world jaunt.

Sounds like fun, right? And somehow, I went into it looking for the ...froth and fun and furious action, promised by Judith Merril’s review, without ever considering the rest of the quote:

And the damnedest part of it is that under all the froth and fun and furious action, there is more acute comment on contemporary society than you are likely to find in any half dozen deadly serious social novels.

That’s not to say that Sibyl Sue Blue is dry, boring, or preachy. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of these things. But, as Merril promised, beneath the wild ride exists a sharp yet understated criticism of both modern racial tensions and treatment of women in science fiction.

Let’s take racial tensions, for example. When I say that SSB offers subtle commentary on race relations, I’m not talking about the obvious parallels between the story’s alien Centaurians and modern day people of color. That analogy is obvious to anyone with half a brain: places where the ‘aliens’ have moved in have become ghettos, they smoke strange cigarettes, and they are generally distrusted by the human population— but if you’re a cop, you don’t dare say so.

I’ll admit, it threw me for a loop at first. What was with this heavy-handed analogy? It wasn’t until I read further into the story that I got it. The subtlety comes into play in Sibyl’s interactions with Centaurians, as well as Brown’s portrayal of them. Throughout the story Sibyl treats Centaurians the same way she treats humans. Though she warns her colleague not to get caught saying he doesn’t like Centaurians, never once does Sibyl herself express dislike or distrust of a Centaurian simply because they are Centaurian. In fact, though the story opens with her being attacked by a Centaurian, her sharp mind is already searching for the reason behind his actions.

Then, too, Brown’s portrayals of Centaurians are as variegated as her portrayals of humans. They’re not saints, but they’re no worse than anyone else, and better than many. And like humans, they can be coerced, manipulated, and used by people or entities more powerful than themselves.

There’s a certain cynicism coloring everything. The good-hearted and earnest Jimmy says things like, Gee, it’s a shame about Centaurian prejudice, and sounds hopelessly naive. Yet only a couple of chapters later, Sibyl doesn’t hesitate to invite her Centaurian friend, contact, and occasional lover over for some info and an intimate pick-me-up. The contrast between Sibyl’s attitude and Jimmy’s is telling. It’s not enough to criticize prejudice, Sibyl (and Brown) seems to be saying. You need to walk the walk, not just talk the talk. And Sibyl walks it— boy, does she!

Speaking of walking the walk, another thing that startled me, at least until I got what Brown was doing, was the story’s ‘romantic’ subplot.

At the time Sibyl Sue Blue came out, multiple science fiction magazines and occasional science fiction novels, TV shows, and movies were released each month in the USA and the UK. In a good month, maybe ten percent of the fifty or sixty stories published were penned by women. In a bad month, none of the stories were written by a woman. The average usually fell somewhere in-between.

Perhaps it isn’t a surprise, then, that so few protagonists of contemporaneous science fiction tales were women. Whether written by men or women, whether they were complex and interesting or shallow and flat, main characters were overwhelmingly white men. When women did show up, they were often relegated to the role of helpmate, something in need of rescuing, or the prize the man won after overcoming his trials— sometimes all three!

Obviously, there are plenty of exceptions, but in terms of trends, if a beautiful woman was introduced into a story (or a TV show, or a movie) in the first act, chances were she would fall in love with the male lead by the end. This was true regardless of how unappealing, uninteresting, or unlikeable the man was.

This cliché is another that Sibyl Sue Blue turns on its head. What is it like to be the woman who seemingly inexplicably falls for a rich, handsome, clever, yet completely terrible man? What happens when a woman who is herself independent, interesting, and already has her own life suddenly gets caught up in the implacable tide of the plot?

Traditionally, the woman would marry the man after he solved the case and the two would live ‘happily’ ever after. But as I found when I kept reading, if the woman is someone like Sibyl Sue Blue, nothing will turn out the way you expect!

Sibyl is fascinating. She’s small but powerful, repeatedly shown as able to hold her own in a fight, even against men who are bigger than she. Yet she’s also unapologetically feminine. She enjoys wearing nice dresses, applying makeup, and accessorizing. Far from being stoic, when something terrifying and grotesque happens, she screams. When she’s overwhelmed, she cries.

And then she gets up and keeps going. Like so many women throughout history, when faced with circumstances far beyond her control, when she’s sick and exhausted and frightened, she keeps pushing forward.

Sibyl Sue Blue has silver stripes in her hair and a daughter in high school. She’s strong and vulnerable and smart. She enjoys a startling amount of sexual freedom, unhesitatingly inviting handsome men to her bed as a matter of course. Above all, she is herself— not an easily categorized and dismissed ‘helpmate’, ‘damsel in distress’, or ‘prize’. She’s human and messy and makes mistakes and is sometimes clever. She’s as complex and interesting as the best of the male leads, and maybe even more than any of them.

Because I’ve read the stories of a lot of white men, but I’ve never met a character like Sibyl Sue Blue.

—Janice Marcus

Chapter 1

Sibyl Sue Blue didn’t stop to think. She slung her handbag like a sledge and knocked the gun out of his hand. She kneed him where it hurt the most and then rabbit punched him. It’s the same place for Centaurians as it is for humans.

There was a shrill scream of brakes and a cop in well- fitting regulation browns got out and cupped his heavy hand on Sibyl’s shoulder.

O.K., lady, he said. I don’t like ’em either. But it’s against the law to beat ’em up… Gee, what a little bitty girl you are!

Sibyl flipped back her wig and spit out her cheekpieces. Stanley, you idiot! Don’t you recognize me?

Sergeant Blue! Excuse me. How was I to know? Here you were acting like a bouncer and looking like my little sister. Gee. I never seen you in disguise before. You’re a credit to the force.

Sibyl brushed herself off, glanced down the empty street of Old Town and lit a cigar. "Thank you, Stanley. Let the Centaurian get himself up and forget you saw this. It’s a new development, Centaurians attacking me, and I think it ties in with the benzale murders. But keep your mouth closed, honey. Every time a Centaurian on Terra gets bruised the State Department is on our necks. And a cop should never say he doesn’t like Centaurians."

Stanley sighed and looked sheepish. He took off his hat and scratched his crinkly hair. I know. But look what a slum they’ve made out of Old Town. When I was a child Page Grant hadn’t discovered Centaurus and this was a pretty neighborhood. In ten years they’ve brought all the vices of New York City to Hammond.

Page Grant’s dead and Hammond is a spaceport and you can’t turn back the clock. Sibyl toed out the rest of her fresh cigar regretfully. I don’t have time to point out all the virtues of Centaurians. Buy me a gin and ’gin some time and we can chat more cosily.

Gee, Sergeant, I’m a married man.

Well, bring your wife.

Sibyl glanced at her watch. This was going to make her ten minutes late. She hurried on down the dirty, picturesque alleys of Old Town, stepped onto the moving sidewalk at the Throughway and elbowed a square-faced, middle-aged woman who was hogging the middle.

The woman sniffed. No manners, these young people. Sibyl grinned broadly and then said, I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m going to meet my boy friend.

She gave the woman a gentle kick in the shins as she hopped over the Moderator at Eighth and Avenue A, spent one second fluffing out her bright brown wig and adjusting the expression on her face, and then trotted on her little high heels into the jumble of plastic cubes with the sign that said Korner Klub.

A big, black-haired boy whose pimples were almost finished treatment looked up at her from his seat at the counter, and wriggled into smiles all over.

Gee, baby, you’re late, he said. I was worried, you being in Old Town and all.

Strawberry soda, Sibyl ordered, and let him punch for it. She turned her baby blue eyes on him. A man tried to pick me up, Jimmy. An old man about thirty-five. She shivered.

Jimmy tensed. I wished I would of been there. I’d of shown him what for. What did you do?

Well, I didn’t know what to do. I ran. Sibyl bent down to mesh the splitting ankle seam on her stocking, and at the edge of the one-way cubicle in the comer she saw an elbow that looked familiar. A greenish Centaurian elbow. But that’s why I’m late. I got lost running and I had to find the Uptown Throughway.

Jimmy put a protective arm around her. You shun’t of took a project like that, he said. How the houses are in Old Town.

Well, I was interested. My mother says it used to be a good neighborhood even ten years ago. Before so many Centaurians moved in. You know. Did that greenish Centaurian just happen to be here or was he after Sibyl? Benzale pushers didn’t usually hang around the Korner Klub.

Yeah, Jimmy said. But that was 1980 and this is 1990. Gee, it’s a shame about Centaurian prejudice. It isn’t them. It’s the humans. You’ll see at the C meeting.

Excuse me, Sibyl said, taking a quick gulp of her soda and slotting in a quarter before Jimmy could take the treat. I have to go rouge my knees. I look a mess from all that running.

She heel-clicked across the fake marble and whisked out of sight into the one-way cubicle.

The Centaurian was just getting his needle gun out when Sibyl pulled off one of her shoes and made a nice dent the size of a stiletto heel in his temple.

Through the one-way glass of the cubicle Sibyl saw Jimmy absently fingering the bowl around his chocolate sundae and glancing at the Ladies’. As soon as he glanced outside to watch the new Tireless Triumph go by, she slipped out of the cubicle and into the Ladies’.

Sibyl straightened her stockings above the calf, got out her rouge stick and rouged her knees. Then she took a little jar of skin cream, spread it around her eyes and mouth and carefully ironed out tiny wrinkles with her finger.

The Centaurian would be out another ten minutes. If he wasn’t dead, of course.

Sibyl went back to the counter, gave Jimmy a smile that made the sweat pop out on his forehead, drank up her strawberry soda in one gulp and slid off the stool.

Bye-bye, Jimmy, she said, hopping gracefully onto the Middle Throughway as Jimmy watched her from the door. Wait for me outside at the Centaurian meeting tonight. She needed Jimmy to get her in.

Sibyl glanced at her watch. Almost four o’clock. She went on to the apartment, pressed her contact key against the door and went in.

Hi, Mom, Missy said. Working today?

As usual, Sibyl answered with a sigh. She couldn’t reach over and muss Missy’s hair any more. It might ruin a five-dollar set. What’ve you got on for this big Saturday night?

A game against Beman High. Party afterwards, strictly low dog. Want me out?

Probably. It’s sheer luck you’re a nice girl, Missy, after the way I’ve raised you.

Heredity, Missy said, and kissed her mother fondly. Anyway, what’s wrong with the way you’ve raised me?

Sibyl sighed and sat down, feeling suddenly tired. Well, it’s kind of hard to be a policewoman and a mother at the same time. It was different when we had your father. When you were a baby Kenneth worked at home a lot. He just went to the university to teach his biochemistry classes, and dropped by Centaurus Research for his fat consulting fee. But just about the time he disappeared on Radix, I started getting outside assignments that meant more pay but irregular hours.

Missy stuffed her gym clothes into her blue bag. You couldn’t stand an office job, Mama. I know that. And I wouldn’t want it any different. A lot of kids go crazy with their mother home every evening by four or five. Not that I don’t have fun with you, but…

O.K., Sibyl said with a grin. You’ve convinced me.

Missy dragged a purple lipstick across her mouth without bothering with a mirror, grabbed her blue bag and started out of the door.

Sibyl sighed after her beautiful, long brunette daughter. If only Kenneth had lived to see her at sixteen. Kenneth… well, it would all have been different. Or would it? You never knew, about yourself.

Sibyl pinched out her blue contact lenses and blinked her bright green eyes. Then she pulled off her wig. Her hair was startling. It was black-and-gray-striped and it grew that way naturally. She relaxed her face and took out the cheekpieces. Now she looked nearer forty. But it wasn’t a bad forty, not bad at all and Sibyl knew it. And used it. It was part of her job.

She spent fifteen minutes relaxing utterly in a cottony Float Foam bath, not allowing herself to think about plain Centaurians or greenish Centaurians or benzale murders. She sipped lazily at a gin and ’gin and lit a delicate golden cigar.

Me, she thought, enjoying the blue bubbles of the Float Foam that held her suspended in a fizzy warmth. I’ll think about Me. She watched the soft, gray cigar smoke disperse against the sky-blue tiles of her bath.

I’m lucky. I’ve got a beautiful daughter and a good figure no matter how much I eat, and naturally curly hair…

The only thing I don’t have is a man. At the moment.

Now who haven’t I seen in a long time? she thought. There was Jackson Small with the brokerage firm. But he had that irritating way of looking so neat Sibyl always felt she had to check over herself every few minutes to be sure her stockings were meshed and her hair in place… No, Jackson was nice but… well, now there was Scaley Moe—Llanr. Scaley Moe was just the opposite. Like most Centaurians…

Llanr! Sibyl sat up and smashed out her cigar in the disposall. Llanr would be at