Title notwithstanding, this is not a science fiction novel. It's a mystery, sixth in the 'Yellowthread Street' series written by Australian author William Marshall but set in Hong Kong in the fictional district of Hong Bay. However, it does have a science fiction theme, because the primary mystery unfolds at the Empire of India hotel, which is hosting a sci-fi convention called the All-Asia Science Fiction and Horror Congress. I bought it in a library sale over thirty years ago, long before I ended up running a sci-fi convention, but I've never read it until now. It's about time!

What I found is that this sci-fi con doesn't remotely resemble the sci-fi cons I've attended, worked or run. The mindset of this one is more film-oriented than book-oriented, not just with screenings but actual sales of movie rights, yet with the added cosplay of a substantial comicon. I'm doubtful that a convention like this ever happened but I'd love to attend if it ever does, of course sans the death and destruction. This is a long way from Sharyn McCrumb's 'Bimbos of the Death Sun', but I had a lot of fun with it anyway, especially early on.

In fact, the vast majority of the crazy sci-fi stuff unfolds in the first few pages, which show how the author had a real sense of humour. These congoers aren't particularly well-behaved. They launch a helium-filled Death Star from the hotel's roof, which is shot down by an anti-aircraft battery as it crosses into communist China. They launch the Thing from Beneath the Sea into the bay, a sixty-foot hairy sausage that tangles the propellors of a freighter carrying high explosives. The Human Fly climbs the outside of the hotel at five in the morning. And Space Warrior takes on some rowdy locals, only to find that they're all kung fu enthusiasts.

Needless to say, the Yellowstreet police station is jam-packed with weirdos, giving SDI Christopher O'Yee a particularly traumatic evening. He doesn't even have room in any cell for Chinese Batman who attacks Constable Sun with "I'm going to kill you, you brutal butch bastard." Perhaps worst of all, the Green Slime doesn't have an arrest sheet, but he's locked up anyway, prompting confusion all around that only increases when O'Yee interviews him a few chapters later. Marshall somehow combines deep mystery with frankly slapstick humour and that interview is delightfully surreal. I have to admire any author who manages to insert the term "cockerel buggering" into a novel.

The primary mystery involves a spaceman in a spacesuit who walks up to the eighty-foot-tall plywood flying saucer outside the hotel and cremates it with his raygun. Then he does the same thing to a local street sweeper. Nobody knows who he is, though some think he's an actual alien, and he has some sort of mission, if only the police can figure out what it is. About the only safe assumption is that it ties to the Empire of India hotel, but there's no obvious reason and all the ones that arise don't seem to be valid.

Well, it's pretty likely that the cool million dollars that's enclosed in a four-foot-cubed glass case in the hotel lobby is surely going to be targetted at some point. It's an artistic representation of the cost of ten minutes of screen time of a modern sci-fi movie. That's how we know this was published in 1981 because we're talking 'Escape from New York' instead of 'The Force Awakens'. Ten minutes of that would mean a glass cube containing thirty-nine million bucks. That's a pretty frickin' large glass cube. It would take a long time for that to burn too, a lot longer than the human beings who rack up the death count.

Marshall may not have much of a grasp of what a sci-fi con looks like, but he clearly likes puzzles of mysteries. There's certainly legwork needed here and these policemen do what's needed, making sure the right questions are asked of the right people, but these are mysteries that need serious brainwork to figure out. The primary mystery with the serial killer spaceman fits that, because it takes a long while to figure out what he's actually doing and any questions about why or who are reliant on that. However, there's also a secondary mystery that's an absolute brain-scrambler.

DIs Bill Spencer and Phil Auden are simply looking for a yellow Volkswagen Kombi van, that's been used in a particular multi-storey car park by a six-time mugger. It doesn't seem like a particularly difficult job, given that they start at the only entrance/exit and they know full well the vehicle is inside because they can actually see it on closed circuit video. However, as they move up through the levels, they can't find it. It's like it's vanished into thin air. I presume the arguing between the pair is routine for their characters but it seems entirely appropriate here. It's a fascinating puzzle and its conclusion is wildly unusual. I liked it a lot.

I didn't like the primary mystery as much but it kept me engrossed and there was plenty behind it of interest too. Based on this book alone, I wonder if Marshall's talents were more in the comedy inherent the story than the mystery. Even in apparently straight dramatic scenes, there's no end of slapstick, irony and surreality. As a film buff, I especially enjoyed a conversation between two producers, Henry Wu and Charlie Kong, as they attempt to conjure up a single new idea, but each suggestion prompts a blur of primarily real titles hurled out as prior art. I say primarily, because I would swear blind that 'Bacteria Creatures Beneath the Streets' doesn't exist.

Frankly, by the time this organised chaos was done, I wasn't entirely sure who the regulars were over in Yellowthread Street. I presumed SDI O'Yee, DCI Harry Feiffer, Constables Lee and Sun, and the double act of DIs Bill Spencer and Phil Auden. Wikipedia lists all but the constables, so I seem to have been close. It also lists sixteen books, which Goodreads backs up, the most recent of them released in 1998, even though Marshall lived until 2003. There's also apparently a British TV show called 'Yellowthread Street' that ran for a season in 1990. I should check it out. ~~ Hal C F Astell