The Early Pohl, unlike most of the other earlies in this series, was always stunningly competent. There were and are many writers who command greater charm, or come up with more exciting sf ideas, or generate a deeper sense of discovery, but very few who can put together a story as confidently. Even the nineteen-year-old ""James MacCreigh"" of the first story here handles his meager materials with a polish and a nice instinct for pacing that make the results seem more substantial than they are--a tendency which dominates the entire volume. Not an arresting collection, but surprisingly undated. Now how about some Middle Pohl?