{"id":26529,"date":"2026-03-08T20:38:25","date_gmt":"2026-03-09T00:38:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=26529"},"modified":"2026-03-08T20:38:27","modified_gmt":"2026-03-09T00:38:27","slug":"brian-aldiss-super-toys-last-all-summer-long","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/brian-aldiss-super-toys-last-all-summer-long\/26529\/","title":{"rendered":"Brian Aldiss: Super-Toys Last All Summer Long"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Synopsis: <\/strong>\u201cSuper-Toys Last All Summer Long\u201d is a short story by the British writer Brian Aldiss, published in December 1969 in Harper\u2019s Bazaar<\/em>. In an overpopulated and highly technologized world, Monica Swinton lives in a luxurious home that keeps her family insulated from the miseries of the outside world. Despite the comforts she enjoys, Monica is a lonely and dissatisfied woman. While her husband runs a large corporation, she spends her days at home with the only company she has: her son David and Teddy, a mechanized teddy bear. Although David tries to grow closer to his mother, Monica\u2019s loneliness seems to require something more than the child to be filled.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\n
\"Brian<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Super-Toys Last All Summer Long<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Brian Aldiss
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In Mrs Swinton\u2019s garden, it was always summer. The lovely almond trees stood about it in perpetual leaf. Monica Swinton plucked a saffron-coloured rose and showed it to David.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIsn\u2019t it lovely?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

David looked up at her and grinned without replying. Seizing the flower, he ran with it across the lawn and disappeared behind the kennel where the mowervator crouched, ready to cut or sweep or roll when the moment dictated. She stood alone on her impeccable plastic gravel path.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had tried to love him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When she made up her mind to follow the boy, she found him in the courtyard floating the rose in his paddling pool. He stood in the pool engrossed, still wearing his sandals.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDavid, darling, do you have to be so awful? Come in at once and change your shoes and socks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He went with her without protest into the house, his dark head bobbing at the level of her waist. At the age of three, he showed no fear of the ultrasonic dryer in the kitchen. But before his mother could reach for a pair of slippers, he wriggled away and was gone into the silence of the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He would probably be looking for Teddy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Monica Swinton, twenty-nine, of graceful shape and lambent eye, went and sat in her living room, arranging her limbs with taste. She began by sitting and thinking; soon she was just sitting. Time waited on her shoulder with the maniac slowth it reserves for children, the insane, and wives whose husbands are away improving the world. Almost by reflex, she reached out and changed the wavelength of her windows. The garden faded; in its place, the city centre rose by her left hand, full of crowding people, blowboats, and buildings (but she kept the sound down). She remained alone. An overcrowded world is the ideal place in which to be lonely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The directors of Synthank were eating an enormous luncheon to celebrate the launching of their new product. Some of them wore the plastic face-masks popular at the time. All were elegantly slender, despite the rich food and drink they were putting away. Their wives were elegantly slender, despite the food and drink they too were putting away. An earlier and less sophisticated generation would have regarded them as beautiful people, apart from their eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Henry Swinton, Managing Director of Synthank, was about to make a speech.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry your wife couldn\u2019t be with us to hear you,\u201d his neighbour said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMonica prefers to stay at home thinking beautiful thoughts,\u201d said Swinton, maintaining a smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOne would expect such a beautiful woman to have beautiful thoughts,\u201d said the neighbour.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Take your mind off my wife, you bastard, thought Swinton, still smiling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He rose to make his speech amid applause.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After a couple of jokes, he said, \u201cToday marks a real break-through for the company. It is now almost ten years since we put our first synthetic life-forms on the world market. You all know what a success they have been, particularly the miniature dinosaurs. But none of them had intelligence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt seems like a paradox that in this day and age we can create life but not intelligence. Our first selling line, the Crosswell Tape, sells best of all, and is the most stupid of all.\u201d Everyone laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThough three-quarters of the overcrowded world are starving, we are lucky here to have more than enough, thanks to population control. Obesity\u2019s our problem, not malnutrition. I guess there\u2019s nobody round this table who doesn\u2019t have a Crosswell working for him in the small intestine, a perfectly safe parasite tape-worm that enables its host to eat up to fifty per cent more food and still keep his or her figure. Right?\u201d General nods of agreement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOur miniature dinosaurs are almost equally stupid. Today, we launch an intelligent synthetic life-form\u2014a full-size serving-man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot only does he have intelligence, he has a controlled amount of intelligence. We believe people would be afraid of a being with a human brain. Our serving-man has a small computer in his cranium.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere have been mechanicals on the market with mini-computers for brains\u2014plastic things without life, super-toys\u2014but we have at last found a way to link computer circuitry with synthetic flesh.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

David sat by the long window of his nursery, wrestling with paper and pencil. Finally, he stopped writing and began to roll the pencil up and down the slope of the desk-lid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTeddy!\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Teddy lay on the bed against the wall, under a book with moving pictures and a giant plastic soldier. The speech-pattern of his master\u2019s voice activated him and he sat up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTeddy, I can\u2019t think what to say!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Climbing off the bed, the bear walked stiffly over to cling to the boy\u2019s leg. David lifted him and set him on the desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat have you said so far?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ve said \u2013\u201d He picked up his letter and stared hard at it. \u201cI\u2019ve said, \u2018Dear Mummy, I hope you\u2019re well just now. I love you\u2026.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a long silence, until the bear said, \u201cThat sounds fine. Go downstairs and give it to her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Another long silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt isn\u2019t quite right. She won\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Inside the bear, a small computer worked through its programme of possibilities. \u201cWhy not do it again in crayon?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When David did not answer, the bear repeated his suggestion. \u201cWhy not do it again in crayon?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

David was staring out of the window. \u201cTeddy, you know what I was thinking? How do you tell what are real things from what aren\u2019t real things?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bear shuffled its alternatives. \u201cReal things are good.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wonder if time is good. I don\u2019t think Mummy likes<\/em> time very much. The other day, lots of days ago, she said that time went by her. Is time real, Teddy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cClocks tell the time. Clocks are real. Mummy has clocks so she must like them. She has a clock on her wrist next to her dial.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

David started to draw a jumbo jet on the back of his letter. \u201cYou and I are real, Teddy, aren\u2019t we?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bear\u2019s eyes regarded the boy unflinchingly. \u201cYou and I are real, David.\u201d It specialised in comfort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Monica walked slowly about the house. It was almost time for the afternoon post to come over the wire. She punched the Post Office number on the dial on her wrist but nothing came through. A few minutes more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She could take up her painting. Or she could dial her friends. Or she could wait till Henry came home. Or she could go up and play with David\u2026.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She walked out into the hall and to the bottom of the stairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDavid!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No answer. She called again and a third time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTeddy!\u201d she called, in sharper tones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, Mummy!\u201d After a moment\u2019s pause, Teddy\u2019s head of golden fur appeared at the top of the stairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs David in his room, Teddy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDavid went into the garden, Mummy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome down here, Teddy!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She stood impassively, watching the little furry figure as it climbed down from step to step on its stubby limbs. When it reached the bottom, she picked it up and carried it into the living room. It lay unmoving in her arms, staring up at her. She could feel just the slightest vibration from its motor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStand there, Teddy. I want to talk to you.\u201d She set him down on a tabletop, and he stood as she requested, arms set forward and open in the eternal gesture of embrace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTeddy, did David tell you to tell me he had gone into the garden?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The circuits of the bear\u2019s brain were too simple for artifice. \u201cYes, Mummy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo you lied to me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, Mummy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStop<\/em> calling me Mummy! Why is David avoiding me? He\u2019s not afraid of me, is he?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. He loves you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy can\u2019t we communicate?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDavid\u2019s upstairs.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The answer stopped her dead. Why waste time talking to this machine? Why not simply go upstairs and scoop David into her arms and talk to him, as a loving mother should to a loving son? She heard the sheer weight of silence in the house, with a different quality of silence pouring out of every room. On the upper landing, something was moving very silently\u2014David, trying to hide away from her\u2026.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was nearing the end of his speech now. The guests were attentive; so was the Press, lining two walls of the banqueting chamber, recording Henry\u2019s words and occasionally photographing him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOur serving-man will be, in many senses, a product of the computer. Without computers, we could never have worked through the sophisticated biochemics that go into synthetic flesh. The serving-man will also be an extension of the computer\u2014for he will contain a computer in his own head, a microminiaturised computer capable of dealing with almost any situation he may encounter in the home. With reservations, of course.\u201d Laughter at this; many of those present knew the heated debate that had engulfed the Synthank boardroom before the decision had finally been taken to leave the serving-man neuter under his flawless uniform.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAmid all the triumphs of our civilisation\u2014yes, and amid the crushing problems of overpopulation too\u2014it is sad to reflect how many millions of people suffer from increasing loneliness and isolation. Our serving-man will be a boon to them; he will always answer, and the most vapid conversation cannot bore him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFor the future, we plan more models, male and female\u2014some of them without the limitations of this first one, I promise you!\u2014of more advanced design, true bio-electronic beings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot only will they possess their own computers, capable of individual programming; they will be linked to the World Data Network. Thus everyone will be able to enjoy the equivalent of an Einstein in their own homes. Personal isolation will then be banished for ever!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He sat down to enthusiastic applause. Even the synthetic serving-man, sitting at the table dressed in an unostentatious suit, applauded with gusto.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dragging his satchel, David crept round the side of the house. He climbed on to the ornamental seat under the living-room window and peeped cautiously in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His mother stood in the middle of the room. Her face was blank; its lack of expression scared him. He watched fascinated. He did not move; she did not move. Time might have stopped, as it had stopped in the garden.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At last she turned and left the room. After waiting a moment, David tapped on the window. Teddy looked round, saw him, tumbled off the table, and came over to the window. Fumbling with his paws, he eventually got it open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They looked at each other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m no good, Teddy. Let\u2019s run away!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a very good boy. Your Mummy loves you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Slowly, he shook his head. \u201cIf she loved me, then why can\u2019t I talk to her?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re being silly, David. Mummy\u2019s lonely. That\u2019s why she had you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s got Daddy. I\u2019ve got nobody \u2019cept you, and I\u2019m lonely.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Teddy gave him a friendly cuff over the head. \u201cIf you feel so bad, you\u2019d better go to the psychiatrist again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI hate that old psychiatrist\u2014he makes me feel I\u2019m not real.\u201d He started to run across the lawn. The bear toppled out of the window and followed as fast as its stubby legs would allow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Monica Swinton was up in the nursery. She called to her son once and then stood there, undecided. All was silent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Crayons lay on his desk. Obeying a sudden impulse, she went over to the desk and opened it. Dozens of pieces of paper lay inside. Many of them were written in crayon in David\u2019s clumsy writing, with each letter picked out in a colour different from the letter preceding it. None of the messages was finished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy dear Mummy, How are you really, do you love me as much \u2013\u201d<\/em>

\u201cDear Mummy, I love you and Daddy and the sun is shining \u2013\u201d<\/em>

\u201cDear dear Mummy, Teddy\u2019s helping me write to you. I love you and Teddy \u2013\u201d<\/em>

\u201cDarling Mummy, I\u2019m your one and only son and I love you so much that some times \u2013\u201d<\/em>

\u201cDear Mummy, you\u2019re really my Mummy and I hate Teddy \u2013\u201d<\/em>

\u201cDarling Mummy, guess how much I love \u2013\u201d<\/em>

\u201cDear Mummy, I\u2019m your little boy not Teddy and I love you but Teddy \u2013\u201d<\/em>

\u201cDear Mummy, this is a letter to you just to say how much how ever so much \u2013\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Monica dropped the pieces of paper and burst out crying. In their gay inaccurate colours, the letters fanned out and settled on the floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Henry Swinton caught the express home in high spirits, and occasionally said a word to the synthetic serving-man he was taking home with him. The serving-man answered politely and punctually, although his answers were not always entirely relevant by human standards.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Swintons lived in one of the ritziest city-blocks, half a kilometre above the ground. Embedded in other apartments, their apartment had no windows to the outside; nobody wanted to see the overcrowded external world. Henry unlocked the door with his retina pattern-scanner and walked in, followed by the serving-man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At once, Henry was surrounded by the friendly illusion of gardens set in eternal summer. It was amazing what Whologram could do to create huge mirages in small space. Behind its roses and wisteria stood their house; the deception was complete: a Georgian mansion appeared to welcome him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow do you like it?\u201d he asked the serving-man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRoses occasionally suffer from black spot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThese roses are guaranteed free from any imperfections.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt is always advisable to purchase goods with guarantees, even if they cost slightly more.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThanks for the information,\u201d Henry said dryly. Synthetic life-forms were less than ten years old, the old android mechanicals less than sixteen; the faults of their systems were still being ironed out, year by year.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He opened the door and called to Monica.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She came out of the sitting-room immediately and flung her arms round him, kissing him ardently on cheek and lips. Henry was amazed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pulling back to look at her face, he saw how she seemed to generate light and beauty. It was months since he had seen her so excited. Instinctively, he clasped her tighter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDarling, what\u2019s happened?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHenry, Henry\u2014oh, my darling, I was in despair \u2026 But I\u2019ve just dialled the afternoon post and\u2014you\u2019ll never believe it! Oh, it\u2019s wonderful!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFor heaven\u2019s sake, woman, what\u2019s wonderful?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He caught a glimpse of the heading on the photostat in her hand, still moist from the wall-receiver: Ministry of Population. He felt the colour drain from his face in sudden shock and hope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMonica \u2026 oh \u2026 Don\u2019t tell me our number\u2019s come up!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, my darling, yes, we\u2019ve won this week\u2019s parenthood lottery! We can go ahead and conceive a child at once!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He let out a yell of joy. They danced round the room. Pressure of population was such that reproduction had to be strictly controlled. Childbirth required government permission. For this moment, they had waited four years. Incoherently they cried their delight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They paused at last, gasping, and stood in the middle of the room to laugh at each other\u2019s happiness. When she had come down from the nursery, Monica had de-opaqued the windows, so that they now revealed the vista of garden beyond. Artificial sunlight was growing long and golden across the lawn\u2014and David and Teddy were staring through the window at them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Seeing their faces, Henry and his wife grew serious.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat do we do about them?\u201d<\/em> Henry asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTeddy\u2019s no trouble. He works well.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs David malfunctioning?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHis verbal communication-centre is still giving trouble. I think he\u2019ll have to go back to the factory again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay. We\u2019ll see how he does before the baby\u2019s born. Which reminds me\u2014I have a surprise for you: help just when help is needed! Come into the hall and see what I\u2019ve got.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As the two adults disappeared from the room, boy and bear sat down beneath the standard roses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTeddy\u2014I suppose Mummy and Daddy are real, aren\u2019t they?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Teddy said, \u201cYou ask such silly questions, David. Nobody knows what \u2018real\u2019 really means. Let\u2019s go indoors.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFirst I\u2019m going to have another rose!\u201d Plucking a bright pink flower, he carried it with him into the house. It could lie on the pillow as he went to sleep. Its beauty and softness reminded him of Mummy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cSuper-Toys Last All Summer Long\u201d is a short story by the British writer Brian Aldiss, published in December 1969 in Harper\u2019s Bazaar. In an overpopulated and highly technologized world, Monica Swinton lives in a luxurious home that keeps her family insulated from the miseries of the outside world. Despite the comforts she enjoys, Monica is a lonely and dissatisfied woman. While her husband runs a large corporation, she spends her days at home with the only company she has: her son David and Teddy, a mechanized teddy bear. Although David tries to grow closer to his mother, Monica\u2019s loneliness seems to require something more than the child to be filled.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":26528,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[559],"tags":[1490,552,772],"class_list":["post-26529","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories","tag-brian-aldiss","tag-science-fiction","tag-united-kingdom","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-33"],"acf":[],"taxonomy_info":{"category":[{"value":559,"label":"Short stories"}],"post_tag":[{"value":1490,"label":"Brian Aldiss"},{"value":552,"label":"Science fiction"},{"value":772,"label":"United Kingdom"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/lecturia.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/01\/Brian-Aldiss-Los-superjuguetes-duran-todo-el-verano.webp",1024,1024,false],"author_info":{"display_name":"Juan Pablo Guevara","author_link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/author\/spartakku\/"},"comment_info":"","category_info":[{"term_id":559,"name":"Short stories","slug":"short-stories","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":559,"taxonomy":"category","description":"","parent":0,"count":420,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":559,"category_count":420,"category_description":"","cat_name":"Short stories","category_nicename":"short-stories","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":[{"term_id":1490,"name":"Brian Aldiss","slug":"brian-aldiss","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":1490,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":2,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":552,"name":"Science fiction","slug":"science-fiction","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":552,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":121,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":772,"name":"United Kingdom","slug":"united-kingdom","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":772,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":93,"filter":"raw"}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26529","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=26529"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26529\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/26528"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=26529"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=26529"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=26529"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}