About 44 minutes
Judas Ram — A Closer Reading
Machines Invention
10,000 recorded words. 0 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
View Gutenberg source #51053The catalog record for Jack of No Trades — Inside the Classic provides practical reading context through 10,086 words, 44 min estimated reading time, and 1 detected text section.
The text analysis averages about 16.0 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Science fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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About 44 minutes
Machines Invention
10,000 recorded words. 0 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
View Gutenberg source #51053About 45 minutes
Machines Invention
10,240 recorded words. 1 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
View Gutenberg source #51304About 40 minutes
Machines Invention
9,028 recorded words. 4 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
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Read on Project GutenbergThe first sentence of Evelyn E. Smith's story announces its linguistic playfulness: "I was psick of Psi powers, not having any." The pun on "sick" and the invented spelling "psick" immediately establish a tone of wry complaint. The narrator, Kevin, is the only non-psychic in a family where telekinesis, telepathy, and teleportation are mundane. Smith renders this domestic friction through specific, tactile details—a tablecloth that "draped itself over me like a sentient shroud" when his brother loses mental grip. The family's powers are not presented as wondrous but as sources of irritation and performance, with Kevin's father teleporting "as if he were still a kid."
Smith builds a distinctive idiolect for Kevin through wordplay and colloquial rhythm. The opening pun on "psick" is followed by "psee" and "psomeday," suggesting a family slang for psi-related terms. This verbal tic signals Kevin's insider-outsider status: he uses the family's jargon but with a sardonic edge. The dialogue is peppered with contractions and interjections—"Oh, for God's sake, Kevin!"—that feel natural to mid-century American speech. Kevin's internal monologue is similarly direct: "It must be tough to be married to a deep-probe telepath, I thought." The prose avoids exposition; instead, the reader infers the rules of this world through Kevin's complaints and the family's offhand remarks.
The family's psychic abilities are revealed not through explanation but through action and reaction. Kevin's mother is a "deep-probe telepath" who knows everyone's thoughts; his father teleports; Danny uses telekinesis; Sylvia senses emotions. Yet Smith focuses on the emotional fallout: Kevin's resentment at being "poor afflicted Kev," his sister's demand for "beautiful thoughts" while working on mattress copy, and the father's boast about being "the father of Kevin Faraday" after Kevin becomes a celebrity. The dialogue is layered with subtext—when Sylvia asks Kevin to endorse pills, his refusal is met with "Breaking faith with himself. Look who's talking!"—revealing family tensions that predate his powers.
The story is structured in two clear movements: Kevin's powerless adolescence and his sudden acquisition of healing powers during an alien war. Smith uses the war as a plot device to transform Kevin from family liability to national asset. The narrative accelerates after he heals his first patient, with Kevin becoming "the most important individual on Earth." Yet the second half is marked by a deflation: after peace returns, his celebrity fades, and the family's attention wanes. The closing sections show Kevin returning to his old role, now with the added bitterness of having been valued only for his utility. This arc—from resentment to adulation to neglect—is compressed into a few thousand words, giving the story a fable-like quality.
Smith plants small, telling details that accumulate meaning. The tablecloth that wraps around Kevin in the opening scene is a physical manifestation of his family's uncontrolled powers. Later, when Kevin heals, the act is described in terms of energy transfer: "I felt a warmth flow through me." The contrast between the chaotic, domestic psi-use and the focused, wartime healing underscores the theme of purpose. Kevin's sister Lucy warns him, "you're getting too bound up in your work," a line that echoes his earlier complaint about his family's exhibitionism. The story's title, "Jack of No Trades," inverts the proverb: Kevin is a master of one trade—healing—but that single skill defines and isolates him.
Readers may notice how Smith balances science-fiction conceits with a sharp, unsentimental portrait of family life. The story's brevity—under 11,000 words—means every scene carries weight. Pay attention to the moments when Kevin observes others: his sympathy for his father, his irritation at his sister, his grudging respect for Tim. These observations, filtered through Kevin's first-person voice, give the story its emotional texture. The ending, though not included in the excerpts, is foreshadowed by the pattern of use and discard that runs through the narrative.
Years ago, shelving Jack of No Trades, I kept thinking how its boy heals yet aches to be seen as more. That quiet ache echoes in another work, High Man — Context and Discussion, where worth tangles with expectation. Both are hushed bookends on a shelf about being loved for what you do, not who you are.
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