The critters are unbelievable. They look like something from the maudlin pen of a well-alcoholed cartoonist, or say Dr. Seuss on acid--the obvious generalization to be drawn from this intergalactic zoo being that the most fertile human imaginations seem limited to freaky combinations of already familiar forms. Some of the critters, enclosed here in generally superior sf stories, are Sturgeon's six-legged blue Hurkle kitten that thrives on DDT & inherits the earth, Dick's mozart bird, beethoven beetle & ferocious wagner animal invented by a professor who wants to preserve civilization's highest achievement but gets savage cacophony instead, & Dickson's teddy bears who've never been to earth but dress & talk like TV cowboys. Most chilling are the brainless all-purpose critters of Simak's "Drop Dead," who bring human visitors the immortality they seek by ironically transforming them into similarly insensate ecosystems. Funniest is Bretnor's "The Gnurrs Come from the Voodwork Out," in which the tootling by a little old cuckoo clock foreman on his musical secret weapon summons from the 4th dimension millions of voracious little animals who rapidly consume the enemys' trousers. Least successful are stories like Schmitz's "Grandpa" that subordinate the exotica to deadly conventional human-interest plots. The best stick to their business of ingenious speculation, which should enthrall addicts but probably won't hook any dabblers.--Kirkus (edited)