Ken Lizzi's Blog, page 49

A Trip to the Emerald Coast

I usually take a vacation around late March. This year was no exception. MBW, the HA, and I jetted off to Florida. At the recommendation of a fraternity brother, we booked a week in Destin, located on the coast in the Florida panhandle.

It seemed many others had the same idea. The narrow, linear beach town was hopping. Not with Spring Breakers, but with families. The complex in which we’d rented a condo seemed to cater to families with children roughly the age of the HA. She had a blast in the kid’s pool. Thankfully that was heated; the weather was not fully cooperative. We had about two and half sunny days. Clouds dominated the remainder, with one day of rain. But that’s about as far as I’ll go with complaints.

We enjoyed a couple of beach days, driving east to a little resort town called Grayton for one of them. We wandered, shopped, and ate at the Destin Harbor Village and Boardwalk, with the HA tackling the climbing wall, among other activities. I celebrated my birthday at Margaritaville. (Tip: get the shrimp and grits.) We drove west to an aquatic zoo, watching dolphin and sea lion shows. We kept on going (past some of the many, many military bases in the area) to a nice, compact, happily uncrowded terrestrial zoo where the HA could feed birds and watch the animals. MBW picked out her anniversary gift (which date falls today.) I visited three different brew pubs, ate well, got a bit of sun, edited a short story, and spent entirely too much money. So, a good trip.

How about I bore you with some pictures?

Toasting the first day.

Destin Harbor Village

Gray day at Grayton Beach.

Pool, beer. A natural pairing.

Destin Harbor Boardwalk

Lesser known beach in Destin, off the beaten tourist track.

Ditto

Dolphin show at the Gulfarium

Sea Lion show at the Gulfarium

Swordsmen and Supermen. More or Less

Swordsmen and Supermen is a slim volume of heroic fiction. The selections are eclectic. “Let’s see what we have lying about the office.” Not too much apparently, but an interesting variety. Take a look.

Meet Cap’n Kidd. Robert E. Howard. Breckenridge Elkins! Yee haw. Elkins is a Pecos Bill-like character; a larger than life Western folk hero. Those who know REH only through Conan or Solomon Kane might not realize just how funny Howard could be. Breckenridge Elkins stories are on par with Clemens at his Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County best.

Death of a Hero. Jean D’Esme. This is a chapter extracted from the English translation of a French novel. Seems an odd choice. Surely the early 1970s offered complete short stories to choose from. Still, this isn’t bad, reading like the highlights of a lost world fantasy adventure. I might track down a copy of “Red Gods” some time.

Wings of Y’vrn. Darrel Crombie. Decidedly an artifact of a specific era, an era prioritizing experimentation and stylistic boldness; unafraid to take a swing, knowing a strike was as likely as a hit. The 1970s: bell bottoms and psychedelic van art. There is much to admire about this story. It offers some interesting ideas and wildly creative world building. The Biblical and mythic references, resonances, and echoes layer in an illusion of depth. But while the author dishes up what in his mind was a cosmic fantasy, what ends up on the page is often confusing and a challenged to parse. While I enjoyed bits of it, in the end it is too tied to its time. Too far out, man.

The Slave of Marathon. Arthur D. Howden Smith. To a degree this is ill-concealed message fiction. But that message — duty and loyalty to country — is itself a fantastic rarity nowadays. The prose is stiff, the characters poorly developed or one-dimensional, and the historical recreation more like a stage play than a well-researched, immersive piece of fiction. Despite all that, it grew on me and I earned something from my investment of reading time.

How Sargoth Lay Siege to Zaremm. Lin Carter. Carter pays homage to Dunsany. He is a fair mimic. I liked this; it did what it came for and ended, not wearing out its welcome. Short and satisfying.

Summary? Not an anthology for the ages. Not much meat. But if you can find a cheap copy, not a waste of your time.

You know who isn’t wasting his time? Me. I’m writing this on my birthday, at a rented condo on the beach in the Florida panhandle with My Beautiful Wife and the Heir Apparent. Despite the weather gods having received advanced intelligence that I was coming and making a mockery of the phrase “Come to Sunny Florida” it has been a good trip so far. I’ve worked on short story revisions as requested by the editor of a magazine many of you are probably familiar with (more on this later, I hope) and spent quality time on the beach, in the hot tub, and at craft breweries. A birthday lunch at Margaritaville (scouted out earlier) is in the offing. So, Happy Birthday to me.

Should you wish to say Happy Birthday to me, why not buy yourself a present?

The HA building her kingdom. Sampling the local offerings.

The Sword of Welleran. Speculations on the Afterlife.

Edward Plunkett, Lord Dunsany, is probably best known for The King of Elfland’s Daughter. Otherwise perhaps for his Jorken’s stories and his clever, witty fables of the foibles and fallacies of gods and men. The Sword of Welleran is a collection of his earlier works. I think, perhaps, his relative inexperience shows when these stories are compared to his later, more mature writing, though I’m hardly qualified to judge. Still, I found the collection well worth my time, starting with:

The Sword of Welleran. A parable in search of explication. The unnamed dreamer (Dunsany himself, perhaps, as a recurrent character?) narrating this tale provides no moral of the story. What are we to make of the sacrifices of the heroes? Of the city’s reliance upon reputation and its failure to maintain martial standards? Of the heroes’ ghostly return? (Make note of the role of afterlife.) What to make of the new, young hero’s abhorrence of the Sword of Welleran. Beats me. There may well be a message here, but if so, I remain too dense to grasp it. Still, I enjoyed reading the tale.

The Fall of Babbulkund. This is not a story. It is instead a fabulous travel guide, a catalogue of wonders written by an Old Testament poet, painting the glories of the decadent city of Babbulkund and portending its doom. I recommend reading this with a fine tawny port. Slippers and a smoking jacket are optional, but certainly appropriate.

The Kith of the Elf Folk. A speculation only: Tolkien read and absorbed this one. There is something of the Dead Marshes, a (coincidental?) Gladden Fields, a hint of Leaf by Niggle, a glimmer of Tom Bombadil, and fey, melancholy elf-kind. Note the discourses on the soul and Paradise.

The Highwayman. If the previous story might have — should have — influenced J.R.R., this one might have influenced REH as he wrote Solomon Kane. Dunsany reminds us of the thread of gold in even the foulest soul. “…one sin at which the Angels smiled.” Damn, that’s good. Note the POV of the dead man.

In the Twilight. A lengthy description of walking into the light. Quite picturesque, providing images that could come straight from The Wind in the Willows. It becomes impossible to ignore at this point that death and the afterlife are recurrent themes in this collection.

The Ghosts. Rather on the nose, but accurate. A take on the Gothic horror story, and a good one. Logic meets the supernatural. Was Dunsany obsessed with life after death? This was, after all, the era of spiritualists.

The Whirlpool. This is more the Dunsany I expect, with this short vignette about the god of the whirlpool. And yet even in this the book’s theme recurs, as the whirlpool discourses upon the souls of sailors and the Happy Isles.

The Hurricane. Another vignette. But here we get an abrupt departure from the theme. Dunsany indulges in what I presume are warring impulses: a dislike of the effects of the industrial revolution (which as a nobleman of leisure he could tut-tut about from Olympian heights) and his clear love of humanity. How to destroy what Man has wrought without destroying Man? And he cannot do it.

The Fortress Unvanquishable, Save for Sacnoth. I’ve written about this excellent tale previously. The break from the theme continues.

The Lord of Cities. This is a philosophical piece more than it is a story. It opens in a fashion that makes me think of Bilbo musing upon roads. But it transitions into a discussion of Man versus Nature, of primacy, Is there value in Nature except through the lens of Man’s perceptions? Or — in a take E.A. Poe would appreciate — is the entire enterprise, the work of both Man and Nature, ultimately for the benefit of the spider?

The Doom of La Traviata. We return to the theme after a three-story interval as we witness the post-mortem judgement of the soul of La Traviata. For those who need a refresher on Verdi, La Traviata is the story of the courtesan Violetta. She gives up her chance of happiness at the behest of her paramour’s father. Dunany picks up the story after her death and considers the wheat and chaff admixture of her soul. What to make of Dunsany’s judgment? Is it the vestigial Victorian ascendant over the 20th century modern man? I dunno.

On the Dry Land. Love and death. We finish up more or less on theme. I wonder, did Dunsany feel this way: ambition thwarted by the demands of love/marriage? Or perhaps writing this piece was a cathartic exorcism of a passing malaise.

As a work of Swords-and-Sorcery I’d have to give this collection a failing grade. I’d consider only a couple of these S&S: the title story (barely) and the classic Fortress Unvanquishable. But time is never ill-spent reading Dunsany, even when he is pondering the afterlife rather than reveling in this one.

I’d like to think that time is not ill-spent reading my scribblings either. I’ll have announcements to make as the year goes on concerning upcoming works. But in the meantime, why not try my crime/fantasy, S&S heist novel, Thick As Thieves?

Enjoying the Widening Gyre

Another birthday approaches. That can often mean the sort of deep navel dive that requires oxygen tanks, acetylene torches, and a rescue party on stand by. What have I accomplished? What is left to accomplish? Have I reached my potential? Where did all the years go?

Not gonna do it. (Those readers of a certain age should read that sentence in the voice of Dana Carvey imitating George Bush.)

Instead of self-examination, I’ve decided upon contentment. I’m going to enjoy what I’m doing now and take what pleasure I can from what comes. A radical notion: having a good time.

How, when I have a career, books to write, a family to support, bills to pay, and all the ancillary baggage of middle age? Good question. Let me provide an example.

I’m finally reading The Once and Future King. What the hell has taken me so long? Sure, I’ve seen the animated Disney flick (The Sword in the Stone), but that’s hardly the same thing. What an utter pleasure this book is. There is an almost Wodehousian sense of joy about it, though perhaps with an underlying melancholy that Wodehouse would not, or could not, convey. I’m in no rush to finish this. I’m going to savor it slowly.

What else? Vacation. I’m taking My Beautiful Wife and the Heir Apparent for a beach holiday in Florida for the week of my birthday. Sand, sun, and suds. (And, of course, some writing. The Gulf Coast seems a good place to locate one of Karl Thorson’s escapades.) Why not mark another milestone in a warm and pleasant place? Margaritaville here I come.

So, while the widening gyre creates an ever expanding abyss, I’ll stare in and smile, while I enjoy the ride and sip a cocktail of mixed references.

If you too appreciate joy, rides, and other assorted pleasant things, check out some of my books.

Golden Cities, Far. The Roots of Swords-and-Sorcery

I think a brief reminder is all that is needed here: Lin Carter was a gifted and prolific editor. One of the volumes he put together for The Adult Fantasy series was a book titled Golden Cities, Far. The introduction is one of his better efforts, and seems to have been exhaustively researched. In fact, the book benefits from Carter’s notes, commentary, and humor throughout. This is the second of his collections of old myths, legends, and tales that are the roots from which the tree of heroic fantasy sprang (following Dragons, Elves, and Heroes, which I suppose I ought to track down at some point.)

Following is my comment on each entry in Golden Cities. I don’t comment on Carter’s commentary (this post would emit a glossy reek if I did) though I will say I found his remarks generally worthwhile.

How Nefer-Ka-Ptah Found the Book of Thoth. This slick prince of Egypt is a cat I can identify with. He’s the sort who grows so engrossed in reading he’s oblivious to all else. This trait of his leads someone to tip him off as to the whereabouts of Thoth’s Big Book o’ Spells up the Nile. Nefer-Ka-Ptah  (NKP from here on) is a bit of a magician already. He magics up some automata for dredging, dams up the river, and magics the guardians into paralysis — all except for the giant, unkillable snake. It’s Stygia, of course there’s a magic snake. This one seems to be a distant relative of the hydra, and NKP uses a variation of Herakles and Iolaus’ trick to defeat it. Then he steals Thoth’s book. He reads the first page. Then he does my favorite bit:

“[NKP] now called for a piece of new papyrus and a cup of beer; and on the papyrus he wrote all the spells that were in the Book of Thoth. Then he took the cup of beer and washed the papyrus in the beer, so that all the ink was washed off and the papyrus became as though it had never been written on. And [NKP] drank the beer, and at once he knew all the spells that had been written on the papyrus, for this is the method of the great magicians.”

Beer magic. Hell yeah. Zymurgimancy? Things don’t end well for NKP and family. Thoth wasn’t pleased at the theft of his book, leading to the moral of the story: Don’t piss off the gods.

The Descent of Ishtar to the Netherworld. From the Sumerian epic Angalta Kigal she. In reading Carter’s free adaptation and riff on the ancient story (the Tammuz/Osiris resurrection concept), I can’t help but remember John Myers Myers’ take on the legend. Myers’ is more to my taste, but I like Carter’s take too. It should be read in a sort of chanting intonation. Carter sends Ishtar to the underworld to ask Nergal to return her beau to life. She’s got to get through the multiple gates of death, being stripped at each gate of her signs of power and authority, and ultimately her very dignity — that is, her clothes. The fragment Carter provides leaves her on her knees, pleading with the god of death. Seems like he could have included a bit more, the tease. I think C.L. Moore could have written a Jirel of Joiry riff on this one. Hell, maybe she did and I failed to notice while reading the story.

Prince Ahmed and the Fairy Paribanou. This is one of those fairy tales along the lines of Puss in Boots in which an astoundingly lucky younger son-type falls ass over tea kettle into a silk pillow-lined vat of money. I was struck by how the opening section of it reminded me of Jack Vance’s A Bagful of Dreams in that a potentate’s avidity for the esoteric and outré drives some of the plot. I always liked this one. It is a fairy tale: I don’t expect initiative and agency from the protagonist. Though I admit I didn’t recall the massacre at the end. Brutal.

The Talisman of Oromanes: The Merchant Abudah’s Adventure with the Ivory Box. Or, as I would call it, A Turgid, Plodding Parable of the Evils of Wealth, Pleasure, Power, Philosophy, and Science. The story follows the remarkably mutable Abudah as he learns that the only true reward comes through religion. Had I not already known this tale was written by a British clergyman, I would have probably guessed it. What a profligacy of purple went into this pablum. Give it a miss, I suggest.

Wars of the Giants of Albion. From the Welsh Historia Regum Britanniae by Geoffrey of Monmouth. Twelfth-Century pseudo-history. So, of course, gloriously silly. And, often, great fun. Get this, for example:

“At these words one of the foe, a lord by name Subardus, turned back with three hundred warriors to do battle with Corineus. But that mighty man of war, with his shield, warded off their blows and swung up his great axe and cleft Subardus in two halves. And then forthwith he made to charge the rest and made terrible slaughter with his whirly axe which never tired of drinking deep of the blood of the slain.

To and fro in their midst he rushed about, receiving the blows of all bravely, and returning as good as he got, if not indeed better, until he had slaughtered great numbers of them. Some had their hands and arms, some their vey shoulders, and some their heads or their legs, all cut off by his horrible blade. All fought him, ringing him about with a hedge of glittering steel.”

And then you’ve got a guy wrestling a giant and tossing him off a cliff. Jeff Monmouth, the Stan Lee of the Twelfth Century. Excelsior.

Forty Singing Seamen. Alfred Noyes. Hard to keep from grinning while reading this bouncy doggerel verse about British sailors meeting Prester John. It’s like John Myers Myers writing light opera, or Rudyard Kipling playing with comic fantasy.

The Shadowy Lord of Mommur. From the French Romance Huon of Bordeaux. More like Huon the Bonehead. Has there been a more dunderheaded hero? Even the other characters call him on it, to no avail. Seriously, Huon is too stupid to live. There are a couple of cool scenes, and this version of Oberon is…novel. But frankly (pun intended) I feel dumber for reading this.

Oliver’s Brag. A Modern Treatment of a Carolingian Legend. Anatole France. I came to Anatole France by way of John Myers Myers (who keeps showing up in this post for some reason) tracing a reference in Silverlock. And I was glad of it: Anatole France dishes up the soup. This story merely reinforces my opinion. Go ahead, read it and try not to grin. Amusing stuff.

The White Bull. Voltaire. Droll, witty, and full of scriptural and mythical references. I can imagine Mark Twain having written this, except in the distinct Nineteenth Century American vernacular. Voltaire sat down, stuck his tongue in his cheek and began to satirize religion, politics, women, ludicrous myths, and whatever else came to mind. More funny stuff.

The Yellow Dwarf. Madame D’Aulnoy. A stark reminder that pre-Disney fairy tales are grim. (No pun intended.) No happy endings here. The supernatural is frightening. The moral: Don’t spoil your kids.

Selections from Amadis of Gaul — Arcalaus the Enchanter and The Isle of Wonders. Vasco de Lobeira. As Carter notes in his introduction to these selections, Cervantes considered Amadis of Gaul worthwhile even while disparaging most chivalric tales. And I can’t say Cervantes was far wrong. These hold up. The narratives are coherent and focused, not seemingly a mere random assemblage of events. Amadis is a more admirable hero than Huon of Bordeaux. I liked what I read. There are even a few good action scenes. You can perceive the DNA of Swords-and-Sorcery in these selections.

Orlando Furioso — The Palace of Illusions. Ludovico Ariosto. A serial novel by Dickens or a soap opera. Take your pick and call it Paladins in Love. Fun stuff. But I think it would work best consumed incrementally rather than binged. As I recall, de Camp and Pratt give us a taste of Orlando Furioso in one of the Harold Shea stories. You can really imagine the links leading from Ludovico Ariosto to Gary Gygax.

This book is the lab result sent back after Sword-and-Sorcery fiction swabbed its cheek and sent the sample off for analysis. The contents are the distant ancestors, the deeply buried roots from which sprang the S&S family tree. Find a few metaphors and have fun blending them. And, speaking of fun, how about a fun book or two? May I recommend a couple of mine? S&S meets crime fiction in Thick As Thieves. Sword-and-Planet meets sci-fi in Under Strange Suns.

Swords & Sorcery. Or Swords & Monsters?

Swords & Sorcery is L. Sprague de Camp’s first entry in his four-volume series that spanned seven years. His introduction — an early sample of the short essay he’d return to with variations on the theme often enough — is a decent explication concerning what heroic fantasy consists of. (I found myself nodding in agreement at a portion of his opinion of William Morris.) With a promising introduction and a list of authors printed on the cover, I”m ready to dive in. But let me first make note of the gorgeous Virgil Finlay illustrations.

The Valor of Cappen Varra. Poul Anderson. You may perhaps recall Cappen Varra from the first Thieves’ World volume. Well, here he is starring in a story first published in January, 1957. This is fine, entertaining work in the grand old tradition of adventure stories, droll and witty, even though the ‘surprise’ ending is telegraphed early on. Score one for bards. Also, take note of the troll. A theme may be developing, in that monsters stand in for sorcery in these S&S yarns. 

Distressing Tale of Thangobrind the Jeweller. Lord Dunsany. Somewhat more esoteric than the usual Dunsany fare. This one is an absorbing and gorgeously written piece about a bad man coming to a bad end. I believe a r-read might be rewarding. Or it might instead summon “that grim and dubious woman whose house is the night.” Gods and monsters, or monstrous gods make a grim appearance in this one.

Shadows in the Moonlight. Robert E. Howard. I forget how utterly brutal that opening section is. I’m sure it need not be said (though that has never stopped me) but you do not want Conan for an enemy. This is my favorite of Conan’s adventures on the Vilayet sea isles. We don’t get much reliable information about the black statues, but the hints are creepy and mysterious. The action is hot and bloody, and Olivia makes a spunky damsel in distress, the sort who returns the rescuing favor. Adventure cliches abound, and I don’t care. Bonus monster: the Missing Link.

The Citadel of Darkness. Henry Kuttner. In a clear nod to REH, Kuttner opens with an epigraph that commences “Hearken, O King…” NIce touch, if you aren’t going for subtlety with your homage. Sadly, I found this the highlight of the story. I enjoyed a couple of the early action sequences, but other than that, this one did not work for me. Prince Raynor is a cypher, a character without any characteristics. The cosmic weirdness gets slathered on too thick for my tastes. The story leans into the psychic battles for some of the drama. A little of that goes a long way. The signs of the zodiac as load-bearing components of the story structure felt gimmicky. And that ending fight? I get the impression Kuttner had neither been in, nor even witnessed a fight. All I can say is, if Suzanne Somers hadn’t been available, Prince Raynor should have been hired as the Thigh Master spokesman. All respect to Kuttner, but he could — and did — write better stories. Interestingly, this one involved more sorcery than monsters. I don’t think that means anything, just noting it.

When the Sea King’s Away. Fritz Leiber. A sort of sailors’ tale, with more than a bit of the shaggy dog story about it. But it’s written by Leiber and recounts an adventure of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser at their most characteristic: Meaning acting as nigh-suicidal risk takers and big game skirt-chasers. So the lack of a clear resolution does not impede my enjoyment of the yarn. Exotically imaginative setting: check. Swordplay: check. Monster slaying (giant cephalopod): check. It isn’t Ill-Met in Lankhmar, but it’ll do. Bit of odd sorcery (next time you watch a plate-spinning act, remember this story) but the monster fights get greater shrift.

The Doom That Came to Sarnoth. H.P. Lovecraft. Is there a name for this sort of fictional history? Stories of invented places rather than invented characters? If so, it is probably German. The thing is, I dig it. I’ve always preferred HPL’s non-Mythos stories (though you could probably shoe-horn this one in.) I admire the imagination; the evocation of deep time; the weirdness; the things left unwritten, merely hinted. It ain’t heroic fiction — nary a hero to be found. Still, it’s good. Monsters? In a sense; non-human and extra-terrestrial.

Hellsgarde. C.L. Moore. Moore possessed a unique writing voice. Her stories are almost sui generis. I admire her work. There’s a “but” coming, you can tell. The difficulty I have, the tickle in the back of my mind, the fly in the whiskey, is the tendency toward detachment in her stories. Whether it is Jirel of Joiry or Northwest Smith, at some point in the narrative, the character begins to experience events detached from reality, some inexplicable, internalized ontology removed from objectively cognizable existence. The story loses its grounding. It becomes impossible to say what is really happening, what an outside observer would see occurring. Some of that goes a long way. Many of Moore’s stories consist primarily of it. Happily, Hellsgarde only wafts us away into a non-Euclidian spirit realm a couple of times. Instead, we get a moderately entertaining ghost story. The horror aspect of S&S seems to get quite a bit of emphasis in many of these tales. Monsters: I did mention the ghost, didn’t I?

The Testament of Athammaus. Clark Ashton Smith. This story seems somehow distantly related to HPL’s entry. There is a fictional history of a city and references to non-terrestrial beings from the stars, and a horrific end to an imperialist city. CAS, however, provides us with an individual narrator possessed of a fully-developed character, and a coherent tale. As with Moore’s story, (and HPL’s for that matter) horror overrides the heroic fiction aspect of this one. I liked it, though. Monster: Yep.

So, a fine collection. More Swords & Monsters than S&S. Of course neither S is meant to be taken as an absolute. The alliteration simply reads better than the bland “Supernatural Adventure.” Anyway, these are mostly good stories, even if none are the individual author’s strongest work. They are still better than the output of most other writers. There is a reason the contributors to this volume are considered greats. I recommend this book.

You know what other book I recommend? How about a post-apocalyptic/sci-fi/fantasy/action-adventure?

A Multiversal Valentine’s Day. Sorry/Not Sorry.

It is Valentine’s Day as I write this. Today means, I imagine, different things to different people. For some it is a romantic, Christmas-tier holiday, with all the Madison Avenue approved trimmings: dressed up, romantic, candlelit dinner, flowers and heart-shaped box of candy. Others, perhaps, are content with the candy, consuming the entire box alone, wearing a bathrobe and binge-watching Netflix. Some hardly note the day’s passing. There are any of a myriad possibilities.

The important question is, of course, how would famous fantasy characters react to Valentine’s Day? What sort of Valentine’s Day card would — for example — Elric pen in flowing runes for his one and only? Let’s find out, shall we.

I’m snow-white albino and you’re jet-black sable, an Oreo cookie savory. We harmonize like ebony and ivory.

We harvest blood and souls for Arioch, Chaos lord strutting like a peacock. Thinks he’s cock of the walk.

We have a co-dependency, you devour souls, so I replenish energy. More than our parts: you kill so I live, a symbiotic synergy.

In battle we’re masters. You’re my mic, I’m Marshall Mathers. Through the multiverse we leave disasters.

I can’t live without you, Stormbringer, mine. Won’t you be my Valentine?

I regret nothing.

Moving on, one wonders what Conan might scratch with a dagger upon the mainmast of the Tigress.

Along the Black Coast, at every port and village

We raid at will, plunder and pillage.

Across the sea road we stride,

A Hyborian Bonnie and Clyde.

O, Bèlit, till your last flash and shine

You will always be my Valentine.

Here and there through his Middle-Earth epics, J.R.R. Tolkien created some unforgettable romantic pairings. Beren and Lúthien. Aragorn and Arwen. Umm, Túrin and Niënor (cough.) But was there ever as heartfelt an attachment as:

We loves you more than wriggly fish,

Than eggses, though for eggs we wish.

We cannot be seen, cannot be felt

Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt

When throttling goblins from behind.

Precious, please be our Valentine.

Happy Valentine’s Day. I’ll show myself out. But, before I go: If you want to read any more of my nonsense, try here, or here.

The Fantastic Swordsmen Delivers a Fantastic Lineup

The Fantastic Swordsmen is the third entry in L. Sprague de Camp’s swords-and-sorcery anthology series. De Camp’s introduction is solid, but after a few of these apologias for S&S they all begin to read much the same. Don’t worry, the stories are better.

Black Lotus. Robert Bloch. Bloch wrote this story at the age of sixteen. It is that sort of information that makes me want to snap my pen in two and toss my computer out the window. (The Defenestration of the ChromeBook. No, not catchy.) Black Lotus is a compact (as compact as the requisite purple prose allows) fusion of horror and the Oriental Tale. The Oriental Tale, still popular in the pulps of the 1930s is a remnant of the centuries-old fad begun with the first European translations of 1,001 Nights. Bloch serves up a good story. A remarkable story considering the age of its author. The disparate elements of the tale resonate on the individual frequencies of Lovecraft, Howard, and Smith. If you’re going to imitate…

The Fortress Unvanquishable Save for Sacnoth. Lord Dunsany. This exquisite narrative reads like the missing literary link between Amadis of Gaul and Conan of Cimmeria. What more is there to say? It is Dunsany. Either he charms you or he doesn’t. His enchanted pen seldom fails to ensorcel me. I mean, look at that line I just wrote. Absurd, I know. But I don’t withdraw it.

Drums of Tombalku. Robert E. Howard and L. Sprague de Camp. A firecracker of an adventure tale. The two halves of the story (the first half drafted by Howard and the second half written by de Camp from Howard’s outline) mesh up well. I do feel a lack of resolution, and some plot elements are left hanging. Still, I liked the story. It is atmospheric, colorful, and contains plenty of action. I’ll take it.

The Girl in the Gem. John Jakes.  This is TV dinner Brak the Barbarian: a complete meal in a conveniently sized, quickly consumed package. Jakes wastes no words, gets things moving quickly, and doesn’t let up. He provides backstory when you need it, otherwise he focuses on driving the plot. A fine, one-beer yarn.

Dragon Moon. Henry Kuttner. Elak stories seem to consist of variations of the same collection of elements. Stir and serve. That’s all right, though it can make it hard to distinguish one from the other. The issue I have with Elak stories is that they contain too much for shorter form fiction. The events are not given space to breathe, to be fully explicated and integrated into a believable secondary-world. Thus the tales come across as sketchy, slapdash. Compressed epics. Still it is fun to see Elak buckle the swash and Lycon swill the booze.

The Other Gods. H. P. Lovecraft. Hubris. And beyond hubris…terror. Yep, HPL. It’s good. Read it.

The Singing Citadel. Michael Moorcock. Elric is back for some emoting, some pondering of his navel, and the usual summoning of conveniently reached elemental beast lords, not to mention Chaos Lords, who all arrive dramatically at the last moment to save Elric’s bacon in this psychedelic S&S story. I enjoyed it well enough. I’ve learned to calibrate my expectations, setting the dial to the position marked “Moorcock.” This one has its moments, but too much of it is like being trapped inside a lava lamp surrounded by strobing, multi-colored lights while someone reads beat poetry. If this is within your wheelhouse, congratulations. My preference is for a more grounded adventure story. So take my criticism for what it’s worth. Individual tastes differ. Middling Elric is my estimation. Probably not a derogatory description, no matter your opinion of the corpus.

The Tower. Luigi de Pascalis. The anthology ends on a somewhat experimental note for de Camp. Maybe he wanted to include it since he went to the trouble of translating the story from the original Italian. This is a taut, atmospheric horror/psycho drama with the trappings of S&S by way of the chanson de geste. Intriguing and worthwhile, if not fully engaging.

Verdict? Buy it. In one volume you get Dunsany, Howard, and Lovecraft; Kuttner and Moorcock; de Camp wearing multiple hats, and an introduction to someone from a bit off the beaten path.If you haven’t been introduced to my work, I welcome you to check it out. I noted a new Amazon review for one of my novels. I’ve read that the Amazon algorithms kick into a higher marketing gear after 50 reviews. Under Strange Suns is getting tantalizingly close. If you’re interested in reading about an ex-special forces soldier’s search for the missing inventor of the FTL-drive, with a nod here and there to ERB, this might be the book for you. If you decide to give it a look, please leave a review. I’d like to get over that hump and see what’s on the other side.

Touching Base

I can’t always be reviewing anthologies, you know. I do have other matters to occupy my attention. Here’s a snapshot of some of those matters.

What I’m reading:

As usual, I’ve several books going at once. My life is compartmentalized. Each compartment is assigned a different book. The more leisurely, evening book is a collection of gothic novels: The Castle of Otranto; Vathek; and Nightmare Abbey. I’m nearly finished with Vathek. I”m enjoying Vathek, it is amusing. Frankly, however, the joke is growing stale. I think it might have worked better for me in a shorter format.

The audio book for my commute is The Three-Body Problem. I’m accustomed to this particular style and pacing, especially in science-fiction. But the novelty of it is carrying me past some of the more turgid sections. There is a fundamentally alien worldview woven into the assumptions of the book that I find interesting, even when off-putting. This probably won’t be one I’d recommend, but so far at least, I consider it worthwhile. I’m a trifle surprised that the Chinese government allowed publication of this book, given the rather damning first chapter dealing with the Cultural Revolution. But, admittedly, I’m not privy to the shifting currents of what the CCP censors consider reactionary. 

My lunch book is another Lin Carter anthology: Golden Cities, Far. Given the contents’ role as feeder streams flowing into the river that is Swords-and-Sorcery, it complements the gothic romances I’m reading. The material is hit-and-miss, at least for my modern sensibilities. Your ancient Egyptian, or Twelfth-Century reader, or so forth, doubtless held different expectations for his entertainment.

I’m still — slowly — re-reading A Shortened History of England. It remains an impressive labor of scholarship, while maintaining an approachable, engaging writing style. Any of you history buffs who haven’t yet read this might want to pick up a copy.

On deck is another of L. Sprague de Camp’s anthologies, The Fantastic Swordsmen. Also, The Once and Future King. And more books are on the way.

Meanwhile, I’m still writing. I put a novel outline on hiatus because of an urge to write a short story. It has been some years since I worked in that format. I’m curious to see what I come up with. So far I’m enjoying the process.

Upcoming books? I assume I’ll have one or more books out this year. I’m consulting with Aethon Books regarding cover art, so we’re still at an early stage. I’ll let you know once I receive more concrete information regarding release date(s.) In the meantime, if you’ve the desire to sample some of my work, why not try Under Strange Suns, my homage to ERB and John Carter of Mars? Or, browse here.

Happy reading.

Flashing Swords! #5: Demons and Daggers. A Transitional Anthology.

Lin Carter is back with another volume and more alliteration. Flashing Swords! #5: Demons and Daggers. The cover is drab and uninspiring, a tepid fantasy scene with a dull background, far from the evocative Sword-and-Sorcery covers of the previous volumes. The intro is equally unpromising. Carter writes that he is doing “something a little different” and is soliciting “stories for #5 from writers who have not yet become members of [SAGA].”  The names of the contributors — with the notable exception of Roger Zelazny do not inspire confidence in those hoping for the raw fire of S&S. No slight is intended to the others, all fine fantasists in their own right. But, I don’t read the FS anthologies for the larger, inclusive category of Fantasy. Well, I’ll keep a more-or-less open mind. Come with me.

Tower of Ice. Roger Zelazny. Zelazny and Dilvish the Damned! Hell yeah. (Joke intended. Own your wordplay. Don’t weasel out of responsibility.) This opens FS#5 with a bang. Zelazny is a master. He defies conventions, but not in a snotty, double-bird-salute to the squares sort of way. He seems more concerned with clever, novel story telling than in displaying disdain for the stylistic approaches of his predecessors. Just when you think he’s about to zig, he zags. He doesn’t hold your hand or provide a helpful info dump right up front. But the storytelling is so intriguing that you’re willing to go along, confident that you’ll learn what you need to when you need to. A fun story. And on including both demons and daggers.

 A Thief in Korianth. C.J. Cherryh. She is a well known and respected fantasist now. In 1981? That must have been relatively early in her career, I suppose. I admit some uncertainty as to her S&S chops. Please let me know if I’m missing out on something. The intro to Thief, a slow, expository bit describing the city in which the action would take place, did not fill me with confidence. Starting with an urban travelogue is tough to pull off while simultaneously holding the interest of the reader. Avram Davidson can pull it off like a champ (viz. Flashing Swords! #3.) Cherry did as well as could be expected. She maintained my interest, though it waned. Then she introduced her protagonist — a thief — and her kid sister, and I was worried. Standard fantasy fare, I feared. I was wrong. When Cherryh finally kicked the plot into gear, she did it like a boss. This is definitely S&S — S&S of the sort found in Thieves World, sure, but still the genuine article. This story was more than fine. It was actually good. Plus, the main character did flash knives and razors from time-to-time, so I’d say we can score daggers. No demons, however.

Parting Gifts. Diane Duane. My criticisms are not criticisms of the story qua story, but rather comments on the story in the context of a Swords-and-Sorcery anthology. Duane writes beautifully. Up front, I”ll acknowledge this is a good story. I admire it, even like it. But…This came out in 1981. Embodied in this tale are elements of the Tolkien Boom that in my middle-age I find somewhat irksome. (Doubtless it felt natural and expected in my youth, when I was picking up something new to read at one of the three or four bookstores in the mall, spending a week’s allowance on paperbacks, the arcade, and maybe a sandwich at the Arbys in the food court. Thus I supplemented my immersion in the older material I picked up at the library with the then current mainstream of speculative fiction.) Can I be more specific? I’ll try. There is the twee aspect, exemplified in Gifts by the talking kitten. There is the unconventional protagonist in the form of the jovial old sorceress heroin. Her joints ache and she employs her powers to cleanse the jolly innkeepers still. There’s the whole sanitized, progressive view of the middle ages, with everyone clean and prosperous, educated and happy. I don’t mind her playing with conventions, the deliberate twisting of the traditional Christian narrative. That’s old hat, barely worthy of an eye roll, it’s become so stale. (Though I imagine I would have squirmed a bit, reading this as a twelve-year old.) The point is, this isn’t S&S. It is capital F fantasy, epitomizing the genre trends evident from the Tolkien Boom up to Grimdark. So, not a criticism, merely an acknowledgment. Daggers? No. Demons? Well, there is an analogue of the Devil himself. So, I suppose it gets a pass on a technicality.

A Dealing With Demons. Craig Shaw Gardner. A certain wry wit is not unheard of or unwelcome in S&S. Think Jack VAnce, or even L. Sprague de Camp’s tongue-in-cheek drollery. But with CSG I expect broad, slapstick humor. Humor has a well-earned place in Fantasy (capital F again, such as that written by Diane Duane.) Think Robert Asprin. Or Terry Pratchett. But while I enjoy comedy, and wring every drop of entertainment from it, it isn’t S&S. (Despite Pratchett referencing Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser in the very first DiscWorld novel, if I recall it correctly, and despite Cohen the Barbarian being an epic bit of parody and characterization in his own right.) Again, this isn’t a criticism of the story or CSG. His stuff occupies space on my shelves. It is merely contextual. Dealing is a light-weight, fluffy bit of comedy. Okay for what it is. No daggers worth noting. But Brax, the enchanted weapons sales-demon popped up intermittently. So, that’s a yes on demons.

The Dry Season. Tanith Lee. Tanith Lee writes in no style or genre but her own. Her stuff is hit or miss with me, but even the misses are superbly written. Roger Zelazny wrote the best S&S story in this anthology, with C.J. Cherryh coming in a respectable second. But Lee wrote the best story in this volume. Period. Is it S&S? I’d have to say no. Despite my objections to the inclusion of the prior two stories, this one is just so damned good I don’t care. I thought Zelazny’s Tower of Ice was worth the price of the book alone, now I see I get Dilvish the Damned as Lagniappe. Not a bad deal. Dry Season is layered, nuanced, thoughtful, hopeful and full of despondency. It is set in a fantasy Roman Empire analogue, on the easter frontier. A newly appointed commander must deal with the local religion, duty, desire, and his own past. No daggers, I’m afraid, and no demons, unless the commander meets some in the hell he creates for himself. Brutal.

FS#5 is, I think, a transitional work. Look at the clues. The cover price, for example, moves from $.95 for each of the first two, bumps to $1.25 for the third, $1.50 for the fourth, then jumps to $2.50 for this one. Then there is the leap from the 1970s to the 1980s. The zeitgeist is shifting and that includes a change from the slim ‘60s and ‘70s cheap paperbacks to the fatter ones of the ‘80s that seemed to accompany the Tolkien Boom. Look at the writers. By number 5, gone are de Camp, Vance, and Davidson. Already in the number 4 we get Katherine Kurtz, a precursor to the Duanes and Gardners yet to come, transitioning from sleeker, more earthy S&S to the more fulsome, almost wistfully yearning fantasy that followed.Anyways, while I think FS#5 is a somewhat disappointing swansong for the series, the stories it contains are worth the cost of purchase and the reading time involved. You know what else I consider worth the cost of purchase? Boss: Falchion’s Company Book One, still only $.99 cents. The other two books in the series cost more, because that’s how this works.