A Robert E. Howard Reader at Fantasy Con Scotland

"The Legend" by George Paul Chalmers (ca 1864),
illustrating a scene from The Pirate (1821) by Walter Scott

Scotland, befitting a land of inventors and innovators inspired by infinite imagination, has long been a fertile realm for the field of fantasy fiction. The enigmatic ruins & monuments of the land's lost peoples conjured tales of Fairies in the hearts & minds of Scots; the deep lochs veiled lurking Kelpies and monsters; the mountains & islands attributed to the work of Giants, or even the bodies of Sea Serpents. Those stories themselves sprouted forth poems, sagas, legends, and myths, clasping round history and geography like flame flowers around a standing stone, with new tales & works continuing to this day. So deeply entwined is our history with our legend, one could be forgiven for mistaking an unbelievable truth for a convincing legend, and the reverse. 

Writers across the world have taken a cutting or two from Scotland's wild garden of myth & history, from Shakespeare subverting & transforming history entwined with supernatural themes in Macbeth, to John William Polidori's Lord Ruthden in The Vampyr; Mary Shelley's time in Dundee & Edinburgh informing Frankenstein, to Bram Stoker's stay at Slains Castle providing a sumptuous visual canvas for Dracula; onward to David Gemmel fashioning his Rigante saga after the Scottish Highlands, Gregory Widen's visit to Scotland inspiring the immortal Highlander, & Diane Gabaldon's love of Scottish history leading to the Outlander series.  Authors as varied as Jules Verne, William Hope Hodgson, A. Merritt, Robert W. Chambers, M.R. James, Edmond Hamilton, Greye La Spina, Manly Wade Wellman, Algernon Blackwood, Arthur Machen, Morgan Robertson, C. L. Moore, Seabury Quinn, Poul Anderson, Karl Edward Wagner, & many more besides have written stories about Scotland, Scots, or our stories.

Even a 20th century writer all the way in small-town Texas, who himself became founder & codifier of an entire genre within the wider field of fantasy, can trace those roots back to Caledonia.

Requiescat in Pace, Howard Andrew Jones

I wish I could've started the new year on a happier tone.

Howard Andrew Jones was an author whose work exemplified everything this blog was made to extoll: adventure fiction with an eye for historical resonance, eldritch menace, and weird mystery, evoking the works of classic late 19th & early 20th Century ripping yarns, while also bringing his own sensibilities and qualities to the prose. He wrote tales in Pathfinder's world of Golarion, undertook the enormous project to collect Harold Lamb's historical adventures into the Bison Books collection, and created three fantasy cycles of his own.

It was through Robert E. Howard fandom that I first encountered him, and he regularly wrote on that author and the worlds of historic & fantastic adventures on Tor, Black Gate (of which he was managing editor), and on his own website, with an essay in Sword Woman and Other Historical Adventures being one of the highlights of the Del Rey Howard collection.

So when Andrew sent out an email enquiring if I would be interested in helping spread the word for his debut fantasy novel, well, I was only too happy to do so.

This is Charles Keegan's magnificent illustration for the UK edition of The Bones of the Old Ones. Andrew told me I would love it: he knew my tastes very well.

Of all Howard's works, it was The Desert of Souls and The Bones of the Old Ones which I loved the most. The "Sword and Sand" stories of stolid guardman Asim & wily rogue Dabir swashbuckling their way through a fantastical veil of the Islamic Golden Age of Persia. Much like the deeply missed fellow Sword-and-Sorcery boundary-breaking aficionado Charles R. Saunders, it is the shift in setting & focus of the Sword and Sand Chronicles which appealed to me the most - Arabian Nights with an earthy grounding to complement the dreamlike magicks and uncanny mysteries, with historical sensibilities supporting it all, like the roots of a tree holding up a cliff-face.

He was always generous, encouraging, and inspirational to me in my all-too-few dealings with him. I was always amazed to see him grace the blog with his presence, and I'm so glad for the correspondences we shared with one another. We cannot know what the future will bring, but if there's any justice in it, then Howard Andrew Jones' books will be on library shelves for many years to come: for just as his appreciation for Lamb brought that author's work to a new generation, I'm certain fans of that Indiana farmboy will make sure his work will live on.

Regarding Disappearing Articles

As of yesterday, all my articles have been removed from The Cimmerian website. This was by my request, following editorial changes made by the editor and owner Leo Grin. It is his right and prerogative to run the site as he sees fit, and it is my right and prerogative to respond to those changes.

I will keep you updated as the articles find a new home.

EDIT: Messrs Finn and Shanks have written fuller explanations of the situation as they see it on their respective blogs. My position can be summed up in the last paragraph from the email I sent to Leo Grin:

If you are going to expel and erase any contributor to The Cimmerian blog five years after it closed due to personal disagreements on political matters, then I must ask that you do exactly the same to me.

EDIT 2: I have decided to discuss the matter in greater detail on my political blog. I endeavour to keep The Blog That Time Forgot as free of politics as I can, so I would appreciate comments respecting that.

This Is Why I Never Get Anything Done

Right! Let's get going! I've sketched out all the pages of Bannockburn, it's more or less done. Now to begin the arduous task of inking it! (begins inking) Curses! I have drawn so much detail into each panel that it will take me forever to render the comic to the same standard! I cannot keep this up, even now I can feel myself hitting a brick wall. I need something to take my mind off this monster... Monster... Dinosaur...

Of course! Dinosaurs from the Pulps! I've compiled a database of over 200 short stories, novellas and novels which feature dinosaurs: of them, I've narrowed down 17 that I definitely want to include, which leaves 3 left; I have 18 on "standby" if one of the ones I've chosen is in copyright, and to draw the final 3 from. I sat and typed out an entire story from a reproduction because I can't get the damned scanning-to-text software to work. It's all going swimmingly! But wait! I need to write an introduction, but I don't want to editorialise too much or condescend to the reader! Perhaps I need a break from writing and drawing, and try reading...

OK! I just got Dinosaur Lords, it could be good - problem is it's quite long, and I'm a slow reader. Maybe I should try a short story collection, like The Big Book of Monsters? Or should I go with something Scottish, read up on the Middle Ages in Scotland, or old Border Reiver tales? I could always go for one of those intriguing paperbacks I found at a charity shop like Footprints of Thunder. Perhaps I should go for something completely unrelated to swords, sorcery and dinosaurs: another Peter Høeg book like The Woman and the Ape? I enjoyed Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow. There's always the late James Herbert for a ripping horror yarn - not read The Spear yet. Wait... I've spent more time trying to decide what book to read than actually reading. Argh! I'm missing that documentary on the Franklin expedition-

Hold on! I was working on a comic about the Franklin expedition! That's what I'll do: fairly minimalist, lots of silhouettes, white and black space, practically done already. Just need to find the right font. Can't be Verdana, Arial, or any of those ones. Copperplate too overused - even that documentary used it. Hmm, so many fonts, and even the most subtle of changes can alter the layout and tone of a page. Zounds! This is taking forever. Perhaps I need a break from all this ice and bleak northiness. Ice... bleak northiness...

Ah-HA! I haven't played Skyrim in ages! I often come up with some great creative ideas while playing open-world games like this. Time for a new character: Babarracus, a Redguard, an Alik'r wanderer, Monster Hunter-for-hire, seeks the greatest challenges. Each "companion" he hires is a client offering a reward for slaying a beast: they rarely hire Babarracus for multiple contracts. No guilds, only progress the main story far enough to get access to Solstheim & start dragon attacks. Good fun so far: managed to slay a giant at level 11 with a mixture of misdirection, a friendly sabercat and good aim. Not sure how much longevity Babarracus has, though. Hmm, wonder who I could create next. Maybe try a pastiche on some comic or film characters. Hmm, what films have I seen lately...

Ach! So many films I've seen and meant to review for the blog due to links to my interests, but never got around to: Godzilla, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Interstellar, Mad Max: Fury Road, Avengers: Age of Ultron, Kung Fury, Attack the Block, Let The Right One In, Dinotasia, even The Dino King - and I never thought I'd see a more infuriating waste of potential than Walking With Dinosaurs in 3D, but somehow Korea managed it. And I can't even be bothered with the new Conan film. Hey, what happened to Conan?

Huzzah! 80 Years of Conan! I keep going back to it, but always get stuck on some complex or thorough thing, and still wanted to publish them in the order of the stories' original publication. What was I on this time: ah, "The Tower of the Elephant." What was stopping me that time? Oh, Indian mythology and Howard's exposure to it through Dr. Howard. Man, I really wish Howard did a story about Scotland, not just Bran Mak Morn's Caledonia, but involving the heroes and villains of my country's history: Simon Fraser, William Douglas of Nithsdale, Aonghas Óg the last Lord of the Isles, the notorious Armstrongs of the Border Marches, the Black Douglases, Robert the Bruce...

Wait! Robert the Bruce! Bannockburn! ...

And so it continues. Dozens of things I'm working on simultaneously and one-at-a-time. One of these days, I'll get one of them finished. I suppose it's better working on something even if it's scatterbrained than not doing anything: at least I'm producing something, even if it means the net creation is going at a snail's pace.

Back to work. What am I doing now...

Requiescat in Pace Christopher Lee, Master of the Fantastique

I don't want to sound gloomy, but, at some point of your lives, every one of you will notice that you have in your life one person, one friend whom you love and care for very much. That person is so close to you that you are able to share some things only with him. For example, you can call that friend, and from the very first maniacal laugh or some other joke you will know who is at the other end of that line. We used to do that with him so often. And then when that person is gone, there will be nothing like that in your life ever again.
 - Christopher Lee on the death of his friend Peter Cushing

I never met Mr Lee, but I think all of us who were touched by his performances will feel a little share of that same sadness. I can't really think of much to say about him that I suspect will be said by many over the coming days. Christopher Lee was an actor who enriched every production he graced with his presence. He never phoned it in. He never treated his roles with anything but commitment, dignity and respect, whether it was a Hollywood blockbuster, an intimate character drama, a lurid Hammer horror, or a screwball comedy. Like his friend and co-stars Peter Cushing and Vincent Price, he made every film he starred in better just by being there - because you knew while watching them that they cared about what they were doing. It was never a paycheck, never something to do for their CV, never anything other than the craft.

Dracula. Frankenstein's monster. Kharis. Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde. Lord Summerisle. Scaramanga. Nicholas, Duc de Richleau. Henry Baskerville. Jinnah. Captain Robeles. Mycroft Holmes. Blind Pewe. Rasputin. Marquis St Evrémonde. Saruman. Lucifer. Fu Manchu. Dr Catheter. It's difficult to think of a film he starred in where he wasn't one of the best parts.

Christopher Lee was an actor who was very good at what he did, and loved what he did very much. For a man who is immortalised largely by his monstrous villains and foreboding menace, the world is a little darker in his passing.

Part of me wants to joke - only half-joke - that he isn't really dead: either that he has finally self-actualised and become undead, or that rumours of his death were greatly exaggerated - the man served in the secret service, after all. But with over two hundred and eighty films to his name, Christopher Lee will be with us all in some way as long as the medium exists. Whether his shade's in the next world or not, the shadow he cast on the silver screen will last forever.

Cinniúint na Déithe: Clontarf 2014

Mr. Bates,
New York City.

Dear Mr. Bates:

You may, or you may not have noticed my work in Weird Tales, Oriental Stories, Ghost Stories, Fight Stories, Action Stories, and Argosy; but that doesnt matter so much. The point is, I’m deeply interested in the intention of your company to bring out a new magazine devoted entirely to historical tales. I want very much to do business with this magazine, and would appreciate any pointers you might give me as to how to make the market [in case this story is not acceptable]._ I realize that editors do not have time to give detailed criticisms; but just a line or a few words scrawled on a rejection slip would help me wonderfully.

I’m hoping you can use this tale – “Spears of Clontarf” which I am enclosing. It deals with a phase in history too much neglected by writers – that of the Dano-Irish wars which culminated in the final shattering of the Viking power at the battle of Clontarf. Those days of war and rapine represent an age crammed with vital drama, enough to supply a hundred thrilling volumes.

2014

I suppose I might as well talk 2013/2014.

In 2013, I gained the confidence to embark on my new career and made measurable steps to that end. I made many new friends, caught up with faraway pals, and met some old ones I haven't seen in decades. I contributed voluntary work and tried to give a lot to the community, vital in this current climate. I had my first stall where I exhibited my art, and proved to myself I'm not uniquely unsuited to being an artist.

It was tough, too. There's been a lot of upheaval, some pretty profound effects on my personal life. Lots of heartache, turmoil, anger, sorrow, strife, and confusion. Friendships have been sorely tested, family relationships strained, even things like handling finances have taken a toll. Sometimes I wondered how we were going to get past some of those hurdles. Some of those hurdles are still there. And I see others yet uncrossed.

2014 will be one of the most important years of my life, on the grand and the modest scale. Grand because of the most important referendum in my country's history which will determine its future and that of my family and friends and their children. Modest, because it will be the year where I finally evolve as an artist and professional. Perhaps I'll never feel like I'm a "proper" artist, but now I've learned that I won't let that stop me from trying.

I'm looking to release the first issue of Bannockburn in April, before the other great 2014 anniversary: if it isn't released by then, then certainly as a single issue for June. Depending on whether I feel satisfied with the story I wrote or not, perhaps I will revisit it in the future: plenty of authors adapted short stories into novels, after all. I'll also continue writing on the blog when the fancy takes me, hopefully with more regularity (every week at least). I've had a nasty habit of not writing anything for ages, then vomiting up 5,000-word essays. That said, I have a backlog of posts which I'll do the finishing touches on.

I also plan on embarking upon the 5th Scottish Invasion of Cross Plains (and hopefully actually finishing the posts on the 4th invasion, jings, Al) and my 3rd trip to the Arizona Comic-Con. Maybe I'll bring some copies of Bannockburn over for my New World pals!

Until then, best of luck, one and all, for 2014.

Made It, Ma! Top of the World!

Today was a big day for me: the day where I take a new step towards respectability as a comic artist. The kind folk of the Dutch Gable House hosted a vintage craft faire, and I was invited to host a stall. Since the event had a general arty-crafty vibe mixed with Art Nouveau/Deco stylings of The Great Gatsby, I figured it would be cool to do some portraiture. I added a little twist: I took the neurological phenomenon of pareidolia, and spun it into a paranormal context - i.e. it isn't that people perceive imagery in everyday vision, but that that imagery spontaneously appears of its own accord.

PAREIDOLIC
PORTRAITURE

Alexander J. Harron, Esq

PAREIDOLIA

From Ancient Greek; παρα (para, "amiss, wrong") + εἴδωλον (eidōlon, "image")

Have you ever seen something unusual within an otherwise mundane object?

Perhaps an ANIMAL appears in the CLOUDS?

A WORD in the branches of a TREE?

A FACE in a layer of SOOT?

YOU ARE NOT ALONE!

This phenomenon is known as PAREIDOLIA – where a seemingly innocuous visual stimulus reveals a greater significance – and has been recorded throughout history!

The Neanderthals of Lasceaux conjured visions of MAMMOTHS upon the walls of a CAVE using only PIGMENTS and PAINT! The Ancient Egyptians used this craft to TRANSFORM what was once a normal mass of limestone into THE GREAT SPHINX OF GIZA! The illustrious Michelangelo materialized no less than THE HEAVENS THEMSELVES upon the ceiling of THE SISTINE CHAPEL!

VISAGES DRAWN FORTH!

This is but a piece of PAPER inscribed with INK. The paper was made from wood shavings as has been the fashion for centuries; the pen forged in the standard industrial manner.

Yet lo and behold, appearing upon this ordinary paper – A FACE EMERGES!

How can this be? NONE CAN SAY FOR SURE.

MASTERING PAREIDOLIA

Most examples of PAREIDOLIA occur seemingly at random – faces, creatures, or patterns seen in natural environments. But with tuition, and nerve, YOU TOO can evoke this arcane power of the ages!

It is not only stone, marble, paint or other such esoteric materials which can be used to draw forth spectral visages – tools as simple as PENCILS and PAPER!

With the secret method known as DRAWING, practitioners of PAREIDOLIC PORTRAITURE pierce the veil between worlds, and DRAW FORTH images – capturing them in this world with the materials you see before you!

  

Even something as simple as TWO DOTS and A CURVED LINE, juxtaposed correctly and clearly sketched, can summon shapes into YOUR VERY HANDS!

THE OASIS

Two travellers were crossing a vast desert, when they saw an oasis in the distance. One traveller was an artist, and so chose to set down an easel and paint the oasis; the other traveller was dehydrated, and hurried forward, intent on sating their thirst. After some time, the artist finished a wonderful painting; the other failed to reach the oasis.

In truth, the oasis both travellers saw was a MIRAGE – it was not real. And yet the artist achieved their goal to paint the oasis – while the other traveller failed. And perished in the attempt. As far as the artist was concerned, the oasis was real – but to the other traveller, it was not.

Who’s to say who was wrong or right?

PAREIDOLIA

FOR YOUR

DOMICILE

Alexander J. Harron, esq, has generously allocated some time from his tireless studies in the field of PAREIDOLIC PORTAITURE to grant the customers of VIOLET SKULLS a most extraordinary opportunity – a UNIQUE PAREIDOLIC PORTRAIT!

Give it to your sweetheart, ensconce it within a picture frame, hang it upon your wall, dangle it from your locket for identification purposes, or simply display it in your drawing room as an unusual conversation piece!

For more elaborate or ambitious PAREIDOLIC PORTRAITURE, consult with Mr. Harron for possible future opportunities – though be aware that his time is precious, and he treats EVERY project with the GREATEST of MAGNITUDE.

Mr Harron also insists that his work MUST NEVER be used in conjunction with fraud, perjury, confidence trickery, witchcraft, voodoo, necromancy, black sorcery, copyright infringement, inkblot testing, or other malefic magicks – the consequence could be most grave, and Mr Harron cannot be held responsible for loss of property, possessions, sanity, or souls.

Art really is quite bizarre, when you think about it.

So this is it: my first stall, selling my art and scribbling away. Not very fancy, ridiculously cluttered, and nerves were wracked and wrought, but I turned up and lasted the day. After seeing such talented folk as Morag Kewell, Craig Collins, Neil Slorance, Ben Templesmith, Onrie Kompan, Jared Sams, Giulie Speziani, Rob Harrington, Denae Frazier, Val Hochberg, Natali Sanders, Jolene Houser, and too many others to recall, I knew that some day, I would get there. Some day, with work, confidence and guile, I would get a wee corner at a gathering, and do what they do. So many thanks to Violet Skulls Market for hosting me, the preposterously generous Mhairi M. Robertson for being a wonderful neighbouring artist, my tireless family for the support and assistance that got me through, my friends who never doubted in my abilities when I most needed validation, and all the artists who awed me at their stalls from Glasgow to Phoenix who told me "yes, you can do it too."

You were right, guys! You were right!

Branching Out

So I've started another blog.

Don't panic!

The Encyclopaedia Is Changing

So that's been quite a while since my official announcement, and there's been precious little information about what's going on.

Well, I've taken the first step in the next phase of the project, and I've overcome three significant barriers.  The most important is the final acknowledgement of the enormousness of the project, which had been one barrier: now that I have a better idea of how huge it all is, I have a better handle on it.  I was always aware that many people have helped me get where I am today, but I was adamant on not relying on them at the same time. Now I realise that, really, it's not that I'm putting a burden on them, it's sharing it. So rather than this being another "what could have been," I've taken measures which ensure that the Encyclopaedia will move forward - whether I like it or not!

The next is more personal: I've been working on it so much that it's taken a life of its own, and it's gotten too personal. I became so invested and attached that I started to become afraid of letting anyone see it.  I convinced myself that errors, typos, mistakes and other undesirables littered the work like autumn leaves on the road, dreading the time when the avalanche of corrections would come through. This is something I have to deal with too often, and why I don't do nearly as many commissions as I probably could.

The third is most personal of all. There is someone within the Howard community which I consider more important than any save Howard himself in terms of getting me established, encouraging me, and keeping me on the straight and narrow. He's the reason I was confident enough to post on the Robert E. Howard Forums, which remain the best, most accessible online discussion for Howard and essential for anyone remotely interested in Howard and Conan to peruse at least once. He gave me the spirit and advice I needed to ask Leo Grin to join The Cimmerian, and I doubt I would even have tried were it not for his support. And I'm pretty sure The Blog That Time Forgot would be very different without everything I've learned from him. Yet after knowing him all these years, I've lately felt intimidated by his knowledge, to the point where I was deathly afraid of disappointing him. I eventually bit the bullet and did what had to be done.

For the truth is, the Encyclopaedia was never a solo project - not really. Every Howard fan, scholar, critic, and collector I've talked to has welcomed me, even after initially hostile receptions. I know that I could send them an email with any sort of a query, and if they don't respond with an answer, they'll suggest exactly who might know. And of course, there are countless essays and articles which opened the way for entirely new ways of thinking about Conan and the Hyborian Age. All about the work of an author who's been dead over 75 years - a world he created in two dozen stories.

I hate to be a tease: I've told you about the changes, but not said what they are. Once everything's in place and collated, I'm sure an announcement will come in due course, but for now, I'll just say this: the Encyclopaedia is changing, and the change is good.

The Fourth Scottish Invasion of Cross Plains: Day 2

After a good night's sleep, Jeff, Barbara and I went on an adventure: to pick up Deuce Richardson, the first time I've seen him since the first invasion. We drove about an hour or so out of town to meet him and his mother. We had a Dairy Queen snack, some sort of concoction called a Pecan Turtle Blizzard or some such. It was an interesting experience: generally the fast food in America tastes much better than the fast food in Scotland - at least the ones from the big chains are.

As we drove back, we met Ed Chaczyk, Jim Barron, Todd Vick and newcomer David at 36 West. I was very glad to see everyone, especially Jim, since I was concerned he wouldn't make it this year - but he did. We all went to the Howard House, where we met Arlene Stephenson, and Rusty & Sheila Burke. We wandered around the house as ever, noticing one or two new editions - such as John Irvine's Galahad - around the place.

As we moseyed to the Pavillion we saw Indy again, and were soon joined by Mark Finn and Tim Arneson - and to my surprise, Joe Lansdale! It's funny to think of him coming here as just another Howard fan, considering he's a big writer in his own right, but there were other surprises in store...

All of us got lifts and rides to Humphrey Pete's for dinner. I was seated next to Deuce on my right and Howard history powerhouse Rob Roehm on my left, and we had a good chat about various things. For all his approachableness, I still feel a bit awed in the presence of the Big Guys like Rob, Paul Herman, Rusty Burke and Bill Cavalier. While being escorted to our table, a waitress offered to hang up my hat, which is the most Texan offer I've heard since coming here, and I couldn't resist. Rather than my usual Chicken Caesar, I decided to be a bit bolder, and ordered a Guacamole burger. Which is a burger with guacamole sauce on it. Of course. Our waitress was a lovely lass called Sally, who really went all out to ensure we were all happy and content with our meal. I try to be a generous tipper all the time, so it was easy for me to repay Sally's diligence and attention.

As I was walking out, I realised I had forgotten my hat. Disastrous. Luckily however, Mark Finn went ahead of me and explained to three lovely lassies that a gentleman from Scotland was among the group, so they recognized my brogue and gushed. All I can say is the Scottish accent is apparently far more attractive outside of Scotland than it is in Scotland. One of the lassies had even been to Scotland, where her uncle lives: I would've loved to have stayed and talked more, but I didn't want to keep Jeff & Deuce back. I got about halfway across the car park when Sally came rushing out hollerin' "Wait! Sir!" Turns out Jeff had left his hat behind: I dutifully retrieved it with thanks. Above and beyond the call of duty, well done Sally!

Our next drive was to the cemetery to see the Howards' grave. Again, it always seems strange to visit a cemetary during a celebration, and yet it shouldn't necessarily be so - after all, Howard has brought together people from all across the country, and world, even though he died before many of us were born. It seems appropriate to give thanks: even in death, people can affect the world long after they're gone. The cemetary had provided a canopy in case of rain, but since we're having uncommonly good weather we wheeled it aside for the photo. Melville made his pilgrimage too.

It was dark as Deuce, Jeff and I drove back to the Pavillion. I talked again with many old friends, but I had a particularly affecting conversation with Jim Barron about life, love and the pursuit of happiness. Jim & I have had very similar experiences fairly recently, so it was immensely touching to share them with each other. This is why I go to Howard Days.

C.L. Moore, 102

Today marks C.L. Moore's 102nd birthday. Her contributions to the Sword-and-Sorcery genre have been acknowledged at Resources for Science Fiction Writers, Adventures Fantastic, and Swords & Sorcery: a blog. For me, I'll just repost my Cimmerian tribute.

I recently reread Paizo's Black God's Kiss anthology, which is pretty excellent if you bypass Suzy McKee Charnas' dreadful introduction - instead go to Ryan Harvey's splendid piece at Black Gate, which provides most of the necessary information without throwing Moore's literary contemporaries under the bus - and I heartily recommend it.

The only other problem I have is the cover. Now, it's a gorgeously rendered cover, no doubt about that: I adore the evocative, noirish lighting and the sense of weirdness it portrays. Unfortuantely, Jirel's pose is veering slightly towards the sort of sultry pose that would make it a target for Jim C. Hines or the Hawkeye Initiative, and the armour is... well, it sure isn't what Moore described:

She smiled to herself as she slipped a fresh shirt of doeskin over her tousled red head and donned a brief tunic of link-mail. On her legs she buckled the greaves of some forgotten legionary, relic of the not long past days when Rome still ruled the world. She thrust a dagger through her belt and took her own long two-handed sword barebladed in her grip.

We already have plenty of not-safe-for-work Jirel cheesecake that has her borrowing from Red Sonja's wardrobe (even the ones with full or at least decent armour have problematic breast cups, to say nothing of the ever-dependably pulptastic Margaret Brundage's contributions): in this day and age, art of Jirel in the armour she was originally described to be wearing would actually be refreshing. Not to mention she, like Dark Agnes, is frequently given a mane of fiery red hair rather than the shorter cut described (long enough to become tousled and to be able to obscure her face, but short enough to be described as "short upon high, defiant head") Still, at least the bare thighs are in the text, right? And in any case, what's important is that even given her rather fetishy armour, Jirel looks strong and powerful: she has sufficient mass and muscularity to believably heft that (one-handed, argh) sword, and the environment is mysterious and evocative.

This piece by Michael John Morris is probably the most accurate I've seen,
though it falls prey to the long hair trap.

Even so, Paizo produced a fine collection of one of Moore's best creations, I'd encourage anyone interested in Sword-and-Sorcery to seek them out. Even if it doesn't end up your cup of tea, they deserve to be included in the annals of S&S.

Abraham Merritt, Metal Master

She stood before us, shielding us. One golden call she sent.

I looked back into the darkness. Something like an enormous, dimly shimmering rod was raising itself. Higher it rose and higher. Now it stood, upright, a slender towering pillar, a gigantic slim figure whose tip pointed a full hundred feet in the air.

Then slowly it inclined itself toward us; drew closer, closer to the ground; touched and lay there for an instant inert. Abruptly it vanished.

But well I knew what I had seen. The span over which we had passed had raised itself even as had the baby bridge of the fortress; had lifted itself across the chasm and dropping itself upon the hither verge had disintegrated into its units; was following us.

A bridge of metal that could build itself - and break itself. A thinking, conscious metal bridge! A metal bridge with volition - with mind - that was following us.

There sighed from behind a soft, sustained wailing; rapidly it neared us. A wanly glimmering shape drew by; halted. It was like a rigid serpent cut from a gigantic square bar of cold blue steel.

Its head was a pyramid, a tetrahedron; its length vanished in the further darkness. The head raised itself, the blocks that formed its neck separating into open wedges like a Brobdignagian replica of those jointed, fantastic, little painted reptiles the Japanese toy-makers cut from wood.

It seemed to regard us - mockingly. The pointed head dropped - past us streamed the body. Upon it other pyramids clustered - like the spikes that guarded the back of the nightmare Brontosaurus. Its end came swiftly into sight - its tail another pyramid twin to its head. 

 - A. Merritt, "The Metal Monster" (Illustration by the incomparable Jim Cawthorn)

Today is Abraham Merritt's 128th birthday. Every time someone's anniversary comes along, I feel rather inadequate for rarely coming up with a good tribute. Usually the heavyweights, the Lovecrafts, Tolkiens, Poes, Conan Doyles et al are well represented on the blogosphere: even the criminally neglected Smith had some great tributes. But the vastly under-represented A. Merritt could do with more love, beyond some glib quips about how "The Metal Monster" would make for the most Metal concept album ever. So, I've made a roundup of some of my favourite Merritt tributes and discussions around the web, and have a short look at one of the greats of 20th Century speculative fiction.

Clark Ashton Smith's "The Hashish Eater"

I'm always a bit haphazard observing my favourite writers' birthdays and other days of observation, but luckily I was reminded of Clark Ashton Smith's. I don't have much to say, but I'll link back to John R. Fultz' article on "The Hashish Eater, Or, The Apocalypse of Evil," which was my introduction to Smith's work.

And why not, let's read the entire poem. I've added some illustrations that I think have a little of that Smithian psychedelia. Now let's go on that journey through spaceward-flown horizons infinite...

OH CROM DAMN IT.

CROM DAMN IT ALL.

Universal Pictures has made a deal for The Legend Of Conan, an action film that will star Arnold Schwarzenegger in one of his signature roles as Robert E. Howard’s mythic barbarian. The deal brings Conan and Schwarzenegger back to Universal, which released the first film that launched Schwarzenegger’s movie career back in 1982. Universal has world rights on the film.

The film will be produced by Fredrik Malmberg and Chris Morgan. Malmberg is CEO of Paradox Entertainment, which holds the rights to Conan. Morgan is the Universal-based writer and producer whose credits include the last four Fast and the Furious films, along with Wanted and 47 Ronin. Morgan has hatched the story and might write the script. The caveat is that the studio wants The Legend of Conan for summer 2014, and Morgan might not be finished writing the seventh Fast and Furious installment by then. If that happens he will be a very active producer, because this is Morgan’s dream project.

Schwarzenegger starred in two Conan films before moving on to Terminator and other blockbusters as he became the world’s biggest action star. Paradox was involved in a 2011 reboot at Millennium Films that starred Jason Momoa and misfired. Paradox’s Malmberg, who moved the project away from Warner Bros after seven years of development with big name filmmakers because the project was moving too slowly, feels that this is the version of the film that he and everybody else always wanted to see on the screen but couldn’t while Schwarzenegger was Governor of California.

“The original ended with Arnold on the throne as a seasoned warrior, and this is the take of the film we will make,” Malmberg told me. “It’s that Nordic Viking mythic guy who has played the role of king, warrior, soldier and mercenary, and who has bedded more women than anyone, nearing the last cycle of his life. He knows he’ll be going to Valhalla, and wants to go out with a good battle.”

There are no plans for Momoa to return. Morgan said that in his mind, The Legend of Conan not only skips over that film, but also the 1984 sequel that Schwarzenegger starred in. The direct link is to the original, which was directed by John Milius from a script that he wrote with Oliver Stone. That was a testosterone-laced exploration of Howard’s mythology of a child sold into slavery who grows into manhood seeking vengeance against the warlord who slaughtered his family and his village.

“After the original seminal movie, all that came after looked silly to me,” Morgan said. “Robert E. Howard’s mythology and some great philosophy from Nietzsche to Atilla the Hun was layered in the original film. People say, he didn’t speak for the first 20 minutes of the film, but that was calculated in depicting this man who takes control of life with his own hand. This movie picks up Conan where Arnold is now in his life, and we will be able to use the fact that he has aged in this story. I love the property of Conan so much that I wouldn’t touch it unless we came up with something worthy. We think this is a worthy successor to the original film. Think of this as Conan’s Unforgiven.”

Let's go through stages of grief of a Howard fan - not representative of all Howard fans, of course, just one in particular. I'll approximate it through the use of video clips. Then I'll try and give a more level-headed commentary. Emphasis on try. I am so crotchety right now.