You heard about Samson, from your birth
Strongest man that ever lived on Earth 1
Of the Old Testament Biblical heroes, Samson stands out as the most strikingly larger than life figure. So much so, in fact, that there was heated debate among Talmudic Scholars at one point whether he even existed. There was a supernatural element to his birth:
(Note: With the planned October 2009 film release of The Road–you can find some excellent photos and a trailer here–I thought it was a good time to offer a review of the acclaimed novel on which it is based).
As I’ve mentioned in past posts, I’m a fan of the post-apocalyptic genre, but not for any perverse voyeurism derived from watching the chaos and violence associated with the end of the world (although Mad Max and its ilk are quite fun). Rather, it’s the unique set of existential situations and circumstances of the genre–nuclear war, zombie invasions, climate crisis, food and fuel shortages, etc.–that, in the hands of a talented author, illuminate truths about human nature and make for great reading.
Cormac McCarthy’s The Road is a fine example of a novel that uses the stage of a post-nuclear holocaust to say something meaningful. The Road is set in a world of bitterly cold nuclear winter and billowing ash, sparsely peopled with cannibals and scavengers. Cities are charred remains and homes in the suburbs are rotting and collapsed from decay. There is little to no hope for long-term survival of the human race in this dying world.
But in contrast with the bleakness and darkness I experienced while reading The Road, the good things in my life seemed all the brighter. The Road made me appreciate friends, family, and companionship, these lights we have in our own lives against the dark unknown at the end of the tunnel (and ones that we often take for granted).
The new sword-and-sorcery anthology from Rogue Blades Entertainment, Rage of the Behemoth, has hit the streets (and my mailbox). In this newest offering from RBE, editor Jason M. Waltz has upped the ante. Overall, this collection of S&S tales exceeds its worthy predecessor in both quality and consistency. Waltz’s theme for this book is that each protagonist must face a “behemoth”; in other words, a “large monster” of some sort. Despite my initial scepticism, the idea works well.
Right off the bat, Rage of the Behemoth just looks better than its older sibling. Johnney Perkins turned in an eye-catching painting for the cover of The Return of the Sword. His work on the multiple covers for Rage of the Behemoth is another big step forward for him. Waltz has also enlisted the talents of the Frenchman, Didier Normand, for the multiple covers featured in this edition. Normand’s art is obviously influenced by Frank Frazetta (which Normand admits). However, Normand not only captures, to an extent, the look of the Michelangelo of Brooklyn, he also does a good job of capturing the feel and energy of Frazetta (in my humble opinion). At his best, Normand reminds me of the late-’70s Ken Kelly. I’ll be keeping an eye on this guy. Interior artist, John Whitman, turns in some solid line-work for the book, but I found myself wishing that the inking was a bit better.
Cimmerian alumnus, Mark Finn, provides the introduction for this volume. His lead-off sentence, a true keeper, is, “Mock Sword and Sorcery at your own peril.” The rest of the intro maintains that standard and tone. John O’Neill, publisher and editor of Black Gate magazine, turns in a good foreword.
Just to get it out of the way: the first two stories in this book are not really worth reading, in my opinion. The good news is that all the rest, to one extent or another, most definitely are. Let’s get to ‘em… (Continue reading this post)
joss
noun
1. a Chinese idol or cult image
[origin: ca. 1711; Chinese Pidgin English]
HOWARD’S USAGE:
I took an ivory grinning joss, From a chest of scented sandal wood. Now where the woven bamboos cross It stands where a silver idol stood.
[from "Sighs in the Yellow Leaves"; to read the whole poem, see The Collected Poetry of Robert E. Howard, p. 279]
REH also uses it in another poem:
Over the smoke-cloud’s crimson reach, With the thrum of the Maxim’s ripping screech! Through clouds as fleecy and white as snow, Till I see the face of the frenzied foe! The flame spurts red and the smoke leaps blue And a spear of Hell’s-fire sears me through. Ships so close that the flame jets cross, His face turns blank as a Chinese joss! His struck plane staggers, it dips to fore And down he goes with a ripping roar!
[from "The Viking of the Sky"; to read the whole poem, see The Collected Poetry of Robert E. Howard, p. 110]
For your Sunday morning entertainment: a blogette at The New Yorker judges the novels of J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis to be “on about a fourth-grade reading level.” She also wonders whether fantasy has anything “to offer adults — literary adults, adults who enjoy reading bonafide novels.” Soliciting ideas from a friend leads her to, among others, Terry Brooks and Terry Goodkind.You know, those masters of literary, bonafide novels.
Yep, that’s going to turn out well…..
Over at the Montreal Gazette, Matthew Surridge has a ten minute interview with George R. R. Martin, whose A Dance With Dragons continues to crawl ever doggedly from the nighted abyss of literature’s womb into the piercing light of publishing. Martin is not forthcoming with details, but has said that he’s breached the 1,000 page mark, only a few hundred more to go. This will obviously be music to the ears of Martin fans who eagerly await the chance to enjoy the further chronicles of Westeros.
Martin also discusses the much-speculated HBO pilot, and possibility of a series based on the septology, each 12-episode season based on a book. Already cast for the pilot is the inimitable Sean Bean as Eddard Stark, Peter Dinklage (who would make an excellent Count Volmana) as Tyrion Lannister, and Broadway thespian Jennifer Ehle as Katelyn Stark. Even with a several-year head start on the first four seasons, Martin definitely needs to get cracking on The Winds of Winter and A Dream of Spring, and have them in bookstores on time for a series adaptation.
Obviously, a television adaptation of an established fantasy series is pretty big news, and very exciting. The Byzantine politics, raw sexuality, deeply flawed characters and somber cynicism of A Song of Ice and Fire seems a natural fit for HBO, producers of such relentlessly raunchy and severe shows as Rome, Deadwood, Oz, Carnivale, and The Sopranos. If it proves a success, then that opens many doors for other fantasy works–especially ones that eschew the fanciful notion of fantasy as harmless escapism for eternal adolescents. In many ways, a Conan series by HBO–ably assisted by established Howard scholars–would be more desirable to me than a motion picture, one that adapts all the stories without the time and pacing problems inherent in a feature film adaptation. If A Song of Ice and Fire gets picked up and proves a success, then the possibility of more Howard adaptations is ever closer.
Steve Tompkins was a great admirer of George R. R. Martin, and enjoyed A Song of Ice and Fire immensely. It breaks my heart knowing that he won’t be here to post his own inimitable thoughts on A Dance with Dragons when it comes out, or his reactions to the television series. I hope that both A Dance with Dragons and the series meet and surpass their fans’ expectations: it’s what Steve would have wanted.
I saw this article about The Iron Giant turning ten years old the other day. This is one of my favorite movies, and the article goes a long way towards explaining why. (It also does a good job of explaining why summer blockbusters suck these days, and has a totally unneccessary reference to local starlet Megan Fox’s breasts.) Believe it or not, both Jennifer Anniston and Vin Diesel turn in riveting vocal performances in this film. The idea of a government agent whose raging paranoia leads him to lie and usurp authority is as scary now as its ever been, and the idea of an alien robot inspired by Siegel & Shuster’s Superman puts the lie to H.R. Hayes’ 1946 rant in the most powerful way possible. I don’t often crank up the old VCR but in this case I made an exception. If you don’t know this movie I really encourage you to click on the well-done article, it even has an excerpt from the film.
DEUCE ADDS: Follow this link to the Iron Giant Project blog.
Clark Ashton Smith died in his sleep on this date in 1961, making the ides of August as black a date for Klarkash-Ton admirers as the ides of March ever were for the adherents of Gaius Julius Caesar. I raise a glass (though one not of Atlantean vintage, nor one imbued with more than common wizardry) to his shade. I am sure, somewhere, Robert E. Howard is doing the same, as well as Smith’s finest acolyte (and last of the courtly poets), Donald Sidney-Fryer. It is hard to choose from the enormity of CAS’ oeuvre (over seven hundred poems), but I thought this one fitting:
Ashes of Sunset
by Clark Ashton Smith
On lands he shall not know, the splendor lies –
A pharos on some alienated shore,
In foam and purple lost forevermore,
Where dreams are kindled in remoter eyes.
Who fares to find the sunset ere it fly,
Turning to light and fire the further west,
Shall have the veils of twilight for his guest,
And all the falling of an ashen sky.
Clark Ashton Smith always sought that furthest splendor; that dream-cloaked, westernmost shore. I hope he found it.
I wish more readers appreciated poetry these days. In years past, verse was held as the highest expression of the written word, back in the days when John Milton wrote Paradise Lost and Shakespeare penned his great tragedies. When Homer composed his immortal Iliad, and an unnamed monk set quill to scroll to preserve the oral tradition of Beowulf, it was the unquestioned king.
Now, however, poetry is a shadow of its former self. This is primarily due to the ascendance of the novel, but also an anemic market for aspiring poets, which is why I give new fantasy fiction publication Heroic Fantasy Quarterly a hearty, resounding, “Hail and Kill” for having the fortitude to publish this out of fashion form of the written word.
All obstacles considered, I suspect poetry would have no problem carving out a sturdy foothold among today’s fantasy fiction readers were there more inspired, creative geniuses like Alfred Tennyson practicing the art. Last week (August 6, 1809) marked the 200th anniversary of the birth of the former United Kingdom Poet Laureate, and while poetry does not hold anywhere near the public acclaim that it did in Tennyson’s day, heroic verse (and prose swords and sorcery fiction, I would argue) remains forever changed because of his marvelous works.
“Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilleus and its devastation, which put pains thousandfold upon the Achaians, hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls of heroes,” from Homer’s Iliad (translation Richard Lattimore) will always reign supreme as the most recognizable passage in heroic verse, but not far behind is the epic, call-to-arms conclusion of Tennyson’s “Ulysses”:
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are, —
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Tennyson’s most famous poem is probably “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” Some of my favorites include “Ulysses,” sections of his lengthy “In Memoriam A.H.H,” “The Lady of Shalott,” “The Lotos-Eaters,” and his 12-part retelling of the Arthur myth “Idylls of the King.”
“Crossing the Bar” is also a personal favorite; when I die, I would be proud to have this read at my funeral service.
If you think poetry is for flighty wimps or English majors (one and the same, many would argue), I urge you to seek out Tennyson. In the best poetry, every word counts. Tennyson’s best poems are as a claymore entwined with roses, terrible strength and aching beauty in harmony.
Thanks to Rusty Burke’s wonderful resource REH Bookshe
lf , we know that Robert E. Howard listed Tennyson among a number of his favorite poets. Given Tennyson’s powerful and sweeping storytelling as conveyed through his poetry — a trademark of Howard’s lyrical, galloping prose at its best — it’s little wonder that the Texan was one of his admirers.
Having offered my passionate defense of poetry, my next admission will likely stun and dismay my fellow bloggers here at The Cimmerian, or perhaps result in my crucifixion at their vengeful hands (a-la “A Witch Shall be Born” — I do not yet own The Collected Poetry of Robert E. Howard. I’ll get a copy, guys, I promise.
BRIAN UPDATE: An astute reader noted that “Crossing the Bar” was read at the funeral of Lord Dunsany. It’s yet more evidence of the impact Tennyson had on the greats of fantasy fiction.
In order to provide some closure in regard to my post last week, which discussed Terror and the Uncanny From Poe to the Pulps, I thought it fitting to take a quick look at Volume Two in the Library of America’s American Fantastic Tales series. Above, you can see a list of the marquee authors featured in this volume,as well as a blurb from series editor, Peter Straub (which paraphrases Lovecraft’s “oldest emotion” axiom, by the way).
