I read a lot of literature. Of the literature I read, much of that literature is of the "fantasy" genre. And of the "fantasy literature" I tend to read, the vast majority of that is "narrative prose" or novels.
To my embarrassment, I rarely read poetry. And I never read what I would call "fantasy poetry." When I do read poetry--usually it's because I'm teaching it--the poetry I read is "hyper-canonical," major stopping points on the tour path of Western Poetry of the English Language: the Beowulf poet, Milton, Shakespeare, the Romantics, the Modernists. In spite of the fact that my wife is a poet, I rarely read contemporary poetry.
But lately I've been trying to do some serious thinking about poetry, particularly in the context of fantasy. Why?
Recently I've been working on a chapter in my dissertation focused on the fantasist, Clark Ashton Smith (1893-1961). Those of you who know a little about CAS know that before he was publishing in Weird Tales alongside H.P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard, he was publishing poetry in Poetry Magazine alongside W.B. Yeats and Ezra Pound. Although Clark Ashton Smith was a pulp writer who wrote genre fiction, there's an argument to be made that he was, at least earlier in his career, also a Modernist poet.
I was reading from a wonderful anthology of Clark Ashton Smith's "Fantastic Poems" that I recommend to you. It's titled, The Last Oblivion: Best Fantastic Poems of Clark Ashton Smith (New York: Hippocampus P, 2002), and it's edited by S.T. Joshi and David Schultz.
The opening of Smith's poem, "The Hashish Easter; Or, the Apocalypse of Evil" struck me. Here's how the poem begins:
Bow down: I am the emperor of dreams;
I crown me with the million colored sun
Of secret worlds incredible, and take
Their trailing skies for vestment when I soar,
Throned on the mounting zenith, and illume
The spaceward-flown horizon infinite. (15)
Here Smith has created a character, "the emperor of dreams." I'm inclined to believe the "emperor of dreams" is a kind of imaginary poet figure, an archetype or symbol for all poets.
The Poet with a capital P wears a sun as a crown and the sky as a robe. And further, the Poet illuminates the heavens. In this vision of the poet, Smith has imagined the artist as the basis of reality. It's not as if the artist is erotically fusing with nature, an earlier idea from the Romantic period. The artist is not simply coming to terms with the world "out there" and then fusing with it. Rather, the artist is the world. The artist not only creates or organizes being. The artist becomes being as such.
I find this idea so intriguing. I reminds me of that movie, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus. In that movie, the implication is that there is this little old man whose simple mind sustains all being. In the reality of this movie, all consciousness somewhat dwells within the wide space of this little old man's mind.
Smith seems to be offering a similar vision here. The poet doesn't stand off away from being and thereby change reality; rather, the poet becomes the very "stuff" of reality. The poet is a god not in the sense of a center of consciousness that stands out of being; rather, it is the poet who is the basis of being.
Showing posts with label Clark Ashton Smith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Clark Ashton Smith. Show all posts
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
A Book Review of Lin Carter's *Literary Swordsmen and Sorcerers* (Sauk City: Arkham House, 1976)
I've recently been reading Lin Carter's famous essay collection about the pioneers of sword and sorcery, Literary Swordsmen and Sorcerers: The Makers of Heroic Fantasy (Sauk City: Arkham House, 1976). It's a fun book, a relaxing read, but in terms of analysis, it falls short. It's more and less a biographical reference guide for a variety of heroic fantasy writers. I came to it specifically because of the chapter on Clark Ashton Smith. I'm trying to write a chapter in my dissertation about Smith, and locating basic biographical material has been difficult.
The most interesting essay in the anthology, I think, is the opening one: "The Sword of Faerie." In this essay, De Camp surveys imaginative literature from its mythical "origin" to its most recent incarnations. He effectively binds together the classical manifestations of heroic fantasy like Ancient Greek and Anglo-Saxon epic poetry to the modern manifestations, e.g. Robert E. Howard's Conan the Barbarian stories, H.P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu mythos stories, and J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. Further, he binds together the Gothic novel, the historical novel, the novel of romantic primitivism, in an attempt to portray imaginative literature as a kind of thread running through literary history.
Other essays are worth reading for their information but I was reluctant of some of the analysis. The one on Robert E. Howard offers an unsympathetic view of the writer's life and deals in suspicious armchair psychology. Of particular note is Carter's essay on J.R.R. Tolkien. He states that the The Hobbit comes close to "universal appeal" and rightly observes that "few works can be read with pleasure" by both adult and young readers (224). I completely agree. To corroborate Carter's idea, I'll say that The Hobbit was a profound experience for me as a young kid. I read it in the 5th grade and have had a habit of reading and re-reading it since. I return to the book often.
Carter also claims that Tolkien was what he calls a "rurophile," a worshiper of an idealized vision of nature. He states that, for Tolkien, "life in the Industrial Age had some of the qualities of life in prison" (234). I find that intriguing, this notion that a sense of the cruelty and inhumanity modern life shades Tolkien's work; however, Carter seems to criticize or at least poke fun at Tolkien for his apparent negative vision of modernity. There's a strange propensity in Carter's work to interpret or morally censure the personalities and lives of the writer's he is studying (writer's he ostensibly enjoys).
This is a classic text, I'd say, worth the money and the time; however, Carter's style of literary criticism is just strange. It hybridizes basic historical literary research with psychological case studies. At the same he's relating for you essential information about these writers--in bald "info-dump" fashion--he's also "judging" them, speculating about whether they were psychologically sound.
To an extent, as a literary criticism, it's kind of a parody of the Freudian psychoanalytical literary criticism that was vogue in the 40s and 50s.
The most interesting essay in the anthology, I think, is the opening one: "The Sword of Faerie." In this essay, De Camp surveys imaginative literature from its mythical "origin" to its most recent incarnations. He effectively binds together the classical manifestations of heroic fantasy like Ancient Greek and Anglo-Saxon epic poetry to the modern manifestations, e.g. Robert E. Howard's Conan the Barbarian stories, H.P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu mythos stories, and J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. Further, he binds together the Gothic novel, the historical novel, the novel of romantic primitivism, in an attempt to portray imaginative literature as a kind of thread running through literary history.
Other essays are worth reading for their information but I was reluctant of some of the analysis. The one on Robert E. Howard offers an unsympathetic view of the writer's life and deals in suspicious armchair psychology. Of particular note is Carter's essay on J.R.R. Tolkien. He states that the The Hobbit comes close to "universal appeal" and rightly observes that "few works can be read with pleasure" by both adult and young readers (224). I completely agree. To corroborate Carter's idea, I'll say that The Hobbit was a profound experience for me as a young kid. I read it in the 5th grade and have had a habit of reading and re-reading it since. I return to the book often.
Carter also claims that Tolkien was what he calls a "rurophile," a worshiper of an idealized vision of nature. He states that, for Tolkien, "life in the Industrial Age had some of the qualities of life in prison" (234). I find that intriguing, this notion that a sense of the cruelty and inhumanity modern life shades Tolkien's work; however, Carter seems to criticize or at least poke fun at Tolkien for his apparent negative vision of modernity. There's a strange propensity in Carter's work to interpret or morally censure the personalities and lives of the writer's he is studying (writer's he ostensibly enjoys).
This is a classic text, I'd say, worth the money and the time; however, Carter's style of literary criticism is just strange. It hybridizes basic historical literary research with psychological case studies. At the same he's relating for you essential information about these writers--in bald "info-dump" fashion--he's also "judging" them, speculating about whether they were psychologically sound.
To an extent, as a literary criticism, it's kind of a parody of the Freudian psychoanalytical literary criticism that was vogue in the 40s and 50s.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Art, Drugs, and Religion: Clark Ashton Smith's "The Disinterment of Venus"
So I've revving up my engines to prepare for writing my next dissertation chapter. This chapter will focus will on Clark Ashton Smith (13 January 1893 – 14 August 1961), a poet and writer of fantasy fiction who published in Weird Tales alongside H.P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard. I wanted to discuss one of this stories here, "The Disinterment of Venus." Published in Weird Tales in July of 1934, it appeared alongside the famous novelette, "Through the Gates of the Silver Key," a collaboration between H.P. Lovecraft and E. Hoffman Price.
The story takes place in Smith's imaginary French province of Averoigne, at a 16th century Benedictine monastery. While the monks are digging in their garden, they come upon a giant statue, "the grimy head and torso of what was plainly a marble woman goddess from antique years." The statue is revealed to be somewhat supernatural. It evokes in people who look upon it deep desires. These desires are animal in nature: lust, hunger, the desire for alcohol. To a large extent, the statue emanates a kind of vice aura that contaminates those who look upon it. As the story progresses, the statue turns many of the otherwise god-fearing monks to sin. Eventually, one monk decides he has had enough. He approaches the statue with an intent on destroying it, with a heavy hammer. He is found the next day in the hole from which they exhumed the statue. The statue has crushed him to death, is on top of him, and it seems as though--even in death--he is embracing it.
Though this story didn't "scare" me, I found it extremely intriguing. I think allegorizes a certain kind of relationship to art, to drugs, to religion. In this story, an art object becomes monstrous. It becomes a kind of narcotic, something the monks become addicted to. And it leads to their ruin. I think this comparison between art and addictive drugs quite intriguing. Both drugs and art are reagents to ostensibly expand one's consciousness, yes? And furthermore, both drugs and art are sometimes offered as substitutes for religious experience. In this story, you have a drug-like art object set in a monastery, a place of worship. For me, this temple place with a goddess statue that attracts like a drug is a kind of "bridge point" between this world and other worlds. It is a kind of precipice that the monks throw themselves into in order to escape mundane existence in the seeking out of other worlds.
I think there is an ever prevalent attraction to the idea of "escaping" the world through art, through drugs, through religion Clark Ashton Smith's oeuvre as a whole.
The story takes place in Smith's imaginary French province of Averoigne, at a 16th century Benedictine monastery. While the monks are digging in their garden, they come upon a giant statue, "the grimy head and torso of what was plainly a marble woman goddess from antique years." The statue is revealed to be somewhat supernatural. It evokes in people who look upon it deep desires. These desires are animal in nature: lust, hunger, the desire for alcohol. To a large extent, the statue emanates a kind of vice aura that contaminates those who look upon it. As the story progresses, the statue turns many of the otherwise god-fearing monks to sin. Eventually, one monk decides he has had enough. He approaches the statue with an intent on destroying it, with a heavy hammer. He is found the next day in the hole from which they exhumed the statue. The statue has crushed him to death, is on top of him, and it seems as though--even in death--he is embracing it.
Though this story didn't "scare" me, I found it extremely intriguing. I think allegorizes a certain kind of relationship to art, to drugs, to religion. In this story, an art object becomes monstrous. It becomes a kind of narcotic, something the monks become addicted to. And it leads to their ruin. I think this comparison between art and addictive drugs quite intriguing. Both drugs and art are reagents to ostensibly expand one's consciousness, yes? And furthermore, both drugs and art are sometimes offered as substitutes for religious experience. In this story, you have a drug-like art object set in a monastery, a place of worship. For me, this temple place with a goddess statue that attracts like a drug is a kind of "bridge point" between this world and other worlds. It is a kind of precipice that the monks throw themselves into in order to escape mundane existence in the seeking out of other worlds.
I think there is an ever prevalent attraction to the idea of "escaping" the world through art, through drugs, through religion Clark Ashton Smith's oeuvre as a whole.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Lin Carter and Clark Ashton Smith's, "The Stairs in the Crypt": Pastiche and the Haunting of Art
Last night I read another Clark Ashton Smith pastiche written by Lin Carter, a short story called "The Stairs in the Crypt." I loved it! It's about a necromancer whose apprentices fail to bury him properly, and, of course, like all necromancers who aren't properly stowed away after death, he rises, organizes an army of ghouls, and proceeds to go about the countryside feasting on the living. This is such an interesting juxtaposition of fantasy and horror. Also, the language is great. Carter does a good job approximating Smith's beautiful language and prose style. It's a wonderful pastiche!
I have to admit something. I'm always slightly disturbed when I read genre fiction pastiches. Why? Well, before answering that let me be as clear as possible and give you an idea of what I think pastiche's are.
A pastiche is defined as "a literary, artistic, musical, or architectural work that imitates the style of previous work" (http://www.merriam-webster.com). It's different from parody, which is "a literary or musical work in which the style of an author or work is closely imitated for comic effect or in ridicule" (http://www.merriam-webster.com).
The key difference between parody and pastiche, one might argue, is the issue of "respect." Both "parodies" and "pastiches" are imitations; however, the significant question becomes, what is the intention of the author? To recreate the aesthetic effect of the work that is being imitated? Pastiche. Or, to make fun of it or to ridicule it? Parody.
No doubt in my mind: Carter is writing pastiches of Smith's work and not parodies. He clearly respects the author's work. And, lo, he has written a very entertaining/provocative story.
And this disturbs me. But why?
A good pastiche haunts my definition of art. A key element of artistic worth, for me, is originality. And, a first principal of a pastiche is its imitative quality. It's key characteristic is its unoriginality. Thus, to truly take aesthetic pleasure in a pastiche requires, I think, one conditionally set aside originality as a key feature of art.
I'm not ready to do that. And yet! A good pastiche written with genuine enthusiasm and, dare I say, love of the original work, has the capacity to trouble my aesthetic first principles.
I have to admit something. I'm always slightly disturbed when I read genre fiction pastiches. Why? Well, before answering that let me be as clear as possible and give you an idea of what I think pastiche's are.
A pastiche is defined as "a literary, artistic, musical, or architectural work that imitates the style of previous work" (http://www.merriam-webster.com). It's different from parody, which is "a literary or musical work in which the style of an author or work is closely imitated for comic effect or in ridicule" (http://www.merriam-webster.com).
The key difference between parody and pastiche, one might argue, is the issue of "respect." Both "parodies" and "pastiches" are imitations; however, the significant question becomes, what is the intention of the author? To recreate the aesthetic effect of the work that is being imitated? Pastiche. Or, to make fun of it or to ridicule it? Parody.
No doubt in my mind: Carter is writing pastiches of Smith's work and not parodies. He clearly respects the author's work. And, lo, he has written a very entertaining/provocative story.
And this disturbs me. But why?
A good pastiche haunts my definition of art. A key element of artistic worth, for me, is originality. And, a first principal of a pastiche is its imitative quality. It's key characteristic is its unoriginality. Thus, to truly take aesthetic pleasure in a pastiche requires, I think, one conditionally set aside originality as a key feature of art.
I'm not ready to do that. And yet! A good pastiche written with genuine enthusiasm and, dare I say, love of the original work, has the capacity to trouble my aesthetic first principles.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Lin Carter's, "The Scroll of Morloc" and the Wonder-filled Primordial Scene of Humanity
Gods! It's been nearly two weeks since I last posted! I guess I underestimated how distracting writing my dissertation prospectus and teaching responsibilities would be.
Anyhow, I read a story this morning I wanted to briefly reflect on. It is a short story titled, "The Scroll of Morloc" by Lin Carter. It appears to be based on notes by Clark Ashton Smith. This story comes from the anthology, Lost Worlds, by Lin Carter, which is a collection of tales thematically unified as "a unique and marvel-haunted tour through magic lands no longer known to man" (from the back cover).
Some summary: the story relates the attempts by a disgruntled shaman--Yhemog of the Voormish tribe of Hyperborea--to desecrate a temple to Tathoggua. To an extent, the shaman succeeds; however, his success comes with it more than he bargained for. I'll refrain from giving away the ending.
I really enjoyed this story. The primary effect, for me, derived from the ancient and forgotten nature of the world it's set in. I'm not sure how much of this world is Carter's and how much of it is Smith's, but Hyperborea came to life for me through this story. It suggested itself as a kind of "primordial scene" of humanity that was filled with wonder and cruelty.
I think this effect, the ability to convey an "emotional idea of the mythical past," is one of the unique capacities of fantasy literature generally and sword and sorcery specifically. Utilizing material bequeathed by Smith, I think Carter succeeds in doing that here.
To a large extent, I think, the conveying of this feeling subordinates the construction of an interesting, twisting narrative. Indeed, the narrative shape of this story is quite simple and straightforward: the protagonist infiltrates forbidden territory and has an encounter therein.
But it's not in the narrative that the pleasure of this story coheres. It's in the effect. And the effect, I believe, is connected to the quality by which the setting is conveyed.
Anyhow, I read a story this morning I wanted to briefly reflect on. It is a short story titled, "The Scroll of Morloc" by Lin Carter. It appears to be based on notes by Clark Ashton Smith. This story comes from the anthology, Lost Worlds, by Lin Carter, which is a collection of tales thematically unified as "a unique and marvel-haunted tour through magic lands no longer known to man" (from the back cover).
Some summary: the story relates the attempts by a disgruntled shaman--Yhemog of the Voormish tribe of Hyperborea--to desecrate a temple to Tathoggua. To an extent, the shaman succeeds; however, his success comes with it more than he bargained for. I'll refrain from giving away the ending.
I really enjoyed this story. The primary effect, for me, derived from the ancient and forgotten nature of the world it's set in. I'm not sure how much of this world is Carter's and how much of it is Smith's, but Hyperborea came to life for me through this story. It suggested itself as a kind of "primordial scene" of humanity that was filled with wonder and cruelty.
I think this effect, the ability to convey an "emotional idea of the mythical past," is one of the unique capacities of fantasy literature generally and sword and sorcery specifically. Utilizing material bequeathed by Smith, I think Carter succeeds in doing that here.
To a large extent, I think, the conveying of this feeling subordinates the construction of an interesting, twisting narrative. Indeed, the narrative shape of this story is quite simple and straightforward: the protagonist infiltrates forbidden territory and has an encounter therein.
But it's not in the narrative that the pleasure of this story coheres. It's in the effect. And the effect, I believe, is connected to the quality by which the setting is conveyed.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
"Extremes more terrible than madness": Clark Ashton Smith's, "The Isle of the Torturers"
So, I've been doing reading for my dissertation prospectus. Some of what I've been reading is the work of Clark Ashton Smith, who I believe will have his own chapter. This morning I want to review a short story of his I just read, "The Isle of the Torturers."
Published in in the March 1933 issue of Weird Tales, I highly recommend it. I'd describe it as a kind of "sword and sorcery" "weird fantasy."
Let me briefly summarize it: it's about a king whose kingdom has been beset by a horrible disease that has come out of the cosmos, a disease called "the silver death." Everyone in his kingdom dies, and so he flees his kingdom over sea. While fleeing, his ship crashes on an island where there is a decadent civilization that loves nothing more than to torture people. After being subjected to a horrible variety of tortures, he infects everyone on this island of torturers with the silver death. They all die.
We have here the story of a "sleeper agent," a single individual who seems like they are powerless before a great power but who is actually quite powerful.
I don't have much to say about the plot other than it's very gripping. I'm not very familiar with Smith's work, but my impression is that the strangeness and latent violence of the plot is characteristic of his work.
What fascinates me intensely by Smith in his style. He was a critically acclaimed poet before he began writing weird fiction. And this artistic past can be glimpsed in his prose style. Consider this passage, which relates the arrival of "the silver death" to the kingdom--it is called "Yoros"--of the protagonist:
There was no time to flee from the strange, inevitable scourge. Dreadfully and quickly, beneath the clear stars, it breathed upon Yoros; and few were they who awakened from slumber at dawn. Fulbra, young king of Yoros, who had but newly succeeded the throne, was virtually a ruler without people. (187).
Consider the cadence of the end of each sentence. Each sentence builds towards a stirring image or imaginable action: "inevitable scourge," "breathed upon Yoros," "slumber at dawn," "ruler without people." We have here a staccato of imagery that evokes a kind of despair.
Smith's prose style in this story is particularly rich, and I think this richness is a function of the story's plot, its preoccupation with the senses. Torture is, at its most basic level, the agitation of the senses. Consider this passage, where the torturers are torturing the protagonist:
For the islanders of Uccastrog had designed innumerable torments, curious and subtle, wherewith to harry and excruciate the five senses; and they could harry the brain itself, driving it to extremes more terrible than madness (194).
Smith's prose style is pervaded by such imagery and other attempts to evoke sensory experience: sights, smells, tastes; his rich vocabulary and strange new words are, on the level of text-as-image, visually stirring. In a strange way, Smith's style is a kind of torture, a "harrying" of the senses, if you will.
There's a whole tradition of art being agonizing, excruciating, but also satisfying. There's something of that going on in this story. And I wish I had more time to trace it out.
By the way, I read this story is a famous anthology of Weird Tales titled, Weird Tales: 32 Unwearthed Terrors, edited by Stefan R. Dziemianowcisz, Robert Weinberg, and Martin H. Greenberg (New York: Bonanza Books, 1988). It's available used on Amazon and a beautiful book.
Also, I've been compiling some Weird Tales resources, if you're interested. Not much is here just yet. Here's the link: Weird Tales
 |
| Original illustration in Weird Tales, March 1933 |
Let me briefly summarize it: it's about a king whose kingdom has been beset by a horrible disease that has come out of the cosmos, a disease called "the silver death." Everyone in his kingdom dies, and so he flees his kingdom over sea. While fleeing, his ship crashes on an island where there is a decadent civilization that loves nothing more than to torture people. After being subjected to a horrible variety of tortures, he infects everyone on this island of torturers with the silver death. They all die.
We have here the story of a "sleeper agent," a single individual who seems like they are powerless before a great power but who is actually quite powerful.
I don't have much to say about the plot other than it's very gripping. I'm not very familiar with Smith's work, but my impression is that the strangeness and latent violence of the plot is characteristic of his work.
What fascinates me intensely by Smith in his style. He was a critically acclaimed poet before he began writing weird fiction. And this artistic past can be glimpsed in his prose style. Consider this passage, which relates the arrival of "the silver death" to the kingdom--it is called "Yoros"--of the protagonist:
There was no time to flee from the strange, inevitable scourge. Dreadfully and quickly, beneath the clear stars, it breathed upon Yoros; and few were they who awakened from slumber at dawn. Fulbra, young king of Yoros, who had but newly succeeded the throne, was virtually a ruler without people. (187).
Consider the cadence of the end of each sentence. Each sentence builds towards a stirring image or imaginable action: "inevitable scourge," "breathed upon Yoros," "slumber at dawn," "ruler without people." We have here a staccato of imagery that evokes a kind of despair.
Smith's prose style in this story is particularly rich, and I think this richness is a function of the story's plot, its preoccupation with the senses. Torture is, at its most basic level, the agitation of the senses. Consider this passage, where the torturers are torturing the protagonist:
For the islanders of Uccastrog had designed innumerable torments, curious and subtle, wherewith to harry and excruciate the five senses; and they could harry the brain itself, driving it to extremes more terrible than madness (194).
Smith's prose style is pervaded by such imagery and other attempts to evoke sensory experience: sights, smells, tastes; his rich vocabulary and strange new words are, on the level of text-as-image, visually stirring. In a strange way, Smith's style is a kind of torture, a "harrying" of the senses, if you will.
There's a whole tradition of art being agonizing, excruciating, but also satisfying. There's something of that going on in this story. And I wish I had more time to trace it out.
By the way, I read this story is a famous anthology of Weird Tales titled, Weird Tales: 32 Unwearthed Terrors, edited by Stefan R. Dziemianowcisz, Robert Weinberg, and Martin H. Greenberg (New York: Bonanza Books, 1988). It's available used on Amazon and a beautiful book.
Also, I've been compiling some Weird Tales resources, if you're interested. Not much is here just yet. Here's the link: Weird Tales
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