Pulp Fantasy Library: The Outlaws of Mars

Otis Adelbert Kline, despite having a very memorable name, is one of those authors of the Golden Age of the Pulps that almost no one remembers today. To some extent, that's understandable, since his most successful stories are often erroneously described as being little more than rip-offs of the works of Edgar Rice Burroughs. The most well regarded of these – the two novels set on Mars – probably also suffer from not sharing a protagonist, unlike, say, the tales of John Carter to which they are unfavorably compared (or, for that matter, Kline's own Venus stories, all three of which feature the character of Robert Grandon). 

I've previously written about the first of Kline's Martian novels, The Swordsman of Mars, and declared it better than its sequel, The Outlaws of Mars. Having just re-read the latter in preparation for today's post, I now wonder if my earlier judgment might have been mistaken. While both novels are breezily written and full of heroic exploits, Outlaw is notable in that its lead character, Jerry Morgan, is notably more fallible (and, therefore, more relatable) than Swordsman's Harry Thorne. Indeed, the initial action of Outlaws rests heavily upon the negative consequences of Morgan's leaping before he looked, as we shall see.

Like its predecessor, The Outlaws of Mars was originally serialized before being collected together under a single cover decades later. Also like its predecessor, the serial appeared in the pages of Argosy Weekly, starting with the November 25, 1933 issue and running for the next six issues. Though Kline was an assistant editor at Weird Tales (and had been since its premiere in 1922), none of his longer serials appeared in the Unique Magazine. I would imagine this was to avoid any appearance of favoritism, though several of his yarns did appear in WT's sister periodical, Oriental Stories.

The novel begins as Jerry Morgan, described as "a tall, broad-shouldered young man with steel-gray eyes and sandy hair," steps off a train at "the diminutive Pineville station." Morgan is in Pineville to visit his uncle (and former guardian), Dr. Richard Morgan, whom readers may remember as the eccentric scientist who enabled Harry Thorne to travel to the Red Planet in The Swordsman of Mars. Jerry believes his visit will be a surprise, but his uncle seems to be expecting him.

Jerry stared in amazement as he took his uncle's proffered hand. "Expecting me? Why, I told no one, and fully intended to surprise you. It sounds like thought-transference, or something."

"Perhaps you are nearer the truth than you imagine," replied the doctor, seating himself.

Setting aside his uncle's cryptic remark, Jerry admits that "I've disgraced the family – dragged the name of Morgan in the dirt." Again, Dr. Morgan claims to know this already and again Jerry boggles at this. Morgan then proceeds to prove that he knows why his nephew has come by recounting, in precise detail, the unfortunate circumstances that led him to his doorstep. The long and short of it is that Jerry had been framed by a romantic rival so as to not only lose the affections of his fiancée but also to be cashiered from the army regiment in which he had served proudly up to now. 

Needless to say, Jerry is astounded by how much his uncle knows.

"You have said, half in jest, that I appear to read your mind. Without realizing it, you have hit upon the truth. I do and have always read your mind, since the death of your parents placed you under my guardianship. I have never needed your letters or telegrams to inform me of your doings, because since the day when I first established telepathic rapport with you, I have been able at all times to tap the contents of your subliminal consciousness, which contains a record of all you have thought and done."

Rather than dwell on the uncomfortable – to modern readers anyway – implications of this secret telepathic rapport, Dr. Morgan instead reveals that he has recently, thanks to his telepathic contact with "the people of Olba, a nation on the planet Venus," constructed a spaceship that will enable humans to travel to Mars "in the flesh," in contrast to the more mystical means employed in the previous novel, The Swordsman of Mars. While he would like to go to Mars himself, the urgency of his other work has prevented this. Naturally, Jerry offers to go in his stead, to which his uncle readily agrees.

Though Jerry's primary purpose in traveling to Mars is as "a valuable scientific experiment" that will "increase the sum total of terrestrial knowledge," it has the added benefit of giving him "new scenes, new adventures, and forgetfulness – these and a chance to begin life over again." This theme of "starting over," being given the chance to leave behind a shattered past, is a common one in sword-and-planet stories, starting with A Princess of Mars. I suspect it plays a big part in the lasting appeal of the genre and may have held particular resonance with readers during the depths of the Great Depression.

Jerry's transit to Mars is far less interesting than what happens upon his arrival. He finds himself not far from a Martian city, whose inhabitants "did not show any marked difference from terrestrial peoples" beyond "their strange apparel and the fact that their chests were, on average, larger than those of Earth-men," this latter feature being a consequence of the thinner atmosphere of the Red Planet. Jerry observes that many of the city's buildings feature roof gardens. In one of these gardens, he sees an extremely beautiful woman – of course! – with "an ethereal beauty of face and form such as he had never seen on Earth, or even dreamed existed." 

I could not blame anyone for assuming at this point that the criticisms of Kline as a mere Burroughs imitator are correct. Thus far, The Outlaws of Mars is little different from the sword-and-planet material cranked out by the ream after the publication of A Princess of Mars and its sequels. However, that assessment of the novel would, in my opinion, be mistaken. When Jerry introduces himself to the young Martian beauty, she is frightened and looks ready to flee. Confused, the Earthman looks around for an explanation and seemingly finds it in the form of a strange Martian beast leapt from behind the shrubbery of the garden with "a terrific roar" and "a yawning, tooth-filled mouth as large as that of an alligator." 

In an act of chivalry befitting John Carter himself, Jerry slays the alien creature, believing he had saved her from danger.

At the sound of the shot the girl had sprung erect. For a moment she peered down at the fallen beast. Then, her eyes flashing like those of an enraged tigress, she turned on Jerry with a volley of words that were unmistakably scornful and scathing, despite the fact that he was unable to understand them.

Suddenly her hand flashed to her belt and came up with a jewel-hilted dagger. Jerry noticed that the blade straight and double-edged, with tiny, razor-sharp teeth. For a moment, he did not realize what she intended doing. But when she raised her weapon aloft and lunged straight for his breast, he caught her wrists just in time.

We soon learn that the animal Jerry had slain was, in fact, the beloved pet of Junia Sovil, daughter of the emperor of Kalsivar, the greatest kingdom of Mars. Worse still, the slaying of the dalf (as the animal is called) is a capital crime – and the people of Kalsivar believe in swift justice. Thus, our hero has barely stepped foot on Mars and he has already made an enemy of an imperial princess and found himself condemned to death. Jerry Morgan works fast!

Naturally, Jerry does not die only a few chapters into The Outlaws of Mars and indeed soon finds himself entangled in the vicious court politics of Kalsivar, but I was nonetheless charmed by the way that Kline kicked off his adventures on Mars. Jerry's ignorance of Mars and its customs and language cause him no end of headaches early on. Likewise, his headstrong nature and gentlemanly ideals lead him astray almost as often as they aid him. It's almost as Kline were playing with and commenting upon the conventions of the sword-and-planet genre, though I have no evidence that he did so intentionally. 

Regardless, The Outlaws of Mars is a fun, fast read, filled with plenty of pulpy action and dastardly deeds. To call it a classic would be overstating its simple virtues, but virtues they are nonetheless. I was very glad to have had the opportunity to re-read this and I recommend it to anyone who enjoys sword-and-planet stories.

Pulp Fantasy Library: The Swordsman of Mars

I've never made a secret of my love of sword-and-planet stories, starting with Edgar Rice Burroughs's seminal, A Princess of Mars. Likewise, I've long droned on about the importance of this literature to understanding original Dungeons & Dragons. That's why I regularly use the Pulp Fantasy Library series to discuss and promote even the lesser known stories and authors of the genre, such as Martian stories of Otis Adalbert Kline.

Kline is a fascinating fellow. In addition to being a writer, he was also an assistant editor at Weird Tales since its inauguration in 1923. To the extent Kline's remembered today at all, it's either in his role as Robert E. Howard's literary agent or his supposed feud with Edgar Rice Burroughs. Though Richard A. Lupoff thoroughly debunked the feud, it's understandable why it once seemed plausible, since both men wrote about similar characters and situations. 

The Swordsman of Mars was originally published as a six-part serial beginning in the January 7, 1933 issue of Argosy Weekly before being collected in novel form in 1960. The story concerns Harry Thorne, a wealthy young man whose life is thrown into turmoil when his fiancée, Sylvia Thompson, abandons him for another man. Thorne is so distraught that, as he confides to a visitor, Dr. Morgan, he doesn't "care to live any longer." Upon hearing this, Morgan asks him,

"Suppose you were offered a new interest in life. Excitement and adventures beyond your wildest dreams. A chance to view new scenes that no earthly being save one has ever glimpsed. To meet new and strange peoples."

"All that is old stuff to me," replied Thorne. "I've traveled until I'm sick of it. I've hunted big game in Asia, Africa and the Americas. I've been in every important country on the globe. The only adventure I have no tried is death, and just now it is the one adventure that intrigues me."

Thorne intends to kill himself, but Dr. Morgan has no intention of letting him. When he shakes Thorne's hand to bid him farewell, he surreptitiously drugs him with a narcotic and then takes him to a hidden locale, where he eventually awakens. Thorne wishes to know why Morgan has decided to interfere in his affairs.

"You are in a room in my mountain observatory, where I watch the movements of the planets, and where you were brought in my airplane after you fainted. Last night you were ready to take a bling plunge into that unknown region from which no man returns, the state of existence or non-existence called death. Had you succeeded, you would have thwarted forever the plans which I have been at considerable trouble and expense to perfect for you since I saw your picture. Needless to say, I am glad I arrived in time."

Morgan goes on to explain that he has been receiving telepathic messages from a "Martian scientist and psychologist" named Lal Vak. By means of this telepathy, he and the scientist have exchanged "visual and auditory impressions" as well as abstract and concrete ideas. 

"It was Lal Vak who suggested to me that if we could find a man on Mars and one on Earth whose bodies were identical, we could, by astral projection, cause the two individuals to exchange bodies. This Earth could be viewed through Martian eyes, while Mars could be seen at first hand by a man from Earth. Lal Vak projected to me many images of Martians willing to make this exchange, and at last I located a double of one of them … 

That double was not Harry Thorne but a ne'er-do-well named Frank Boyd who made the exchange and quickly proved himself to be a miscreant. On Mars, Boyd "allied himself with a small group of Martians who are working on an invention with which they hope to conquer all of Mars, and eventually the Earth and Venus as well." Therefore, Morgan sought out Thorne to be the second Earthman to switch places with a Martian, so that he might find Boyd and stop him – as well as correct Morgan's past mistake in sending a reprobate to Mars.

Needless to say, Thorne takes up Morgan's offer and thereby begins his adventures on Mars. What's immediately striking about The Swordsman of Mars is that, compared to the Barsoom stories, is how much more detail Kline provides. For example, the method by which Thorne travels to Mars – body exchange – is described at some length, as well as the consequences for its operations. This is in contrast to Burroughs, where John Carter's ability to travel between Earth and Mars is largely unexplained. Likewise, Kline seems to have worked out in his mind the whys and wherefores of Martian history, geography, and ecology and uses them to create a plausibly coherent pulp fantasy setting, again in contrast to Burroughs, which is much more "handwave-y" about such things. This isn't a criticism of Burroughs, whose stories I adore, but I think it's important to highlight the ways that Kline differs from his more well-known contemporary.

The Swordsman of Mars is the first of two novels written by Kline set on the Red Planet and, in my opinion, it's the better the of the two. Even so, they're both worth reading if you have an interest in sword-and-planet fiction. If nothing else, they're good examples of the tales of derring-do and fantastical world building that no doubt influenced Arneson and Gygax in their creation of Dungeons & Dragons. 

Pulp Fantasy Library: Almuric

Robert E. Howard's Almuric is noteworthy for several reasons. First, it's one of REH's longest works and is generally considered one of his few novels. Second, it is a sword-and-planet tale, a genre not usually associated with Howard. Finally, Almuric was not published until three years after his death, appearing as a three-part serial in Weird Tales, beginning with the May 1939 issue. Consequently, there has been speculation in some quarters that Howard either did not write or at least did not complete Almuric as it appeared, being instead the work of his literary agent, Otis Adalbert Kline. Kline was himself a published author, best known for his planetary romances, so it's understandable some might make this speculation. And while I am no literary scholar, I have read enough of both Howard and Kline to doubt that the latter had a hand in Almuric's composition.

I suspect the real truth is that Almuric is a rough draft, lacking the polish of REH's other tales, and that this roughness accounts for its seeming "un-Howardian" qualities in places. Taken as a whole, though, it's hard to credit anyone other than Robert E. Howard as the author of Almuric. The novel is often derided as a Burroughs pastiche and, on some level, that's a fair criticism, but, on another level, it fails to do justice to the many ways that it differs from its Barsoomian antecedents. Take, for example, its protagonist, Esau Cairn, who's about as different from John Carter as I can imagine. In the foreword to the novel, written from the point of view of a Professor Hildebrand, first describes Cairn as "a hunted man, with the blood of a human being on his hands," but he quickly adds that

whatever the appearances against him, Esau Cairn is not, and never was, a criminal. In that specific case he was merely the pawn of a corrupt political machine which turned on him when he realized his position and refused to comply further with its demands. In general, the acts of his life which might suggest a violent and unruly nature simply sprang from his peculiar mental make-up.

Hildebrand goes on to explain the nature of Cairn's "peculiar mental make-up" and it is, to my mind, one of the most interesting ideas advanced within Almuric's pages.

Science is at last beginning to perceive that there is sound truth in the popular phrase "born out of his time." Certain natures are attuned to certain phases or epochs of history, and these natures, when cast by chance into an age alien to their reactions and emotions, find difficulty in adapting themselves to their surroundings. It is but another example of nature's inscrutable laws, which sometimes are thrown out of stride by some cosmic friction or rift and result in havoc to the individual and the mass.

Many men are born outside their century; Esau Cairn was born outside his epoch. Neither a moron nor a low-class primitive, possessing a mind well above average, he was, nevertheless, distinctly out of place in the modern age. I never knew a man of intelligence so little fitted for adjustment in a machine-made civilization ...

He was of a restless mold, impatient of restraint and resentful of authority. Not by any means a bully, he at the same time refused to countenance what he considered to be the slightest infringement on his rights. He was primitive in his passions, with a gusty temper and a courage inferior to none on this planet. His life was a series of repressions. Even in athletic contests he was forced to hold himself in, lest he injure his opponents. Esau Cairn was, in short, a freak -- a man whose physical body and mental bent leaned back to the primordial.

Esau Cairn is, for lack of a better word, a barbarian in a civilized time -- an spiritual inhabitant of the Hyborian Age who had the misfortune to be born in the 20th century. Judged a misanthropic misfit by the standards of the times in which he lived, he was thus all too keen to flee this world for the alien one of Almuric by means of the device Hildebrand had constructed in his observatory, his "Great Secret," he calls it.

Once on Almuric, the novel's story truly begins. Like Burroughs's Barsoomian stories, Almuric is told entirely in the first person, from the perspective of Esau Cairn (with the exception of the aforementioned foreword). For my money, it's this fact that truly elevates Almuric above the level of mere pastiche. Certainly Almuric is one of Howard's lesser works. I find it both derivative and dull in places, lacking in much of the poetic inventiveness that characterizes Howard's best works. Cairn's learning to survive on Almuric, his initiation into the society of the primitive but noble Guras, his winning of the love of the beautiful Altha, and his eventual war on the despicable Yagas -- these are all right out of the Burroughs playbook.

Or, rather, they would be if it weren't for the Cairn is no John Carter. Cairn is no Virginia gentleman; he's a rough-and-tumble brawler, a man perhaps not unlike those Howard knew in Depression era Texas, who inspired his portrayal of Conan. This alone makes Almuric feel very different from a Burroughsian one, even if the bare facts of its plot seem strangely familiar. And while I can't say that I specifically identified with Cairn, I nevertheless had a great deal of sympathy for him. I'm sure most of us have, at one time or another, felt we were "born out of time." As someone who's frequently told he has "an old soul," I know I have. Consequently, there's an undeniable pleasure in seeing Cairn, a fellow time-lost soul, liberated from the prison of his physical birth to find his true spiritual home on "wild, primitive, and strange" Almuric.

They Dream for Us

There are certain authors that are primal, and are in some cases best suited to being discovered by young readers. They have a kind of magic that is impossible to define in literary terms. These writers, imagining on paper deep dreams of power and sex and survival, tap into those roots that are closer to the reptilian brain than the more developed part of our gray matter that deals with culture and society and maintaining good manners.

These writers not only dream, they dream for us.

--Joe R. Lansdale, "Otis Adelbert Kline: Swords and Planets and Adventure, Oh My"

That's from the introduction to latest Planet Stories release, The Outlaws of Mars, which is next up on my reading list. The entire line of books has kept me happily occupied over the last year and shows no signs of letting up anytime soon. It really is one of the most exciting things happening in fantasy publishing these days. Fans of pulp fantasy owe a big debt of gratitude to the Paizo crew for their work on Planet Stories. Thumbs up.

The Swordsman of Mars

I received in the mail today the latest installment of my Planet Stories subscription, The Swordsman of Mars by Otis Adalbert Kline (Writers used to have such terrific names, didn't they?) Kline is probably not very well known to many people today, except perhaps as Robert E. Howard's literary agent from 1933 until REH's death three years later. Kline continued to act in that capacity afterward, helping to get Howard's manuscripts published posthumously, including the planetary romance, Almuric (also available from Paizo).

Prior to this, though, Kline had penned many pulp fantasies himself, including the Martian adventures of Harry Thorne. This is the first complete edition of the stories to have appeared since the 1930s, which alone is good enough reason to read them. That they're also excellent tales that compare very favorably with those of Burroughs only adds to their attraction.

Once again, my hats off to Paizo and Planet Stories. Frankly, I can't think of a more exciting series of books being published anywhere today.