The Ship of Ishtar Centennial Edition

Long time readers of this blog will know that I consider Abraham Merritt a foundational author in the creation of the genre we now call "fantasy" – an opinion shared by none other than Gary Gygax, who listed him among the authors of Appendix N. In the past, I've called Merritt fantasy's "forgotten father" in the past and I stand by that assessment. His "poetic and imaginative prose," to borrow Clark Ashton Smith's description of it is unique, as is his wild and occasionally feverish creativity.

Sadly, many of Merritt's best stories are no longer in print. If they are available, they're in a cheap, unattractive format that doesn't do them justice. That's why I am so pleased that DMR Books, one of the best small press publishers of what I call "pulp fantasy" is commemorating the 100th anniversary of the publication of The Ship of Ishtar with the publication of a new edition of the novel.

This new edition features Merritt's preferred version of the book's text, as well as an introduction by pulp expert Doug Ellis and an afterword by author and critic Deuce Richardson. Ellis has also assembled a collection of Ishtar-related ephemera in order to give a fuller picture of the novel and its significance. Just as important is the inclusion of nearly two dozen vintage illustrations by Virgil Finlay, one of the most celebrated illustrators of the Pulp Era.

It's a terrific edition of an important early work of pulp fantasy and I couldn't be happier that it's being released by DMR Books, many of whose previous releases now sit proudly on my shelves. DMR has led the way in making the works of lesser-known authors like Clifford Ball, Nictzin Dyahlis, A.B. Higginson, and Arthur D. Howden Smith, among others. available once again. That's an invaluable service and one for which those of us who appreciate older works of fantasy should be grateful.

If you're at all interested in Merritt or the foundational works of fantasy, I urge to take a look at the Centennial Edition of The Ship of Ishtar or indeed any of DMR's catalog of pulp authors. I say this not as someone with any involvement with DMR Books beyond being an admirer and well wisher. Like Merritt himself, they ought to be better known and appreciated for all that they do.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: Hiero's Journey

Since this will likely be the last Pulp Fantasy Gallery post for a while, I thought I'd change things up a bit and go for something a little different this week. Sterling Lanier's 1973 novel, Hiero's Journey, is a work of post-apocalyptic science fantasy of which I am very fond. It also enjoys the unique distinction of being mentioned by name in both Gary Gygax's Appendix N and Tom Wham and Timothy Jones's foreword to the first edition of Gamma World. 

While I'll have a lot more to say about Gamma World over the course of the next week or so, right now I want to focus only on the cover illustrations to Hiero's Journey. Here's the original one, from a hardcover published by Chilton with artwork by Jack Freas. The cover would be re-used for a 1975 hardcover from Sidgwick & Jackson.

The following year, Bantam released a paperback edition as part of its "Frederik Pohl Selection" series. The cover artist is unknown.

1976 saw the arrival of yet another paperback, this time from Panther, with art by Gino D'Achille. This is the first cover that clearly depicts something from the novel. Note, too, the cover blurb invoking The Lord of the Rings, which, by this time, had become the gold standard for the broader "fantasy" genre.

Del Rey/Ballantine's 1983 edition is the one I owned as a kid. The cover is especially memorable to me, thanks to the artwork of Darrell K. Sweet. This cover would be re-used several times over the course of the next decade.

Thanks to the Science Fiction Book Club, the novel gets a new cover by Kevin Johnson in 1984.

A new Panther edition appeared in 1985, with yet another cover by Gino D'Achille, making him the only artist to illustrate the novel twice. Interestingly, his second cover looks to be a variation on the scene depicted on the 1976 edition.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: Three Hearts and Three Lions

Poul Anderson's 1961 novel, Three Hearts and Three Lions (originally released in two parts in the September and October 1953 issues of The Magazine of Science Fiction and Fantasy) is one of the most influential fantasy tales ever written, though I imagine very few fantasy fans under the age of 50 have read it. Michael Moorcock, for example, thought very highly of it, borrowing its conception of the eternal war of Law versus Chaos for his Elric stories, which in turn influenced countless other authors. Among those was Gary Gygax, whose conception of alignment in Dungeons & Dragons – itself a remarkably influential fantasy text – derives equally from Moorock and Anderson, hence the inclusion of both authors in Appendix N to his Dungeon Masters Guide.

I was (and am) a huge fan of Poul Anderson's science fiction stories, particularly those featuring the character of Dominic Flandry, but I don't think I picked up any of his fantasy stories until sometime after I'd already started playing D&D. When I finally did so, I think it was The High Crusade that initially most impressed me. In the years since, my appreciation for Three Hearts and Three Lions has eclipsed it, especially as I came to understand its importance to the subsequent history of fantasy.

The first book edition appeared in 1961 as a hardcover from Doubleday and featured a fairly obvious cover image, though its artist is notable – Edward Gorey:

The following year, in 1962, Avon released the book in paperback, with a cover illustration by Richard Powers. This was, I believe, the edition I first encountered almost two decades later:

In 1970, Avon re-released the book with a new cover by Jeff Jones:

Just a few years later, in 1974, Sphere released a UK paperback. Patrick Woodroffe provided this cover illustration:

Later, in 1978, Berkeley released a new paperback edition, this time with art by Wayne Barlowe. 

There was a special Doubleday hardcover edition released in 1983 and made available to members of the Science Fiction Book Club. Susan Collins is the cover artist.

Rounding out the '80s is another paperback edition from Ace, this time with a cover by Carl Lundgren.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: The Dying Earth

Based on feedback, the revival of this series has been very well received, so I'll continue with it for a while longer, perhaps through the end of the month. Truth be told, I appreciate being able to take a break from Pulp Fantasy Library, which probably demands the most time and effort of anything I post here. To that end, let's take a look this week at the covers of one of the most influential books on the conception of Dungeons & Dragons – ot its Gygaxian iteration, at any rate – Jack Vance's 1950 collection, The Dying Earth.  

Doing so is something of a cheat, since I actually posted about the original Hillman Periodicals cover at the dawn of this blog. However, I think it's more than worthwhile to be reminded of this cover (by an unknown artist) so as to be able to compare it to those that appeared on later editions of the book.

The next edition of The Dying Earth appeared in 1962, published by Lancer and with a cover by Ed Mesh.

A UK edition from Mayflower appeared in 1972, with a cover by Chris Foss.

Underwood-Miller produced a limited-run cloth edition of The Dying Earth in 1976, with this striking wrap-around cover by George Barr.

The first Pocket Books edition appeared in 1977 and featured this cover by the Brothers Hildebrandt.

Two years later, in 1979, Pocket Books reissued the collection, using a very different cover. This is, I believe, the first one I ever saw and so it's left a strong impression on my imagination ever since.

The 1985 UK edition from Panther/Grafton features this unusual cover by Geoff Taylor.

We'll conclude this post with the last (English language) edition published in the 1980s, Baen's 1986 paperback, with cover artwork by Victoria Poyser.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: A Princess of Mars

Since the real world continues to be demanding of late – my apologies for the lighter than normal posting –  I've decided to present another entry in the Pulp Fantasy Gallery series. This week, I've opted to go back more than a century, to one of the foundational works of fantasy and science fiction (not to mention roleplaying games), Edgar Rice Burroughs's A Princess of Mars. Long-time readers may recall that I had previously included this book in an early installment of Pulp Fantasy Gallery. In that post, I only highlighted an image of perhaps the most famous – and, in my opinion, best – cover illustration, that by Frank E. Schoonover. 

I'm apparently not alone in my appreciation for this cover, because it was used again and again throughout the ensuing decades. Indeed, it seems to have been the only cover illustration for US editions of A Princess of Mars until the early 1960s, nearly a half-century after its initial appearance. The first new cover illustration of which I am aware is this one by Roy Carnon, from the 1961 Four Square Books paperback edition:

A couple of years later, in January 1963, Ballantine releases this version, with a cover by Bob Abbett. I find it especially interesting, because it looks as if it takes many of its cues from the original Schoonover cover, albeit with the color schemes of John Carter and Dejah Thoris reversed.

In 1968, there's an abridged version of A Princess of Mars from Dragon, a publisher who specialized in children's versions of "classic" stories. The cover artist would seem to be unknown.

Bruce Pennington provides the very striking cover for the 1969 New English Library edition, which is the first not to depict John Carter.

The 1970 Nelson Doubleday/Science Fiction Book Club edition is understandably famous for its use of Frank Frazetta's iconic cover, my second favorite after Schoonover's original.

When Ballantine issued a new edition in 1973, it featured this cover by Gino D'Achille:

Finally, in 1979, we get the Del Rey edition with Michael Whelan's cover. Because this is the first edition of the novel I ever owned, I retain a certain fondness for it. Apparently, publishers feel similarly, because, like the Schoonover cover before, it's been used again and again since its initial appearance, with editions as recent as just a few years ago still making use of it.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: Swords and Deviltry

On September 1, 2008 – fifteen years ago, if you can believe it – I inaugurated a new series for the blog that I called Pulp Fantasy Gallery. I intended the series to be a regular look at the evolution of not just fantasy art over the decades but of specific fantasy characters and settings over time. The series didn't last long, in large part because it very quickly evolved into the more literary-focused Pulp Fantasy Library series, which continues to this day (and is my second longest-running series, after Retrospective). 

On some level that's a shame, because I continue to think the evolution of fantasy art is a fascinating subject, especially for those of us who favor the esthetics of earlier times. Because of this – and because I've found myself unexpectedly busy over the last week and thus unable to devote myself properly to Pulp Fantasy Library – I've decided to pen a new entry in Pulp Fantasy Gallery today. Whether I'll continue to do so on a regular basis, I don't know. 

For now, let's take a look at five different cover illustrations created for the various English editions of Fritz Leiber's Swords and Deviltry. The first of these was published by Ace in May 1970 and featured artwork by Jeff Jones. Ace continued to use variations on this cover for more than fifteen years on its US editions of the book.

Not long thereafter, in December 1971, the New English Library released a UK edition of the book. The cover (by an unknown artist) bears a clear similarity to the Ace cover above.

A second UK edition appeared in December 1977 from George Prior Publishers, with artwork by Wayne Barlowe.

Just two years later, a third UK edition appeared from Mayflower, illustrated by Peter Elson.

Continuing a theme, we have a fourth UK edition, this time from Grafton in July 1986, with Geoff Taylor doing the cover.

On the Edge of Time

What a gorgeous, evocative cover! Painted by an unknown artist, versions of this appeared on several printings of the late 1970s Pocket Books edition of Jack Vance's The Dying Earth, including the one I first read all those decades ago. In looking for this image, I came across the cover images of many other editions over the years. What struck me is how poor so many of them are, but that's sadly a common problem with Vance's novels and short story collections – a pity.

Pulp Fantasy Library: The Moon Maid

Edgar Rice Burroughs is easily one of the most successful and influential creators of fantasy and science fiction of all time. His works, from the stories of Tarzan to the adventures of John Carter, have inspired generations of writers, including Robert E. Howard, whose personal library possessed more books by ERB than any other author. Despite this, neither he nor his literary creations are especially well known nowadays. I think that's a great shame for many reasons, not least of which being that he told fun and engaging adventure stories that still hold up decades after their first publication.

A case in point is The Moon Maid, which almost no one remembers anymore, especially when compared to the Barsoom or Amtor series. Originally serialized in the pages of Argosy All-Story Weekly, starting with the May 5, 1923 issue, all of its constituent parts were eventually collected into novel form and published in 1926. The story The Moon Maid tells of its protagonist, Julian, is, in some ways, quite similar to the story of John Carter or Carson Napier: an Earthman travels to another world, faces innumerable alien threats, and wins the heart of a princess. In other ways, though, it is unique and it is that uniqueness that makes it well worth reading.

Unlike the Barsoom or Amtor stories, which are set, more or less, in "modern" times, The Moon Maid is set in the future – two futures, as it turns out – of when it was published. The first future is the year 1967, a few years after the conclusion of a decades-long Great War that began in 1914. The conclusion of that war established peace and world government, just in time for "that historic day," June 10, 1967 when 

Earth received her first message from Mars, since which the two planets have remained in constant friendly communication, carrying on a commerce of reciprocal enlightenment. In some branches of the arts and sciences the Martians, or Barsoomians, as they call themselves, were far in advance of us, while in others we had progressed more rapidly than they. Knowledge was thus freely exchanged to the advantage of both worlds. We learned of their history and customs and they of ours, though they had for ages already known much more of us than we of them. Martian news held always a prominent place in our daily papers from the first.

 As you can see, The Moon Maid takes place in the same universe as the adventures of John Carter, who still lives on the Red Planet. This information is related to the reader by an unnamed narrator who meets the story's true protagonist, the aforementioned Julian, while traveling on a transoceanic liner. Julian is "a fine looking chap, lean and bronzed" and serves as an officer of the Air Corps of the International Peace Fleet. He is also, or so he claims, an immortal being who is continually reincarnated as his own descendants, a process that also leaves him with knowledge of the future, which is to say, the second future depicted in the novel. This second future is 2024, when Earth's first interplanetary vessel is preparing to travel to Mars.

Julian then recounts to the narrator the story of this voyage, which he "remembers" even though it takes place in the future and involves his own grandson, also named Julian. The bulk of The Moon Maid consists of Julian's memories of what happened when the Earth ship, named the Barsoom in honor of its ultimate destination. Accompanying Julian aboard the Barsoom was an officer named Lieutenant Commander Orthis, whom he described as "one of the most brilliant men I have ever known, and at the same time one of the most unscrupulous, and, to me at least, the most obnoxious." Orthis is responsible for the scientific breakthrough that enables the Barsoom to travel successfully between planets, but he is noted for having "married a nice girl and abandon[ing] her," as well as being rumored to be "affiliated with a secret order that sought to overthrow the government." This, of course, is in contrast to Julian, who is courageous, upstanding, and honest, as are all Burroughs's heroes.

Shortly after the Barsoom has traveled past the Moon, Orthis comes to dinner in the messroom "noticeably under the influence of liquor." Julian, as his superior officer, sends him back to his quarters, which Orthis resents. He grows angry and rants at Julian, claiming that it was his labor and intellect who made this journey possible and he would not be upstaged by anyone. This scene allows Burroughs to talk briefly about the inefficacy of Prohibition – remember this was published in 1923, when the Eighteenth Amendment was still in force – and how it had been repealed. In any case, Orthis takes perverse revenge on Julian by destroying the Barsoom's engines, sending the vessel careening toward the Moon. 

Needless to say, the Barsoom and its crew, including Orthis, survive the crash into the Moon, where the main action of The Moon Maid takes place. I say into, not onto, because Julian and his comrades discover that the Moon is in fact hollow. Its interior is quite habitable, filled with plants and animals, and illuminated by the glow of radiocative rocks. There are also two intelligent species. The first are the savage Va-ga, cannibalistic centaur-like people, who are an early foe of Julian and his shipmates. The second are the U-ga, who look very similar to Earthmen and whose princess, Nah-ee-lah, Julian considers alluringly beautiful. As one might expect, Nah-ee-lah, as the titular Moon Maid, figures prominently; the travails of her people at the hands of a revolutionary group known as the Kalkars is the central conflict of The Moon Maid.

Reading through this, what most impressed me was not any individual element of the tale Burroughs tells but rather the way that he is able to mix and match elements from his previous stories to create something that is somehow distinctive. One might reasonably expect The Moon Maid simply to be a retelling of A Princess of Mars with elements of At the Earth's Core. That it isn't is, I think, a testament to Burroughs's storytelling ability. The "futuristic" setting, the element of reincarnation, and the French/Russian revolution plotline (with the Kalkars standing in for the Jacobins/Communists) all work together to create an action-packed escapade that doesn't read like just another chapter in the adventures of John Carter or Carson Napier. The Moon Maid is a fun story; I wish I'd read it sooner.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: The Maker of Universes

First published in 1965, Philip José Farmer's The Maker of Universes is the start of an entire series of pulp fantasy books generally called "the World of Tiers." These stories are very much in the mold of Edgar Rice Burroughs' Barsoom novels and other similar stories, in which a man from 20th century Earth is transported by mystical means to another world in which he finds himself uniquely strong, intelligent, and irresistible to the exotic women of his newfound home.

It's classic wish-fulfillment fantasy, but there's no denying that Farmer has a real knack for it. The Maker of Universes describes the adventures of Robert Wolff, an aged World War II veteran and linguist, leading a dull and unsatisfying life, who discovers a doorway to the World of Tiers -- a series of artificially constructed worlds stacked on top of each other, at the topmost level of which dwells its Lord, who rules it (and may have created it). Upon arriving in the World of Tiers, Wolff regains his youth and vigor and sets off to overthrow the Lord and end his tyranny. Along the way, he has many unusual adventures and meets a cast of memorably quirky characters, some of whom return in later novels of the series.

I don't recall any specific elements from this book that turned up in Dungeons & Dragons, but the general tenor of the novel certainly matches the pulp fantasy tone that I contend is at the heart of the game. In addition, it's another example of a story involving a fantasy world connected to our own, a common theme among the books Gary Gygax cited as important influences on him and the game. The more I think about it, the more intrigued I become about what this means for interpreting D&D and the Gygaxian conception of it. I'll probably return to this theme in a future post. For now, though, I can't shake the feeling that there's more going on here than meets the eye.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: Lest Darkness Fall

My distaste for the harm L. Sprague De Camp wrought to the reputations of Robert E. Howard and H.P. Lovecraft notwithstanding, there's no denying that he was an important figure in the early days of fantasy and science fiction and that his writings greatly influenced Dungeons & Dragons. De Camp is almost unique among the writers Gary Gygax listed in Appendix N in that his name appears not once but twice -- once alone and a second time linked to that of his writing partner Fletcher Pratt, with whom he co-wrote the Harold Shea stories. (Pratt, of course, is the only other author whose name appears twice)

Consequently, it'd be a grave mistake to overlook the De Camp books listed in the back of the Dungeon Masters Guide. Among them is 1941's Lest Darkness Fall, originally published in 1939 as a short story in Unknown magazine. Like many of the books that influenced D&D, Lest Darkness Fall is the story of a modern person transported to another world -- in this case, 6th century Italy -- who, through a combination of modern know-how and determination, changes this other world forever.

The modern person of De Camp's tale is Martin Padway, an American archeologist, who, after using his knowledge to introduce unheard of inventions (brandy, printing press, newspapers, telegraph) and thereby make himself wealthy, becomes involved in the politics of Ostrogothic Italy. Over the course of the novel, Padway's actions change history by stabilizing the Ostrogothic kingdom, beating back the Byzantines, and even preventing the foundation of Islam. What's interesting is that Padway never once considers the consequences of his actions in the past, even though they will undoubtedly destroy the future from which he came. I confess that De Camp tells the story with such good humor and verve that I didn't much care about such things, preferring instead to enjoy the novel for what it is: an amusing tale well-told. Harry Turtledove, contemporary master of alternate history, agrees and credits Lest Darkness Fall for igniting his interest in history and, by extension, alternate history.

Alternate histories and parallel worlds are a significant part of the pulp fantasy heritage of Dungeons & Dragons. They've largely been lost in the game's modern incarnations. Indeed, I can't recall any specific connection between a D&D world and our own in anything published in over 20 years. Once upon a time, that wasn't the norm: adventurers regularly encountered dimensional castaways from 20th century Earth or raided the British Museum in search of the Mace of St. Cuthbert. I miss things more than I realized, which is why I plan to do my part to restore this aspect of D&D's heritage in my own campaigns.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: Three Hearts and Three Lions

First published in 1953, Three Hearts and Three Lions is sort of the "older brother" to The Broken Sword. The two books share a medieval northern European setting and draw heavily from the mythologies of those lands, but the 1953 book is the one that more heavily influenced Dungeons & Dragons. The paladin class, the troll, the swanmay, and the struggle between Law and Chaos (from which Michael Moorcock drew inspiration as well), among others, all first appear here, making this one of the most important books for anyone interested in the pre-history of D&D. It's also worth noting that this book predates the appearance of The Lord of the Rings in 1954, so it's another bit of evidence for the fundamentally non-Tolkienian origins of the game.

Three Hearts and Three Lions is also useful in understanding D&D for other reasons. Firstly, its story of a Danish soldier during World War II being flung into a fantasy world is one more example of a "lost world" tale, one of many that lurks beneath the surface of the game. Secondly, the novel's equation of Law with the forces of civilization and the Church and Chaos with paganism and Faerie is clearly present in OD&D and is often overlooked in discussions of what alignment is and where it came from. Finally, because Three Hearts and Thre Lions draws on the romantic "Matter of France,"
it's a very clear case of a non-pulp fantasy influence on D&D (yes, I am aware of the irony of discussing it in this series of posts) and that alone makes it a worthy subject of study. That it's also a well-written and enjoyable book only adds to its significance.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: The Broken Sword

First published in 1954 -- and, portentously, re-published in 1971 as part of the Lin Carter-edited Ballantine Adult Fantasy series -- The Broken Sword is one of a handful of novels that can lay claim to being the most significant influences on Gary Gygax and, thus, Dungeons & Dragons. The Broken Sword is set during the age of the Vikings and describes the tragic lives of two people: a boy stolen by the elves and raised among them to handle the iron they themselves cannot and the changeling who takes his place. Each comes to hate the world in which they were raised, with terrible consequences. The Broken Sword is not a happy book, but it's extremely well-told and reminds one, not coincidentally, of the Norse sagas from which Anderson drew significant inspiration.

Personally, I find The Broken Sword interesting, because it provides a plausible alternate avenue for the treatment of elves and half-elves in D&D, particularly the latter. Given that half-elves first appear in Supplement I, a book that also introduces several other Anderson-inspired game rules (such as the paladin class), I don't think this is implausible. Anderson's elves share many characteristics with Tolkien's, but then both authors looked to Norse legends as their models. Anderson's elves are far more passionate and martial than are Tolkien's. They're also more alien and removed from the affairs of the mortal world of which they are not a part. I very much like their portrayal and my own interpretations of the race owe a lot to Anderson, much as I suspect Gygax's did as well.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: Giant of World's End

First published in 1969, Giant of World's End kicks off a series of books describing the adventures of Ganelon Silvermane, an artificially created hero awakened prematurely to save the far future world of Gondwane -- Earth after all the continents have again positioned themselves into a super-mass -- from a variety of threats. These books clearly belong to the "Dying Earth" sub-genre and the influence of Vance is quite clear, which perhaps explains their appeal to Gary Gygax. Though published first, Giant of World's End takes place last in the series and there are some incongruities between its depiction of Ganelon and Gondwane and those of the later books. Still, it's an interesting read and another example of a type of fantasy that was once commonplace and now a curiosity.

I feel compelled, as an aside, to speak briefly about Lin Carter, who frequently catches a lot of flak because of his involvement in posthumous "collaborations" with pulp authors, most notably Robert E. Howard. For these, I do think he deserves criticism and fairly harsh criticism at that. Like August Derleth before him, these efforts of Carter are almost universally amateurish and of limited literary merit. Along with L. Sprague De Camp, Carter did much violence to the Conan saga and many readers of a certain age have a distorted view of the Cimmerian's adventures -- and REH's writing -- because of his work. At the same time, Carter was the driving force behind much of the pulp revival of the late 60s and early 70s, when he promoted numerous formerly-forgotten writers to the general public once more. He was the first editor of Ballantine Books' "Adult Fantsy" series and it was this series that brought authors like Lord Dunsany, Clark Ashton Smith, William Morris, James Branch Cabell, and many others to view again. In a sense, he was a spiritual godfather of Dungeons & Dragons, because Carter's editorial work enabled many to read fantasy tales they otherwise wouldn't have, many of which were very influential on Gary Gygax. Consequently, for all his faults, I still retain a fondness for Lin Carter that I don't for De Camp.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: Changeling Earth

Gary Gygax specifically cites Fred Saberhagen's 1973 novel Changeling Earth as an influence on AD&D. I find that somewhat odd, given that the novel is in fact the third part of a trilogy (called "The Empire of the East"). It's been years since I read any volume of the series, so I can't quite recall if there's something notable about Changeling Earth that sets it apart from its predecessors in the series or that makes it an obvious inspiration for AD&D. In any case, the "Empire of the East" trilogy is a fun read, a post-apocalyptic swords-and-sorcery romp that mixes magic and technology in a delightful way. If you can find copies of the books, they're well worth reading, not least of which because Saberhagen's prose is in many ways the antithesis of the interminably overwrought verbiage that is so common in fantasy these days.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: The Blue Star

The Blue Star is an alternate universe novel written by Fletcher Pratt in 1952. The cover to the left is of the Ballantine paperback edition, published in 1969, back during the heyday of pulp fantasy reprints aimed at a new generation of readers. It's no surprise to me that Dungeons & Dragons arose at the time that it did, as many were exposed to writers and stories for the first time that they were too young to have read previously. Regardless of what one thinks of Lin Carter's original contributions to the fields of fantasy and horror, there's no question that we all owe him a debt of gratitude for his role in promoting otherwise forgotten authors and tales in the late 60s and early 70s.

The Blue Star takes place in a world where magic works and gunpowder doesn't, resulting in a setting vaguely reminiscent of 18th century central Europe. Its protagonist is Rodvard Bergelin, an inconsequential government clerk who becomes embroiled in a vast plot to overthrow the current regime and create a new society in its place. It's another interesting piece of work by Pratt, both because of his eye for details and because Gary Gygax mentions it by name as an inspiration for D&D.

I grow ever more convinced that most gamers -- and designers -- are ignorant of the powerful influence of alternate universe and Lost World literature on the game and that their ignorance has been one of the engines for pushing the game in directions very different than those that at least Gygax intended for his creation. This is a topic I'm thinking a lot about and will be returning to in a future post, but I need some more time to consider the implications of the thesis I'm developing.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: Dwellers in the Mirage

First serialized in 1932, Dwellers in the Mirage is a fantasy novel by Abraham Merritt. The novel tells the story of an explorer named Lief Langdon who discovers a lost valley in Alaska, whose inhabitants believe him to be the reincarnation of a long-lost hero, Dwayanu. There's a cult dedicated to a Cthulhu-like entity -- he's even octopoid -- that demands human sacrifice and not one but two beautiful women whose affections Langdon must choose between. It's a terrific, if uneven novel, and it's not hard to see why Gygax found it (among several other Merritt works) to be so enjoyable.

(I find it interesting to note that a great many of the books and stories Gygax acknowledged as influencing D&D were in fact "lost world" tales, in which a modern day hero stumbles upon some throwback to an earlier, more magical era. I'm not quite sure what this says, honestly, but some thoughts are percolating in the back of my brain nonetheless. Perhaps I'll make a post about it later.)

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: Hiero's Journey

Hiero's Journey by Sterling Lanier was published in 1973 and is unique for having been an influence not just on Dungeons & Dragons but also on Gamma World. The novel chronicles the adventures of the eponymous Hiero Desteen, telepathic priest and "killman" of a futuristic descendant of the Catholic Church, as he searches for lost technology to use against the Dark Brotherhood, would-be conquerors of the postapocalyptic world they all inhabit. The connection to Gamma World is obvious to anyone who ever played the game, but I suspect the D&D connection is less clear and perhaps understandably so. Nonetheless, I continue to hold to the opinion that pulp fantasy frequently possesses strong postapocalyptic overtones, with the action taking place in the aftermath of the collapse of some mythical Golden Age. Exploring and looting "dungeons" certainly makes more sense in this context, as does the lawlessness of the implied D&D setting. It's yet another reason why I find high/epic fantasy a poor fit for the game.

I was very fond of Hiero's Journey as a kid. What's not to like about a psychic warrior-priest with a mutant moose and bear as companions? There was sequel to the book -- The Unforsaken Hiero -- which ended on a cliffhanger, as I recall. There was never a third book in the series, which may be just as well. Third books (or movies) are frequently the weakest offerings in a series and I'm glad my fondness for these characters isn't sullied by knowing the conclusion didn't live up to my expectations.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: Elric

Michael Moorcock's doomed albino sorcerer, Elric VIII of Melniboné, made his first appearance in the novella "The Dreaming City," published in Science Fantasy magazine in June 1961. Moorcock was only 22 years old when he created his "anti-Conan" and the character -- and its take on fantasy -- has been influential ever since. Moorcock provided many with an alternative to J.R.R. Tolkien's Middle-earth, as well as the prototype for the many antiheroes that came to dominate fantasy in the 60s and 70s.

I don't always agree with everything Moorcock has said, least of all about Tolkien, but the man definitely knows the history of fantasy, so he's earned my respect. I still have very mixed feelings about the Elric stories, but it's impossible to deny their importance. D&D owes a lot to them, so anyone interested in the history of the hobby ought to read at least a couple of them to see what all the fuss is about.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: The Face in the Frost

While the influence of both The Dying Earth series and the Harold Shea stories is widely acknowledged as important inspirations on the creation of the D&D magic system, much less frequently mentioned is John Bellairs' 1969 historical fantasy The Face in the Frost. This book adds the detail of wizards studying their spells in advance of casting them. I couldn't find a large image of the original 1969 cover, so instead I present the cover from the 1981 reprint.