Pulp Fantasy Library: Damnation Alley

Although "pulp fantasy" is a terrifically malleable term, it's not infinitely so. I've often stretched its use beyond the bounds of credibility, but there must be some limits to this practice. That's why I'm seriously contemplating changing the name of the series to something broader, like "Gaming Library" or even "Appendix N," starting next week. If you have any suggestions in this regard, either send me an email with them or post a comment below. Were this a commercial site, I'd happily award a prize of some sort to the person who comes up with a better name, but, alas, it's not, so a Marvel-style No-Prize is all that's on offer.

With that out of the way let's turn to Roger Zelazny's 1969 science fiction novel, Damnation Alley (based on an early short story of the same name). Set sometime after a nuclear war so devastating that the Earth has been tilted on its axis, it's the story of a criminal named Hell Tanner. Tanner is a murderer and a rapist, formerly a member of a motorcycle gang, sent to prison by the new nation of California for his crimes. As Damnation Alley begins, though, he's given the chance for a full pardon if he'll undertake an extremely dangerous mission: the cross-continental delivery of an antidote to a plague currently raging in Boston.

"You're thinking it's a suicide job, and you're probably right. We're sending three cars, with two drivers in each. If any one just makes it close enough, its broadcast signals may serve to guide in a Boston driver. You don't have to go though, you know."

"I know. I'm free to spend the rest of my life in prison."

"You killed three people. You could have gotten the death penalty."

"I didn't, so why talk about it? Look, mister, I don't want to die, and I don't want the other bit either."

"Drive or don't drive. Take your choice. But remember, if you drive and you make it, all will be forgiven and you can go your own way. The nation of California will even pay for that motorcycle you appropriated and smashed up, not to mention the damage to that police car."

"Thanks a lot." And the winds boomed on the other side of the wall and the steady staccato from the windowshields filled the room.

"You're a very good driver," said Denton after a time. "You've driven just about every vehicle there is to drive. You've even raced. Back when you were smuggling, you used to make a monthly run to Salt Lake City. There are very few drivers who'll try that, even today."

Hell Tanner smiled, remembering something.

The after effects of the war have created freakish electrical storms, high winds, and deadly hail, making air travel impossible. The only safe way from California to Boston is through a stretch of land known as Damnation Alley -- "safe" being a relative term, as even the Alley is filled with giant, mutant animals, barbarian gangs, and patches of deadly radiation, in addition to the aforementioned weather hazards. It's little wonder that Tanner might consider a life behind bars preferable to what awaits him in the heartland of the former United States.

Of course, Tanner's not going alone. Accompanying him are five other drivers, one of whom is his brother, Denny, who's undertaking this mission to earn enough money to get married and buy a home for his bride. In addition, he and the other drivers aren't expected to make this hazardous journey in ordinary vehicles. Instead, California has supplied them with huge, heavily armored land rovers dripping with weaponry.

The "car" that he drove had eight heavily treaded tires and was thirty-two feet in length. It mounted eight fifty-caliber automatic guns and four grenade-throwers. It carried thirty armor-piercing rockets which could be discharged straight ahead or at any elevation up to forty degrees from the plane. Each of the four sides, as well as the roof of the vehicle, housed a flamethrower. Razor-sharp "wings" of tempered steel, eighteen inches wide at their bases and tapering to points, an inch and a quarter thick where they ridged, could be moved through a complete hundred-eighty-degree arc along the sides of the car and parallel to the ground, at a height of two feet and eight inches. When standing at a right angle to the body of the vehicle, eight feet to the rear of the front bumper, they extended out to a distance of six feet on either side of the car. They could be couched like lances for a charge. They could be held but slightly out from the sides for purposes of slashing whatever was sideswiped. The car was bulletproof, air-conditioned, and had its own food locker and sanitation facilities. A long-barreled .357 Magnum was held by a clip on the door near the driver's left hand. A 30.06, a .45-caliber automatic, and six hand grenades occupied the rack immediately above the front seat.

This vehicle, I think, is emblematic of all that's good and bad about Damnation Alley. It's an incredibly over-the-top post-apocalyptic romp that gives very little thought to plausibility on almost any level. From the tricked out vehicles to the absurdly large gila monsters, this is not a novel that'll stand up to any degree of scientific scrutiny, but, then, that's not really the point. Rather, it's an enjoyable little bit of escapism whose plot and central character bear sufficient resemblance to those in Escape from New York and The Road Warrior that I can't help but wonder if their creators were influenced by it. And, as ridiculous as the book is at times, it is far, far better than the horrible 1977 movie loosely based on it, which is about as damning a criticism as I can think of.

By no means is Damnation Alley a masterpiece of, well, anything. It's certainly not deep nor is it one of Zelazny's best works, but, as I noted above, it is fun and ought to provide plenty of inspiration to players and referees of Gamma World, The Morrow Project, or even Car Wars. It's a quick read, so it's well worth the time spent on it.

Pulp Fantasy Library: Nine Princes in Amber

I'll admit upfront that I've never been a big fan of Roger Zelazny's "Chronicles of Amber." I've read the series -- at least the part of it published in the 1970s -- and found it intellectually interesting, but something about its characters and plots just didn't click with me. That's certainly no crime; lots of very good books aren't to my taste. The only reason it bugs me in this particular case is because Gary Gygax included the series in Appendix N as an influence on AD&D. Likewise, I enjoyed Jack of Shadows, also by Zelazny, which shares similar themes with the "Amber" books, thus making my own lack of enthusiasm all the more peculiar.

The series kicks off with 1970's Nine Princes in Amber, which is the one book of the original five I enjoyed without qualification. The book begins with a man named Carl Corey who finds himself in a secluded medical clinic, unable to remember who he is or how he got there. In time, he learns that he was the victim of an automobile accident and that he was sent to the clinic at the expense of his sister. This information convinces Carl to escape the clinic and seek out his sister, hoping it might shed further light on his situation.

When he finds his sister, she addresses him by another name -- Corwin -- and his reluctant to let him stay with her. She does, however, which enables Carl/Corwin to come across a strange set of Tarot-like cards, through which he sees people and images associated with his life, a life he still cannot remember. In addition, he's contacted by a brother, Random, who asks Carl/Corwin for his protection and in turn offers to take him back to a place called Amber. Since Carl/Corwin has no idea what is going on or why, he agrees and soon finds himself in a strange reality, where he and his family (including eight brothers, of which Random is only one) wield remarkable powers and are forever plotting against one another for control.

Nine Princes in Amber has a lot going for it, chiefly the mystery of Carl Corey's identity and its connection to what he perceives to be happening to him. It also includes some fascinating speculations regarding alternate realities and Chaos, themes that recur not just in Zelazny's other works, like the aforementioned Jack of Shadows, but in a lot of late 60s/early 70s fantasy. In retrospect, it's this that I think appealed to me most way back when and it's this that still appeals to me even now. The style of fantasy the "Amber" series represents is one that seems largely to have fallen into disfavor as the 1970s wore on and the influence Tolkien -- and his pastichists like Terry Brooks -- became ever greater. Although Gygax's published writings betray comparatively little influence by authors like Zelazny, he continued to express admiration for their writings and several of his unpublished projects, such as Shadowland, might have taken D&D in a more Zelaznian direction.

I personally see the influence of Zelazny over Tom Moldvay's classic Castle Amber, perhaps unsurprisingly. As a younger person, I was confused by the title of this module, which recalled Nine Princes in Amber, despite having nothing to do with the novel overtly. Yet, its contents, while explicitly tied to the Averoigne stories of Clark Ashton Smith, nevertheless seemed very "Amber"-like to me. The Amber family is filled with a variety of ambitious, Machiavellian personalities and their rightful head, Stephen, has been "murdered" by his family and whose salvation depends on items obtained in an alternate reality. Certainly the connection between Moldvay's work and Zelazny's is not strong, but it's there, I think, and I'm surprised more people don't seem to comment on it.

Regardless, the "Chronicles of Amber" (the first five books anyway; I can't comment on the later ones) are worth the read, if only to mine for ideas. They're definitely quirky in their sensibilities, but that's a positive thing in my estimation. D&D -- and fantasy gaming in general -- could use more quirkiness these days.

Pulp Fantasy Library: Jack of Shadows

There's been a lot of talk in the old school community, especially this blog, about the thief class introduced in Supplement I to OD&D. In discussing it, you'll see frequent references to the Gray Mouser, Cugel the Clever, and even Conan, but comparatively few to Roger Zelazny's Jack of Shadows, who makes his appearance in the 1971 novel of the same name. I kick myself for not having remembered Jack, all the moreso because Gary Gygax was always quite upfront about taking inspiration from this character when imagining the thief class. Indeed, Appendix N lists Jack of Shadows (along with the "Amber" series, with which it bears some thematic similarities) as one of the books that inspired AD&D.

I suppose it's because I'm not actually a big fan of Zelazny's writing that I'd forgotten this vital clue to "The Thief Question." There's something a bit too "psychedelic" about Zelazny's style that doesn't appeal to me. My tastes are much more staid in comparison. Still, that's no excuse for having overlooked Jack of Shadows, which, despite its unevenness, full of fascinating ideas. The title character hails from a world that does not rotate. One side, dominated by magic, is perpetually in darkness, while the other side, dominated by science, is perpetually in light. Jack, as you might expect, exists in the shadows, his powers negated in either complete darkness or complete light. Though a magical being with more in common with the creatures of darkness, Jack nevertheless straddles the two worlds and the novel's story is about his attempts to gain mastery over both, culminating in a series of events that forever change the world -- and Jack himself.

Jack of Shadows is a good example of the kind of quirky world-building for which the fantasy genre was once known. The setting of the novel is neither a post-Tolkien epic fantasy nor a grim and gritty Robert E. Howard pastiche. Instead, it's a purely fantastical place, where the laws of reality vary from place to place and magic and science reign supreme within their confined realms. In short, it's an original exercise of the imagination and, while I have my issues with both its presentation and content, I can't help but approve of its uniqueness.

For me, though, the most important part of Jack of Shadows is the insight it offers into the thief class and its abilities. Jack is a magical being, a master of manipulating the realm between shadow and light to his advantage. He is the greatest thief that ever was, because he is at one with the shadows. The D&D thief wasn't intended to emulate Jack, so I don't think it's reasonable to assume that its class abilities are "magical" in nature. Nevertheless, that influence is there and I think it needs to be borne in mind when considering what the thief is supposed to be and how its abilities are supposed to work.

There's always a danger in focusing too heavily on a single influence over any aspect of D&D, of course, but I nevertheless think it's vital to understand all those influences. Without that knowledge, one might mistakenly change or remove something ignorant of the consequences. To some extent, I may be guilty of that with regard to the thief, as I recently admitted. That's why I'm glad I remembered Jack of Shadows. I'm still uneasy about the thief and its effects both on OD&D specifically and the development of Dungeons & Dragons generally, but now I have some additional influences to consider as I ponder these matters.