by Louis C. Smith
A. Merritt's family were believers in that ancient custom of going to
the Bible for the name of each new arrival. So when the future author
of "The Ship of Ishtar," "The Moon Pool," and those other famous
science fantasy classics was born, they rushed to the Book. Over his
defenseless body, they argued at to whether the infant should be named
Job, Hezekiah, Joshua, or Abraham. The Abes had it. So--A. Merritt. His
parentage is traceable back to the French Huguenots.
And while on the subject of Merritt--when his "Moon Pool" first
appeared, a responsible critic compared it favorably in style with the
best of Poe. We'll let Clark Ashton Smith have it out with Merritt for
the title "Edgar Allan Poe, second."
"I was once an industrious writer of short stories," states H. G.
Wells, in a preface to his "Man who Could Work Miracles," reprinted
last year in Golden Book. "I found that by taking almost any incident
as a starting point, I could arrive at a story." Some thousands of
scientifiction lovers may deplore the fact that he is no longer so
industrious. But Mr. Wells finds more recreation nowadays in writing
allegorically of such things as the "Bulpington of Blup."
Frank Owen, of whose stories it has been said, "They are like delicate
carvings in jade," is a surprising man. Contrary to expectations that
would hope to reveal him a mystical, quiet, debonairly dreamy fellow,
Mr. Owen is "pleasingly plump," jolly, generous, energetic, and
voluminous in his writings. His work ranges from children's stories and
poems--fairy tales, stories in church magazines--to novels of a "sexy"
tang, and finally right down to our own back doorstep ... and the
wonderful "Wind that Tramps the World" type of fantasy. In all, Frank
Owen has written well over 500 published stories.
A very well-known author of shuddery weird tales once wrote:
"Otis Adelbert Kline is a typical writer--of the type of stories he
writes. Rather large, inclined toward embonpoint, always perfectly
dressed, pleasant in manner, but with an undeniable air of forcefulness
about him, you can easily imagine him performing some of the things his
characters do."
We are glad to hear, always, how our favorite authors appear; we
are more happy when we find that the author is in keeping with the
type of story he turns out. It is disappointing--and not a little
incongruous--to read a thrilling, mile-a-minute, blood and thunder
adventure tale, with a death by violence to every page, and then find
that the author is a meek, mild-mannered, diminutive fellow who fears
to go out alone at night and has never experienced a more exciting
adventure than falling down in the bathtub!
Where is the credit so justly due Sir H. Rider Haggard, one of the
greatest of the authors of fantastic adventure fiction?
His tales of mysticism, ancient rites, and lost peoples of the dark
continent are marvels of weird adventure and ingenious plot. His
character, Allan Quartermain, is an adventurer of the rarest type. His
native witch doctors are real enough to step bodily out of the pages
and cast a malignant spell.
Have you ever read his "People of the Mist," "When the Earth Shook,"
"King Solomon's Mines," "She," "Marion Isle," "Morning Star," "Alan
and the Ice Gods," or any of the other two score novels penned by this
prolific Englishman? It is a living experience to read "People of the
Mist." It is a happy day when you travel into ancient Egypt through the
pages of "Morning Star." It is an event to read any of Haggard's works.
He ranks with Wells and Verne.
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