the man with the Weird Tale
by GUY AMORY
[Illustration]
The extremely interesting specimen to your right is not a head from a
formaldehyde jar, though at times we have seen it, or him, pickled. It
is I, Henry Kuttner, the laziest man who ever punched a typewriter and
got paid for it. Like several other L.A. natives he is too busy living
to do much worrying--and besides--what does it get him? (a check from
Weird Tales) Henry has just sold them a 20,000 word yarn about Elak of
Atlantis. At present he has finished a story headed for STARTLING, fifty
thousand words or more, and been working with C. L. Moore on a new
chiller.
Hank's first story for Astounding was a disappointment, but he fully
made up for that by turning in a sockerooo to Unknown called _the
misguided halo_, written after the fashion of his most highly cherished
author THORNE SMITH. What the fans don't know is that this little tale
had a different ending than the one used by Campbell. Kuttner's finis to
the halo was hysterically funny, but John W. thought otherwise and
tagged a new finish on it--spoiling it as far as this author is
concerned.
Kuttner is 24 years old. He's been writing most of his life--learned how
to type at the age of eight and hasn't left it alone since. Was born
with a type-bar in his mouth. Lives in a quiet catacomb called Beverly
Hills, the first cemetery I've ever seen with street lamps. At present,
though I have broached the subject on numerous occasions, Hank
steadfastly refuses to write for slick magazines. His best excuse being
his laziness.
Hanks is quiet-speaking, sincere. But he has a sense of humor, the kind
that hits you amidriff abruptly. He is the perfect dead-pan jokester.
His digs many times being too subtle for your correspondent to catch
until several moments have passed, Kuttner is always ready to rush in
mildly and put the immature fans to route. It is only when you see the
ghastly pictures that he takes out at his charnal cave that you realize
his true sense of comedy. He and Hodgkins and Shroyer, the fiends, get
together in outre garb, in horrifying pose, and bring forth films that
would shake the mind of even such a horror as Robert Bloch.
Kuttner likes the way C. L. Moore writes (and who doesn't). He wishes he
could write like her--but claims that when he tries imitating it comes
out so much trash. If you've read any of his stories you realize that
Hank is a master of the bingety-boom type of fiction--but with feeling!
He puts more Incident in ten pages of Elak than any other author in
WEIRD, and makes you feel it. He paints his picture with masterfully
abrupt dabs, while Moore lays on her horror with the touch of a mosaic
master, building up. Kuttner knocks you down and keeps you bouncing.
Moore swirls you in cobwebs and totes you away into infinity. Combining
their efforts in '37 for QUEST OF THE STARSTONE they turned out
something to remember ... with Hank's flair for lightning pace and
Moore's for description they went to town.
That's about all we can say about Hank, He doesn't like New York because
it's too dirty, noisy and big. He dotes on Thorne Smith. Rite now he's
trying to crash Argosy with a story--and in the future you can expect
some big things from this quiet author.
Oh, yes, and is it true what they say about Kuttner?
No, he doesn't use dope to get the effect in his stories. He has a
massive painting of Art Barnes on his desk and when he prepares to write
he squints once and once only at that painting to get gruesome
atmosphere. Then he starts typing!
Take a bow, Mr. Kuttner.
(Jus bend over a little more, Hank! A' K' BARNES)