Deeper Cut: The Weird Tales Murder Mystery

In the Detroit Evening Times for 16 Aug 1942 (and the The Standard-Times in New Bedford, Mass) is a sensational article by journalist Terry McShane: “The Case of the Oversized Footprint.” What caught my eye about the story was one particular clue in the case:

He could read, in the faint light, four startling words scrawled across a gay-colored magazine that was firmly enclosed in the woman’s left hand:

“A Negro did it.”

A carpenter’s pencil stub lay on the floor near her right hand.

The magazine in question appeared to be a copy of Weird Tales Aug 1931. An issue that happened to include H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Whisperer in Darkness.”

However, digging into the history of the case reveals what McShane got right—and wrong—about this case, right down to the pulp magazine in question.

In digging into the case, the major sources available are newspaper archives, a few legal decisions from the case’s appeals that remain available, and a scattering of supporting documents. Not all of the newspaper articles are reliable, often giving inaccurate names and ages, especially the earliest accounts when few facts of the case were known. However, without access to the trial transcript (which may well not have been retained, it being over 90 years since the case was tried), these are what we have to go by.

The first reports came in on 22 March 1932, about a murder that had occurred in the small town of Arp, Texas the night before:

J. L. Grantom, employed as a fireman by the Zion Oil company at an oil well across from the Brimberry shack, went to the two room house at 10:45 and found Mrs. Brimberry’s body. He called Deputy Sheriff Jim Bradford of Alp and together they discovered Brimberry’s body in a ditch about 60 feet from the house. His knuckles were bruised as though he had fought his assailant.

It was believed Brimberry was killed first and his money wallet looted, then the assailant went into the house and killed the woman. A blood covered flatiron was found near her body. She clutched a small pencil in her hand and on a nearby magazine had scrawled “Negro killed me.” Her purse was lying open on the floor, empty.
—”Man and Wife are Murdered with Flatiron,” The Orange Leader, 22 Mar 1932 (1)

The victims were George Thomas Brimberry (18 Apr 1867 – 21 Mar 1932) and his wife Ethel Viola Brimberry (May 1877 – 21 Mar 1932). Newspaper accounts often depict the couple as elderly and German when they were closer to middle-aged; the latter possibly a mistake stemming from the fact that his father was born in Georgia. George Brimberry is described as a well-digger, and this occupation appears on his entry in the 1930 Federal Census. According to contemporary accounts, Viola Brimberry also took in laundry to supplement their income. Deputy Sheriff Jim Bradford of Arp was apparently the first responder. Neighbors and relatives were questioned:

The pair had been married about seven or eight years, the relatives reported. It was the second marriage for both. They had been living near Arp for the last year and the man had been digging wells and the woman taking in laundry for a living.

Possibility that robbery might have been the motive was advanced by neighbors. They said the old man joked about his wife saving money. He was a cheerful person, neighbors averred.
—”Bury Slaying,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 24 Mar 1932 (2)

The death certificate for Viola Brimberry reads simply “was murdered by robber.”

The woman’s wounds were so horrible that officers believed the note was false, being an attempt to mislead investigators.
—”Well Digger And Wife Beaten To Death Near Arp,” The Kilgore (TX) News Herald, 22 Mar 1932 (1)

Other officers involved include Constable W. B. Webb (Arp), Deputy Sheriff H. R. Turner (Tyler), and Deputy Sheriff Doug Hale (Tyler). Later sources include Sheriff Earl Price (Tyler), but at the time of the initial murder investigation the sheriff was Tom C. Sikes; Price defeated him in the March 1932 primary, and won the following election, but did not take office until January 1933.

The note on the magazine was a salacious detail that was widely reported, even as the police investigating the murders took it as a red herring. It was not long before the police had a suspect in custody.

The man was arrested late yesterday near the scene of the slaying. Officers said they found a pair of blood-stained trousers, which the suspect admitted he was wearing Monday night. The man’s shoes fitted the tracks leading from the Brimberry cabin, they stated. The clothes were turned over to chemists for a comparison of the blood on them with that of the victims.
—”Man Arrested In Connection Double Murder,” Corsicana (TX) Daily Sun, 23 Mar 1932 (2)

The suspect was Barney Bascum Blackshear (8 Dec 1908 – 19 Nov 1936); the 1930 Federal census gives his occupation as “laborer,” and the newspapers routinely referred to him as an oil field “roustabout,” or itinerant worker. Blackshear had been in the Arp vicinity for about a week. (“Bury Slaying,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 24 Mar 1932 (2))

Barney Blackshear, photo from his findagrave entry

There were no witnesses to the murders; and the newspaper accounts offer few details of the circumstances, e.g.:

A keg, partly filled with beer, was found in the cabin, and glasses showing traces of beer were found, leaving investigators to believe the killer had visited the couple and had been given beer.
—”Killer Ues Flat Iron to Slay Couple Near Arp,” The Tyler (TX) Journal, 25 Mar 1932 (5)

Evidence against Blackshear was apparently circumstantial. McShane mentions plaster casts of footprints, with Blackshear the only man who, Cinderella-like, had feet big enough to fit the tracks. Contemporary newspaper articles mention little else in the way of physical evidence:

Another important development of the day was a discovery of a heavy oil well wrench buried in the field and on a line with the tracks which were discovered there. The heavy tool was clotted with blood and grey hair, leading deputies to the conclusion that it was the weapon used to fell Brimberry.
—”Oil Field Worker of Arp Held in Connection with Brutal Murder There Monday,” The Kilgore (TX) Daily News Herald, 23 Mar 1932 (1)

Meanwhile, questioning of Barney Blackshear, 23, charged with the killing here Wednesday in D. Y. Gaiens’ justice court, had started, according to Deputy Sheriff H. R. Turner, who is heading the invesitgation. Blackshear is in jail without bond. he has denied any connection with the case.

Blackshear was arrested within half a mile of the murder scene late Tuesday by deputy sheriffs from Tyler. A stained pair of trousers, a blodo smeared oil field wrench and flat iron, a pair of badly worn shoes and clothing from the two victims are being held as evidence in the case.

Efforts to gather finger prints from the articles in the curde two room hut where the pair lived were fruitless.

No one, not even relatives of the Brimberrys, has been permitted to view the prisoner in jail here. Efforts of newspaperman to obtain an interview have been unsuccessful.
—”Bury Slaying Victims Today; Quiz Suspect,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 24 Mar 1932 (1)

Tyler, TX is the county seat of Smith County, where Arp is, and the location of the courthouse. In hindsight, the isolation of Blackshear seems suspect. It was only about six days after his arrest that Blackshear made a written confession to the murders:

The lengthy statement which Blackshear made and signed yesterday before District Attorney Goens, County Attorney Gentry and Deputies Turner and Bradford recounted, Blackshear’s activities in recent months and up to the time of his arrest.
—”Suspect Tells Story,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 29 Mar 1932 (1)

[…] he was in need of funds by reason of unemployment and that he spent Monday with his brother and sister-in-law. After having leaving his relatives the statement declared he went to a negro church a hundred yards north of the Brimberry cabin. There he waited until nightfall and then called on the Brimberrys.

After leaving the Brimberry cabin Blackshear was said to have gone to a Cafe at Arp where he ate a heavy meal, danced and played the piano. Afterwards he went to his brother’s house at Lewiston and spent the night, he was quoted as having said.

Tuesday morning, the statement continued in susbtance, Blackshear and his brother drove to the Brimberry cabin and joined the curious crowd milling around there. They stayed there only a few minutes, Blackshear said.
—”Suspect Tells,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 29 Mar 1932 (2)

The “Cafe” was the Ironhead Cafe, a local eatery that was also a speakeasy (this was still during Prohibition). There are a couple of paraphrases of the confession in the papers, not all of which jive exactly with each other, so without the actual written confession, take these as approximate. For example:

In his confession, Blackshear said that he waited near the Brimberry cabin until dark, and then went to the house. On the way there, he picked up an oil well wrencha nd hit it near the door. Later he lured Brimberry outside on the pretext of giving him a drink of liquor. When they passed the spot where the wrench was hidden, he said he picked it up and hit his victim in the forehead. He fell without making a sound, Blackshear said.

He then returned to the cabin where he found Mrs. Brimberry finishing her evening meal. As he went in, he related, he picked up a smoothing iron from the stove and struck her in the back of the head. She fell, the confession continued, and he struck a second blow.
—”Man Admits Killing East Texas Couple,” The Houston (TX) Chronicle, 29 Mar 1932 (1)

According to the confession, Blackshear’s double homicide and robbery netted him $17 (“Confesses Dual Murder,” The Tulsa (OK) Tribune 29 Mar 1932 (3)), of which he had $12 left on him at the time of his arrest (“Suspect Tells,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 29 Mar 1932 (2)).

Blackshear would contend that the confession was forced:

Deputy Sheriffs Jim Bradford and H. R. Turner; Day Jailor Charlie Gabriel and Night Jailor Charlie Gabriel, Jr., were questioned at length regarding the confinement of Blackshear in a dark cell and the conversation between the prisoner and officers before the statement was made. […] Jailor Gabriel admitted that Blackshear had been confined in the dark cell for six days because officers had instructed him to keep the prisoner away from other prisoners and that the solitary confinement cell was the only one which was available. Gabreil [sic] said that he fed Blackshear regularly and answered every call he made. He testified that the same bedding and food were served him as other prisoners. […] Deputy Turner denied emphatically that Blackshear was coerced into making his statement and said that he had promised him nothing. he inferred that the statement was made after a three hours’ talk in which Blackshear had been told what evidence had been collected.
—”Sensational,” Tyler (Texas) Morning Telepgraph, 7 May 1932 (2)

As the attorneys prepared to present this evidence to the Grand Jury, they attempted to bolster it by tying the note on the magazine to Blackshear:

Considered as probably the most important clue is the bit of writing on a magazine which was found in the dead woman’s hand. It said: “A negro killed me.” The magazine and a specimen of Blackshear’s handwriting have been sent to experts in Dallas to determine if they were written by the same hand.
—”Suspect Tells,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 29 Mar 1932 (2)

The state’s handwriting expert would later testify that it was Blackshear’s handwriting on the magazine:

W. A. Weaver, Dallas, an expert in handwriting, testified he had examined the writing on the magazine, Blackshear’s signature to the statement given officers, and that of a poem entitled “Twenty-One Years,” written by Blackshear, and they were all the handwriting of the same person. Defense counsel objections prevented Weaver from illustrating on a blackboard how he arrived at his conclusions.
—”Sensational,” Tyler (Texas) Morning Telepgraph, 7 May 1932 (2), cf. “Jury Weighs Arp Slaying,” The Times (Shreveport, LA), 8 May 1932 (5)

The prosecutor also called as witness one of Viola’s sons, who testified:

E. L. Denman, son of Mrs. Brimberry by a former marriage, testified that the words, “negro kill me,” scrawled in his mother’s hand were not in the handwriting of his mother. Efforts of the defense in cross-examination to bring from in information concerning whether the Brimberrys lived happily were blocked by objections by the state.
—”Sensational,” Tyler (Texas) Morning Telepgraph, 7 May 1932 (2), cf. “Blackshear,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 15 Dec 1933 (8)

Speaking of that annotated magazine—none of the newspaper accounts give the title or date. However, two photos of the incriminating scrawl were included in photos:

“Killer’s Conquest” was never published in Weird Tales. “Killer’s Conquest” by George Cory Franklin was published in Triple-X Western (Apr 1932). Which perhaps makes more sense than a year-old issue of Weird Tales. What probably happened is that when McShane’s article went to press, there was no image of the incriminating pulp, so someone at the newspaper bought a copy of a magazine from about the correct time and scrawled on it themselves.

So we have a Weird Tales murder mystery without a copy of Weird Tales! Probably.

A special grand jury was called and returned two indictments, one for the murder of George and one for the murder of Viola, in short order; trial date for the murder of Viola was set for the next week, and public defenders appointed for Blackshear’s defense (“Blackshear Trial Date Set,” The Tyler (TX) Tribune, 30 Mar 1932 (1)). Blackshear posed for a few photographs from reporters.

Things were not looking good for Blackshear. Although the physical evidence was circumstantial and there were no witnesses to the crimes, a signed confession is the kind of thing that swings juries. The defense initially called into question whether the court was legally in session, then the venire (panel of prospective jurors) that had been called, claiming irregularities and a faulty indictment; the judge didn’t buy either motion (“Judge Overrules Motion to Quash Murder Indictment,” Corsicana (TX) Daily Sun, 7 Apr 1932 (3)).

The public defenders made an effort to produce a strong defense:

During the examination of prospective jurors references were made to a statement Blackshear is said by the state to have made and signed. The defense by its questions intimated the statement will be challenged and efforts made to prevent its introduction if the state tries to use it, on the ground that it was obtained by coercion and under duress in that Blackshear was ept in a dark cell until he agreed to sign.

[…] Blackshear, clean shaven, entered the courtroom in the custody of Deputy Sheriff Mart Jones and took a seat in a chair alongside the raling, directly facing the jury box. Throughout the morning session he continually smoked one cigarette after another.

He was dressed in a dark suit and from outward appearances was not the same man that was arrested near the murder scene. At that time he was clad in a pair of worn overalls, a blue shirt and badly worn shoes.
—”First Day,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 5 May 1932 (5)

Appearances count for much in jury trials, and presenting Blackshear clean-shaven and in a suit was likely designed to produce a positive reaction from the jury, as someone who did not look like a murderer. The fact that they already questioned the confession shows that they were working every angle. But the odds were stacked against them, and the defense then apparently decided on an insanity defense (“Continue Blackshear Trial; May Plead Insanity,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 8 Apr 1932 (1)).

This can be seen as a bit of a Hail Mary by the defense; a last-ditch effort to save Blackshear’s life. He was facing the electric chair if convicted, and there was little hope of overcoming a signed confession in open court, but the insane could not be executed. The problem then became one of proving to the jury that Blackshear wasn’t mentally competent. This was accomplished in part by soliciting witness testimony to Blackshear’s mental instability and his history of mental illness:

Mrs. Ruby Whitman of Rowlett, who admitted she had lived with Blackshear, testified that Blackshear was subject to fits of mental derangement and that he had twice attempted to commit suicide.
—”State Produced Arp Confession,” San Antonio (TX) Express-News, 7 May 1932 (4)

Ren Whitman, husband of Ruby Whitman, corroborated testimony of his wife that Blackshear twice had attempted to commit suicide in her presence. […] Dr. W. Howard Bryant testified he believed Blackshear of unsound mind, but refused to say his condition was more than a “border line” case.
—”Youth Tried For Death of Aged Couple,” The Time (Shreveport, LA) 8 May 1932 (1)

Some other things came out during the trial as well:

The state returned Deputy Sheriff Turner to the stand in an effort to impeach the testimony of Harold Dawson, 17, that Blackshear’s nose was bleeding and the defendant wiped his own blood on the clothing which the state contended Blackshear wore on the night of the murder.
—”Jury Weighs Arp Slaying,” The Times (Shreveport, LA), 8 May 1932 (5)

Mrs. Otis Murray, a neighbor of the slain couple, said that Mrs. Brimberry told her within 12 hours of the killing that a “dope head” was making love to her and planned to kill Brimberry and take her for himself. The “dope head” was not named. The witness said the Brimberrys were incompatible and that Mrs. Brimberry planned to leave her huhsband the next day. […] A letter written by Mrs. Brimberry to her son the day of the slaying corroborated Mrs. Murray’s testimony in part. Mrs. Brimberry asked protection from her husband and requested her son to say nothing of her intention to leave him as “she knew what was about to happen to him.”
—”State Produced Arp Confession,” San Antonio (TX) Express-News, 7 May 1932 (4)

J. K. Rivers, named in the state’s injunction suit to padlock the Ironhead Cafe near Arp as the proprietor, was one of the first witnesses. He testified that Brimberry had dug a well for him.

A subsequent witness, Mrs. Otis Murray, testified that Mrs. Brimberry told her on the day of the killing that she had had trouble with her husband over money, but that her husband had been unable to give it to her because he had not received all of his pay—$38—for digging the Ironhead Cafe well. H. R. (Luck) Turner, deputy sheriff, testied as to finding of a cellar, after being tipped off as to its existence by D. M. Maynor, of defense counsel, communicating with the well dug for the cafe by Brimberry. he told of the ingenious manner in which the well served as the entrance to the cellar, while at the same time performing all the functions of a well used for supplying water, how the pipe through which beer flowed from the cellar led to the kitchen sink and how 900 bottles of beer had been found in the cellar, together with electric lights and fans.
—”Deny Blackshear New Trial,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 4 Jun 1932 (1-2)

How much of this was true, we have no idea. But it wasn’t enough to convince the jury of Blackshear’s innocence.

The defense motioned for a new trial on jury misconduct; they were overruled, but appealed (“Overrules New Trial Plea for Blackshear,” Corsicana (TX) Daily Sun, 3 Jun 1932 (15)). The appeal was heard in Feburary 1933, and the Court of Appeals reversed the verdict and remanded the case for a new trial, citing improper handling of evidence involving the handwriting expert:

Considering the bill of exception, it appears therefrom that officers found in one hand of deceased a magazine on which was written the words “A negro kill me.” In the other hand of deceased they found a lead pencil. An official of Smith county went to the jail while appellant was under arrest and in custody, and, without warning appellant, had appellant write several specimens of his signature. There was also introduced in evidence appellant’s written statement, in which he confessed his guilt. The prosecuting attorney had in his possession a poem written in longhand, entitled “Twenty One Years.” This poem was never introduced in evidence and the record is silent as to who wrote it or as to how the state obtained possession of it. The state called and used as a witness one Weaver, a handwriting expert. This witness examined the magazine found in the hand of deceased, the signature to appellant’s written statement, the specimens of handwriting taken from appellant without warning, and the poem entitled “Twenty One Years.” After his examination of these writings, he testified that the same person who wrote the words on the magazine “A negro kill me” signed appellant’s written statement, wrote the poem entitled “Twenty One Years” and signed the specimens of handwriting obtained from appellant while he was in jail. The bill of exception manifests error.
Blackshear v. State, 58 S.W.2d 105 (Tex. Crim. App. 1933).

The second trial took place in November 1933. In the year and change since he had been in jail, a couple things had changed:

Since Blackshear’s first trial, the state’s star witness, H. R. (Luck) Turner, a deputy sheriff at the time of [t]he killing, has died. Turner headed the investigation. Duncan Maynor, widely known East Texas lawyer who was chief of the defense counsel, also is dead.
—”Second Trial of Blackshear,” Corsicana (TX) Daily Sun, 27 Nov 1933 (2)

A request was made for change of venue, which was denied. Unlike the first trial, in this trial Blackshear took the stand to testify in his own defense. Not much in the way of new details are gained from newspaper accounts, although the position of the Ironhead Cafe becomes a bit clearer:

“Cuter” Rivers operated the Ironhead Cafe where Blackshear, the defendant, said in a written statement, now in evidence in the trial, allegedly went after leaving the Brimberry home. At the Ironhead Cafe, Blackshear drank whiskey, ate some sausages and played a nickel piano, his statement said.
—”Blackshear,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 15 Dec 1933 (8)

“An Old ‘Trouble Spot’ For Officers,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 13 Apr 1936 (2)

A later article expanded on the Ironhead Cafe as a rough establishment that featured in two additional murders, not counting the ones Blackshear was indicted for, and again reiterated the Brimberrys’ connection to the speakeasy:

During the trial of Barney Blackshear for the murder of Mrs. Brimberry, the defense brought out the fact her husband, who was also murdered, had dug the water well for Rivers which connected with the underground room. There was some trouble about payment, witnesses testified, and Mrs. Brimberry was said to have told neighbors the day of the killing that she and her husband were coming to town the next day to report Rivers for selling liquor.
—”An Old ‘Trouble Spot’ For Officers,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 13 Apr 1936 (2)

Additional details were also offered on Blackshear’s previous suicide attempts (involving the use of a straight razor). The defense seems to have relied on largely the same insanity defense as before; this time, when Blackshear took the stand in his own defense, the prosecution grilled him on his affair with Ruby Whitman:

The state scored heavily when it secured an admission from Blackshear that he knew it was wrong to be living with another man’s wife at his (Blackshear’s) brother’s house; and that for that reason he told his brother the woman was his wife.

Defense attorneys had contended through Dr. Bryant that Blackshear did not know right from wrong.
—”Blackshear Takes Stand In His Own Defense,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 16 Dec 1933 (1)

Once again, the signed confession was introduced as evidence (“Statement of Oil Worker introduced at 2d Murder Trial,” The News San Antiono (TX), 14 Dec 1933 (18)). And, once again, Barney Blackshear was sentenced to death for the murder of Viola Brimberry (“Blackshear Gets Death Sentence in Arp Slaying,” The Houston (TX) Chronicle, 18 Dec 1933 (1)).

Once again, an appeal was made (“Appeal Second Death Conviction of Barney Blackshear of Tyler,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 24 Apr 1934 (2)). The appeal was heard in June 1934, and once again the verdict reversed, and the case remanded for new trial somewhere else:

It appears from the record that the special veniremen were summoned from different sections of the county and that the case had been discussed in every part of the county. We are constrained to hold that the record in its entirety leads us to the conclusion that the appellant’s case had been prejudged to the extent that it was impossible that he could obtain that character of a fair and impartial trial contemplated by the Constitution.
Blackshear v. State, 72 S.W.2d 601 (Tex. Crim. App. 1934).

Given the fairly extensive newspaper coverage, this isn’t a huge surprise.

The third trial of Barney Blackshear took place in Marshall in Harrison County, TX in January 1935 (“Testimony Being Taken In Slaying,” (The Waxahachie (TX) Daily Light, 22 Jan 1935, (1)). We don’t have many details of the third trial, but apparently, the change of venue didn’t help: on 29 January 1935, Blackshear was sentenced to death for the third time for the murder of Viola Brimberry. Once again, the verdict was appealed, and Blackshear got his due process (“Appeals Court to Hear Argument on Blackshear Case,” The Marshall (TX) News Messenger, 13 Nov 1935 (3)).

Once again, the appeals court reversed and remanded the decision, this time finding particular fault with how the confession was arrived at:

The court sharply criticized methods used by officers in obtaining a purported confession from the defendant. The opinion said it was admitted that Blackshear was incarcerated in a dark cell for approximately six days and nights.

Judge F. L. Hawkins, who wrote the opinion, quoted as follows from an opinion of the court in another case:

“Neither policemen, detectives nor jailers are clothed in this country with inquisitorial powers. It is true that some of the laws of Spain ahve been ingrafted on ours, but not the dungeon, the bludgeon, the burning faggot or any of the concomitant tortures of the inquisition. These belong to the ages of bigotry, intolerance and sueprstition and have no place in our civilization. An attempt to revive them, even in mild form ought to call forth execration of the people and the sverest condemnation of the law.”
—”Blackshear Again Escapes Death as Case Is Reversed,” Denton (TX) Record-Chronicle, 17 Jun 1936 (1) cf. Blackshear v. State, 95 S.W.2d 960, 130 Tex.Cr.R. 557 (Tex. Crim. App. 1936)

“It was so dark that one’s hand could hardly be seen before him” Judge Hawkins wrote in the opinion. “There were no lights, no charis and no bed. Appellant slept on a mattress on the concrete floor. he could not obtain water unless it was brought to him by the jailer.”

“Our conclusion is that there was no issue for the jury as the uncontrovertible evidence conclusively established that the confession was involuntary,” the opinion held.
—”Court Reverses Death Sentence,” San Antiono (TX) Express-News, 18 Jun 1936 (4)

At this point, Barney Blackshear had been in jail over four years. He had suffered through three trials and three death sentences, and was facing a fourth trial for the murder of Viola Brimberry—and was still technically under indictment for the murder of George Brimberry, if the state wanted to press the issue. Perhaps that is why in November 1936, Blackshear used a straight razor to slash his wrists. This third suicide attempt was successful (“Blackshear Ends Long Parade of Murder Trials By Killing Himself,” The Marshall (TX) News Messenger, 20 Nov 1936 (1)).

We will never know what really happened in Apr, TX that night in 1932. That Blackshear was mistreated in jail and forced into a confession is now apparent; that there may have been someone else with reason to murder the Brimberry’s is possible, though unprovable at this chronological distance. To the credit of the Texas Justice system, Blackberry’s right to appeal was heard, repeatedly, and the appeals court sided with him each time. But appeals take time, and innocent or guilty, long years of imprisonment can wear on anyone. Newspapers suggest the suicide may have been inspired by an infatuation with a woman who had been writing him letters that had gone sour, but the true cause was likely complicated and personal (“Blackshear,” Tyler (TX) Morning Telegraph, 20 Nov 1936 (2)).

Misinformation was not uncommon in reporting on the case; especially later, when memories were a bit faded. Later narratives in the 1940s like “Today’s True Detective Story” by Sam D. Cohen (The Pittsburgh Post Gazette, 28 Jul 1941 (18)) mixed fact with fiction; no mention of making a cast of the bootprint, claim that Blackshear hung himself rather than cutting his arms, which is how he actually killed himself. McShane makes the same error, claiming Blackshear hung himself by his belt, which suggests perhaps he was reading some of the same sources Cohen did, only elaborated a little further. Cohen and McShane also emphasized different officers in the case, with Cohen focusing on Deputy Jim Bradfard and McShane on Sherrif Earl Price; neither give much mention to Deputy Turner, who supposedly obtained the confession. This suggests the journalists may have interviewed different men about the case, resulting in some of the confusion surrounding it.

When journalists get so many of the basic facts wrong, the use of an old issue of Weird Tales as a prop seems almost harmless. But it’s emblematic of an emphasis on style and sensationalism over accuracy—and perhaps an example of why it doesn’t do to rely too heavily on a single newspaper account.

Weird Tales sometimes included weird crimes among its pages, though not one where a man was convicted to death and won reprieve, though not release, three times. The case caught my attention because of the tenuous pulp magazine connection, a clue that was widely seen as a red herring, but which the prosecutors attempted to use anyway. There is more to this strange story, no doubt. It may involve bootlegging in Texas, and rural police efforts to force confessions; the value of handwriting experts and what, exactly, that poem was. A fuller story of a pair of brutal murders, which we may never know.


Bobby Derie is the author of Weird Talers: Essays on Robert E. Howard and Others and Sex and the Cthulhu Mythos.

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Deeper Cut: W. H. Pugmire in the Japanese Fantasy Film Journal

W. H. Pugmire was born in 1951; the kaiju classic Gojira (ゴジラ) was awakened by nuclear testing a few years later in 1954. The giant monster came stomping onto U.S. shores in 1956 as Godzilla, King of the Monsters!, edited, dubbed, and with added footage of actor Raymond Burr to make a substantially different film from the original—but it the first Japanese feature to become a commercial hit in the United States, and went on to spread the love of giant monsters internationally as well.

Japanese science fiction, fantasy, and horror film fandom in the United States began as an outgrowth of science fiction fandom; period fanzines included the occasional kaiju film that made it to the U.S. as they would other international science fiction, fantasy, and horror films. The films were shown in movie theaters and drive-ins, but there was often limited press coverage and no availability for private screenings. If you missed Gigantis the Fire-Monster (1955) or The Manster (1961), you were simply out of luck, and would be lucky to see a grainy black-and-white photograph in a film magazine like Famous Monsters of Filmland.

In 1957, however, Screen Gems, a television subsidiary of Columbia Pictures, produced its Shock Theatre package—a group of older horror films that could be aired for local broadcast. Thus began the tradition in the U.S. of the local horror host, who acted (and sometimes interacted) with these cheap classic films for an often precocious audience, who stayed up late into the night to watch monster movies. It became a popular staple, and more film packages followed as horror hosts proliferated. Re-runs made it possible for these films to gain a new and wider audience, and by the 1960s a package called Creature Features, including the Japanese kaiju movies of the 1950s, was released.

GIGANTIS, THE FIRE MONSTER

The only time I saw this show was on a late TV movie feature about five years ago. because my father is anti-monster/horror and fantasy/sf, I had to creep from my bedroom and turn the set on very low—dad’s bedroom was just above the set—so, I could not hear what was happening and that furthered my difficulties. My memory, thus, is not very detailed about the film. […] I’d like to see this film again, if just to see how much of the plot I’ve forgotten. I just hope it comes on some Saturday movie show so I don’t have to strain my eyes and ears, fearing that every sound I hear is the demon in the bedroom just above.
—Bill Pugmire, Jr., The Japanese Film Fantasy Journal #7 (Mar 1971) 13
in Early Kaiju Fandom Volume 5: Japanese Fantasy Film Journal (2026) 196

The broader access to Japanese science fiction, fantasy, and horror films in the 1960s and 70s spurred the growth of related fandom in the U.S. (As did the growing media footprint from Marvel comics adaptations, toys, etc.) Specialist fanzines began to emerge, sharing information on Japanese productions past, present, and future.

Bradford Grant Boyle began publishing his fanzine Japanese Giants in the mid-1970s. In later years, he began a fanzine archive project and in 2024, he published the first of the Early Kaiju Fandom series, reprinting these now-obscure and early fanzines to preserve them for fans and scholars. Not just those interested in Japanese films, but for those who are interested in fandom itself, the way fans organize, their interactions, the often crude but energetic output of their devotion.

I began picking up these books more out of general than specific interest; print-on-demand books are low print run almost by default, can disappear at any time, and once out of print are often unobtainable at any price. Nor was I disappointed when the books arrived; the scans were clear, the zines themselves had the charm that often marks enthusiastic amateur productions. Before the internet, wikis, and even home video, there were teens putting these together using typewriters and stencils, laying them out with X-acto knives and glue. They’re fun.

So imagine my surprise when I found a letter from a young W. H. Pugmire in volume 5. And then another, and an article, and…

I was a huge horror film nut as a kid (Famous Monsters ofFilmland #69 is dedicated to me), and I lived for horror films. My first fanzines were a combo of SF (my high school girlfriend who was my co-editor was into SF —indeed, her parents had met at an early meeting of the Nameless Ones) and horror films. I was determined, in high school, that my future career was to be an actor in horror films, but that changed when I was sent to Ireland as a Mormon missionary and became obsessed with horror fiction.
—W. H. Pugmire, Chunga #22 (Jan 2014), 30

Today, Wilum Hopfrog Pugmire (born: William Harry Pugmire; 3 May 1951–25 Mar 2019) is best known as a Lovecraftian author, poet, and editor; and for his contributions to punk literature. His early interactions with fandom have been noted previously—he famously appeared in Famous Monsters of Filmland #69 (Sep 1970) in his “Count Pugsly” makeup—but his love of giant monster films isn’t something that’s really been examined in any depth, and there’s something fascinating about reading through these early writings and getting a better idea of the young man who wrote them. Not a renowned Lovecraftian author; not yet the persona of Wilum Hopfrog Pugmire; but an earnest fan with a gift for writing and a lot of evident enthusiasm.

Famous Monsters of Filmland #69 (4)

This led to a certain degree of notoriety:

I first encountered the name “Bill Pugmire” around 1970, in the pages of Famous Monsters of Filmland, to which he frequently contributed letters of comment, and in Greg Shoemaker’s venerable Japanese Fantasy Film Journal, to which he also contributed letters and columns. In my young mind at the time, I considered him famous.
—Stephen Mark Rainey, “R.I.P. Wilum H. Pugmire” (26 Mar 2019), The Blog Where Horror Dwells.

The Japanese Fantasy Film Journal was edited and published by Greg Shoemaker from 1968-1983, for a total of 15 issues. Early issues were mimeographed, then apparently offset-printed, and at last professionally printed for the final issues. In terms of length, early issues ran less than 20 pages (including covers), while later issues tended to be ~40 pages. General contents varied, but often included entries on a number of Japanese sci-fi, fantasy, and horror films (or related non-Japanese films, like The Valley of Gwangi) in brief, followed by more in-depth reviews of select films. Shoemaker also covered some early Japanese animation, and included fanfiction, advertisements, and a letters page. Issues were illustrated with a combination of homegrown artwork and stills from films (taken from various sources).

W. H. Pugmire in the Japanese Fantasy Film Journal

The following list is a survey of Pugmire’s contributions to the Japanese Fantasy Film Journal, as an aid for anyone interested. Entries take the form of:

  • JFFM #Issue Number.Issue Page number [Page number in Early Kaiju Fandom Volume 5]. Title of piece (if any). Description of contents. (Other comments.)

Selected quotations from the material will follow some entries.

  • JFFM 5.18 [129]. “Are you ready for… SEATTLEHORBS???” Advertisement for a xeroxed sci-fi, horror, and fantasy film fanzine, edited by W. H. Pugmire and Brian Wise.
  • JFFM 6.3-4 [138-139]. Letter. Discussion of what should go into an editorial and letters page. Comment on Destroy All Monsters (1968), and a comparison of the Godzilla films to the Frankenstein films. Mention of Speed Racer (1967-1968). (Letters from Ernie Farino would reference Pugmire’s letter in JFFM 7.6 [189] and JFFM 8.43 [264].)
  • JFFM 7.4-5 [187-188]. Letter. Comments on JFFM #6, including the reviews of The Valley of Gwangi (1969), The Mysterians (1957), and the anime Marine Boy (1965).
  • JFFM 7.13 [196]. “Film Comment.” A series of comments on various kaiju films by fans, including Pugmire’s thoughts on Gigantis, The Fire Monster (1959). (JFFM 8.7-9 [228-229] contains a rebuttal to the “Film Comment” article, including a response to Pugmire on Gigantis.)
  • JFFM 8.4 [225]. Letter. Comments on JFFM #7, including comments on Gamera, the Giant Monster (1965), Frankenstein Conquers the World (1966), Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter (1966), and the anime Prince Planet (1965-1966).
  • JFFM 8.9 [230]. “Fanzines Corner.” Includes an advertisement for Pugmire’s Flabbergasting Rambling #3:

Flabbergasting Ramblings #3 (25¢; Bill Pugmire, 5115 S. Mead St., Seattle, Wash. 98188; photo-copy: 8 ½x 11 ) Last issue of this variety zine so that Bill can devote more time to fantasy films publications. It covers such things as the “Blondie” comics, “Did Sherlock Holmes Kill Dracula?”—about linking characters in literature, and an odd item on ghosts in Hamlet. Interesting reading.

  • JFFM 10.5-6 [302-303]. Letter. Comments on JFFM #9, and on fanzines reviews.
  • JFFM 10.19-21 [316-318]. “Matango: Pro and Con.” Joint article on Matango (1963) by Pugmire and Fred Ray. Pugmire reviewed the film positively, Ray was negative in his critique. (JFFM 11.3-6 [342-345] includes letters responding to this article. An advertisement for this issue in Son of the WSFA Journal #137 mentions the piece.)
  • JFFM 11.38 [377]. “Fanzines Corner.” Includes an advertisement for Pugmire’s zine Lovecraftian Midnight Fantasies.

Midnight Fantasies (Bill Pugmire, 5115 South Mead St., Seattle, Wash. 98118; free; offset; published every 4 months; 8 ½x 11) A personal zine of very good quality that deals primarily with Lovecraft, Bloch, Derleth, Arkham House, et. al. An informal zine—a meandering sort of publication. Send for Bill’s current issue, but print run is limited so you may have to wait for a copy.

With issue 12, the Japanese Fantasy Film Journal shifted format and focus; with more professional layout, more and better art, and fewer letters and fan articles, and Pugmire’s contributions seem to stop. Whether this reflects Pugmire dropping the zine (not surprising given its irregular schedule and the price increasing from 50¢ to $3 an issue), or just Shoemaker’s changes to the zine making appearances in the zine less likely are unclear.

Late in life, Pugmire still remembered JFFJ fondly:

How I loved JFFJ! I remember writing a long positive critique of MANTAGO for an issue, and film-maker Fred Ray wrote a counter-critique slagging the film. I lost all my copies of JFFJ from water damage, alas.
—W. H. Pugmire, Comment (12 Jun 2011) on “Greg Shoemaker on The Japanese Fantasy Film Journal,” Sidelong Glances of a Pigeon Kicker.

Each of these fanzines is a time capsule; a snapshot into an era of fandom and popular culture, and the surprising thing isn’t to find a random contribution from W. H. Pugmire in a fanzine from the 1970s—it’s finding an intact copy of such a fanzine at all. Many of these zines had very limited circulation and there were little or no serious archival efforts to preserve them. Even today, when university libraries (like the Hevelin collection at the University of Iowa) and private groups like the First Fandom Experience and the Fanac Fan History Project are making an effort to preserve and reproduce fanzines, there are huge gaps in what is being preserved.

So kudos to Brad Boyle and the Early Kaiju Fanzine series, for helping to preserve a part of our culture that might otherwise easily be lost. Certainly, it is fun to see what W. H. Pugmire’s thoughts were on giant monster movies, as a part of his general love of monsters and horror.


Bobby Derie is the author of Weird Talers: Essays on Robert E. Howard and Others and Sex and the Cthulhu Mythos.

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Deeper Cut: Lovecraft & Universal Horror

I don’t attend the cinema very often, but realise what a marvellous conveyer of weird images & impressions it could be if it would only utilise seriously its tremendous range of optical & mechanical potentialities.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Richard Ely Morse, 21 May 1934, LHB 81-82

Howard Phillips Lovecraft was born into a world where moving pictures were not yet a commercial reality. His youth would have seen Edison’s Kinetoscopes and nickelodeons give way to projection screens; plays and other acts would share space with silent films. Imagine the thrill of being in a darkened theater and hearing the voices of the actors come through the speakers for the first time, with the background hum of the reels clicking above and behind you. To be there at ground zero as the Phantom’s face was first revealed, as the suave Count relished the howl of wolves, as something stirred beneath the sheet in the doctor’s laboratory.

The first half of the 20th century launched two great franchises of horror. One was the Cthulhu Mythos, a literary game begun by H. P. Lovecraft and his contemporaries that eventually grew into the largest, most sprawling public domain shared universe since Arthurian myth. The other was the Universal Monsters, a franchise of cinematic creations that forged the identities of a pantheon of horror, which still influences how those monsters are seen and understood today. Many of the visual aspects of monsters like Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster, and the Werewolf owe much to actors like Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, and Lon Chaney, Jr.; and even much of the popular lore of these entities was determined or popularized by their films.

That first generation of horror films was experienced entirely within the movie theater, or in associated media and advertising. There were no television stations to rerun the old films on; that was something for a later generation, the Monster Kid generation that could relish Famous Monsters of Filmland (founded by Forrest J Ackerman, who had sparred with Lovecraft in the pages of The Fantasy Fan in the 30s) and other magazines. There was no home video market. If you missed seeing a film in theaters during its initial run, you might never see it, unless it was run again. As amazing and influential as the Universal horror films were, they were also exceedingly ephemeral experiences. We are used today to having the lore of films at our fingertips, but in Lovecraft’s day such information was difficult to come by, scarce and disjointed memories supplemented by Hollywood propaganda.

This essay is an exploration to answer the questions “How many Universal horror films did H. P. Lovecraft see, and what did he think of them?” At the start, we have to acknowledge that we might never have definitive answers to these questions. While Lovecraft did attend the cinema, he didn’t do so regularly and he didn’t make a point about discussing every single film he saw. While his letters give us insights into some of the films he did see, especially between 1923 and his death in 1937, which coincides with the first wave of Universal Monster movies, there is no way to know if he missed some films or simply failed to mention them.

For the purposes of this essay, films that aren’t technically horror but have notable influence on later horror film like the romantic melodramas The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923), The Phantom of the Opera (1925), and The Man Who Laughs (1928) are included. If for no other reason than Lovecraft’s reaction to these films somewhat colored his appreciation of Universal’s later monster films. Likewise, films which might make it onto horror lists, or are very influential like The Cat and the Canary (1927), The Unknown (1927), Secret of the Blue Room (1933), The Man Who Reclaimed His Head (1934), and Mystery of Edwin Drood (1935) are left out—although for anyone curious, there’s no evidence Lovecraft watched any of those films. At least, there are no mentions in his letters.

That said, we can at least examine the Universal Horror movies that Lovecraft could have seen, and what he did (and did not) say about them.


Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1913)

Silent • 26 min. • Dir: Herbert Brenon • Prod: Carl Laemmle

The Universal Film Manufacturing Company was incorporated in 1912, a merger of several independent film companies under the leadership of Carl Laemmle, which bucked Thomas Edison’s attempts to control the motion picture industry. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, from a screenplay by Herbert Brenon based on the novella “Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” (1886) by Robert Louis Stevenson, was one of Universal’s earliest films, and its first horror film. As such (and because prints survive), it is often considered the earliest of the Universal Monster films, while lost films like “The Werewolf” (1913) are often forgotten.

Early Universal star King Baggot had the dual role of Jekyll and Hyde, a transformation accomplished with greasepaint, buck teeth, crepe hair, and a slow dissolve. Effective stuff for the 1910s, though a far cry from the advanced prosthetics and camera techniques of later decades. Like many of Universal’s earliest pictures that derive from a literary source, considerable liberties are taken with the plot, which is simplified and Hyde/Jekyll’s death made manifest on the screen.

Lovecraft never mentions this film in his surviving letters; though he might have seen it either during its initial run or its 1927 re-release. He did see Paramount’s 1931 film Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and since he draws no comparison with the Universal film, it seems likely that Lovecraft missed the dawn of Universal monsters at the theatre.

The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923)

Silent • 133? minutes • Dir: Wallace Worsley • Prod: Carl Laemmle

Universal produced and distributed a number of horror films during the silent era, but their first massive financial and critical success was The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Actor and makeup artist Lon Chaney, who played the starring role of Quasimodo, obtained the rights to Victor Hugo’s 1831 novel in 1921, determined to play the role. The film showcases the makeup skills that earned him the moniker “The Man With 1,000 Faces,” including a plaster hump, facial prosthetics, etc. Chaney’s appearance and performance are the most-remembered aspects of the film, although the immense scale of the production—with the milling crowds of extras and a cathedral set that was used by Universal until destroyed by fire in 1967. Stage 28, which housed the opera house set, was demolished in 2014.

This was one of the films that Lovecraft confirmed he had seen.

Of the Chaney cinemas which you list, I have seen “The Miracle Man”, “The Hunchback of Notre Dame”, & “The Unholy Three.” I believe he would have appeared in “Dracula” has he lived.
—H. P. Lovecraft to J. Vernon Shea, 14 Aug 1931, LJVS 35

The screenplay by Edward T. Lowe, Jr. and Perley Poore Sheehan takes considerable liberties with the novel, most notably letting Esmeralda survive while Quasimodo dies. Lovecraft was normally a stickler about such things, preferring accuracy to the novel, but we don’t have any idea what he thought of the film as an adaptation.

The original print of the film, which Lovecraft would have seen, has been lost. Restored home video versions are based on shorter 16 mm prints. While the film was re-released in the 1930s with various soundtracks, there is no evidence that Lovecraft saw (and heard) these alternate versions of the film.

The Phantom of the Opera (1925)

Silent • 107 minutes • Dir: Rupert Julian (Uncredited: Edward Sedgewick) • Prod: Carl Laemmle

Lon Chaney’s reputation as a master of makeup did not begin with The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923), but The Phantom of the Opera (1925) sealed his reputation as a monster actor. Laemmle bought the rights to Gaston Leroux’s 1910 novel The Phantom of the Opera in Paris in 1922, and even before his star turn as Quasimodo, Chaney was a natural choice for the role of the Phantom. Elliot J. Clawson wrote the first screenplay based closely on Leroux’s novel, with the addition of a lengthy flashback (later eliminated). The screenplay went through several versions, and changed again during a tense and complicated filming; though they were able to reuse the opera house set from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The original ending tested poorly with audiences, and much of the film was re-shot under the direction of Edward Sedgewick, and then quickly re-edited. This version of the film premiered at the Astor Theater in New York City on 6 Sep 1925.

Not long after, H. P. Lovecraft and his wife Sonia H. Greene went to see it.

Having duly met S H, I accompanied her on a walk toward Times Square, in which we studied theatre facades with a view to the evening’s entertainment. We at length chose the new weird cinema, ‘The Phantom of the Opera’, for which we obtained 1st Balcony tickets. This has been extensively advertised, & I knew it must be good. We now proceeded to the Grand Central to get S H’s valise, checked it at the Hotel Astor near the theatre, & walked some more before the opening of the performance at 8:30. Then came the cinema (ticket stub enclosed)—& what a spectacle it was!! It was about a presence haunting the great Paris opera house—a Second-Empire (i.e., mid-Victorian) structure built by the architect Charles Garnier on a site honeycom[b]ed with mediaeval vaults—but developed so slowly that I actually fell asleep several times during the first part. Then the second part began—horror lifted its grisly visage—& I could not have been made drowsy by all the opiates under heaven! Ugh!!! The face that was revealed when the mask was pulled off . . . . . & the nameless legion of things that cloudily appeared beside & behind the owner of that face when the mob chased him into the river at the last! You must see it if it comes to Providence. That face is the one definitive triumph of the art of makeup—nothing so horrible has ever existed before, save unexpressed in the brain of such an one as Clark Ashton Smith.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Lillian D. Clark, 18 Sep 1925, LFF1.398-399, cf. CE 5.167

Lovecraft’s praise was also repeated to Clark Ashton Smith himself:

Apropos of the weird—I saw a cinema the other night which contained some of the best horror effects ever visualised by the camera. It is called “The Phantom of the Opera”, & contains a character whose face is worthy of your own artistic pencil. Ugh! It is a living shudder! You ought to see the film as a sheer spectacle, mediocre as the plot & melodramatic situations are.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Clark Ashton Smith, 20 Sep 1925, DS 81

As a film, The Phantom of the Opera (1925) is heavily melodramatic, slow in the beginning, and perhaps tries to appease too many tastes. Much of the nuance of Leroux’s novel is lost, both in the screenplay adaptation and the cutting room floor. The score for the premiere was by Eugene Conte, while the general release had the more familiar score by Gustav Hinrichs; it isn’t clear which Lovecraft heard. One has to imagine Lovecraft sitting in the balcony as the orchestra plays, eyes locked on the flickering screen, watching Chaney play the organ and hearing the house organ’s notes float through the darkness. In 1929, the film was re-released with a new soundtrack.

Like many early silent films, preservation of The Phantom of the Opera has been piecemeal, with no complete print of the 1925 original as Lovecraft would have seen it.

The Man Who Laughs (1928)

Synchronized sound • 110 minutes • Dir: Paul Leni • Prod: Carl Laemmle

The success of The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923) led Universal to pursue a similar project: an adaptation of Victor Hugo’s The Man Who Laughs (1869), with Lon Chaney offered the lead of Gwynplaine, but an issue with the rights led to a delay in production. Chaney pivoted to The Phantom of the Opera (1925), and the success of that film caused Laemmle to focus on The Man Who Laughs as the next big Gothic-flavored romantic melodrama.

Chaney was not under contract to Universal at the time, and German actor Conrad Veidt was hired for the lead role as Gwynplaine. Veidt had previous horror credits, including Eerie Tales (1919), The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), The Hands of Orlac (1924), and Waxworks (1924). Instead of doing his own makeup Chaney-style, Veidt was placed into the hands of Jack Pierce, head of Universal’s makeup department, who handled the monstrous visage of Gwynplaine.

The Man Who Laughs was a transition film as Universal moved from silent to talkies; it was filmed without dialogue (Veidt had a notable accent), but with a synchronized soundtrack and sound effects as a “sound” film. Leni brought German Expressionist influences to a solid, if melodramatic, adaptation of Hugo’s novel by J. Grubb Alexander.

Unfortunately, Lovecraft missed it.

I’ll look for “Rome Express”—though I saw neither “The Man Who Laughs” nor “Caligari” in their respective days.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Arthur Leeds, 19 Jun 1934, LRK 342

While not a horror film unto itself, The Man Who Laughs was a strong influence on the later Universal Monster movies. Lovecraft missing it at the cinema was unfortunate, but also shows how easy it is to miss films before reruns and home video.

It is notable that Universal silent horrors in the 1920s do not feature any actual supernatural elements. Quasimodo, the Phantom, and Gwynplaine are disfigured or deformed, but not actually unnatural; U.S. audiences seemed to prefer a rational (even if incredible) explanation to a supernatural one, and this also applies to highly influential films like The Cat and the Canary (1927), a silent horror-comedy developed from a Broadway play that both established and lampooned many elements of the “old dark house” film; and the Lon Chaney vehicle The Unknown (1927), directed by Tod Browning, where he plays the murderous human oddity Alonzo the Armless in a circus. However, that would change.

Dracula (1931)

Sound • 85 minutes • Dir: Tod Browning • Prod: Tod Browning, Carl Laemmle, Jr.

Horror was not limited to the cinema in the 1920s. Bram Stoker’s novel Dracula (1897) was adapted to the stage in 1924 by Irish actor/writer Hamilton Deane. Florence Stoker, Bram’s widow, was engaged in a copyright lawsuit with the creators of Nosferatu (1922) and authorized the production. The play toured for three years, and was later revised by American writer John L. Balderston in 1927 for Broadway. The Broadway production included Hungarian-born actor Bela Lugosi in the role as Count Dracula, in his first major English-speaking role, dressed in what would become the iconic suit and opera cape. It was a major theatrical success, and opposite him as Abraham Van Helsing was Edward Van Sloan.

The makers of Nosferatu lost the legal battle with Florence Stoker in 1925; this opened the doors for an authorized version, and the success of the Broadway play, which began to tour in 1928, offered possibilities. Carl Laemmle, Jr., son of Universal Studios’ founder, became head of production in 1928, with his first films hitting cinemas in 1930. Inspired by the success of The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923) and The Phantom of the Opera (1925), Junior Laemmle would be a major productive force behind Universal’s Monster films of the 1930s, starting with Dracula (1931).

Louis Bromfield was hired to pen the screenplay, but was swiftly replaced by Garrett Fort, who based his drafts largely on the 1927 stage play, and even borrowing some scenes from Nosferatu. The result doesn’t look a great deal like Stoker’s novel reads; for practical purposes, the play had left out the lengthy stagecoach journey at the beginning and severely condensed the book and plot, so that everything happens within England. The film, at least, opens with Dracula’s castle, and is heavy with Gothic atmosphere; though the rest of the film largely follows the play, with Dracula contending with Van Helsing as he attempts to secure his prey.

Lon Chaney might have won the role of Dracula, but he died on 26 Aug 1930; Conrad Veidt, star of The Man Who Laughs (1928), returned to Germany rather than try his English on sound films. Bela Lugosi campaigned hard for the role, and ultimately both he and Van Sloan ended up reprising their roles from the play on the screen.

Lovecraft, who had read Stoker’s novel, was not impressed:

Of the Chaney cinemas which you list, I have seen “The Miracle Man”, “The Hunchback of Notre Dame”, & “The Unholy Three.” I believe he would have appeared in “Dracula” has he lived. I saw that film in Miami on Whitehead’s recommendation, but didn’t get much of a kick except for the castle scenes at the very beginning.
—H. P. Lovecraft to J. Vernon Shea, 14 Aug 1931, LJVS 35

Lovecraft had gone down to visit his friend and fellow weird fiction writer the Rev. Henry St. Clair Whitehead in Dunedin, Florida in summer 1931, and traveled down to Miami (and then Key West). One can imagine the hot, stuffy theater, the house lights dimmed, the film opens…and few will argue that the opening scenes of Dracula are almost enough to make anyone fall in love with Universal horror; cinematographer Karl Freund wielded his camera expertly. However, Lovecraft was unhappy once the action left the castle, and so too did most semblance to Stoker’s novel:

What the public consider “weirdness” in drama is rather pitiful and absurd—according to one’s perspective. As a thorough soporific I recommend the average popularly “horrible” play or cinema or radio dialogue. They are all the same—flat, hackneyed, synthetic, essentially atmosphereless jumbles of conventional shrieks and mutterings and superficial, mechanical situations. “The Bat” made me drowse back in the early 1920’s—and last year an alleged “Frankenstein” on the screen would have made me drose had not a posthumous sympathy for poor Mrs. Shelley made me see red instead. Ugh! And the screen “Dracula” in 1931—I saw the beginning of that in Miami, Fla.—but couldn’t bear to watch it drag to its full term of dreariness, hence walked out into the fragrant tropic moonlight!
—H. P. Lovecraft to Farnsworth Wright, 16 Feb 1933, LWH 78

Unfortunately (and completely unknown to Lovecraft), by walking out before the end he missed the original epilogue of the film, where Edward Van Sloan emerged for a curtain speech. This scene was subsequently censored in the 1936 re-issue of Dracula, and is believed lost.

There are worse sins than walking out of what is now considered a cinematic horror classic to lay at Lovecraft’s door, and he was dedicated in his appreciation of the literary originals above the cinematic adaptations, so perhaps he can be forgiven. He made a note, in a later letter, that it was not Lugosi’s portrayal of the Count that he minded at all, only the script:

Yes—& kindred apologies for overrating your esteem for Signor Lugosi. However—if I recall the film “Dracula” aright, this bird is far from bad. The trouble with that opus was (a) the sloppiness of Stoker himself, & (b) the infinitely greater sloppiness of the cinematic adapters. The acting was fully as good as the lousy text would permit!
—H. P. Lovecraft to R. H. Barlow, 1 Sep 1934, OFF 173

Lovecraft calls him “Signor Lugosi” because of a mistaken impression (due to the last name), that Lugosi was actually Italian. In an era before the internet, such mistakes were not unknown:

At the same time as Dracula was being shot in English as Universal Studios, a Spanish-language version was being shot on the same sets. Lovecraft appears to have been unaware of this, and never mentions it in his letters.

Frankenstein (1931)

Sound • 71 minutes • Dir: James Whale • Prod: Carl Laemmle, Jr.

British playwright Peggy Webling approached Hamilton Deane, who had been touring Dracula on stage, with a stage adaptation of Frankenstein. This was a success, and American write John L. Balderstone, who had previously adapted the Dracula play for Broadway, also adapted Frankenstein: An Adventure in the Macabre with the intention of staging the show in the U.S. Carl Laemmle, Jr. was looking to begin work on more horror films after Dracula, and to this end, Junior bought the film rights for Balderstone’s Frankenstein—and approaching Bela Lugosi to play the Monster.

Lugosi played the Monster for a test reel, but the point was moot when director James Whale was brought to the project. Whale was a British director influenced by German expressionism, with a strong sense of the Gothic. He eventually cast relatively low-profile British actor Boris Karloff in the role. Jack Pierce provided Karloff’s makeup, including the flat-top and neck bolts that have become iconic elements of the Universal Frankenstein’s Monster. The production came together relatively quickly, and was released in theaters in December 1931.

Like Dracula (1931), Frankenstein (1931) greatly simplifies and veers strongly from the source material. The frame narrative and beginning of Shelley’s novel is ditched, opening with Henry (Victor in the novel) Frankenstein reanimating the monster using electrical apparatus. It is a thrilling and now-classic opening; but the Monster that emerges is not the terrifyingly intelligent and menacingly articulate entity from the novel, but a creature of almost childlike innocence and inhuman strength. The Monster then lurches through misadventures as Henry Frankenstein’s romance with his fiancée Elizabeth plays out, culminating in the Monster’s destruction and a wedding and a happy ending.

Lovecraft, who admired Shelley’s original novel, was not a fan of these changes. He was quite vocal about this, and it is ironic that we hear more about Universal’s Frankenstein than any other film in Lovecraft’s letters.

I haven’t been able to get around to any cinemas except “Frankenstein”—which vastly disappointed me. The book has been altered beyond recognition, & everything is toned down to an insufferable cheapness & relative tameness. I fear the cinema is no place to get horror-thrills!
—H. P. Lovecraft to J. Vernon Shea, 9 Dec 1931, LJVS 85

Also saw “Frankenstein” last month & was vastly disappointed. The film absolutely ruins the book—which indeed it scarcely resembles!
—H. P. Lovecraft to R. H. Barlow, 23 Dec [1931], OFF 18

“Frankenstein” was the only cinema I attended during the autumn of 1931, & was woefully disappointed. No attempt to follow the novel was made, & everything was cheap, artificial, & mechanical. I might have expected it, though—for “Dracula” (which I saw in Miami, Fla. last June) was just as bad. Last month “Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde” came & went without my inspection.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Clark Ashton Smith, [28 Jan 1932], DS 344

As for cinemas—“Jekyll-Hyde” has been & gone, but I didn’t have the energy to attend it. I fancy “Frankenstein” somewhat discouraged the cinematic interest which “Street Scene” almost awakened.
—H. P. Lovecraft to J. Vernon Shea, 5 Feb 1932, LJVS 90

As for cinemas—I haven’t been to one since the “Frankenstein” disappointment! I have heard “Arrowsmith” well spoken of, & hope I can catch it on one of its returns to town. A friend of mine saw “Jekyll-Hyde” & was woefully disappointed.
—H. P. Lovecraft to J. Vernon Shea, 22 Mar 1932, LJVS 93

I saw the cinema of “Frankenstein”, & was tremendously disappointed because no attempt was made to follow the story. However, there have been many worse films—& many parts of this one are really quite dramatic when they are viewed independently & without comparison to the episodes of the original novel. Generally speaking, the cinema always cheapens & degrades any literary material it gets hold of—especially anything in the least subtle or unusual.
—H. P. Lovecraft to R. H. Barlow, 10 Jul 1932, DS 33

“Jekyll-Hyde” was Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931), a film adaptation from Paramount; Arrowsmith (1931) was a medical drama based on the 1925 Sinclair Lewis novel of the same name.

The last comment is perhaps the most telling; Lovecraft wasn’t complaining about Karloff’s performance, or Pierce’s makeup, or Whale’s direction—he was a stickler for literary accuracy, unable to avoid comparing the Universal film to its thrice-removed source material. There is some indication that Lovecraft appreciated elements of the film, particularly the elements taken from German Expressionism:

The re-named “Island of Dr. Moreau” is on exhibition here right now—but the advertisements kill any enthusiasm I might otherwise have for attending. I did see what bore the name of “Frankenstein” in the cinema—to my commingled rage & ennui. If any effective horror-film ever comes into being it will not be American. Germany might produce once—& I hope to see anything of the kind which does materialise.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Richard Ely Morse, 15 Jan 1933, LHB 54

Lovecraft refers here to Island of Lost Souls (1932), a Paramount film and a follow-up to their successful adaptation Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde from the previous year. The actor, Boris Karloff, also impressed Lovecraft, or at least proved memorable:

You catch resemblances like a veteran—I can recognize the actor in the cinema version (or rather perversion!) of “Frankenstein” from the pen & ink sketch.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Robert Bloch, [c. 6 Dec 1933], LRBO 92

I’ve heard of that cinema “White Zombei”—in fact, I fear I let it split by under the impression that it wasn’t much good. A picture called “The Ghoul” (with Boris Karloff, the chief attraction of that “Frankenstein” fizzle as the star) is not running at a downtown theatre, but I have not seen it so far.
—H. P. Lovecraft to R. H. Barlow, [19 Mar 1934], DS 119

White Zombie (1932) was a United Artists film, starring Lugosi, strongly inspired by William Seabrook’s The Magic Island (1929). Parts of the production were actually filmed on Universal’s lots. The Ghoul (1933) was a Gaumont British film, starring Karloff. It is somewhat sad to think that Lovecraft missed both films; while not as acclaimed as the Universal horror films, they showcase both actors’ greater range and abilities.

In truth, the combined disappointment of Dracula and Frankenstein seems to have made Lovecraft rather critical of horror films in total:

Most radio and cinema versions of classics constitute a combination of high treason and murder in the first degree—I’ll never get over the cinematic mess that bore the name (about the only bond of kinship to the book!) of “Frankenstein”.
—H. P. lovecraft to Robert E. Howard, 3 Apr 1934, MF2.761

The censors had a go at Frankenstein when it came out, and it isn’t clear if Lovecraft saw the version where Frankenstein’s Monster accidentally drowns the young girl, or where Henry Frankenstein declares “Now I know how it feels to be God!”

Murders in the Rue Morgue (1932)

Sound • 62 minutes • Dir: Robert Florey • Prod: Carl Laemmle, Jr.

After Robert Florey and Bela Lugosi left the production of Frankenstein (1931), they became attached to another Universal horror project, a loose adaptation of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” (1841). Like most of Universal’s horror films at this point, the film borrows literary cachet but makes significant departures from the source material; in this case, very little of Poe’s story remained in the screenplay by Tom Reed and Dale Van Every, and was further altered on-set with new dialogue added to replace stilted lines. Lugosi’s character, Dr. Mirakle, doesn’t appear in Poe’s story at all. The financial success of Frankenstein encouraged Universal to increase the film’s budget, and it went back for reshoots and editing before its 1932 release.

Even Karl Freund’s cinematography could not save this picture, however; and while not a box office bomb, it was a financial disappointment for Universal after the huge success of Dracula and Frankenstein. Ironically for Lugosi, who hadn’t wanted to be typecast playing monsters, he would go on to star in a number of films as a mad scientist, including in two more Poe adaptations (The Black Cat (1934) and The Raven (1935)). Hollywood had pegged Lugosi, and most of his career would be spent in sinister roles.

Censors had a go at Murders in the Rue Morgue, especially any scene the least sexually provocative and, perhaps surprisingly to today’s audiences, a scene about evolution. The 1925 Scopes Trial was still within living memory, and conservative and fundamentalist religious interests objected to the theory of evolution, or the idea that humans and great apes shared a common ancestor.

Given Lovecraft’s love of Edgar Allan Poe, he might have been interested in Murders in the Rue Morgue, but one of his younger cinema-going friends apparently warned him off of it:

I’ll be warned & remain absent from the “Rue Morgue.”
—H. P. Lovecraft to J. Vernon Shea, 22 Mar 1932, LJVS 93

Given Lovecraft’s reactions to Dracula and Frankenstein, this was perhaps for the best.

The Old Dark House (1932)

Sound • 71 minutes • Dir: James Whale • Prod: Carl Laemmle, Jr.

In 1927, British author J. B. Priestley published a novel titled Benighted, a quasi-Gothic novel where a number of travellers are caught in a storm and seek refuge in an old Welsh manor house. It was re-released in the United States in 1928 under the title The Old Dark House, to fair acclaim. H. P. Lovecraft mentions it a few times in his letters, although he never appears to have read it.

After the success of Frankenstein, Universal acquired the rights to the novel for Whale, who cast Boris Karloff as the mute butler Morgan, a “heavy” role that echoed the imposing physicality of Frankenstein’s monster. Benn W. Levy and R. C. Sherrif wrote the screenplay, which was largely faithful to the novel, albeit with more humor, making this the first of Universal’s horror-comedies. The film benefited strongly from Whale’s suspenseful direction, the relative fidelity of the script to the original, and a strong cast, but the lampooning of Gothic tropes didn’t click with U.S. audiences, although it did good business when released in the U.K.

The relatively poor performance in the U.S. likely meant that Lovecraft would have had limited opportunity to see it in the theater, and judging by the lack of references to it in his letters, he likely missed it.

The Mummy (1932)

Sound • 72 minutes • Dir: Karl Freund • Prod: Carl Laemmle, Jr.

It was a trend in Universal horror films that they were adapted from established novels or short stories; cinematic horror was rooted in literary horror, even if filtered through stage theater and then Hollywood conventions and sometimes colored by German Expressionism. When Junior decided on an Egyptian-themed film, however, Universal did not manage to find an appropriate literary property to license and adapt. The mummy of Imhotep would be the first original Universal monster, one that drew on a literary tradition of the undead of Egypt, but not any specific work.

Karl Freund moved into the director’s chair for this film; John L. Balderston, who had done the screenplays for Dracula and Frankenstein, adapted a treatment by Nina Wilcox Putnam and Richard Schayer. Boris Karloff once again plays the monster, with a legendary makeup by Jack Pierce for the opening sequence of the film. Karloff gives a strong performance, and the romance plot that is so common for Universal horrors of that period is actually much more effectively worked into the plot here, as the mummy seeks to reunite with his long-dead love through her reincarnation. (A lengthy flashback through various incarnations was filmed but cut, and is now sadly lost except for stills.)

The film opened to lesser numbers than Dracula or Frankenstein, though its popular legacy is extremely solid. Lovecraft, despite his modest interest in ancient Egypt and archaeological horrors, sadly does not seem to have seen this Universal horror either:

Most cinema ‘horrors’, however, are flat & mechanical. I have not seen “The Mummy.”
—H. P. Lovecraft to R. H. Barlow, 14 Mar 1933, DS 57

The Invisible Man (1933)

Sound • 70 minutes • Dir: James Whale • Prod: Carl Laemmle, Jr.

With the success of Dracula (1931), Universal was already looking at various projects, including an adaptation of H. G. Wells’ science fiction novel The Invisible Man (1897), but Frankenstein (1931) got the greenlight first. After The Old Dark House (1932), director James Whale signed onto the project, and brought writer R. C. Sherriff (also fresh from The Old Dark House) to write the screenplay. As The Invisible Man novel is not inherently horrific, Universal also bought the rights to The Murderer Invisible (1931) by Phillip Wylie, and the the film combines elements of both. Initially, Karloff was intended to play The Invisible Man, repeating his successful work with Whale from Frankenstein, but by the time production got going Karloff wasn’t available, and the Invisible Man is played by Claude Rains in his film debut.

The Invisible Man stands out among the early Universal horrors for its technical achievements. It is easily the most ambitious in terms of special effects, with the Invisible Man requiring a number of different practical and film effects to convincingly portray the illusion; this is reflected in the budget, which was almost as high as for Dracula. The film is also notable in centering the story on the Invisible Man himself, an anti-hero and a jovial bastard rather than a tragic figure like Frankenstein’s Monster or Imhotep, or a supernatural evil like Dracula.

It was a box office success, well regarded for the spectacle of its effects as well as its writing, acting, and direction. Lovecraft was no doubt wary of the whole horror film business at this point, but he did eventually get around to seeing it when it came back to theaters for a second run—and was suitably impressed:

I missed “The Invisible Man”, but will try to take it in when it returns, as it undoubtedly will.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Robert Bloch, [25 Dec 1933], LRBO 95

Also went to see “The Invisible Man”. Surprisingly good—might easily have been absurd, yet succeeded in being genuinely sinister.
—H. P. Lovecraft to J. Vernon Shea, 4 Feb 1934, LJVS 226

Lovecraft’s fellow pulp-author and correspondent Robert E. Howard also saw The Invisible Man, and reported back:

We had purchased our whiskey and intended to celebrate Saint Patrick’s in a fitting manner, after seeing a whimsical movie called “The Invisible Man” from a story by Wells, I believe, but the sandstorm was followed by a biting blizzard, with driving sleet and lightning and thunder, so we postponed the merry-making.
—Robert E. Howard to H. P. Lovecraft, c. Jul 1934, MF2.779

The Black Cat (1934)

Sound • 65 minutes • Dir: Edgar G. Ulmer • Prod: Carl Laemmle, Jr., E. M. Asher

While nominally inspired by Edgar Allan Poe, this is really an original story, and a vehicle for Universal to get two of its most bankable horror stars together in one economical picture. Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi play opposite each other for the first time, and if the plot is somewhat overloaded—involving as it does a bus crash, revenge, a gallery of dead women, The Rites of Lucifer, murder, a black mass, and a black cat—there is something joyful in how both Karloff and Lugosi get to revel in their respective roles. Ulmer managed to make the film much more violent and lurid than typical for the period, and had a talent for making the most of subject matter, since he couldn’t rely on epic sets, huge casts, or expensive special effects. Unfortunately, he also began an affair with the wife of one of Carl Laemmle’s nephews, which led to this being his last film for Universal.

Karloff gets top billing and top dollar in this film, as his star had already begun to eclipse Lugosi. In truth, Karloff had the better part, playing the villain with relish while Lugosi is more the straight man. The pairing was successful; it was Universal’s most financially successful film in 1934, and led to seven more films featuring both Karloff and Lugosi.

Lovecraft was skeptical…

From what you say of “The Black Cat”, I don’t think I’ll make any special attempt to see it. Apparently it is a typical cinematic cheapening & distortion—on the order of the so-called “Frankenstein” film of a year or two ago. I don’t attend the cinema very often, but realise what a marvellous conveyer of weird images & impressions it could be if it would only utilise seriously its tremendous range of optical & mechanical potentialities.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Richard Ely Morse, 21 May 1934, LHB 81-82

As for “The Black Cat”—I guess Edgar Allan might very well have written the cinema version so far as any resemblance to the work of our friend Eddie Poe is concerned!
—H. P. Lovecraft to Arthur Leeds, 4 Jun 1934, LRK 340

Hope the new Poe mangling didn’t disappoint you too badly—I’ve seen neither it nor the so-called “Black Cat.” Just what the cinema would do to the “Tell Tale heart” is more than I can imagine at the moment!
—H. P. Lovecraft to Arthur Leeds, 19 Jun 1934, LRK 342

The “new Poe mangling” was The Tell-Tale Heart (1934) from Fox Film Co., which was nominally based on “The Tell-Tale Heart” (1843) by Edgar Allan Poe, but released in the U.S. as Bucket of Blood.

Life Returns (1934)

Sound • 60 minutes • Dir: Eugene Frenke • Prod: Lou Ostrow

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: The actual experiment of bringing the dead back to life, which is part of the motion picture “Life Returns” was performed by myself and staff on May 22, 1934 at 11:45 P.M. in Berkeley, California. This part of the picture was originally taken to retain a permanent scientific record of our experiment. Everything shown is absolutely real. The animal was unquestionably and actually dead, and was brought back to life. May I offer my thanks to my assistants, Mario Margutti, William Black, Ralph Celmer and Roderic Kneder, who are shown carrying out their respective parts. Respectfully submitted, Dr. Robert E. Cornish.
—Opening card, Life Returns (1934)

Robert E. Cornish was a child prodigy who became interested in medical resurrection, and claimed to achieve success in reanimating a series of dogs who had been put to death during a series of experiments at the University of Southern California in 1934. Director Eugene Frenke filmed the experimental operation, and incorporated the genuine medical footage into a short drama, with Cornish playing himself. Frenke made a deal with Universal to split costs and profit, with Universal lending some of their actors (including Valerie Hobson, who would also star in Bride of Frankenstein and Werewolf of London this year) and handling the distribution.

It would have been surprising if Lovecraft had seen Life Returns. The film was pulled from general release by Universal after a preview, limited to a roadshow. The drama isn’t very good, the production slapdash and amateurish, certainly not as stylish as Universal’s big-budget horrors. The genuine medical footage is both boring and arguably more horrific than any Lon Chaney or Jack Pierce makeup, because actual dogs were harmed in the making of this film. While it might have been interesting to see Lovecraft’s reaction to a real-life reanimator, that’s about the limit that can be said for this footnote in Universal horror history.

Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

Sound • 75 minutes • Dir: James Whale • Prod: Carl Laemmle, Jr.

Studios in the 1930s certainly understood the concept of the franchise; the Fu Manchu and Tarzan film series were, if not cinematic universes unto themselves, at least proof that studios recognized that movie-goers could and would spend their hard-earned coin to see more of the same. Several of Universal’s horror films were successful enough to warrant sequels, but the first to actually expand beyond a single film was Frankenstein (1931). Karloff’s profile had risen, and he was willing to replay the part of the Monster; Jack Pierce was still a master of makeup; James Whale was willing and able to direct. The only issue was the script and the budget.

Various treatments were written and rejected; in 1934, John L. Balderston returned to Shelley’s original novel and plucked out a plot point that wasn’t in the first film: the monster demanding Frankenstein build him a mate. This screenplay was polished by William Hurlburt and Edmund Pearson, and then presented to the Hays Office. Unlike previous films, production of Bride of Frankenstein would have to take place under the onus of the Hays Code; while previous Universal horrors had dealt with occasional censorship from various local bodies, this was a top-level of oversight that would challenge directors for decades.

The film went overbudget and suffered various production snafus. Karloff broke his hip. Clive Colin, playing Henry Frankenstein, broke his leg. The Hays’ office objected to various scenes and lines. None of that mattered once the film was released. The film was a financial and critical success, praised for the acting, the score, the cinematography and direction; for Jack Pierce’s makeup, Kenneth Strickfadden’s lightning bolt, and the rotoscoped homunculi in Dr. Praetorious’ jars. Elsa Lanchester’s look as the Bride was instantly iconic, and her dual role as Mary Shelley and the Bride was a poignant and wonderful link to the original story.

Unfortunately, it does not appear that Lovecraft saw it. Not surprising, given his poor opinion of Frankenstein (1931). Though he did not know it, it was his loss.

Werewolf of London (1935)

Sound • 75 minutes • Dir: Stuart Walker • Prod: Stanley Bergerman

Bride of Frankenstein (1935) was the last Universal horror film directly produced by Carl Laemmle, Jr. While Junior had not been the producer for all of Universal’s films, he had successfully midwifed Dracula, Frankenstein, Murders in the Rue Morgue, The Mummy, The Invisible Man, The Black Cat, and Bride of Frankenstein—impressive credentials for anyone. The Laemmles’ time at Universal was coming to an end; after the expensive box office bomb of Sutter’s Gold in 1936, investors would force both Carl and Junior from the company.

The Universal horror films of 1935-1936 thus represent a transition between the Laemmles’ style of production and the much more franchise-driven approach of the 1940s and 50s. This period is often less productive of classic characters; Werewolf of London, for example, is not The Wolf Man (1941), though it does help establish some of the cinematic werewolf lore that would be carried on for decades, such as the bite of a werewolf passing on lycanthropy, and the light of the moon controlling the transformation. It was, in fact, the first feature-length werewolf film.

The film was initially intended to be another Karloff/Lugosi vehicle. However, Karloff was working on Bride of Frankenstein (1935) and Lugosi on Mark of the Vampire (1935) for MGM, so director Stuart Walker cast Henry Hull and Walter Oland in their place. The story was original, with screenplay by John Colton. Jack Pierce provided the makeup for Hull’s transformations, accomplished with a stop-frame technique, so that as Pierce gradually adds more hair and prosthetics Hull seems to change before the viewer’s eyes. Effective stuff for the 1930s.

While entertaining enough, the film lacks the starpower of Unviersal’s big horror films like Bride of Frankenstein, which may be why it fared rather disappointingly at the box office. Still, word of mouth got around. We don’t know if Lovecraft managed to see it, but several of his friends urged him to do so:

Incidentally, I’ll keep “The Werewolf of London” in mind.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Robert Bloch, [c. June 1935], LRBO 143

I’ll be on the lookout for “The Werewolf of London”, despite my rather discouraging past experiences with alleged “horror” cinemas. Thanks for the tip!
—H. P. Lovecraft to William F. Anger, 22 Jul 1935, LRBO 241

Thanks for the warnings against allegedly weird cinemas. Someone has just recommended “The Werewolf of London” to me—but I have my doubts.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Richard F. Searight, 4 Aug 1935, LPS 386

The Raven (1935)

Sound • 61 minutes • Dir: Louis Friedlander (Lew Landers) • Prod: David Diamond/Stanley Bergerman

A spiritual sequel to “Murders in the Rue Morgue” (1932) and “The Black Cat” (1934), and the third and final film in Universal’s unofficial “Poe trilogy” of the 30s. Universal paired Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi, the latter of whom once again plays a scientist. It took time and several writers to finally arrive at an acceptable screenplay, which David Boehm finally delivered. This was director Friedlander’s sixth film (counting earlier serials), and his first horror film.

Perhaps as a result of inexperience with horror, the film was not a critical success. Censors did not like the piling-on of horror on horror; the Poe element was prominent, but the story wasn’t particularly true to any of Poe’s tales or poems in tone or content; Karloff and Lugosi play their parts with characteristic professionalism, but the script was a bit of a mess. As with “The Black Cat,” there’s a strong theme of sadism that underlies the whole affair; the torture-dungeon has a distinct science fiction serial or comic strip aspect, exaggerated and theatrical.

Lovecraft does not mention “The Raven” in his letters; given that he apparently skipped “Murders in the Rue Morgue” and “The Black Cat,” and was critical of cinema’s approach to adapting Edgar Allan Poe, it seems unlikely he would have watched this one.

The Invisible Ray (1936)

Sound • 79 minutes • Dir: Lambert Hillyer • Prod: Edmund Grainger

After “The Raven” (1935), Karloff and Lugosi were intended to be paired together again for an adaptation of Bluebeard; production was delayed and they were shifted to another project, the science fiction horror The Invisible Ray, again under director Stuart Walker. However, Walker didn’t like the script and left, replaced by Lambert Hillyer, who was an experienced director, though mostly of westerns. Hillyer eventually delivered the film late and over-budget.

The end result is very much a work of its time; mad science and the wonders of radiation, which is both deadly and invisible, able to both harm and heal. The laboratory sets are particularly charming in retrospect, and would also appear in Flash Gordon (1936) and Dracula’s Daughter (1936); the special effects, while relatively sparse, are effective. However, this was a B-movie through and through, and doesn’t really pretend to be otherwise.

Lovecraft does not mention “The Invisible Ray” in his letters, and probably didn’t see it. He seems not to have gone to the cinema much in the last year of his life. Ironically, Karloff would star in another film involving a radioactive meteorite some decades later—Die, Monster, Die! (1965), an exceedingly loose adaptation of Lovecraft’s “The Colour Out of Space.” In both films, the strange invisible rays from the radioactive meteorite eventually consume Karloff’s character.

Dracula’s Daughter (1936)

Sound • 71 minutes • Dir: Lambert Hillyer • Prod: E. M. Asher

The sequel to Dracula (1931) took a while to get going, due to a complicated situation to the rights. The first film had run through the plot of the novel and play, and Stoker hadn’t written a sequel. After his death in 1912, a “lost chapter” titled “Dracula’s Guest” was published in 1914, which included a beautiful female vampire, and this was ostensibly the inspiration for the sequel. MGM bought the rights to “Dracula’s Guest,” with certain stipulations (because Universal still had rights to Dracula).

In 1934, Universal bought the rights to “Dracula’s Guest” (including Balderston’s scenario) from MGM with the stipulation that the rights would revert if product didn’t begin before 1935 (later extended to February 1936). , which were due to run out, and so rushed Dracula’s Daughter into production without a final script. The initial treatment was by John L. Balderston, from Dracula, Frankenstein, and other Universal horrors, but director James Whale, then attached to the project, brought in R. C. Sherriff. His screenplays found difficulties with censorship boards, and eventually he was passed over for Garrett Fort, whose name appears in the film’s credits. Whale left the project, and eventually Hillyer, who had previously directed The Invisible Ray (1936), was placed in the director’s chair.

Initial hopes of an ensemble cast with a returning Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, Colin Clive, etc. were ultimately dashed; Lugosi only appears as a wax bust in his likeness in a coffin, and the only returning character from the original Dracula (1931) is Edward Van Sloan, here playing “Von Helsing.” Gloria Holden plays the eponymous daughter, Countess Marya Zaleska, in her first starring role—which is a bit far and away from the Theda Bara-style vamps of yesteryear, with a degree of self-loathing that is almost palpable. Jack Pierce was again on makeup duties, and worked with the special effects people to light Holden to maximum effect.

Perhaps because of all of this, the film lacked the originality of many of the earlier horrors, and the rushed production shows in spots. Universal still had excellent crews and sets, but the script was a mess and performances often feature too much dialogue and too prosaic a tying-up of loose ends. One of the saving points of the film is the implicit lesbianism, in particular a sequence when the Countess has a young woman model for her, resulting in a kind of seduction that somehow made it past the censors.

It was the last gasp of Universal horror during Lovecraft’s lifetime. The Laemmles were forced out of Universal during production, and the new owners were not fond of horror films. Universal did not produce another horror movie until Son of Frankenstein (1939), long years after Lovecraft was dead. There is no mention of Dracula’s Daughter in Lovecraft’s letters, and considering his thoughts on Dracula (1931) and “Dracula’s Guest,” he most likely did not see it.

Curtain Call

H. P. Lovecraft barely lived long enough to be aware that the Universal horrors which he had seen or been aware of were on their way to becoming something else. He did not see any of the films of Kharis, the spiritual heir to Imhotep, who shambled through a series of mummy films. Never saw Lon Chaney, Jr.’s defining performance in The Wolf Man (1941), or the sequels to Dracula, Frankenstein, and The Wolf Man grow together into a cinematic universe of crossovers and cross-references that oddly reflected what was happening with his own literary legacy, culminating in the Abbott & Costello films. One could have wished that Lovecraft had at least survived long enough to see the Gill-man swim in the underwater acrobatic ballet of Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954)—but, that was far in the future. Cancer claimed him first.

We have the advantage of several decades hindsight, we know how successful and influential these films were and would be. Before we judge Lovecraft for his critical takes on films like Dracula (1931) and Frankenstein (1931), perhaps we should ask ourselves if we today are ignoring or misjudging the horror films that will be seen as classics in the future? Because not even the most dedicated cinephile can see everything, nor can anyone predict which films will enter the bargain bin of history, while others become enshrined as cinematic legends.

This little survey is not the totality of Lovecraft’s film-going experience, not even of horror films. This is a core sample into a particular strata of cinematic history, to showcase how Universal horror grew and intersected with Lovecraft’s life and experiences. We do not look for vampires with opera capes in Lovecraftian fiction, and in part that reason is because even during Lovecraft’s lifetime Lugosi’s distinct appearance influened how vampires were being portrayed, even in pulp fiction; as the decades wore on, the Universal monsters would become more and more fixed archetypes for others to play off of—much as the Cthulhu Mythos would become a sandbox for all to enjoy.

Those who grew up in the generations after Lovecraft were heirs to both legacies, which sould sometimes be combined together in works like Roger Zelazny’s A Night in the Lonesome October (1993). Kids who had read scholastic paperbacks of Lovecraft or books like Monsters Monsters Monsters would also stay up late to watch the re-runs of old Universal horrors flicker in black and white on late-night reruns . . . and today, kids might stream some of the same classic films, or snuggle with an e-reader to learn what Pickman’s model is all about. Both Lovecraft and the Universal monsters have become part of the world’s heritage of horror.

Sources and Acknowledgements

Entire books have been written on Universal’s horror movies and the history of the studio, far too much to recapitulate in detail here, so I’m borrowing on the scholarship of others and simplifying greatly. Facts on the films and the story behind them are drawn from the following reference works, for which please see for more information:


Bobby Derie is the author of Weird Talers: Essays on Robert E. Howard and Others and Sex and the Cthulhu Mythos.

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Deeper Cut: The Short Fiction of Novalyne Price Ellis

The last two or three years, we’ve dated steadily, not because we’re in love; but because we like each other and like to talk about books and writing stories. Both of us try to write; he has sold a few things, and I’m still trying.
—Novalyne Price Ellis, One Who Walked Alone 19

Writing was one of the interests Novalyne Price and Robert E. Howard had in common, and it drew them together. According to Novalyne’s memoir, Howard put her in touch with his agent Otis Adelbert Kline, who agreed to read one of her stories, and sent it back with comment—at the time, literary agents normally charged a reading fee, but Kline likely did this as a favor to Bob. Unfortunately for Novalyne, her story (and Kline’s letters) were accidentally burned (ibid. 227). Sadly, Novalyne did not appear to break into print during her time in Cross Plains, Texas.

However, in later letters, Novalyne says she was published:

Eventually, I sold a few short stories and the radio script about Bob’s look-alike or double.
—Novalyne Price Ellis to L. Sprague de Camp, 20 Aug 1977,
Selected Letters of Novalyne Price Ellis 19

Although I had to keep teaching because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to meet my monthly bills, I did sell a few stories and articles over the years.
—Novalyne Price Ellis to Thomas W. Collins, 10 Nov 1988, ibid. 51

While I sold a few stories during the 1940s and 50s, I know so little about writing and what I am trying to do for Bob.
—Novalyne Price Ellis to Glenn Lord, 27 Aug 1979,
Selected Letters of Novalyne Price Ellis Vol. II, 15

But I was very lucky with the sixteen to eighteen stories, articles, radio scripts, and things that I sold. My first story had two paragraphs cut. One other story had a title change, and the radio script had a title change and the first line changed—(which was a mistake.)
—Novalyne Price Ellis to Glenn Lord, 8 Dec 1980, ibid. 50-51

Glenn, the first story I sold was the result of the editor’s making a couple of suggestions about cutting it. After that I sold another group of stories because I knew more than I had a[t] first. Kline was handling my material then, too, and he made some worthwhile suggestions about individual stories.
—Novalyne Price Ellis to Glenn Lord, 10 Nov 1981, ibid. 75

All my life, I wanted to write but teaching was so exciting and I put so much effort into it, I didn’t have time to devote to writing. However, the fact that I managed somehow to write and sell about 18 stories and articles encourages me to believe that I can write salable material.
—Novalyne Price Ellis to Donald Grant, 19 Nov 1981, ibid. 79

I have read and re-read the stories of mine that sold, and I’ve tried for the same spontaneity of ease. It’s been hard.
—Novalyne Price Ellis to Glenn Lord, 3 Sep 1986, ibid. 151

Some of this material jives with known information. The radio play, for instance, is “The Day of the Stranger” (1947) by Novalyne Price Ellis. Articles like “Lafayette Teacher Terms Public Speaking Training Vital Necessity in School System” (The Lafayette Progress 29 Aug 1959) are fairly well known. However, the assertion that she wrote and published a number of fiction stories in the 1940s and 50s, and even published them through Kline’s agency, is new. It suggests an ongoing business relationship with Kline, possibly until his death in 1946.

The real question is: where were Novalyne’s stories published? Her name is absent from the major pulp databases. She might have used a pen name, which was common enough during the period, and difficult to track. So too, she might have been writing primarily in the romance pulps, which are poorly attested, or in non-pulp magazines, which are likewise not well indexed. As it happens, at least two of her stories were published (or republished) in newspapers and are available through online archives, while at least two more were published in non-pulp magazines, one of which is available online.

Part of the difficulty in finding these stories is that the first three (all published in 1945) were published under the name Novalyne Price Robarts (she was briefly married to Douglas Robarts from 1942 to c.1946; she married William Ellis in 1947), and appeared in Canadian newspapers and/or magazines. Kline was known for placing his client’s work internationally, and while World War II put a serious crimp in such sales, Canada seems to have been a ready market for Novalyne’s romantic fiction.

So we have a glimpse of at least some of Novalyne’s published fiction—and we can get a glimpse of her style and themes, and a better understanding of the stories she may have shared with Robert E. Howard, Tevis Clyde Smith, Otis Adelbert Kline, and others.

“Marriage by Arrangement” (23 Jun 1945)

This short story was published in the Toronto (Ontario, Canada) Star Weekly newspaper, under the name Novalyne Price Robarts.

Jean receives a proposal from Smith Jones, the Marine buddy of her brother Carl, who was killed in action. This makes a small difficulty, as she’s expected to receive a proposal from Paul Villa, and doesn’t like being told who she will or will not marry. Initial upset at the unexpected proposal gives way, by degrees, to attraction and regret for hardheadedness.

By 5 o’clock that afternoon, she felt so sorry for Smith Jones she even cried a little. She spent most of the afternoon trying to write him a letter. But she didn’t know his address. She could run an ad. in the personal column of the newspaper.

This is not one of Novalyne’s relationships recast in fictional form; but there is a bit of an echo of One Who Walked Alone in the vacillation, the feminine independence versus the attraction. It’s a wish-fulfillment story aimed for women, an ideal romantic fantasy where the main conflict is a woman struggling with the question of what—and who—she really wants. Fortunately, in this case, Jones comes back, hat literally in hand.

“Blueprint for Happiness” (29 Sep 1945)

This short story was published in the Toronto (Ontario, Canada) Star Weekly newspaper, under the name Novalyne Price Robarts.

Mary Ellen Carter, schoolteacher, doesn’t want to be an old maid. She wants to be a wife and mother. Handsome Greg, war vet, was in love with Gloria and building her the kind of house that Mary Ellen wanted to live in. Fat Mr. Wilkes proposes to Mary Ellen. It is a swift and perfunctory love quadrangle that ends with Mary Ellen resigning to become a housewife.

“Blueprint for Happiness” is not in any sense a progressive love story, nor does it reflect Novalyne’s own path in life—she managed to balance marriage, motherhood, and teaching—though her schoolteacher background undoubtedly inspired things. These were real considerations at the time; women were torn between the practicality of career vs. traditional homemaker expectations. The story is a kind of wish-fulfillment, a swift and happy ending to a potentially complex and knotty social quandary.

Toronto (Ontario, Canada) Star Weekly, 29 Sep 1945 (14)

“A Date with the Moon” (Sep 1945)

An advertisement for the September 1945 issue of the Canadian Home Journal includes a listing for this story, as by Novalyne Price Robarts. I have not yet been able to obtain a copy or scan of this issue to confirm the contents.

“A Fellow Has To Fight” (May 1951)

This short story was published in The Country Guide (May 1951) magazine, under the name Novalyne Price Ellis.

This is a fairly treacle-sweet story of an accomplished young man named Jimmy Jones at high school who feels restrained by his mother’s attitude and expectations he refrain from fighting or sports, and eager to make time with beautiful Betty Myers—but the local bully starts accusing him of being a “mamma’s boy” and a “sissy.” Jones gets into one little fight and Betty starts dating other people…

“I don’t care to discuss it further,” she stormed. “And furthermore. I’ll give you to understand that I can have a date with anybody I want to. Just because I’ve had a few dates with you is no sign that you own me.”

“Well, ye gods!” I mumbled. (75)

That isn’t anything ripped straight from Novalyne and Bob’s relationship, but there might be an echo of it. Certainly, Novalyne went on dates with other men before, after, and during the time she dated Robert E. Howard, and didn’t feel guilty about it as there was no agreement of being exclusive with each other. Unfortunately, a few pages are missing from the scan, so we don’t see how the story ends.


The stories—two complete, one incomplete, one only a title—have some commonalities. They are mostly told from a woman’s point of view; they are concerned with romance, but also social pressures and expectations; and they are relatively light fantasies with happy endings. All of them have Novalyne’s particular style; readers familiar with her letters and One Who Walked Alone will recognize the occasional turn of phrase, certain ways of thinking. While these stories are all written probably pretty much to order for newspapers looking to publish fluffy stories that make readers feel good, they also capture echoes Novalyne’s own thoughts and conflicts.

While the stories don’t tell us much about Novalyne’s own romantic relationships, they do tell us more about Novalyne as a writer. These are passable stories. These are salable stories. Not exceptional, not groundbreakingly original, but neither are they incompetent or completely stale. They’re stories which show an understanding of the form of romance, but don’t have enough space to really develop the conflicts very far before resolution. The kind of short stories that a busy schoolteacher might churn out between grading themes and coaching kids after class.

Are these the kind of stories she might have shown to Robert E. Howard? Hard to say. The plots she describes in One Who Walked Alone include more mature elements, like a woman with an illegitimate child. Not the kind of thing that would play in your average newspaper. The sense of place is also somewhat vague; except for “Marriage by Arrangement,” which is explicitly set in New Orleans and involves a Texas suitor, the others are generic Anytown USA (or, in this case, Anytown, CAN) locales.

It will be interesting to see what other stories from Novalyne Price Ellis’ typewriter turn up, in old magazines and newspapers or online databases.


Bobby Derie is the author of Weird Talers: Essays on Robert E. Howard and Others and Sex and the Cthulhu Mythos.

Deep Cuts in a Lovecraftian Vein uses Amazon Associate links. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Deeper Cut: C. L. Moore Early Career Retrospective

The writing life of Catherine Lucille Moore (24 Jan 1911 – 4 Apr 1987) can be roughly divided into five periods, dominated by major life events:

  • C. L. Moore Before The Pulps (1911-1930): Her juvenilia and early amateur work that ran from her childhood through her second year at Indiana University, when she had to withdraw and begin working to support her family.
  • Early Career (1933-1940): C. L. Moore’s first professional publication, from her first appearance in Weird Tales through her marriage with Henry Kuttner in 1940.
  • Professional Writer (1940-1958): C. L. Moore and Kuttner as a prolific writing team, for pulps, novels, fanzines, and television, all through World War II and afterward into Kuttner’s teaching career, only ending with his death in 1958.
  • Late Career (1958-1963): C. L. Moore’s late career was dominated by scriptwriting for television. It ended with her marriage to Thomas Reggie in 1963.
  • Twilight years (1963-1987): With C. L. Moore’s second marriage and her early onset of Alzheimer’s disease, output practically ceased. The period saw the consolidation and republication of her work, as well as interviews and biographical materials. It ended with her death.

Of all the periods of Moore’s work, her early career gets the most attention. It is dominated by her output at Weird Tales, and to a lesser extent at Astounding, and follows her transition from weird fiction to the characteristic fantasy and science fiction that marked Unknown in the 1940s. This retrospective takes a look at what C. L. Moore was writing and publishing, and why and how the events of that period shaped the writer she was—and would become.

1933

[…] it was a rainy afternoon in the middle of the Depression, I had nothing to do—but I really should’ve looked busy because jobs were hard to get! I didn’t want to appear that I wasn’t earning my daily keep! To take up time, I was practicing things on the typewriter to improve my speed—things like ‘the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.” That got boring, so I began to write bits of poetry I remembered from my college courses…in particular, I was quoting a poem called “The Haystack in the Flood.” […] The poem was about a woman in 13th century France who is being pursued by enemies of some kind…she was running across a field and these men were after her. I had misquoted a line in my mind, as well as on the typewriter, and referred to a “Red, running figure.” […] At the time I thought, “Ha! A red, running figure! Why is she running? Who is she running from and where is she running to? What’s going to happen to her? Strangely enough, I just swung from that line of poetry into the opening of “Shambleau.”
⁠—Interview: C. L. Moore Talks To Chacal in Chacal #1 (1976), 26

The Great Depression had ended C. L. Moore’s attempt at college, and with it her opportunities to publish her stories. She worked as a secretary at the Fletcher Trust Company in Indianapolis, where her fiancé also worked as a teller. Her spare dimes and quarters went to issues of Amazing Stories, Wonder Stories, Astounding, and Weird Tales, and at last she mustered up the courage to submit a story unlike anything else on the stands. The effect on the fans was electric, the effect of the check for the story no less so on C. L. Moore—it was her first professional sale and publication. By the time “Shambleau” hit stands, there are indications she was already writing sequels:

I trust your revisions may make Mrs. Moore’s second story as striking and interesting as this one.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Farnsworth Wright, 21 Nov 1933, Letters to Woodburn Harris 86

Moore would, from her reading, be aware of the possibilities of a series character like Northwest Smith. Farnsworth Wright, editor of Weird Tales, was willing to work with new writers. So it is not surprising that following stories followed Smith’s adventures, with little continuity but often featuring the same vivid imagery and ideas that marked “Shambleau.”

1934

I hope you will not be too much disappointed in the stories that follow. Perhaps, when you have read those appearing in the April and May issues, you will write again to tell me what you thought of them.
—C. L. Moore to R. H. Barlow, 8 Mar 1934, MSS. Brown Digital Repository

Both Farnsworth Wright and the fans of Weird Tales were pleased with Moore’s work, and 1934 became a busy year, with three further adventures of Northwest Smith appearing in quick succession ( “Black Thirst,” “Scarlet Dream,” and “Dust of the Gods”). Through Weird Tales, Moore also came in touch with pulp fans like R. H. Barlow and Forrest J. Ackerman. Her “secret” identity was swiftly revealed in the May 1934 issue of The Fantasy Fan, though many pulp readers would not learn this for years.

Yes, I do much more revising that I care about. Have to, tho it simply sickens me, and I hate everybody in sight while laboring away at the disgusting job. A story of mine which I’ve just sold to ASTOUNDING and which will appear in Oct. is really a third of one original N.W.Smith tale. I had that almost finished when I saw that it was two stories, and split it apart. Then the half I got to work on began to show amoeba-like tendencies toward division, and the third attempt resulted in THE BRIGHT ILLUSION, which I’ve sold, to Astounding. The other two nuclei are still simmering gently in the back of my mind, and may emerge some day.
—C. L. Moore to R. H. Barlow, 5 Jul 1934, MSS Brown Digital Repository

While it may have looked like Moore was selling everything she could write to Weird Tales, the truth was more complicated. Some stories didn’t work out, and Farnsworth Wright apparently rejected some stories and sent others back for revision. This was the unglamorous work of pulp writing, and Moore was learning the ropes of the trade, including rewriting stories to send to other magazines, which is how she splashed Astounding.

Near the end of the year, feeling that the Northwest Smith stories were growing stale, Moore tried another character on Farnsworth Wright: Jirel of Joiry. The character arose from some of Moore’s pre-pulp world-building, given a new life in Weird Tales:

Long, long ago I had thoughts of a belligerent dame who must have been her progenitor, and went so far as to begin a story which went something like this: “The noise of battle beating up around the walls of Arazon castle rang sweetly in the ears of Arazon’s warrior lady.” And I think it went no farther. So far as I know she stands ther eyet listening to the tumult of an eternal battle. Back to her Jirel of Joiry no doubt traces her ancestry.
—C. L. Moore, “An Autobiographical Sketch of C. L. Moore,” Echoes of Valor 2, 37-38

As with Northwest Smith, the fan response was extremely positive. More swiftly followed up “Black God’s Kiss” with a direct sequel, “Black God’s Shadow,” that was published before the end of the year.

1935

Now a fairly well-established author at Weird Tales, Moore began correspondence with other authors, including E. Hoffmann Price, Robert E. Howard, and H. P. Lovecraft. From the surviving correspondence, we can see that all of these individuals had their influence on Moore’s writing practice: Lovecraft’s considered criticism, Price’s practical pulp-writing advice, and Howard’s encouragement and sharing of his own swordswoman stories all entered into consideration.

From a publication viewpoint, 1935 was probably a letdown, Moore only sold and saw published four professional tales: two Northwest Smith yarns (“Julhi,” “The Cold Gray God”), including one with an illustration by Moore, and a Jirel story (“Jirel Meets Magic”) to Weird Tales, and another “thought-variant” story for Astounding (“Greater Glories”). Reading between the lines, the implication is that Wright was getting more selective about what he bought from Moore. For her own part, Moore’s interest in fandom and the pulp community was increasing, as marked by a collaboration with arch-fan Forrest J Ackerman (“Nymph of Darkness”) and taking part in a round-robin tale with A. Merritt, H. P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, and Frank Belknap Long (“The Challenge from Beyond”) for Fantasy Magazine.

These were Moore’s first collaborations with other writers since childhood, and were, perhaps, important lessons in what worked and what didn’t. In “The Challenge from Beyond,” it was clear how each writer was working the parts on their own, often with drastic shifts in style and tone, not making a cohesive whole. With “Nymph of Darkness,” Moore was working from Ackerman’s ideasbut even if they shared the brainstorming, she was clearly doing all the actual work of writing.

1936

Glad you liked “The Dark Land”. I made the drawing a long time ago, and wrote the story so I could bring it in, with the addition of a cadaverous head and a swirl of vagueness.
C. L. Moore to H. P. Lovecraft, 30 Jan 1936, Letters to C. L. Moore 108

The year started out wellthe new issue of Weird Tales was on the stands with a Jirel story (“The Dark Land”), with a drawing by C. L. Moore to boot. The next month would see another Ackerman collaboration on a Northwest Smith tale (“Yvala”), and two more would be published by the end of the year (“Lost Paradise”, “Tree of Life”). Tragedy, however, would quickly mar the year.

On 13 February 1936, Moore’s fiancé (Herbert) Ernest Lewis died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head; the newspapers presented it as an accident while cleaning his rifle, which was stored in the bank vault, Lewis being part of a shooting club that used a nearby range. Moore was desolate and took some weeks off work to mourn, traveling by bus with her mother to Florida. Lovecraft kept up a steady stream of letters to keep her mind occupied during the period of mourning. Only a few months later, on 11 June 1936, her friend Robert E. Howard took his own life with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Moore spread the news to Lovecraft, who spread it to others.

At this time, Moore was in contact with the literary agent Otis Adelbert Kline (former agent for Howard and Price), and was trying to expand her writing markets, but neither was quite to her tastes and apparently came to nothing.

My recent writings seem to have bogged down completely. In the last five months I have produced one trashy horror which Kline ages ago asked me to rewrite, thinking he could sell it in a revised form and which I haven’t touched since, and a drippy love-story which languished away and ceased half-finished some six weeks ago. The weather is partly responsible, but I must admit a sort of mental vacuum which shows no promise of change. I devote seven and a half hours daily to my secretarial duties and spend the rest of the time sewing desultorily, knitting a very handsome afg[h]an, attending about three movies weekly, induling in endless gossip with friends. How long this cloistered and nun-like seclusion will continue I wish I knew. I suspect that if my brain were functioning I would find myself bored to a horrible death, and rather dread the awakening. A few non-commercial attempts which I mentioned I should be very happy to have you read if I could ever get them finished to my satisfaction. I am writing and rewriting them over and over, in moments of comparative consciousness, and am far from satisfied even yet. However, to quote Mr. Penner once again, There’ll come a day.
—C. L. Moore to H. P. Lovecraft, 24 Jun 1936, Letters to C. L. Moore 143

She did manage a sale to Astounding (“Tryst in Time”), which may have begun as a rejected Northwest Smith yarn, Wright apparently still being more critical about which stories he would accept.

1937

Glad to hear that you & C L M are collaborating on a dual masterpiece. The result certainly ought to be powerful enough! Staging a meeting betwixt the mediaeval Jirel & the future Northwest Smith will call for some of your most adroit time-juggling—but with two keen imaginations at work no obstacle is likely to be unsurmountable. Good luck to both of you aesthetically & financially!
—H. P. Lovecraft to Henry Kuttner, 8 Feb 1937, Letters to C. L. Moore 262

In May 1936, Lovecraft had introduced Moore and Kuttner through mail. Their correspondence developed, and eventually led to collaboration. At this point, one of our best sources on C. L. Moore (her letters with Lovecraft) dries up, due to Lovecraft’s death on 15 March 1937. So too, Moore’s publications in the pulps dry up. She was, very probably, busy with work, caring for her family, and managing a burgeoning romance with Kuttner.

It was in 1937 that Moore made her first trip to Los Angeles, California, where she and a friend met Kuttner in person—and another Kuttner collaborator, Robert Bloch (Fanscient #8).

CA: You met Mr. Kuttner, then, through your writing?

MOORE: Yes. We corresponded for a while, and then I came out with a friend for my first visit to California and we met. He moved to New York shortly after that. Then He made several trips to Indianapolis, where I was living, and eventually he persuaded me that it would be a good idea to get married. He was perfectly right. We had a fine marriage.
Interview with C. L. Moore in Contemporary Authors vol. 104, 326

1938

No, I haven’t yet beaten my typewriter into knitting needlesI have beaten it much more lucratively in the process of hammering out a tale for Astounding in my usual vein, to be known as GREATER THAN GODS and to be publishedsometime. They just accepted it the other day. And a new story about a maidenwell, a femalenamed Jirel of Joiry has just gone off to Wright in the hope that he realizes as well as I do how badly he needs it.

[…] I look forward to LEAVES, not for Werewoman’s sake but for the pleasure I expect to derive from reading it.
C. L. Moore to R. H. Barlow, 13 Jul 1938

Moore appears to have done little writing in 1938; or at least, nothing that was published. “Werewoman” was an early, rejected Northwest Smith story. It was published, finally, in her friend R. H. Barlow’s amateur journal Leaves. E. Hoffmann Price’s memoir Book of the Dead also recalls Moore traveled to California in 1938 (262).

We can presume that she hadn’t given up writing, but was probably still busy with her job, Henry Kuttner, and possibly her mother’s growing illness.

1939

Farnsworth Wright was not yet out as editor at Weird Tales, but the magazine had been sold and relocated to New York. Moore’s last contributions to the Unique Magazine appeared in 1939: her final Jirel of Joiry tale (“Hellsgarde”), and an expurgated version of a Northwest Smith tale previously published in a fanzine (“Nymph of Darkness”).

If Moore’s relationship with Weird Tales was coming to an end, however, she was pursuing new opportunities with other magazines (“Miracle in Three Dimensions,” “Greater Than Gods”). These stories mark a definite shift in style, possibly due to unspoken collaboration with Henry Kuttneror at least, from his influence. She was moving into the lighter style of science fiction that would become a hallmark of their work in the 1940s.

Maude Moore, mother of Catherine, died of colon cancer on 8 Oct 1939.

1940

Moore’s job at the Fletcher Trust Company was implicitly dependent on her remaining single; in the sexist environment at the time, married women were expected to be supported by their husbands. In 1940, Moore took a tremendous plungeshe left her job, left Indianapolis, and moved to New York City, where on 7 June 1940 she married Henry Kuttner. It was the start of a new chapter in her life and her professional career, one where the “C. L. Moore” byline largely disappeared, as she and her husband wrote almost everything together, but published largely under his name or shared pseudonyms.

The final Northwest Smith tale (“Song in a Minor Key”) appeared in the fanzines Scienti-Snaps; Farnsworth Wright was no longer editor of Weird Tales, and would soon be dead, and the new editor Dorothy McIlwraith had no relationship with Moore and was moving the magazine in a different direction from interplanetary stories or sword & sorcery. Instead, Moore and Kuttner turned their attention to a new fantasy magazine, Unknown, which pointed the way to the future (“All Is Illusion,” “Fruit of Knowledge”).


The hallmarks of Moore’s early career were stories that straddled genres. Northwest Smith’s tales have an interplanetary setting, but he often faces alien gods, sorcerers, and psychic vampires of various stripes. The Jirel of Joiry stories are nominally sword & sorcery, but there is little swordplay and many of the strange worlds she encounters are better seen as other dimensions. Her early protagonists regularly face experiences that pass beyond the normal sensory experience, dealing with beings and sensations that strain their minds and senses to their hiltyet the characters themselves have an almost hardboiled aspect to them, adventurers and outlaws.

Over the course of those seven years, Moore received feedback from editors, agents, fans, and fellow writers. Some of them, like Lovecraft and Barlow, encouraged Moore’s artistic creativity; others like E. Hoffmann Price emphasized the practical necessities of pulp fiction. Moore absorbed all of this influence, and when the initial spate of her stories falters in 1936 after the tragedies of her fiancé and Robert E. Howard’s death, one gets the sense that Moore had realized her own limitations. Even her non-series stories in Astounding were, ultimately, developed from initial ideas intended for Northwest Smith.

The lack of published work in 1937 and 1938 should not be taken as evidence that Moore wasn’t writing. More likely, she had ceased selling. When she does emerge back into professional publication in 1939 and 1940, her work shows a definite maturity in plotting and characterizationher last tales of Jirel of Joiry and Northwest Smith are some of her best of the series.

The end of Moore’s early career dovetails into her next period. The collaboration with Kuttner that began with “Quest of the Starstone” did not lead immediately to a slew of new stories, but Kuttner’s influence on her style and thinking are obvious in the 1940 stories, and while not often quite as recognized, some of Moore’s style is evident in a few of Kuttner’s stories from the same period. Their marriage may have formalized their writing partnership, but it seems clear that Moore and Kuttner were working together, unofficially at least, during 1937-1940and perhaps some of the stories normally attributed to Kuttner alone are possibly collaborations as well.

The seven years of Moore’s early career mark her journeyman period. She had emerged from writing just for herself and stepped into the professional arena, where she learned both discipline and disappointment; she had to suffer rejection and revision; made friends and lost them; worried over her creativity and received tremendous encouragement from people she admired and respected. Hard financial necessities and the social mores that bound single women in society shaped some of her decisions, but the voice she found was her owneven if, as desires and circumstances dictated, her own byline was largely lost as she focused on collaboration with Kuttner.

C. L. Moore was not just another pulpsmith, churning out endless variations on the same storythough she definitely ran her own themes through several variations as she learned the business of pulp fiction writing. Her early attempts at series characters, Northwest Smith and Jirel of Joiry, were incredibly well received by fans, but the series were not really written as a series of connected episodes, and that may be why Moore ultimately abandoned her early creations to focus on new characters and different stories. Others might have given up; Moore embraced the changes she needed to make. First, for the sake of her family and financial well-being, and then for love and the chance at a new life.

It was Moore’s early career that laid the groundwork for acclaimed stories like “The Twonky” (1942), “Mimsy Were the Borogroves” (1943), “No Woman Born” (1944), “Vintage Season” (1946), “Daemon” (1946), “Two-Handed Engine” (1955), and novels like Judgment Night (1952).


Bobby Derie is the author of Weird Talers: Essays on Robert E. Howard and Others and Sex and the Cthulhu Mythos.

Deep Cuts in a Lovecraftian Vein uses Amazon Associate links. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Deeper Cut: Muriel E. Eddy’s Selected Letters to the Editor

Muriel E. Eddy was a writer, poet, the wife of pulp writer C. M. Eddy, Jr., a mother of three, and a correspondent with H. P. Lovecraft. Today, she is most remembered for her several memoirs written about Lovecraft, including “The Gentleman from Angell Street” (1961), “Howard Phillips Lovecraft” in Rhode Island on Lovecraft (1945), “Message in Stone” in Fate Magazine (Oct 1956), “Memories of H. P. L.” in The Magazine of Horror (Winter 1965-1966), “Lovecraft’s Marriage and Divorce” in Haunted (Jun 1968), and H. P. L. “The Man and the Image” (1969) (also partially reprinted as “Lovecraft: Among the Demons”). The most recent publication of the Eddys’ memoirs of Lovecraft is The Gentleman from Angell Street: Memories of H.P. Lovecraft (2025) from Helios House.

Less well-known is that Muriel E. Eddy was an inveterate letter writer, often writing in to newspapers and pulp magazines, and having her missives published quite a few times. Many of these letters are of marginal interest for Lovecraft fans, since she wrote many letters about other subjects, often simply praising a magazine or giving advice, for example, her letter published in the Jan. 1926 issue of Weird Tales:

Muriel E. Eddy, of Providence, Rhode Island, writes: “Lukundoo, by Edward Lucas White, in your November issue, receives my vote, as it is by far the most noteworthy, really thrilling and chilling tale you have yet published. It calls to my mind a story I read years ago (by a titled Englishman), entitled The Hand of Fate, wherein the unfortunate hero was fatally marked by an Egyptian magician, before his birth, by a snake. The snake began its growth from the birth of the hero, slowly, bit by bit, out of his side, causing his death. In that story no one dared destroy the hideous monster growing from the man’s side, as to have done so (some thought) would have caused him to bleed to death.”

However, that does leave a collection of letters from Muriel E. Eddy to the editors that do deal with Lovecraft and related matters. Most of these are individually brief and necessarily repetitive. As an addendum to her body of memoirs about Lovecraft, however, they have interest and value, giving greater context to how she constructed and presented the narrative of her friendship with Lovecraft over the years.

  1. Providence Journal, 2 Jan 1944
  2. Thrilling Wonder Stories, Feb 1948
  3. Thrilling Wonder Stories, Jun 1948
  4. Famous Fantastic Mysteries, Aug 1948
  5. The Atlanta Constitution, 8 Aug 1948
  6. Providence Journal, 26 Aug 1948
  7. Providence Journal, 19 Sep 1948
  8. Fantastic Adventures, Oct 1948
  9. Fantastic Adventures, Dec 1948
  10. Startling Stories, Mar 1949
  11. The Boston Globe, 29 Apr 1962
  12. Fantastic, May 1962
  13. Magazine of Horror, Jan 1965
  14. Providence Journal, 8 Jan 1966
  15. Magazine of Horror, Summer 1966
  16. Fantastic, May 1966
  17. Worlds of If, Oct 1966
  18. Providence Journal, 19 Feb 1968
  19. Magazine of Horror, Jul 1968

[1] Providence Journal, 2 Jan 1944

H. P. LOVECRAFT

Editor:

I enjoyed the article about Howard Phillips Lovecraft in the Sunday Journal of Dec. 26, by W. T. Scott, inasmuch as the late Mr. Lovecraft was well known to our family. It was my husband’s uncle, Arthur Eddy, who owned the bookshop on Weybosset street where H. P. Lovecraft loved to browse. Incidentally, there was one great love of Mr. Lovecraft’s life, perhaps unknown, and therefore overlooked, by most of the public. H. P. Lovecraft adored black cats, and would never pass by a stray black feline on the street without stopping to pat it. Mr. Lovecraft often brought his manuscripts to our house to read aloud to us before submitting them to publishers. He was an excellent reader, as well as writer, of weird and macabre tales, calculated to send cold shivers up and down one’s spine He was a gentleman and a scholar, indeed, as Mr. Scott has said in his most interesting article.

H. P. Lovecraft’s wife, whose name Mr. Scott did not know, was Sonia Greene, who lived in Brooklyn, New York.

We are pleased and honored to have been intimate friends of this gifted author. I am convinced that, some day, in the not too distant future, Providence will be proud of having produced such a prolific writer of weird, uncanny yarns that are already known throughout the world.

MRS. CLIFFORD M. EDDY

Notes: Written in response to “The Case of Howard Phillips Lovecraft of Providence, R.I.” by Winfield Townley Scott in the Providence Journal of 26 Dec 1943.

[2] Thrilling Wonder Stories, Feb 1948

LOVECRAFTIANA

Dear Sir: In the OCTOBER issue of “Thrilling Wonder Stories” I was intrigued by a letter from B. De Revere, in which he (or she?) mentioned liking H. P. Lovecraft’s horror tales. As my husband and I knew H. P. L. personally, (he lived in Providence all of his life) I want to publicly thank B. De Revere for all the nice things said re: Lovecraft.

If you, dear editor, had known the man as we did . . . of his passionate love for cats, his dislike of all fish, and his hatred of daylight, you perhaps would realize that anything he wrote in the “weird” or fantastic line, he really “lived” . . . and I used the word “live” advisedly . . . even when he lay dying in the hospital, he asked the nurse for a pencil and paper and vividly recorded (for the doctor’s benefit) exactly how he felt while dying.

Lovecraft was a tall, spare man. His skin was the color of tallow. His handclasp was firm but his hands were always ice-cold. He despised sunshine, and adored utter darkness. He wrote his best horror tales after midnight. His favorite food was sweet chocolate . . . he consumed pounds of it, and cheese and fruit. He loved coffee smothered with sugar . . . as strong as love and as black as sin!

Lovecraft’s marriage was short-lived and his divorce was conducted quietly and without press notices. We sympathized with him in his every mood, because we knew him intimately and well—we often visit his unamrked grave in beautiful Swan Point cemetery in Providence, where a huge shaft in the center of the burial plot proclaims that his parents sleep there. His grave was somewhat sunken, last time we visited it, and covered with creeping green myrtle vines. His very spirit seemed hovering over his grave as we stood there in silent prayer for a man whose genius shall ever life, after his boens have crumbled into dust.

During his lifetime, we used to tell him that his stories rivalled those of Edgar Allan Poe. He “pooh-poohed” the very notion! He considered his work nothing at all, and never displayed any vanity. He wrote simply because he HAD to write . . . from an inner urger that would not let him sleep. May he rest in peace!

—125 Pearl Street, Providence 7, Rhode Island.

Notes: While Lovecraft was very much a night-owl by preference, he was not opposed to sunlight and often walked and wrote outdoors during the daylight hours. Lovecraft noted his own appreciation for coffee, chocolate, and cheese, but he rarely ate fresh fruit. Lovecraft’s death diary existed and has been partially published in various formats, most recently in Collected Essays 5. There was a brief press notice about Lovecraft’s divorce in the Providence Journal 26 Mar 1929.

Link to Thrilling Wonder Stories, Feb 1948.

[3] Thrilling Wonder Stories, Jun 1948

H. P. LOVECRAFT, GENTLEMAN

by Mrs. Muriel E. Eddy

Editor: I’ve been besieged with requests for more information about Howard Phillips Lovecraft, the late Providence writer of weird yarns—so here goes! Lovecraft used to come over to our house and read his manuscripts night after night. Once, he gave my husband a new kind of hair-cutter and advised him to learn how to cut his own hair. It would, he averred, save many a barber’s bill. He assured us he always cut his own hair and shaved himself.

Lovecraft was the soul of neatness, and always looked like the old-fashioned gentleman of culture he preferred to call himself! He once visited the oldest church in Rhode Island with Mr. Eddy and, while there, signed his name in the register—”H. P. Lovecraft, Esquire, Gentleman.”

My hubby’s uncle (now dead) owned and operated a huge second-hand bookstore on Webosset street in Providence. His name was Arthur Eddy. Lovecraft spent hours at night, talking to our ancient uncle and poring over many volumes in the basement. He never appeared in daylight—but always turned up around the Witching Hour of twelve. Uncle liked H.P.L. and stayed open until the wee sma’ hours of morning, to humor this then embryo writer. He once predicted that, with the years, Lovecraft’s fame would mount. How right he was!

Lovecraft asked us to do much of his typing. He used an old, old machine on which he occasionally typed a story—one of the “invisible type” variety, no longer made. It is to be regretted that this typewriter was sold to a second-hand man when some disinterested outsider was cleaning his apartment after his death. I’m sure it would have been a collector’s item, had it not been sold to this unknown person, to whom the name “Lovecraft” meant nothing!

I have pictures of H. P. Lovecraft as a small child, and also pictures of his mother and father. Last summer we ascertained where his grandfather had lived during his boyhood and took interesting snapshots of the yard in which H.P.L. used to play—when he was not ill, for he was not a rugged child. I have a photo of his grandfather (who had brilliant dark eyes, a Lovecraft characteristic) and of his birthplace as well as of the grave in which he is buried (his body was placed in the ground, not in a vault).

I feel that memories of this man are precious indeed—and I even have a letter he wrote to us, congratulating our cat when she presented us with several kittens—written just as one would write to a human mother—because Lovecraft was noted for his great devotion to felines!

By the way, my favorite story in FEBRUARY TWS is “THE SHAPE OF THINGS” by Rad Bradbury. It is written in such a manner that one wonders if—MAYBE—it couldn’t be true! Fantastic but truly fsacinating stuff to ponder over! I enjoyed all the stories and I loved the monstrous hairy spider (?) on the cover! I’ll keep reading TWS!

—125 Pearl Street, Providence 7, Rhode Island.

Notes: The reference to the “disinterested outsider” might be an aside on R. H. Barlow, Lovecraft’s literary executor, who helped deposit Lovecraft’s papers at Brown University, and some of Lovecraft’s books. The remainder of Lovecraft’s possessions were disposed of by his surviving aunt, Annie Gamwell; it’s possible she sold or gave away the typewriter along with other items she did not wish or could not afford to keep. Several of the photographs mentioned appeared in Rhode Island on Lovecraft (1945).

Link to Thrilling Wonder Stories, Jun 1948.

[4] Famous Fantastic Mysteries, Aug 1948

ABOUT H. P. LOVECRAFT

Dear Editor:

My hubby picked up a copy of April 1948 Famous Fantastic Mysteries on the newsstand, and brought it home to me; he was fascinated by the cover . . . somehow, the pointing finger of the old genii with the red eyes and blue face and hair, popping out of the magic beanpot (at least, it looks like a tiny red-brown beanpot, to me!) intrigued him endlessly. He read it on the trolley coming home, and had all the other strap-hangers gaping, open-mouthed, and wondering, no doubt, what it was all about.

As usual, I turned to the letter deparment, first of all . . . somehow, when a magazine conducts such a department, it seems a safer magazine to read, proving that it is not afraid to publish readers’ frank comments . . . and what did my eyes discover there? Mention of Howard P. Lovecraft, Providence, R. I.’s own native son and favorite author of weird stories, in a letter signed Donald L. Fox, of Bicknell, Ind.

This letter praised a sketch of Lovecraft that appeared in the August 1947 issue on page 113 which I , most unfortunately, missed. In fact, this April issue is, believe it or not, the first one we’ve seen. Lay the blame on other lovers of uncanny yarns here in our city . . . no doubt copies of Famous Fantastic Mysteries sell so rapidly that no newsdealer can keep them stocked sufficiently for their customers.

If any kind reader happens to have this issue, if they’ll loan me their copy, I’ll guarantee its safe return, once I’ve glimpsed the drawing of Lovecraft.

You see, my husband and I were literary buddies of H.P.L., as we always called this now famous writer. he used to bring his manuscripts over to our house, for criticism, though Heaven knows they were always letter-perfect in our opinions. Just the same, Lovecraft would read them aloud, munching on bars of sweet chocolate between paragraphs, for he loved this confection. H.P.L. hated cold weather with an intense hatred. He was a man of many idiosyncrasies, but withal a wonderful pal and a staunceh friend. He always made himself perfectly at home with us, loved to pet our cats, and hated fish—in fact, any kind of sea-food was hateful to this master of the macabre.

When H.P.L. died, it broke our hearts. He was buried in historic old Swan Point Cemetery, here in Providence, and we often visit his grave. Sometimes it seems he is very near, as we read over cards he sent us on his various travels.

As for the magazine: “City of the Dead” is a great story . . . kept us interested throughout. We enjoyed Robert W. Chambers’ novelette, “The Messenger”, and the sketch of Algernon Blackwood was wonderfully executed. But best of all I enjoyed the wonderful “Readers’ Viewpoint” with letters from readers everywhere! From now on, I’m taking no chances. I’m ordering my copies of F.F.M. in advance.

Glad to see a letter from August Derleth . . . We know him, too. We met him last summer during his hurried trip to Providence.

Mrs. Muriel E. Eddy
125 Pearl St.
Providence 7, Rhode Island.

Notes: Muriel E. Eddy also corresponded with August Derleth.

Link to Famous Fantastic Mysteries, Aug 1948.

[5] The Atlanta Constitution, 8 Aug 1948

I am pleased to see Joe Lee’s article on Houdini . . . whose real name was Erich Weiss. My husband, Cliff Eddy, was “ghost writer” for Houdini for many years. He also assisted Houdini in exposing fake mediums. I am proud to say that Houdini and his wife Beatrice (now dead) were personal friends of mine. They were remarkable people . . . I often wondered what happened to their pet parrot, Laura, after she flew out an open window in Hollywood (after Houdini’s death) and was last seen heading for the foothills.

Laura always accompanied her mistress on tour and I remember the pretty green bird with the red head perched on her mistress’ shoulder as we walked up a busy street in a sudden downpour of rain.

Laura seemed to enjoy the rain and laughed delightedly and when we entered the lobby of the hotel where we were staying, the bedraggled parrot was still laughing. But when folks started to laugh at her she hid her head under a wing and cried like a baby.

Mrs. Houdini ordered half a melon for the parrot as a special treat, but Laura much preferred sipping tea from a spoon.

Mrs. Muriel E. Eddy,

Providence, R. I.

Notes: Written in reply to “I Knew Houdini” by Joe Lee, Houdini’s former publicity director, published in The American Weekly magazine section of the Chicago Herald-American for the week of 20 Jun 1948. While not directly related to Lovecraft, this letter is relevant for its insight into the Eddy/Houdini relationship, which in turn was connected with Lovecraft’s relationship with Harry Houdini and his wife, Bess Houdini. This letter was published simultaneously in multiple papers, also appearing in at least the Pittsburgh Sun-Telegraph, 8 Aug 1948 and the San Francisco Examiner, 8 Aug 1948.

Link to the Atlanta Constitution, 8 Aug 1948.
Link to the Pittsburgh Sun-Telegraph, 8 Aug 1948.

[6] Providence Journal, 26 Aug 1948

Writer of the Uncanny

Editor:

I read the Sonia H. Davis article on H. P. Lovecraft on the book page of the Aug. 22 Sunday Journal. I thank Mrs. Davis for giving us her impressions of one of the finest writers Providence has ever produced. My husband and I knew Lovecraft so well that we often visit his grave at Swan Point Cemetery in memory of a very dear friend and a gentleman of the “old school.”

Often, we typed Lovecraft’s manuscripts, finding it a joy to assist this prolific writer of the weird and uncanny. Lovecraft lived in a world of his own making, a sort of “dream world” where night became day. Most of his writings were accomplished at night. Providence was Lovecraft’s first, last and only real love in my opinion. He derived his inspiration from Providence’s little-known alleys, back streets and ancient burying grounds. We knew Lovecraft I really believe, better than anyone else (outside of his two aunts), and no finer gentleman ever lived, I feel safe in saying, than this man who just could not reconcile himself to married life, perhaps because his writing meant his entire life to him.

MRS. MURIEL E. EDDY
Providence.

Notes: In response to “Howard Phillips Lovecraft as His Wife Remembers Him” by Sonia H. Davis in The Providence Journal, 22 Aug 1948.

Link to letter in Providence Journal, 26 Aug 1948.

[7] Providence Journal, 19 Sep 1948

First, from a letter from Lovecraft’s friend Mrs. Clifford Eddy:

“I was deeply impressed . . . but one thing I think the charming Sonia overlooked entirely. Writing was H.P.L.’s entire life . . . Lovecraft often used to ssay: ‘I never was young; I was born old!’ But thanks to Sonia for giving us even the vaguest insight into married life with this extraordinary man.

“Sonia perhaps was unaware that after the divorce H. P. L. traveled several times ‘Boston-ward’ to visit a very fine young lady, and to assist her in literary work. The visits were sources of pleasure to the young lady, for she wrote me of visits to museums with H. P. L., of candle-lit suppers on cheese sandwiches and chocolate cake, and of his gentlemanliness and courtesy. It was purely a platonic friendship, but it proves that at heart H. P. L. was surely not a recluse entirely! He was human, but always his literary work came first, last and foremost!”

Notes: This excerpt ran in Winfield Townley Scott’s column, “Bookman’s Gallery,” in the Providence Journal, and was a further response to Sonia H. Davis’ article. The entire letter is available at the Brown Digital Repository. The “young lady” referred to was almost certainly Hazel Heald, a revision client that Lovecraft got in touch with trough Muriel E. Eddy, who had a somewhat romantic and rose-tinted view of their potential relationship.

[8] Fantastic Adventures, Oct 1948

SHAVER AND LOVECRAFT

Sirs:

The May issue of FA was a pip! It bubbled with good reading! “Forgotten Worlds” by Lawrence Chandler was wonderfully illustrated and it held my attention all the way.

I agree with Milton Papayianis of Barstow, California, regarding Richard S. Shaver and H. P. Lovecraft. Lovecraft, a close friend of the family for years, loved red roses, sweet chocolate ice-cream, and soft dreamy music. My husband has composed music for years, and H.P.L. lovecraft to watch him at work.

To those of you who love the weird things in life, I’m sure you love weird music too, as much as the late master of the weird did. My hubby often talked with H.P.L. about setting some of his weird poems to music, but unfortunately H.P.L.’s untimely death prevented this.

Muriel E. Eddy
125 Pearl St.
Providence 7, R.I.

Notes: In the 1940s, some fans drew connections between Lovecraft and the Shaver Mystery; Richard Shaver’s stories and many letters about them were published in the pages of Fantastic Adventures. I have been unable to find independent confirmation that Lovecraft particularly enjoyed roses or “soft dreamy music”; in his letters, Lovecraft indicated his musical tastes tended toward the popular music of his youth. C. M. Eddy, Jr. did write and publish songs, although it isn’t clear he ever approached Lovecraft about such an adaptation; composer Harold Farnese, however, did set some of Lovecraft’s weird poetry to music, so the idea isn’t too far-fetched.

Link to Fantastic Adventures, Oct 1948.

[9] Fantastic Adventures, Dec 1948

LOVECRAFT’S WIFE

Sirs:

Since my letter appeared in the October FA I have been deluged by letters asking me whether or not HPL, the great weird master, was ever married. The answer is, emphatically, yes.

He had a beautiful wife, and she has just written an article pertaining to her married life with him, which appeared, with her photo, in our local paper. HPL was her second husband. They divorced, and she remarried. Her third husband has since passed on. She stated in her article that Lovecraft loved cheese souffle for breakfast, cared very little for foreigners, and that he really loved his native Rhode Isalnd. The article was very interesting, and Sonia H. Greene Lovecraft Davis is really a fascinating woman. Perhaps she’ll read this and write into FA herself!

The October issue of FA was wonderful, from “kiver to kiver.”

Muriel E. Eddy
125 Pearl St.
Providence 7, R.I.

Notes: While they never met, Muriel Eddy and Sonia H. Davis did develop a correspondence after Sonia’s memoir on Lovecraft appeared in the Providence Journal.

Link to Fantastic Adventures, Dec 1948.

[10] Startling Stories, Mar 1949

MORE LOVECRAFTIANA
by Mrs. Muriel E. Eddy

Editor Startling Stories: I’ve been so interested in the many letters re: Lovecraft. Here in Providence, R.I., folks call me an authority on Howard Phillips Lovecraft, because my husband and I knew him intimately for many years. We were aware of his many idiosyncrasies and we loved him!

We know he was allergic to fish—so we never served him fish or any sea food! We knew he enjoyed the white baked meat of chicken—and cheese. He loved chocolates and when he married Sonia Greene in 1924 his two aunts gave our children over 100 empty chocolate boxes to play with! (In fact, a bathtub full!) We used an old gas-plate Lovecraft formerly brewed his coffee on, for a long time.

We remember how dearly this famous author of the weird and uncanny loved coffee with many spoonfuls of sugar! Many a night we listened to Lovecraft reading his original manuscripts—and enjoyed the facial expressions that played over his unusually mobile features as he read aloud with many a theatric gesture!

I’d be glad to furnish readers with any information on Lovecraft I am able to—and in the meantime I’ll just say I do enjoy “STARTLING STORIES” and the November issue was EXCEPTIONALLY fine! I LOVE your illustrations and covers!

—125 Pearl Street, Providence 7, Rhode Island.

Notes: When Lovecraft moved to New York City in March 1924 and married Sonia, he instructed his aunts to send much of his furniture and belongings to him in New York, and some of the other items ended up with the Eddys, who at the time were in a straitened financial situtation. With regards to chicken, Lovecraft’s letters and other memoirs confirm he did enjoy it, and his friend Harry Brobst, when interviewed by Will Murray, claimed that Lovecraft especially liked white meat and disliked dark meat (Ave Atque Vale 313).

Link to Startling Stories, Mar 1949.

[11] The Boston Globe, 29 Apr 1962

They Remember Howard Lovecraft

To the Editor—The year 1962 marks the 25th anniversary of the death of one of New England’s most prolific writers of the weird and uncanny in literature . . . the late Howard Phillips Lovecraft, who was born Aug. 20, 1890, and who died Mar. 15, 1937, in Providence.

My husband and I were personal friends of H.P.L. (as he is known to many of his readers) and we read many of his yarns, which are now published all over the world in many different languages. We spent many hours with this genius, talking over his stories and criticizing them in the rough spots.

Here at 588 Prairie av., Providence, we have many mementoes of this talented writer, who some say rivalled Edgar All[a]n Poe with his weird ideas. My husband, Clifford Eddy, was a frequent pal on the long midnight walks Lovecraft used to take to get story ideas.

MRS. MURIEL E. EDDY
Providence

Notes: According to a 2 Dec 1960 letter to August Derleth, the Eddys had established a Lovecraft “shrine” in a corner of their home for visitors, including photographs of HPL.

Link to The Boston Globe, 29 Apr 1962 letter.

[12] Fantastic, May 1962

Dear Editor:

I was greatly interested in Feb. FANTASTIC because of the story “The Shadow Out of Space,” by H. P. Lovecraft and August Derleth. My husband and I were close personal friends of the late H. P. Lovecraft. This year makes the 25th anniversary of Lovecraft’s death, which occurred March 15, 1937. He is interred in beautiful Swan Point Cemetery, Providence’s finest, most exclusive burying-ground. We often visit the grave of this unusually gifted author of the macabre.

I would be pleased to hear personally from any Lovecraft fans. I have plenty of time and will answer all letters if a stamp is enclosed.

Mrs. Muriel E. Eddy
688 Prairie Ave.
Providence 5, R.I.

Notes: “The Shadow Out of Space” was one of August Derleth’s “posthumous collaborations,” with H. P. Lovecraft, though in fact Derleth wrote them all, often based on some inspiration from Lovecraft or some prose fragment or portion of a letter.

Link to Fantastic, May 1962.

[13] Magazine of Horror, Jan 1965

Mrs. Muriel E. Eddy of 688 Prairie Avenue, Providence, RI, 02905, writes, “Having known Howard Phillips Lovecraft very well, from 1923 to the year of his death, 1937, I would like to share my memories of “HPL” with any of your readers who would care to write to me.

“HPL was a constant nocturnal caller at our home during those years. We discussed manuscripts constantly with him. We knew his aunts, too, and we often visit his grave, here in Providence, R. I.”

Notes: The Magazine of Horror had published some Lovecraft-related material in previous issues, which may have inspired this letter, and this offer probably led to Muriel E. Eddy’s “Memories of H. P. L.” being published in Magazine of Horror (Winter 1965-1966).

Link to Magazine of Horror, Jan 1965.

[14] Providence Journal, 8 Jan 1966

A Tribute to Howard P. Lovecraft

During our many years of close association with the late Providence-born author of weird, uncanny and bizarre tales, Howard Phillips Lovecraft, who died on March 15, 1937, we learned much about this wonderful writer that is not too widely known to those who read his stories and shiver, loving every word of them, or the students who are writing theses on this now famous Providence author of the macabre.

Born August 20, 1890, he was the only child of Sarah Susan (Phillips) Lovecraft and Winfield Scott Lovecraft. As a young boy, H. P. L. (as he was affectionately known to us) became interested in the weird. he was a devotee of Edgar All[a]n Poe, Ambrose Bierce, Arthur Machen, and others in that category.

Knowing Lovecraft made us appreciate the wonderful city we live in. he loved the fan-shaped designs over ancient doorways, and he loved to explore old cemeteries such as St. John’s Churchyard. Many of his stories were inspired by his ramblings in ancient cemeteries.

On March 15, 1966, this now famous writer, born and brought up in our fair city, will have been gone from our midst 29 long years, yet his fame is spreading like wildfire. 

His work is now internationally known. During the past seeral years we have had callers from England and Sweden who wanted to discuss H. P. L. and his writings with us and to see his last resting-place in beautiful Swan Point Cemetery. It is considered a rare privilege by my husband and me to realize that we knew this wonderful man personally.

Long may his memory live!

Muriel E. Eddy
Providence

Notes: In 1959, the Swedish editor and radioman Torsten Jungstedt visited the Eddys at their home in Providence, R.I., as recounted in letters to August Derleth.

[15] Magazine of Horror, Summer 1966

“Thanks for publishing my brief Memoirs of HPL,” writes Mrs. Muriel E. Eddy of 688 Prairie Avenue, Providence, Rhode Island 02905, “in the Winter 1965/66 issue, and thanks to readers who’ve written me how much they liked it. As my husband (Clifford Eddy) and I knew this master of weird fiction so well, I had some photos of HPL copied, so that I can send them (as mementos) to sincere Lovecraft fans. To those who care to send me a self-addressed, stamped envelope, regular size, I’ll send a picture. . . . Call on me, if you wish. We even had a caller from Sweden and two from England, wishing information on HPL, which we gave to them gladly. We still remember how HPL loved ice-cream and hated fish! I still have a chair HPL’s aunt (now gone) gave to me when HPL left Providence to marry Sonia Greene in New York. I used to own the folding bed HPL slept in (his aunt also gave it to me) until one night it collapsed on me! His aunt gave me many souvenirs of HPL which I cherish—those I have left—after all these years. Memories of HPL will never cease!

“Glad to see so many fine stories in the Winter issue. I believe that Master Nicholas, by Seabury Quinn, was my favorite. The Faceless God, but Robert Bloch, was a close second.”

Notes: The aunt was Annie Gamwell.

Link to Magazine of Horror, Summer 1966.

[16] Fantastic, May 1966

Dear Editor:

In the January, 1966 issue of Fantastic the story which held the most appeal for me was Robert Sheckley’s “What a Man Believes.” It really “rang the bell” for me!

Being an “old-timer” when it comes to reading odd, strange and different stories, I feel I am qualified to judge a story pretty well . . . and having read thousands of manuscripts during my lifetime (I’m heard of the R.I. Writers’ Guild here in Providence, R.I., and I’m almost 70 years old!), I don’t mind adding a few more “unbelievable tales” while I’m still alive! Robert Sheckley truly made an “unbelievable” tale BELIEVABLE!

My husband and I were bosom friends of the late weird writer, Howard Phillips Lovecraft, who died March 15, 1937, in our city, and who lies sleeping in beautiful Swan Point Cemetery. One night, after reading an especially weird manuscript aloud to us, he remarked that he believed the human brain was practically indestructible. . .that (who [k]new?), the brain MIGHT keep on functioning even after death. . .at least, it was a subject worth thinking about!

His remark has haunted me for years. Every time we visit Lovecraft’s grave, I think about it, and I wonder if, after death, it is ever a possibility that the human brain MIGHT keep right on functioning. . .whether the heart stops or not. . . .Sheer fantasy, I’m sure. . .or. . . is it?

To get off the subject. . .ALL of the stories in the January, 1966, issue are well worth reading. . .and of course Virgil Finlay’s weird illustration of “Six and Ten Are Johnny” is great. By the way, Virgil has also illustrated many Lovecraft stories. . .he’s my favorite illustrator!

Many times I regret that H.P. Lovecraft died so young. . . he was only 47 at his demise. He’d be 75 if he’d lived. We cherish his memory and invite correspondence referring to H.P.L. and all weird, uncanny subjects! KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK and I’ll continue to be a FANTASTIC FAN!

Mrs. Muriel E. Eddy
Pres. R. I. Writers’ Guild
688 Prairie Avenue
Providence, R.I. 02905

Notes: The anecdote about a brain still living evolved over time, derived from “Thoughts and Feelings of a Head Cut Off,” a story ghostwritten for Harry Houdini, possibly by C. M. Eddy, Jr. The identification of the idea with Lovecraft appeared notably in “Message in Stone” (1956) by Muriel E. Eddy. The idea of an indestructible brain doesn’t sound very much like the materialist H. P. Lovecraft, but it is possible he contributed the idea at some point during a brainstorming session and the years transformed the incident in Muriel E. Eddy’s mind.

Letter to Fantastic, May 1966.

[17] Worlds of If, Oct 1966

Dear Editor:

Toys for Debbie by David A. Kyle rang the bell for me. What a story! And what toys! ALL the stories were well worth reading—the illustrations were wonderful—your “letters” department was fine!

If I sound extra enthusiastic it’s because I AM! I’m a lover of “different” stories from way back. I’m pushing 70 now. My birthday is January 19, hubby’s is January 18—do we have any “birthday twins” among your readers?

My hubby and I have one entire room lined with weird and fantastic books and magazines. We were intimate friends of the late author of the weird and uncanny, H. P. Lovecraft. We spent many pleasant nighttime hours with this fantastic man, listening to him read his manuscripts aloud under flickering gaslight. This was in the early ’20s, when everybody didn’t have electricity in their homes! Nights seemed darker, then . . . and as H. P. L. loved darkness, we three reveled in it, as we pictured monsters, hobgoblins, shapeless creatures of his own imagination and witches steeped in witchcraft, while Lovecraft nibbled on a chicken leg and enjoyed our hospitality!

I could ramble on and on about our association with this master of the weird. We visit his grave often, and we have many pictures of H. P. L. and even one of his parents! We revere his memory and in his honor we peruse all “different” publications on the newsstands. Yours wins top honors with us! Also your cover appealed greatly to me, and it illustrated your feature story, a corker—The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress, by Robert A. Heinlein—beautifully. You’ve got yourself a steady If reader! 

—Mrs. Muriel  E. Eddy, President, R. I. Writers’ Guild, 688 Prairie Avenue, Providence, Rhode Island 02905.

Notes: Link to Worlds of If, Oct 1966.

[18] Providence Journal, 19 Feb 1968

In Memoriam: Howard Phillips Lovecraft

March 15 of this year will mark the 31st anniversary of the death of the new famous Providence author, Howard Phillips Lovecraft. Mr. Lovecraft’s many books of weird literature may be found in many public libraries now throughout the land, and his works have been translated into many foreign languages.

My late husband, Clifford martin Eddy, and I, knew Mr. Lovecraft very well. He was a constant visitor at our home, and as he preferred nighttime to day, we called him “The Man Who Came at Midnight.”

He used to love to read us his original manuscripts before submitting them to an editor. he was not conceited; in fact, he thought but little about his talent for conceiving weird and uncanny plots. I think the story that caused the most shivers when Lovecraft read it aloud, many years ago, was his now famous: “The Rats in the Walls” . . . truly a macabre yarn, a real weird classic in literature.

Born on the East Side, (Angell street, to be exact) Mr. Lovecraft loved Providence dearly. Many of his stories have a Providence-inspired background. One recognizes Benefit Street and Federal Hill in at least two of his weird tales!

All honor to the memory of Howard Phillips Lovecraft, now sleeping the eternal sleep in historic old Swan Point Cemetery. When I visit my husband’s grave, I always pay tribute also at the last resting-place of a truly great Providence author, recognized all over the world since his untimely death, (he died at only 47 years of age) the unforgettable Howard Phillips Lovecraft!

Mrs. Muriel E. Eddy
Providence

Notes: Ruth M. Eddy’s memoir of Lovecraft was “The Man Who Came at Midnight” (1949), recalling her childhood in the 20s when he came to visit.

[19] Magazine of Horror, Jul 1968

Mrs. Muriel E. Eddy writes from 688 Prairie Avenue, Providence, Rhode Island, 02905: “I am deeply sorry to tell you and interested readers of your esteemed magazine (which has always been a welcome visitor to our home) that my dear husband, author of several stories published in the now defunct WEIRD TALES, etc, such as The Loved Dead, Deaf, Dumb and Blind, etc., passed away on Tuesday, November 21, 1967, at the Osteopathic Hospital in Providence, R.I., after a long and painful illness. Death came to him as he slept. The doctor attending him telephoned me at quarter past six a. m., saying my husband had expired at about six a. m. Death came peacefully, after months of suffering.

“My husband, Clifford Martin Eddy, was a bosom pal of the late Howard Phillips Lovecraft, as so many people know, as since a letter of mine appeared in these columns a year or so ago, I received and answered much mail concerning our friendship with the late master of the macabre in fiction. Now my dear one lies sleeping in the same cemetery in which Howard P. Lovecraft sleeps, beautiful Swan Point Burial Ground, here on Blackstone Blvd., in Providence, R.I., where both Lovecraft and Eddy were born.

“Memories of HPL filled Mr. Eddy’s life, and we talked much about the happy times when Lovecraft came to visit us at our humble abode. Now that Mr. Eddy has left this earth I shall always recall those precious moments. To alleviate the loneliness incurred by my dear husband’s demise I shall be glad to answer any letters regarding HPL or my husband’s writings. Mr. Eddy and Mr. Lovecraft often discussed plots of their stories before writing them, and I was always an interested listener, although at times I, too, have tried my hand at weird stories. But these two men (I think you will agree) were tops in their field! August Derleth of Sauk City, Wisconsin, has re-published a few of my husband’s stories in anthologies, and I hope some of your readers remember the name ‘Eddy’ as well as that of Lovecraft! My husband was not as prolific a writer as was HPL, but what he did write was bloodcurdlingly readable! He was 71 at his death, and on February 10, 1968 we would have observed our Golden Wedding . . . but God saw fit to take him . . . and who we are to question God? Nevertheless, I miss him . . . sorely. Letters will help assuage my loneliness! I visit his grave (and Lovecraft’s) very often.”

Notes: Link to Magazine of Horror, Jul 1968.


Bobby Derie is the author of  Weird Talers: Essays on Robert E. Howard and Others  and  Sex and the Cthulhu Mythos .

Deep Cuts in a Lovecraftian Vein uses Amazon Associate links. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Deeper Cut: The Letters of Clara Lovrien Hess

When Providence, R.I. journalist Winfield Townley Scott published his first biographical essay on H. P. Lovecraft in the Providence Journal in 1943, it was with the caveat that he had not been able to contact Lovecraft’s wife, Sonia H. Davis. After publication, they got in touch, and through Scott’s efforts Sonia’s memoir of her marriage to Lovecraft was published in the 28 August 1948 edition of the Providence Journal as “Howard Phillips Lovecraft As His Wife Remembers Him.”

Providence Journal 19 Sep 1948 (95)

The publication of Sonia’s memoir drew immediate responses from those who knew Lovecraft, some of which Scott published in his regular column in the 19 Sep 1948 issue of the Providence Journal. Letters had come in from Muriel Eddy, Hazel Heald, and seven long paragraphs from Clara L. Hess about her childhood with Lovecraft and his family.

Clara Lovrien Hess (2 Jun 1889 – 5 Apr 1950) was the eldest child of John R. Hess, a newspaper editor for the Providence Journal, and Clara Maud Lovrien Hess, a housewife. Her family lived in the same neighborhood at the same time as H. P. Lovecraft did; Federal censuses from 1900-1920 place her family on Oriole Avenue, one street over from Angell St. where Lovecraft lived until 1924. None of Lovecraft’s letters mention Clara Hess, although this is not unusual, as very few of his letters mention any of the children in the neighborhood he grew up in, and when they do it is the boys. Lovecraft does mention her younger brother Jack Hess (John R. Hess Jr., 28 Apr 1894 – 7 Jan 1954) in Letters to J. Vernon Shea et al. 193 and Letters to Family & Family Friends 1.35.

According to Federal census data, after graduating from school Hess became a schoolteacher; and according to newspaper accounts, remained active in various clubs. She never married or had any children.

1908 Map showing the Hess home on Oriole Ave. The Phillips house of Lovecraft’s cousin is on Angell St. nearby.

In 1928, Clara L. Hess moved to Warwick Neck, R.I.; she was there when Sonia’s memoir of Lovecraft was published, and was inspired to write a letter about her own experiences that ended up on Winfield Townley Scott’s desk, who subsequently published a part of it. This in turn caught the eyes of others; a letter survives from Margaret M. Wallace to Winfield Towley Scott, 24 Sep 1948, where she wrote:

I liked Clara Hess’s letter about Mr. Lovecraft. I didn’t live as near as she did to him, but I remember seeing him on the streets, and I thought he had a very disagreeable face. One should know that he would write the kind of books he did. Did Miss Hess know that you were going to quote her?

August Derleth apparently wrote to Muriel E. Eddy about Hess, who provided an address:

For the remaining 18 months or so of her life, Clara L. Hess and August Derleth conducted an intermittent correspondence, mostly focused on Lovecraft, his mother, and Derleth’s writing. Derleth quotes from Hess’ letters in his essay “Lovecraft’s Sensitivity” was that was published in Something About Cats (1949). The original letters themselves, however, have never been published in full, and are split between the John Hay Library at Brown University in Providence and the August Derleth archive at the Wisconsin Historical Society. The small cache of 9 letters is in many cases our only source for certain details on Lovecraft’s childhood, and his mother’s illness.

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Pawtucket Times, 6 Apr 1950 (2)

[0] Clara Hess to the Providence Journal (n.d.)

It was with great interest that I read the story of Howard Phillips Lovecraft as written by Sonia Davis for the Sunday Journal.

Howard Lovecraft and I grew up in the same “old time” East Side neighborhood in Providence when there was often fields covered with butterflies and daisies in the Butler Avenue—Angell Street-Orchard Avenue area. Although of a younger generation, I knew Howard’s mother better than I knew Howard who even as a young boy was strange and rather a recluse, who kept by himself and hid from other children because, as his mother said, he could not bear to have people look upon his awful face. She would talk of his looks (it seemed to be an obsession with her) which would not have attracted any particular attention if he had been normal as were the other children in the community who because of the strangeness of his personality kept aloof and had little to say to him.

I first remember meeting Mrs. Lovecraft when I was a very little girl at the home of the late Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Phillips on Angell Street where I visited often.[1] At that time Mrs. Lovecraft was living in the corner of Angell Street and Elmgrove Avenues.[2] She was very pretty and attractive, with a beautiful and unusually white complexion which it was said she obtained by eating arsenic, although whether there was anything to this story I do not know. She was an intensely nervous person.

Later when she moved into the little downstairs flat in the house on Angell Street [3] around from Butler Avenue I met her often on the Butler Avenue cars, and one day after many urgent invitations I went in to call upon her although she was considered as becoming rather odd. My call was pleasant enough but the house had a strange and shut up air and the atmosphere seemed weird and Mrs. Lovecraft talked continuously of her unfortunate son who was so hideous that he hid from everyone and did not like to walk upon the streets where people could gaze at him.[4] When I protested that she was exaggerating and that he should not feel that way she looked at me with a rather pitiful look as though I did not understand about it. I remember that I was glad to get out into the fresh air and sunshine and that I did not repeat my visit! Surely it was an environment suited for the writing of horror stories but an unfortunate one for a growing youth who in a more wholesome environment might have grown to be a more normal citizen.

Howard used to go out into the fields in back of my home to study the stars. [5] One early fall evening several of the children in the vicinity assembled to watch him from a distance. Feeling sorry for his loneliness I went up to him and asked him about his telescope and was permitted to look through it. But his language was so technical that I could not understand it and I returned to my group and left him to his lonely study of the heavens.

After a time one did not meet Mrs. Lovecraft very often. There was a mail box at the corner of Butler Avenue and Angell Street. (probably still is) Sometimes when going around the corner to mail a letter on an early summer evening one would see a dark figure fluttering about the shrubbery of her home and I discovered that it was Mrs. Lovecraft.

Sometimes I would see Howard when walking up Angell Street but he would not speak and would stare ahead of him with his coat collar turned up and his chin down.

After awhile I heard that Mrs. Lovecraft was ill and was away and that the aunts had taken over. [6] I knew nothing more about them until I heard of Howard’s marriage [7] which was wondered at by some of those who had known him.

c. l. h.

Notes: Sent before 19 Sep 1948, when selections were published in the Providence Journal. Available at the Brown Digital Repository.

[1] Theodore Winthrop Phillips (24 Jun 1836 – 26 Jun 1904) and his wife, Sarah Marsh Phillips (16 Feb 1835 – 4 Mar 1904) lived at 612 Angell St., the lot almost directly behind Clara L. Hess’ childhood home on Oriole Ave. Theodore Phillips was the son of Whipple Phillips, the great-great-uncle of H. P. Lovecraft.

[2] 454 Angell St., the Phillips family home where Lovecraft was born in 1890.

[3] 598 Angell St. After the death of Lovecraft’s grandfather Whipple Van Buren Phillips, Lovecraft and his mother were forced to move into smaller quarters.

[4] Many of Hess’ memories cannot be verified against other sources. R. Alain Everts in “Howard Phillips Lovecraft and Sex: or The Sex Life of a Gentleman” apparently asked Lovecraft’s ex-wife Sonia about these assertions and took her comments as confirmation; however, it must be remembered that Sonia only began courting Lovecraft after his mother’s death, so her memories may have been influenced by Clara Hess’ published accounts.

[5] Hess never gives any dates, but the 1908 map of Providence shows what appears to be open fields in that section, which would have been better for stargazing. Howard’s appreciation of astronomy from a young age is well known, so this could presumably have been any period from ~1900-1907.

[6] Sarah Susan Phillips Lovecraft (17 October 1857 – 24 May 1921) was admitted to Butler Hospital on 13 Mar 1919, after an apparent nervous breakdown. She died there two years later, following surgery to remove her gallbladder.

[7] H. P. Lovecraft left Providence, R.I. and married Sonia Haft Greene in New York City on  3 March 1924.

[1] Clara Hess to August Derleth, 9 Oct 1948

Warwick Neck,
Rhode Island,
October 9th, 1948.

My dear Mr. Derleth:—

Of course, you may quote from my letter to the Sunday Journal about Howard Lovecraft and his mother. I feel greatly honored.

I do not know that Mrs. Lovecraft ever spoke to her son directly about his “ugliness” but I think he must have known how she regarded him. Howard resembled his mother. She had a peculiarly shaped nose which rather fascinated me as it gave her a very inquiring expression. Howard looked very much like her.

In looking back I cannot ever remember to have seen Mrs. Lovecraft and her son together. I never heard one to the other. It probably just happened that way but it does seem rather strange as we were neighbors for a considerable period of time.

I remember the aunts who came to the little house on Angell Street often, as I recollect, quiet, determined, little New England women, quite different from Mrs. Lovecraft, although Mrs. Lovecraft was a very determined person.

I remember that Mrs. Lovecraft spoke to me about weird and fantastic creatures that rushed out from behind buildings and from corners at dark and that she shivered and looked about apprehensively as she told her story. She asked me what I thought it and I told her it wasn’t so!

The last time I saw Mrs. Lovecraft we were both going “down street” on the Butler Avenue car. She was excited and apparently did not know where she was. She attracted the attention of everyone one. One old gentleman acted as if he were going to jump out of the car every minute. I was greatly embarrassed as I was the object of all of her attention.

Mr. Ronald K. Upham, 51 Adelphi Avenue, Providence might be able to throw some light upon the tragic Lovecraft story. [1] I believe that at one time he used to visit Howard at the little Angell Street flat.

I have not read you biography of Howard Lovecraft [2] but intend to do so and I am now looking forward to the publication of the Selected Letters.

Also, I am looking forward to reading your book “Sac Prairie People”. [3] I have never been west and Wisconsin, I know, is a very beautiful state.

If I come across any additional information about the Lovecraft family I’ll be glad to send it on to you.

To you
Sincerely,
Clara L. Hess

Notes: Available at the Brown Digital Repository.

[1] Ronald Kingsley Upham (4 Aug 1892 – 30 Jan 1958), one of Lovecraft’s boyhood friends. See also Letters to Rheinhart Kleiner & Others 192, Letters to J. Vernon Shea et al. 193, Miscellaneous Letters 111, Essential Solitude 1.323, Letters to Family & Family Friends 1.42, 113, 378

[2] H. P. L.: A Memoir (1945).

[3] Sac Prairie People (1948), a collection of short stories, part of Derleth’s Sac Prairie Saga about his native region of Sauk City and Prairie-du-Sac, Wisconsin.

[2] Clara Hess to August Derleth, 18 Oct 1948

Warwick Neck,
Rhode Island,
October 18th, 1948.

Mr dear Mr. Derleth:—

Your letter of October 12th has been received—Certainly, you may quote from anything I may write to you. It won’t be necessary for you to send me copy to read although of course, I would like very much to see it. If I do not find the published biography I’ll let you know.

I was much interested in what you wrote about Mrs. Gamwell [1] and it was very nice that you were able to help her in placing some of Howard’s work after his death. [2] I did not know that she was in straitened circumstances although I realize that fortunes often have a way of disappearing. [3]

I do not remember how Howard obtained his education. He had a cultured background. His people were old fashioned gentlefolk which meant considerable in the old aristocratic Providence East Side neighborhood prior to World War I. He was a real student and a great reader. I thought of him as a genius and believed that he would make a name for himself as an astronomer.

I hope that you will hear from Ronald Upham as I think he will have some information to give about Howard.

The Lovecraft story is an intensely interesting story and I am glad that I have been able to be of some help to  you. If I can be of any further assistance let me know. I’ll be glad to help in any way that I can.

Sincerely,
Clara L. Hess

Notes: Available at the Brown Digital Repository.

[1] Anne Emeline Phillips Gamwell (10 Jul 1866–29 Jan 1941), H. P. Lovecraft’s younger aunt, who survived him.

[2] After Lovecraft’s death, Derleth acted as agent with Weird Tales to publish some of his fiction, sending the monies to Annie Gamwell.

[3] After the death of Whipple Van Buren Phillips, none of the Phillips women worked or had living husbands to support them, and H. P. Lovecraft was unable to hold a regular job, so they lived off of the savings with meager income until the family entered a state of genteel poverty.

[3] Clara Hess to August Derleth, 31 Jan 1949

Warwick Neck
Rhode Island
January 31st, 1949

My dear Mr. Derleth:—

For several weeks I have been intending to write you that I obtained a copy of your book about Howard Lovecraft at the Providence Public Library, also a collection of Howard’s stories and a copy of “Village Daybook” [1]—I was not able to obtain your Book of the Month club story [2]—

Of course, I was greatly interested in your account of H.P.L.—It was very beautifully written and I am looking forward to your coming publication about Howard—the collection of stories—but by special permission with a possible charge of 10 cents a day (if kept too long) I did not find too satisfactory of the print was so fine that I could only read it with the aid of a magnifying glass! And so was not able to read very much of it.

I am still reading “Village Daybook” which is quite delightful and unusual, we have many birds, rabbits, fox and an occasional deer here at Warwick Neck. But we do not have wild strawberries. [3] Some years ago I was in Connecticut for a summer and one day came across a large meadow almost completely covered with them. I spent many hours gathering the berries and made most of them into jam to take home for the family food shelf. But sad to relate, a school chum of my brother came by to visit and when he discovered my jam he refused to eat anything but bread and butter and strawberry jam all through his visit (although we had very good meals) and when the jam was all eaten up he decided to go home—I had not thought of Elliot for some years until I read your account of Wisconsin berries but I suddenly remember his visit at Putnam Heights—the last I heard of  him he had become very successful in the journalistic field down in Washington.

I believe that your coming book about Howard Lovecraft will be of great interest in Rhode Island—All at once everyone is talking about Howard—the stories about him in the Sunday Journal Book page have excited a great deal of interest.

Please be sure to let me know the date of publication of your book as, of course, I am looking forward to it.

Sincerely,
Clara L. Hess

Notes: Available at the Wisconsin Historical Society.

[1] The “Lovecraft collection” is probably Best Supernatural Stories of H. P. Lovecraft (1945); Village Daybook: A Sac Prairie Journal (1947) by August Derleth, a Sac Prairie Book.

[2] Sac Prairie People (1948) was recommended by the Book-of-the-Month Club in 1948.

[3] “Another new experience was picking strawberries—& in late August. I had never before seen these well-known commodities in the process of growth.” —H. P. Lovecraft to Annie E. P. Gamwell, 27 Aug 1921, LFF1.45

[4] Clara Hess to August Derleth, 24 Feb 1949

Warwick Neck,
Rhode Island,
February 24th, 1949

My Dear Mr. Derleth:—

Your gift of the autographed copy of “Village Year” and the collection of Howard Lovecraft’s Supernatural Stories came as a very welcome surprise. They are quite the nicest gift I have received for a long time and I very much appreciate your thought in sending them to me.

Your foreword about Howard was kindly and beautifully written. I have not as yet read all of Howard’s stories the collection but “The Outsider” made a great impression upon me. It is one of the most remarkable stories I have ever read. I have re-read it several times and I am going to read it again. of course, Howard knew nothing of our Atom Bomb and the more recent frightful inventions of man. Yet all I could think of was the Atom Bomb when reading “Colour Out of Space”.

The day that your books came I heard from the librarian at our Warwick Neck Library—the Old Warwick League Library—that your Book of the Month Club book which the book committee had ordered at my request had finally come in and that she had saved it for me but that someone had gotten off with it after all. So people in this vicinity are becoming acquainted with Sac Prairie People in Wisconsin. Mrs. Jerrett—our librarian—said there was evidently some difficulty in obtaining your book as it took so long to come through.

I’ll have to admit that I turned with relief from Howard’s dark and sombre tales to your book of village and country life. I’m enjoying reading it very much. You wrote that you consider it better than its successor—I like them both—they are books that are good to own and to have to re-read. Your story of the Dragonflies—(“Glowing Needles”)—The seeing of fireflies legs together—I was told as a child here in Rhode Island and I believed it for sometime! But my father who told the story came from Erie, Penn. so settlers not in Pennsylvania evidently knew that old saying, too.

Again thanking you for your gifts of two such unusual books—one dark and fantastic—the other, real and beautiful—I am

Sincerely, Clara L. Hess

Notes: Available at the Wisconsin Historical Society.

[5] Clara Hess to August Derleth, 27 Mar 1949

Warwick Neck,
Rhode Island,
March 27th, 1949

My dear Mr. Derleth:—

I am looking forward to reading your copy—I know that anything I have written about Howard will be all right to quote—I am glad that I have been of some assistance and feel quite proud to have your quote from my letter. [1]

The book “Sac Prairie People” I have gotten from our little library and I like your short stories very much. I especially like “Expedition to the North”, “Moonlight in the Apple Tree”, “Now the Time for All Good Men” and “The Night Light at Vorden’s”—(There are many women like Bianca—I have known several—One wonders how they happen to become like that.) It’s a sad and tragic tale and very beautifully written.

I made the mistake about the Book of the Month Club Book—But why wasn’t it—I made the error when reading the folder which I have to our librarian for our book committee. Now I am going to read some of your novels. My robins disappeared after a late blizzard but I think they are with other song birds in the brush in the swampy land below me. I did not know we had killdeer her but I am told that there are a few around although I have to see one.

Last evening I heard frogs piping in chorus so I know that spring has really come to Warwick Neck— I hope that spring has arrived on time in Sac Prairie, Too.

Sincerely,
Clara L. Hess

Notes: Available at the Wisconsin Historical Society.

[1] Regarding “Lovecraft’s Sensitivity” by August Derleth in Something About Cats (1949), which quotes from Hess.

[6] Clara Hess to August Derleth, 6 Apr 1949

Warwick Neck,
Rhode Island,
April 6, 1949

My dear Mr. Derleth:—

I had just finished reading “The Thing on the Doorstep”–a story as powerful and disturbing as Howard’s own powerful and disturbing personality—when your letter and draft of the paper, Lovecraft’s Sensitivity came. It was all intensely interesting to me and it makes me feel very important. Mrs. Wright (Virginia Williams) a younger neighbor—I knew well and I was impressed by her recollections of Howard. [1] I met her a short time ago (after some years) at a Sunshine Society auction in our little Warwick Neck library and immediately we began to visit about old times and about H. P. L. Unlike Virginia I never was afraid of Howard but to young children he must have appeared a dark spectre when rushing through the dusk—a weird figure in the quiet New England setting of that period.

I wonder what Howard would think of the old fashioned New England neighborhood now with stores and apartment houses and newer homes built close together—there are many people of Jewish extraction in the Providence old  East Side to-day. I felt sorry that H.P.L.’s former wife wrote of his racial prejudice, especially at this time when there is so much made of racial prejudice—a thing as cruel as it is unjust. But in the environment of Howard’s youth (and of mine) it would have been impossible To escape the teachings of the time and it is quite understandable that youth of a naturally kind and gentle disposition should have absorbed the ideas of the older generation about him.

I had a friend who grew up in the vicinity who continued to live in her family homestead after an almost all Jewish settlement sprang up around her. She would watch the children going by to school and noticed one child who was shoved about and pushed into the gutter time after time. Finally she went out and indignantly asked why that little boy was being treated in such fashion and the answer was, “Oh, we can’t walk with him, he isn’t a Jew”So there can be two sides to a story after all.

You asked me to comment on your chapter about H. P. L.’s Sensitivity. I have re read it very carefully several times and it all seems very right to me—I repeat that I am very glad to have been of help in your study of Howard’s life and that I am looking forward to the publication of your book.

We are having a wild Southeast storm here this morning but the birds are singing in the rain. I heard a minister speaking over the radio Sunday morning who stated that if a man could become a bird and teach the birds how to live and take care of themselves how wonderful it would be for the birds. I thought of the story ( whose I do not remember but you probably know) “Who is the greatest of all God’s creatures?”—The answer, “man”—the question, “Who says so?” and the answer, “man”—

Wishing you continued success with your writing I am

Sincerely
Clara L. Hess

Are all the characters in your stories real people or do you just make them all seem real—

Notes: Available at the Wisconsin Historical Society.

[1] Virginia Williams Wright (30 Dec 1901 – 9 Oct 1993), born on Paterson St. in Providence, R.I., was a neighbor of H. P. Lovecraft’s. She sent a letter from Wright to Winfield Townley Scott which survives at the Brown Digital Repository, dated 23 Sep [1948]; Scott published an excerpt from it in the Providence Journal for 3 Oct 1938:

As a little girl I was scared to death of him for he used to walk rapidly up & down Angell St. at night just as a group of us were playing “Hare & Hounds” at the corner of Angell & Paterson Strs. His appearance always frightened me. he was certainly the neighborhood mystery—He never would speak to me or any of us but kept right on with his head down. Once in a while I would pass him in the daytime but never could get him to say hello.

[7] Clara Hess to August Derleth, 17 May 1949

Warwick Neck,
Rhode Island,
May 17th, 1949.

My dear Mr. Derleth:—

Inclosed [sic] is a story about H. P. L. which was forwarded to me by a friend who knew that I am interested in the study of the life of H. P. L.—you may have it—anyway, I thought it might possibly be of some interest to you–

Sincerely,

Clara L. Hess

Notes: Available at the Wisconsin Historical Society. No enclosure in the file, so unclear who or what this was.

[8] Clara Hess to August Derleth, 7 Jan 1950

1188 Warwick Neck Avenue,
Warwick Neck,
Rhode Island,

January 7th, 1950.

My dear Mr. Derleth:—

“Something About Cats and Other Pieces” I am reading with great interest and I am learning much about Howard Lovecraft that I did not know before—you have given a great deal of time and thought in assembling so much interesting material and the result is certainly most satisfactory. You must feel very much pleased with the result of all of your work.

The volume came on Monday December 26th as I was leaving to have a second Christmas dinner with friends in Warwick Neck who have a New York City background and who did not know Howard. I took my book with me—my host spent a good half of the evening reading about Howard and in telling us about his visit in New Orleans—then he insisted upon keeping my book. But I went over for it several days later and I have asked our Warwick Neck librarian to obtain a copy for our library as I know there are many people here who will want to read it. Also it will be of value for the library to own.

Again may I repeat that I am honored to be in such distinguished company and that I am glad to have been able to contribute something of interest about Howard and his family. With all good wishes to you for the year 1950 I am

Sincerely Clara L. Hess

Notes: Available at the Wisconsin Historical Society.

How reliable are Clara L. Hess’ recollections of Lovecraft and his mother? We can confirm from census data that she was in the right place at the right time, so there is little doubt that she was a neighbor of H. P. Lovecraft and Susie Lovecraft as a child, teenager, and adult. Some of her observations agree with other accounts of the Lovecraft’s life—such as H. P. L.’s interest in astronomy, and the move from 454 to 598 Angell St.—for all that she was looking back 40+ years, the material we can verify show Hess’ recollections appear to be fairly accurate.

Several of Hess’ personal anecdotes cannot be verified, including her various encounters with Susie Lovecraft. How accurate is the image that Hess paints of a mentally unstable woman rumored to take arsenic, hallucinating, and who finds her son’s appearance disturbing? At this point (1948), the most that had been written of Susie Lovecraft was by Winfield Townley Scott, who painted her as a “weak sister,” and Lovecraft as a “mama’s boy.” Hess’ comments did not help Susie Lovecraft’s image, and most subsequent portrayals of Lovecraft’s mother in biography and fiction are based on that image that Hess and Scott had presented, and which Derleth helped codify in “Lovecraft’s Sensitivity” (1949).

Probably the most revealing section of Hess’ letters that did not make it into print is her comment on racial prejudice. The anecdote reveals more about Hess than it does Lovecraft; the impulsive desire to push back against accusation of racial prejudice by saying “Hey, these Jews can be racist too!” speaks more to the pervasiveness of antisemitism among Lovecraft’s environment than a counter to Sonia H. Davis’ allegations about her ex-husband.

While we lack Derleth’s letters to Hess—it is not clear what happened to her papers after she died—it doesn’t appear that he pressed her closely on details regarding dates, etc., though he was careful to get permission for what he quoted from her. Read in context, we can perhaps better appreciate how near the end of her life, Clara L. Hess cast her mind back to younger days in the old neighborhood, and the strange kid who stood out from among the others.

Thanks to Donovan Loucks for his help.


Bobby Derie is the author of Weird Talers: Essays on Robert E. Howard and Others and Sex and the Cthulhu Mythos.

Deep Cuts in a Lovecraftian Vein uses Amazon Associate links. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Deeper Cut: Lovecraft & Hokusai

As reckoned among the race-stocks of the world, the Indian is certainly not inferior. Neither, for that matter, is the Mongolian race as a whole. It is simply our reaction against the alien and the unaccustomed—together with the circumstance that our immigrant specimens are generally of a low type—which causes us to look down on the Chinese and Japanese. Both of these races, as rationally judged by their history, literature, philosophy, and art, are among the superior biological focus of the planet—and no one who is acquainted with their better classes is ever able to retain that feeling of repulsion which the ordinary American, Australian, or New-Zealander usually feels.
— H. P. Lovecraft to Robert E. Howard, 7 Nov 1932, A Means to Freedom 1.481-482

The 1853 Perry Expedition forcefully ended Japanese political isolation, and during the 19th and early 20th centuries cultural and technological exchanges with the rest of the world profoundly affected both Japan and the rest of the world. The Tokugawa Shogunate was overthrown, and a new government overtook Japan—one dedicated to rapid industrialization and militarization, which in practice meant increasing Westernization. The successful adoption of Western military technology and tactics became clear during the Russo-Japanese War (1904-1905), in which Japan’s surprise victory over Russia fueled racist fantasies of the Yellow Peril.

While Westerners feared the rising military might and aggressiveness of Japan, many were simultaneously drawn to Japanese art and culture. Japanese woodblock prints (ukiyo-e) covered a vast range of material, from purely ornamental to combinations of image and text that illustrated stories and scenes; from depictions of ordinary life and nature studies to erotica and supernatural creatures. Western interest in these woodblock prints is evident from before the U.S. intervention, but after trade was forcefully opened, the prints became much more accessible and inspired a Japonisme style in European art during the late 19th century, as well as collections and reproductions.

By the 1930s, Japanese prints collections were being displayed in U.S. museums, and the names of popular and notorious artists like Hokusai Katsushika (葛飾 北斎, 1760-1849) and Hiroshige Utagawa (歌川 広重, 1797-1858) were being bandied about by newspapers. In June 1934, Providence native Abby Aldrich Rockefeller (wife of John D. Rockefeller, Jr.) donated her collection of Japanese prints to the Rhode Island School of Design.

Japanese Prints Given by Mrs. Rockefeller, Jr.
PROVIDENCE, R.I., June 7—(AP) The Rhode Island School of Design yesterday announced that a rare collection of Japanese prints had been presented by Mrs. John D. Rockefeller, Jr. The 623 prints, devoted chiefly to plant, bird, fish and insect life, are by the country’s greatest masters. L. Earle Row, director of the school museum, said that in accordance with Mrs. Rockefeller’s wishes the collection will be shown in selected groups changed at frequent intervals.
Springfield (MA) Evening Union, 7 Jun 1934, p13

That is where and how H. P. Lovecraft came to be familiar with Japanese prints.

Another event was the display of the choicest of the 717 Japanese prints just acquired by the local art museum. This is a really important accession—placing our museum in competition with Boston’s . . . . which boasts of having the finest Japanese print collection outside of Japan itself. The Providence collection is of the first quality, involving large numbers of items by Hokusai, Hiroshige, & kindred standbys.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Richard F. Searight, 22 Dec 1934, LPS 343

Another event was an exhibition of Japanese prints—part of 700 magnificent specimens (Hokusai, Hiroshige, & all the rest) just acquired by the local art museum. This acquisition will bring Providence into competing distance of Boston—whose Museum of Fine Arts boasts the finest collection of Japanese prints outside of Japan itself.
—H. P. Lovecraft to August Derleth, 22 Dec 1934, ES 2.671

More or less joined to this “art week” stuff was the first display of a choice array of the 717 Japanese prints just acquired by the local museum. This gave me quite a kick, since I am rather an enthusiast concerning Sino-Japanese art. The prints are of the finest quality, with plenty of Hokusais & Hiroshiges. A couple of weeks ago an expert lectured on the making of Japanese prints, & exhibited some of the delicately carved blocks used in their preparation.
—H. P. Lovecraft to E. Hoffmann Price, 30 Dec 1934, LPS 159

It isn’t exactly clear when Lovecraft gained his appreciation of Japanese art, although it seems likely he would have encountered specimens among his visits to art museums in Boston and New York in the 1920s.

Providence Journal, 16 Feb 1935, p18

The RISD celebrated its recent acquisition with an exhibition of the works and a lectures, open to the public—which Lovecraft attended, as he often took advantage of the free lectures on art and science offered by the local universities.

Saw a fine exhibition of Hokusai’s prints—with explanatory lecture—at the museum yesterday.
—H. P. Lovecraft to F. Lee Baldwin, [13 Feb 1935], LFB 123

Saw a splendid exhibition of Hokusai’s prints—with explanatory lecture—at the museum yesterday.
—H. P. Lovecraft to J. Vernon Shea, [19 Feb 1935], LJS 254

Some darned good lectures & exhibitions at one of your two local almae matres—the School of Design. Last week they featured Hokusai—& last night there was an illustrated discourse on Soviet art (in Memorial Hall) which would have had Sonny Belknap jumping up & down & piping!
—H. P. Lovecraft to Wilfred B. Talman, [19 Feb 1935], LWT 253

Providence Journal 24 Feb 1935, p55

The Bulletin of the Rhode Island School of Design (Jan 1935) was entirely dedicated to the gift of the prints and their subsequent display, as well as providing some background on Japanese art. Lovecraft was so impressed that he couldn’t help but grab a few copies to send to friends.

This month there was a splendid lecture & special exhibition pertaining to my favourite Hokusai, & the entire quarterly bulletin was devoted to the subject of Japanese prints. The article was so fine, & the illustrations so graphic, that I could not resist getting several extra copies to send to especially appreciative persons. Note one mistake—on p. 19, with illus. On p. 22—where a Hokusai fan print of hibiscus flowers is erroneously attributed to Hiroshige. I wouldn’t have spotted this if I had not seen the original prints & their authentic labels in the museum.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Elizabeth Toldridge, 27 Feb [1935], LET 298

Later in February I heard an excellent discourse on Hokusai in connexion with an exhibition of his prints at the local art museum. Japanese art certainly appeals to me as few other aesthetic forms succeed in doing. The current museum bulletin was devoted to this subject, & contains so fine an article—together with so many excellent reproductions—that I can’t resist sending you a duplicate under separate cover.
—H. P. Lovecraft to R. H. Barlow, [16 Mar 1935], OFF 221-222

Of lectures there may be noted a highly interesting address on Japanese prints in general & good old Hokusai (1760-1849) in particular, held at the local museum in connexion with an exhibition of the prints. Great stuff—I have always been exceedingly fond of the delicacy, tranquility, & exquisite harmony of Sino-Japanese art. Enclosed are some cuttings illustrative of this event—which ably supplements similar events of last December.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Helen V. Sully, 5 Mar 1935, LWT 404

While the clippings don’t survive, several relevant items in the Providence Journal from the period stand out as likely inclusions:

Lovecraft makes several other brief references to his trips to see the Hokusai prints to various correspondents throughout 1935:

More recently I heard a fine discourse on Hokusai (an old favourite of mine) at the art museum in connexion with an exhibition of his prints. Sino-Japanese art has always fascinated me extremely, & I wish I could afford a Japanese print collection of my own.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Richard F. Searight, 5 Mar 1935, LPS 360

Heard some good lectures recently—a reading by the poet Archibald MacLeish, a discourse on the Japanese artist Hokusai (1760-1849) in connexion with an exhibition of its prints at the art museum, & an account of contemporary Russian soviet art.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Duane W. Rimel, 10 Mar 1935, LFB 261-262

Regarding recent events—possibly I told you of the lecture on Hokusai in connexion with an exhibition of his prints. Great stuff—I’ve always been a devotee of Sino-Japanese art.
—H. P. Lovecraft to J. Vernon Shea, 13 Mar 1935, LJS 262

Heard some good recent lectures on Hokusai, contemporary Soviet art, & the mosaics of St. Sophia in Constantinople.
—H. P. Lovecraft to E. Hoffmann Price, 14 Mar 1935, LPS 173

I thought the Japanese print bulletin especially delightful–you may recall that Hokusai’s “Cranes on Snow-Laden Pine” was one of the things I especially liked in the exhibition last December. I was glad to get so good a reproduction of it. Another captivating print is the one of the cat watching the butterflies—which reminds me that the local feline family is now narrowed down to the mother & one coal-black kitten . . .  a delectable duplicate of the lamented Sam Perkins.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Elizabeth Toldridge, 25 Mar 1935, LET 300

I managed to get out to several lectures—poetry readings by Susanna Valentine Mitchell & the famed Archibald Macleish—author of “Conquistador”—& an excellent discourse on Hokusai at the local museum, in connexion with a notable exhibition of his prints. Japanese art certainly appeals to me as few other aesthetic forms succeed in doing.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Clark Ashton Smith, [26 Mar 1935], DS 598

The RISD exhibition seems to have inspired Lovecraft to seek out more of Hokusai’s work, when available. Later in 1935 when traveling in Philadelphia, he stopped in at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, which was also having an exhibition of Japanese prints:

I also visited the art museum, where an especially fine temporary exhibit of Japanese prints (including the entire Fujiyama, bridge, waterfall, & poem series of my favoruite Hokusai) was on display.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Helen V. Sully, 23 Sep 1935, LWT 438

Despite Lovecraft’s claims to have always appreciated Sino-Japanese art, the specific interest in the prints of Hokusai seems to have come very late in life, driven by the sudden availability of these materials at a local museum. Lovecraft lamented that he could never own a collection of such prints, and in truth there were relatively few published reprints available in the mid-1930s. Buying originals was a game for collectors, and museums were an invaluable resource for those who wished to experience art that they could never afford.

It is important when reading these brief appreciations to understand how thoroughly Lovecraft had absorbed the Orientalist ideas of his day. Racially, the Japanese were other, yet the stereotypes surrounding them were conflicting, covering both admiration for the exotic culture that seemed keenly tied to nature and their own distinct customs, and repulsion at the looming military threat they posed, and their adoption of Western ways. Lovecraft would remark:

After all, as much as the modernisation of Japan is destroying, it may be that the innate aestheticism of the Japanese mind will manage to salvage more from the past than the western world can.
— H. P. Lovecraft to Elizabeth Toldridge, [8 Jan 1930], LET 121

Japanese culture will be hybridised with westernism—more & more as Japanese conquest increases the nation’s contacts with the west. It is a pity, because Japanese aesthetic traditions are among the finest in existence.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Donald A. Wollheim, 9 Jul 1935, LRB 305

The fascination with Hokusai and Japanese prints was one facet of Lovecraft’s fascination with Japanese (and to an extent, Asian cultures) as a whole. It was not an exception to his prejudice, but another aspect of a complex set of views that reflected both the deep cultural fascination with Japan and the Yellow Peril racial fearmongering that informed some of his own fiction. Nor did it begin and end with Hokusai; there is plentiful evidence in Lovecraft’s letters of interest in Japanese art and culture before and after…including Japanese poetry.

Let me endorse the Mocratic recommendation to obtain a free subscription to Travel in Japan. I have done so, & am thoroughly enthusiastic over the charm of the publication—its illustrations of Japanese scenery & architecture, its sidelights on Japanese art & design, & its glimpses of Japanese thought & feeling—musical, poetic bits like the extract cited. Mr. Moe has certainly not overrated the charm of this material—& I am led to wonder whether some English or American translator has prepared the visible text of the various articles & poems from originals in Japanese. In the Spring 1936 issue there is an article on the Japanese spring which well matches the earlier autumnal article. In it is quoted a very fine & typical hokku by the poet Saigyo Hoshi—

“Oh, would that I could
Split myself into many,
And, missing not a twig,
See all the glory of the flowers
In all the unnumbered hills.”

—H. P. Lovecraft to the Coryciani, 14 Jul 1936, ML 340

So when we read about Lovecraft and Hokusai, we are reading one thread of a continuing and complex interaction. Lovecraft was not quite a Japanophile, and his knowledge of Japan was imperfect and heavily influenced by the popular culture of his day, which presented views of Japan that were selective and not representative of the whole of Japanese culture. Yet these exposures to other cultures, however imperfect, did spark admiration and interest in Lovecraft—and readers today can see what Lovecraft saw, and perhaps will likewise come away with an appreciation for these Japanese artists and their work.

Rockefeller’s donated Japanese prints are still held by the Rhode Island School of Design, and many of them can be viewed for free online.

Lovecraft & Erotic Japanese Prints

Readers familiar with Hokusai will probably note an absence in the above descriptions of Hokusai’s work: the lack of erotica. The Rockefeller collection consisted primarily of nature studies, animals, plants, etc.; as far as I have been able to determine, none of Hokusai’s erotic works—such as the infamous “Diver with Two Octopi” (蛸と海女), more popularly known as “The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife”—were included. Very likely, Lovecraft had no idea about this phase of Hokusai’s career, and possibly had no idea of erotic Japanese prints whatsoever.

Which is not to say that Japanese tentacle erotica had no effect on Lovecraft, only that it likely had no direct effect. Japanese erotic prints (shunga) were popular and influential among European artists in the late 19th century, works like Erotic Japonisme by Ricard Bru and Secret Images: Picasso and the Japanese Erotic Print trace this influence, and in particular how the erotic tentacle motif became established in science fiction art through works like Henrique Alvim-Corrêa’s The Martian Claims a Victim (1906) from his illustrated edition of The War of the Worlds.

Among the many influenced by Japonisme and Japanese print artists such as Hokusai was Aubrey Beardsley, the famous illustrator of the Yellow Book magazine and the first edition of Arthur Machen’s The Great God Pan and The Inmost Light (1894). (For more on which, see Linda Gertner Zatlin’s Beardsley, Japonisme, and the Perversion of the Victorian Ideal (1997).) The image of the tentacle as an alien force spread through the decadent 1890s into the early weird fiction of M. R. James and Arthur Machen as well as the science fiction of H. G. Wells, and by the time of H. P. Lovecraft and his peers the pulp magazines were well-accustomed to this image, and used it in their own work—not generally to penetrate in a sexual manner (that would come later), but as a symbol and motif of corruption and degeneration.

This is the side of Hokusai that Lovecraft very likely never got to see and wasn’t even aware of. The way in which these ideas and images spread and change over time is fascinating and worthy of study.

Providence Journal, 3 Nov 1935, p70

Bobby Derie is the author of Weird Talers: Essays on Robert E. Howard and Others and Sex and the Cthulhu Mythos.

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Deeper Cut: Alberto Breccia & the Cthulhu Mythos

Alberto Breccia (1919-1993) was an Argentine comic artist, acknowledged as a master of the form. He began working professionally in 1939, working on comic magazines like Tit-Bits, and providing illustrations for Narraciones terrorificas, a Spanish-language horror fiction magazine which reprinted (in unofficial translation) stories from the U.S. Weird Tales.

Saturain: Ce qui t’a pousse a creer Captura, outre le fait de gagner des sous, c’etait ton interet pour le genre, evidemment. Et la litterature d’epouvante, tu l’as toujours aimee ou ca t’est venu apres?

Breccia: Avant. J’ai commence ave la collection Narraciones terrorificas des editions Molino. J’ai dessine des couvertures [pour cette collection], Albistur aussi Ce’etait dans les annees 1930, en gros, j’etais encoure celibatair. Ca a dure quelques annees. C’est la que j’ai commence a acheter et lire des recits d’epouvante. Jusqu’alors, je connaissais seulement Poe, qui est plus ou moins un auteur d’epouvante. Ou Conan Doyle et Sax Rhomer avec Fu Manchu, mais ce ne sont pas des auteurs de genre a proprement parler.

Saturnin: Ils combinent l’aventure, les feuilleton et l’epouvante.

Breccia: Oui, et le policier. Mais avec Narraciones terrorificas, je me suis plonge dans le genre, en y decouvrant Bloch, Lovecraft tous ceux dont j’ignorais alors jusqu’au nom.

Sasturain: Et tu commences a les lire pour de bon.

Breccia: Tout a fait, et je ne savais pas que la revue etait une replique de cette celebre revue americaine (Weird Tales), tu vois? Je m’en suis rendu compte longtemps apres. C’est la-dedans que j’ai lu Lovecraft, entre autres. Je possedais surement tous les Mythes de Cthulhu, et j’ai du tout vendre. Parce que j’avais cette idee fixe d’etre un lecteur cultive. Alors j’ai commence a vendre ce qui me paraissait inutile pour m’acheter a la place des livres ennuyeux a mourir Les pensees d’un tel, les maximes de La Rochefoucauld et toutes ces conneries qui ne m’ont absolument servi a rien. Maintenant, j’ai un mal de chien a reuperer ces tresors, que je tretouve mais abimes, manges aux mites. Tu sais, Lovecraft, je pense l’avoir lu bien avant. J’imaginais l’avoir decouvert lors de mon voyage en Europe, mais je l’avais probablement lu tout gamin, sans le savoir.

Sasturain: Quend tu lis de l’histoire, des romans, etc., quelle epoque preferes-tu?

Breccia: J’aime le dix-neuvieme siecele des romans de Dickens, tu vois? Cette epoque me plait: les auberges, les diligences. Mais davantage la litterature europeenne qu’americaine. J’aime les recits dont l’action se situe vers la moitie du siecle dernier, voire avants. Jusqu’en 1915, 1920.
Saturain: What pushed you to create Captura, besides earning money, was your interest in the genre, obviously. And horror literature, have you always liked it or did it come to you later?

Breccia: Before. I started with the collection Narraciones terrorificas from Molino publishing. I designed covers [for this collection], Albistur too. It was in the 1930s, basically, I was still single. It lasted a few years. That’s when I started buying and reading horror stories. Until then, I only knew Poe, who is more or less a horror author. Or Conan Doyle and Sax Rhomer with Fu Manchu, but they are not genre authors strictly speaking.

Saturnin: They combine adventure, soap opera and horror.

Breccia: Yes, and the detective story. But with Narraciones terrorificas, I immersed myself in the genre, discovering Bloch, Lovecraft, all those whose names I didn’t even know at the time.

Sasturain: And you start reading them for real.

Breccia: Exactly, and I didn’t know that the magazine was a replica of this famous American magazine (Weird Tales), you see? I realized it a long time later. It’s in there that I read Lovecraft, among others. I probably had all the Cthulhu Mythos, and I had to sell everything. Because I had this fixed idea of ​​being a cultured reader. So I started selling what seemed useless to me in order to buy instead the boring books The Thoughts of So-and-So, the Maxims of La Rochefoucauld and all that crap that was absolutely useless to me. Now, I have a hell of a time finding these treasures, which I find but damaged, moth-eaten. You know, Lovecraft, I think I read him long before. I imagined I had discovered it during my trip to Europe, but I probably read it as a kid, without knowing it.

Sasturain: When you read history, novels, etc., what era do you prefer?

Breccia: I like the nineteenth century of Dickens’ novels, you see? I like that era: the inns, the stagecoaches. But more European literature than American. I like stories whose action takes place around the middle of the last century, or even before. Up to 1915, 1920.
Breccia: Conversations avec Juan Sasturain 349-350
(This interview was conducted in Spanish by Breccia’s collaborator Juan Sasturain and first published in that language, but I only had access to a French translation.)
English translation

Breccia continued working for local publishers for twenty years before he made his first trip to Europe in 1959, and began working with European publishers. It was then that Breccia became more thoroughly acquainted with the works of H. P. Lovecraft. In the 1970s, Breccia would create adaptations of several of Lovecraft’s stories, not for any specific publisher, but on his own, and using that as an opportunity to experiment artistically with the form:

Sasturain: C’etait un systeme de pensee tres profondement ancre en toi, non?

Breccia: C’es la que ‘ai pris conscience que je devais creer pour moi. C’est la que j’ai commence a dessiner Les Mythes de Cthulhu sans avoir un editeur precis en vue. Je me rendais compte que ce marche s’ouvrait a moi, alors je me suis mis a travailler pour ce marche.

Sasturain: Tu dis toujours que Les Mythes, cette idee de dessiner due Lovecraft, est nee bien avant. Qu’un jour, bien des annees plus tot, tu t’etais achete un petit livre de lui et que tu l’avais lu…

Breccia: Je l’avais achete en 1959, au cours de mon premier voyage.

Sasturain: Et quel a ete le detonateur pour te lancer la-dedans dix ans apres?

Breccia: A l’epoque, j’avais rassemble tous les Mythes, je les avais tudies a fond, et je me sentais capable de m’y attaquer. D’ailleurs, j’avais plaisieurs versions du premier, Le Ceremonial, toutes ratees – j’ai tout jete.

Sasturain: Le Ceremonial est le premier.

Breccia: Le premier que j’adapte. Je ne me souviens plus dans quel order, mais j’ai fait La Ceremonial, Le Cauchemar d’Innsmouth, Le Monstre sur le seuil, et an 1973 j’ai decide d’aller montrer tout ca.

Sasturain: Tu pars avec plusieurs episodes termines. Les autres, tu les as faits a ton retour. Je crois que le dernier date de 1975.

Breccia: Je crois que c’est Celui qui chuchotait dans les tenebres.

Sasturain: Tu es parti en Europe avec ces nouvelles planches.

Breccia: Oui, just celles-la.
[179]
Sasturain: C’etait la premier fois que tu produisais quelque chose sans savoir qui allait le publier.

Breccia: Exactement, avec amour, en prenant mon temps. C’est tout un horizon qui s’ouvre a moi, je ne suis plus un salarie un professionniel qui y consacre le temps necessair. Je commence a jouir du dessin d’une autre manier. Enfin bref, h’ai du mal a expliquer ce que j’ai ressenti.
Sasturain: It was a very deeply rooted system of thought in you, wasn’t it?

Breccia: That’s when I realized that I had to create for myself. That’s when I started drawing The Myths of Cthulhu without having a specific publisher in mind. I realized that this market was opening up to me, so I started working for this market.

Sasturain: You always say that The Myths, this idea of ​​drawing by Lovecraft, was born well before. That one day, many years earlier, you had bought a little book by him and that you had read it…

Breccia: I bought it in 1959, during my first trip.

Sasturain: And what was the trigger that got you into this ten years later?

Breccia: At the time, I had collected all the Myths, I had studied them thoroughly, and I felt able to tackle them. Besides, I had several versions of the first one, The Festival, all failed – I threw them all away.

Sasturain: The Festival is the first.

Breccia: The first one I adapted. I don’t remember in what order, but I did The Festival, The Innsmouth Nightmare, The Monster on the Doorstep, and in 1973 I decided to go and show all that.

Sasturain: You leave with several episodes finished. The others, you did them when you returned. I think the last one dates from 1975.

Breccia: I think it’s The Whisperer in Darkness.

Sasturain: You left for Europe with these new boards.

Breccia: Yes, just those.
[179]
Sasturain: It was the first time you produced something without knowing who was going to publish it.

Breccia: Exactly, with love, taking my time. It’s a whole horizon that opens up to me, I’m no longer an employee, a professional who devotes the necessary time to it. I’m starting to enjoy drawing in a different way. Anyway, I have a hard time explaining what I felt.
Breccia: Conversations avec Juan Sasturain 177, 179English translation.

Breccia would complete ten adaptations of Lovecraft’s stories, the majority of them between 1972-1974, six of them from scripts developed by his collaborator Norberto Buscaglia. The first six stories were published in the Italian comic magazine Il Mago, but were translated and reprinted in other languages, such as the Métal Hurlant/Heavy Metal/Metal Extra Lovecraft Special. Multiple collections of these comic stories have been published over the decades, although ironically, few of Breccia’s influential Lovecraft adaptations have been published in English. While the first nine are relatively well-known and widely republished, after Breccia’s death a new collection of adaptations was published, Sueños Pesados (2003, “Heavy Dreams”). These are painted, in color, and contain one additional Lovecraft adaptation.

It is difficult to overstate how influential Breccia’s Lovecraft adaptations were, from their first publication in the 1970s right up until today, when they are still being reproduced. These are experimental comics, playing with the form, the medium, often combining elements of collage, photography, paint, and watercolors in addition to traditional pen and ink. Breccia’s assistant Horacia Lalia would go on to produce his own highly-regarded series of adaptations of Lovecraft stories, and his son Enrique Breccia provided the artwork for the graphic novel Lovecraft (2004), with Hans Rodinoff and Keith Griffen.

While it wouldn’t be accurate to say that Breccia was the first to adapt Lovecraft to comics, he single-handedly raised the bar for the quality of Lovecraft adaptations. So it is only fitting to take a look at each in turn.

These works were not published strictly in order of completion, although there is considerable stylistic variation between the earliest stories and the last (“El Que Susurraba en Las TInieblas”), and the exact publishing history is a little hazy (since they were all first published in non-English periodicals and collections), so this is a roughly chronological order of publication.


“La Sombra Sobre Innsmouth” (1973)

17 pages. Script by Norberto Buscaglia, art by Alberto Breccia. First published in Il Mago (Nov 1973). This adaptation of “The Shadow over Innsmouth” is verbose, selective in its imagery, evocative and often ambiguous in terms of landscape but with detailed faces and figures that give evidence of “the Innsmouth Look.”

“La Cosa en el Umbral” (1973)

11 pages. Script by Norberto Buscaglia, art by Alberto Breccia. First published in the album Il piacere della paura (Oct 1973), and then in Il Mago (Jan 1974). This adaptation of “The Thing on the Doorstep” begins very sedately, with a heavier emphasis on traditional line work, Breccia’s other techniques mainly adding texture. However, that texture soon comes to grow and dominate as it reflects Edward Pickman Derby’s relationship with Asenath Waite; the depiction of “the Innsmouth Look” is very consistent with Breccia’s adaptation of “The Shadow over Innsmouth.”

“El Ceremonial” (1974)

9 pages. Written and illustrated by Alberto Breccia. Signed “Breccia ’72,” this is the first adaptation of Lovecraft that Breccia completed, but wasn’t published until Il Mago (Mar 1974). Breccia makes the most of the chiaroscuro possibilities, with the white space sometimes doubling for snow, sometimes for light, or simply negative space. The combination of the surreal painting and collage with the ultra-realistic photographs and sketches that bookend the story add to the dreamlike nature of the narrative.

“La Ciudad sin Nombre” (1974)

6 pages. Script by Norberto Buscaglia, art by Alberto Breccia. First published in Il Mago (Sep 1974). The shortest of the adaptations, and dominated by photographs of sandy deserts and rock outcroppings, which are collaged with sketched figures in a way suggestive of alien vistas that pure pen and ink could not capture alone.

“El Llamado de Cthulhu” (1974)

11 pages. Script by Norberto Buscaglia, art by Alberto Breccia. First published in Il Mago (Dec 1974). At 11 pages, this is a very truncated version of Lovecraft’s story “The Call of Cthulhu,” though it captures all the essential plot points, it also abbreviates the complicated narrative story-within-story structure. What is really striking about this brief adaptation is how well Breccia restrains himself from revealing Cthulhu, even in the image in clay, until the moment that title entity appears on the page, at which point he presents something so truly outlandish that readers almost don’t notice the miniscule human figures that give it scale.

“El Horror de Dunwich” (1975)

15 pages. Script by Norberto Buscaglia, art by Alberto Breccia. First published in Il Mago (Nov 1975). Arguably, this adaptation of “The Dunwich Horror” is the most famous and widely-republished of Breccia’s adaptations, because of its including in the Métal Hurlant Lovecraft Special, and the works that followed from that. Possibly some of Breccia’s finest figure and face work went into the goatish countenance of Wilbur Whateley. Like most of Breccia’s adaptations, the backgrounds and setting details are relatively spare but evocative.

Sasturain: Ce qui explique peut-etre que, pour la creature extraterrestre de <<Tres ojos>>, dans Sherlock TIme, tu n’as pas dessine un monstre. Dans L’Eternaute, tu les as desintegres. Les monstres sont intangibles: tu as dessine la sensation que genere l’epouvante chex les gens, pas l’object qui la prodout. Et tu as fait pareil pour Lovecraft.

Breccia: Je n’aime ni voir ni dessiner des monsters. Ca ne m’interesse pas.
Sasturain: Which may explain why, for the extraterrestrial creature of <<Three Eyes>>, in Sherlock Time, you didn’t draw a monster. In L’Eternaute, you disintegrated them. Monsters are intangible: you drew the sensation that generates terror in people, not the object that produces it. And you did the same for Lovecraft.

Breccia: I don’t like to see or draw monsters. I’m not interested.
Breccia: Conversations avec Juan Sasturain 355English translation

Despite Breccia’s comment, when the time came at the end of the story to reveal Wilbur’s unnamed twin, he pulled out all the stops.

“El Color que Cayó del Cielo” (1975)

13 pages. Written and illustrated by Alberto Breccia. This adaptation of “The Colour Out of Space” first appeared in his album Los mitos de Cthulhu (1975), which contained all but one of his Lovecraft adaptations (the last not being published until years later). Compared to the previous stories, this one is much more experimental in style, bolder in its use of collage, stark blacks and blinding whites.

“El Morador de las Tinieblas” (1975)

15 pages. Written and illustrated by Alberto Breccia. This adaptation of “The Haunter of the Dark” first appeared in his album Los mitos de Cthulhu (1975). Again, Breccia pushes the envelope of his experimental style, his pen-and-ink illustrations taking on the more exaggerated style characteristic of his work in the 80s like Drácula, but still playing with texture, shape, and strong contrasts.

According to a note by Latino Imperato in later collections, many of the original pages for this story have been lost, and subsequent reproductions were made from the first Italian printing.

“El Que Susurraba En las Tinieblas” (1979)

15 pages. Script by Norberto Buscaglia, art by Alberto Breccia. First published in the Argentine magazine El Pendulo (Sep 1979). This adaptation of “The Whisperer in Darkness” was the last of Breccia’s Lovecraft adaptations to be published, and the last to be collected. It is in many ways the apex of the artistic experiments and strongly points to some of Breccia’s stylistic choices in subsequent works during the 1980s like Perramus. For the most part, however, it is the most deliberately choppy and nightmarish of Breccia’s adaptations.

“El anciano terrible” (2003)

7 pages. Painted, in color, as are the other works in Sueños Pesados. The last page is dated “Breccia ’81.” Here, Breccia takes more liberties with the text than usual, eschewing much of Lovecraft’s exposition and description to give the characters a bit of dialogue, letting the art do most of the talking. The art is characteristic of this period, with vibrant colors, rich textures, but muddier faces, deliberately stylized and evocative.


Bobby Derie is the author of Weird Talers: Essays on Robert E. Howard and Others and Sex and the Cthulhu Mythos.

Deep Cuts in a Lovecraftian Vein uses Amazon Associate links. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Harsh Sentences: H. P. Lovecraft v. Ernest Hemingway

It is just possible that Ernest Hemingway knew the name H. P. Lovecraft. Though they moved in very different literary circles and Hemingway was not known to have ever picked up a copy of Weird Tales. Yet they both earned three-star ratings in Edward J. O’Brien’s The Best Short Stories of 1928, Hemingway for “Hills Like White Elephants,” Lovecraft for “The Color Out of Space.” They both made The Best Short Stories of 1929, too. For Hemingway, that was the likely the beginning and end of their association; there are no mentions of the master of the weird tale in Hemingway’s letters. It was easy, in the 1920s and 30s, to know nothing about Lovecraft.

For H. P. Lovecraft, missing Hemingway would have been much more difficult—nor did he. Though they were very different in their fictional focus, output, and success, Lovecraft and Hemingway were still contemporaries, and there are a number of references to Hemingway and his works in Lovecraft’s letters. These mentions of Ernest Hemingway, who had not yet become “Papa” of later years, reflect more on Lovecraft than on Hemingway himself, but show Lovecraft both coming to grips with a Modern writer of very different style and interests and how Hemingway’s influence spread.

Trends come from deeper sources than what is written on the surface of literature, and the average domestic adjustments of 1980 or 2030 will not depend on the question of whether Ernest Hemingway is suppressed or encouraged in 1930.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Maurice W. Moe, June 1930?, LMM 267

The date on this letter is approximate, but the reference appears to be to the ban of the June 1929 issue of Scribner’s Magazine in Boston, which contained the second installment of Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms. Lovecraft did not normally read Scribner’s, but his aunt did (ES1.141), and he sometimes read it at the library (ES2.670). This was likely where Lovecraft first encountered Hemingway’s prose. Hemingway came up again in Lovecraft’s ongoing correspondence with Moe circa 1931:

It does not take a microscope to perceive that Ernest Hemingway and John V. A. Weaver have a much greater intellectual command of their material than would the kind of people they depict! But they are right in stripping down to vulgate essentials when they wish to say what they have to say. Life could not possibly be interpreted without this intelligent adaptation of medium to subject matter ….. Indeed, the blank record of the nineteenth century in saying anything of real significance or reality is sufficient proof of the validity of the assumption. […] To suppose a man with the aesthetick and philosophic vision of Hemingway could say anything in the French pastry jargon of Thornton Wilder, or that a sensitive perceiver like Marcel Proust (the one real novelist of the last decade or two) could get anything at all over in the stereotyped phrases and attitudes of the “great tradition”, is to miss the whole point of the purpose and mode of functioning of language. What any guy has to say, is what’s in him–and every fresh combination of a guy and wot he’s got on his chest calls for a distinctly individual use of language. […] Honest depiction of life must be based on realism, no matter how much that realism may be suffused with imaginative overtones derived from subjective attitudes toward reality and dream.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Maurice W. Moe, March 1931?, LMM 285-286

John Van Alstyne Weaver, like Hemingway, worked with American vernacular English; Thornton Wilder was the author of the acclaimed novel The Bridge of San Luis Rey (1927), which is set in the 18th century and whose language is full of decorative frills—very different from Hemingway’s usual laconic approach. Hemingway himself would call the book “a well hung together collection of short stories” (LEH 4.152) and elsewhere wrote:

Writing whether you want it or not is competitive—Most of the time you compete against time and dead men—sometimes you get something from a living (contemporary competitor) that is so good it jars you—as the story of Esteban in Thornton’s last book. But as you read them dead or living you unconsciously compete—I would give 6 mos. of life to have written it.
—Ernest Hemingway to Maxwell Perkins, Sep 1928, LEH 3.434

Was Lovecraft in unconscious competition with Hemingway? If so, it never showed in his work. Yet Hemingway was not wrong. Both writers focused on realism as a key aspect of their writing. Hemingway wanted to write about real things; Lovecraft used realism as the basis for his weird tales, and wrote about one of his dead competitors:

Poe’s spectres thus acquired a convincing malignity possessed by none of their predecessors, and established a new standard of realism in the annals of literary horror. The impersonal and artistic intent, moreover, was aided by a scientific attitude not often found before; whereby Poe studied the human mind rather than the usages of Gothic fiction, and worked with an analytical knowledge of terror’s true sources which doubled the force of his narratives and emancipated him from all the absurdities inherent in merely conventional shudder-coining. This example having been set, later authors were naturally forced to conform to it in order to compete at all; so that in this way a definite change began to affect the main stream of macabre writing.
—H. P. Lovecraft, “Supernatural Horror in Literature”

A couple of months after his letter to Moe, Lovecraft would be unknowingly stepping onto Hemingway’s own turf—his southern travels in 1931 carrying him down to Florida, to Miami, and then by motor coach and ferry to Key West itself.

Ernest Hemingway and his second wife Pauline had first come to Key West in 1928. They left and returned again sporadically for the next few years, with an eye toward permanent settlement, and on 29 April 1931 they purchased (with the aid of Pauline’s uncle Augustus Pfeiffer) the large but dilapidated French Colonial-style house on 907 Whitehead Street. They did not, however, move in right away; by May the Hemingway family was on their way to Europe, so that when Lovecraft arrived in Key West on June 10th, the chance of even an accidental meeting was nonexistent. Lovecraft had hoped to make the crossing to Cuba, but he was traveling on a tight budget and could not afford it. What he could afford were expansive letters, describing Key West as he—and perhaps Hemingway—might have seen it:

As utterly isolated from the populous part of the world as Block Island or Nantucket, Key West has retained an unique provincial character differing vastly from that of any other place. It is simple & village-like, & extremely frugal & primitive in all things. Spanish influence is everywhere observable—Cubans being about as thick as French-Canadians in Fall River or Jews in New York. One of the two cinema theatres (both owned by a Spaniard) has its films in the Spanish language. There is, however, no Spanish newspaper. Vegetation is thick, splendid, & tropical—including great trees & surpassing that of any of the other keys. There is, however, no Spanish moss so far as I can see. Under cultivation, the greenery assumes an unbelievable luxuriance in gardens. Coconut palms are frequent.

Unlike Dunedin & Miami, this is an old town with a natural growth; & it is certainly refreshing to be back in such a place. The town was founded under the Spanish regime—though not, I think, till the early 1800’s. The original name is Caya Huesco, (Bone Key) which American usage soon corrupted into the present title of Key West. Early in the American regime it became an army post, & it has always since remained a military & naval station of importance; because of its strategic control of the entrance to the Gulf of Mexico. In the Civil War it pursued the anomalous course of supporting the Federal side despite the secession of Florida as a state. In the Spanish war it was a great naval base & hospital centre. The harbour is of exceptional depth & convenience, & many steamship lines—to Tampa, New Orleans, Havana, &c—converge here. The principal industry—employing most of the Spanish population—is the manufacture of cigars. Next come fishing, sponge-fishing, ship supplies, & fruit growing—the latter accomplished largely on the adjacent keys.

Houses are largely small wooden cottages set in fenced-in gardens, recalling the old America of the 1840’s. Tropic balconies are frequent on both residences & shops, & the latest buildings (though not many new ones are built) have them as well as the old ones. Some shops have folding doors of many sections, which can be so opened as to throw the entire front open to the street—forming a sort of open-air bazaar, as it were. This is especially true of drug stores & soda fountains. In the residences, most front doors have auxiliary doors with shutters like those of blinds—a fashion which also existed in New England during the late Georgian period, & which is well exemplified by fine hillside colonial house at the corner of Angell & Congdon. Some of the houses have window blinds hinged at the top, which open outward like awnings & are propped with sticks. A distinct Latin touch pervades everything. Chimneys are very rare, & roofs tend to come to a central point or ridge like those of most far-southern towns. It is a relief to be in a really old & naturally developed town once again. Miami & all it represents seems in another world—for Key West is one with Charleston & Providence & Salem as a representation of pre-machine-age America. The city has a population (1930) of 12,613; being therefore about the size of Bristol, & somewhat larger than Athol or N. Attleboro. Its size is almost identical with that of my favourite village of Hempstead, Long Island. It is the seat of Monroe County, which includes all the keys. Up to 1911 or 1912 its isolation from the world was even more profound than at present; but at that time the Florida East Coast Railway completed its causeways & opened service from the mainland. Lack of highway access continued to keep it semi-isolated, but in 1928 the present motor route (interrupted by two 2-hour ferry trips) was opened. But for the business depression, these ferries would have been eliminated by this time—but lacking money, the state has not been able to construct the desired causeways. This delay is probably all that saves Key West from tourist invasion, standardisation, & self-conscious showmanship. As things are, the town is absolutely natural & unspoiled; a perfect bit of old-time simplicity which is truly quaint because it does not know that it is quaint. There is only one luxurious winter hotel, & one first-class city hostelry like our Biltmore. I am stopping at the latter—because the poor business season has caused them to quote fine single rooms with hot & cold water at only $1.50. It is the Key West Colonial—owned by the same chain which owns Charleston’s palatial Ft. Sumter Hotel on the Battery. There is a widely advertised roof garden with a magnificent view of the whole city & surrounding keys & ocean, which I intend to investigate tomorrow morning. But my own room has a fine enough view.

The coach drew into Key West at sunset, when the whole tropic scene bore an aspect of ineffable glamour. This approach was along a wide seaside boulevard; & betwixt the observer & the mystical westward gulf there rose a low, picturesque line of old-fashioned roofs & steeples which even the tall skeleton masts of the wireless station could not spoil. On the farther side one could note great ships tied up at the docks—messengers from Caribbean realms of still more enchanting glamour. In reaching the hotel—which is also the bus station—the coach passed through a large part of the town; so that I formed an excellent general impression at the very outset. With the coming of daylight, I shall do further exploration on foot—as well as consulting books in the local library. So far I have studied only the few Chamber of Commerce leaflets procurable at the hotel desk. The local Cubans are very picturesque—& not even nearly as squalid as our Federal Hill Italians. They are addicted to sporty clothes of a flamboyant striped pattern. Most of the younger ones, locally educated, speak fluent English.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Lillian D. Clark, 11-12 Jun 1931, LFF 2.909-910

The Key West Colonial was formerly La Concha; and the locals still called it that, as did Hemingway (LEH 3.510). Hemingway’s own description of the town in his letters was much more laconic; two examples highlight some of the differences between the two men:

Tonight is a big night (Saturday) although not so cheerful because another cigar factory has closed down. This is a splendid place. Population formerly 26,000—now around ten thousand[.] There was a pencilled ins[c]ription derogatory to our fair city in the toilet at the station and somebody had written under it—’if you don’t like this town get out and stay out.’ Somebody else had written under that ‘Everybody has.’
—Ernest Hemingway to Maxwell Perkins, 21 Apr 1928, LEH 3.382-383

That was was where I went best when I was writing it—Swim all winter—Everybody talks Spanish—The old Gulf stream just seven miles out and all the uninhabited keys to sail to. Good Spanish wine from Cuba on every boat—Whiskey $5.00 a quart—Bacardi 4.00—Fundador 4.50—We’ll get a house and two niggers—[…] The fishing is as exciting as war only you can go home nights. Grand people.
—Ernest Hemingway to Archibald MacLeish, c.9-13 Sep 1928, LEH 3.436-437

Lovecraft was a teetotal and not a sportsman; but both men found charm in the small town, though only one of them was destined to ever return and stay there. Some months after his return to Providence, Rhode Island, the subject of Hemingway came up again:

I like Cather and Hemingway . . . . Hemingway is the sort of guy I intensely admire without any great impulse to imitate him. His prosaic objectivity is a very high form of art—which I wish I could parallel—but I can’t get used to the rhythm of his short, harsh sentences.
—H. P. Lovecraft to J. Vernon Shea, 18 Sep 1931, LJS 56

Willa Cather won the Pulitzer Prize in 1923 for her novel One of Ours (1922); a thematic companion to Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms (1929), which still seems to have been the only prose of Hemingway’s that Lovecraft had read. Hemingway’s prose style would be marked by Lovecraft in further discussions:

Of course, one oughtn’t to strike a cloying sing-song like Thrift’s pale-Hubbardesque iambicks in the Lucky Dog, or like some of my own “and”-balanc’d periods of yesteryear; but just the same, there’s no excuse for barking out an Hemingway machine-gun fire when one could weave prose which can be read aloud without sore throat or hiccoughs. […] The best prose is vigorous, direct, unadorn’d, and closely related (as is the best verse) to the language of actual discourse; but it has its natural rhythms and smoothness just as good oral speech has.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Maurice W. Moe, 26 Mar 1932, LMM 322-323

Tim Thrift was an amateur journalist whose publication was The Lucky Dog; A Magazinelet of
Uniqueness
. The reference is likely to the sometimes long, terse dialogues in A Farewell to
Arms
, where an entire conversation could be had in a couple dozen words. Dialogue was not
Lovecraft’s forte, as he himself admitted. As for the content:

As for Mr. Hemingway—opinions may well differ on the exact amount of sanguinary virility best fitted for daily life, but these extremist dicta are well worth recording for correlation with the effeminate pacificism & supineness of other extreme schools of thought.
—H. P. Lovecraft to J. Vernon Shea, 12 Jan 1933, LJS 309

It’s worth pointing out that Lovecraft had been corresponding with Robert E. Howard for some years at this point, and would make a similar statement on the Texas pulpster who specialized in lusty and bloody adventure:

About the Conan tales—I don’t know that they contain any more sex than is necessary in a delineation of the life of a lusty bygone age. Good old Two-Gun didn’t seem to me to overstress eroticism nearly as much as other cash-seeking pulpists—even if he did now & then feel in duty bound to play up to a Brundage cover-design.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Willis Conover, 14 Aug 1936, LRBO 382-383

While they did not share the same experience of war—Lovecraft’s effort to enlist in the Great War came to naught, and he did not seek to drive an ambulance as Hemingway did—they were neither of them pacifists, and each had their own concerns about masculinity and masculine behavior.

Hemingway’s star was on the rise; A Farewell to Arms was adapted to film and released in 1932. Lovecraft saw it, though he wrote almost nothing about what he thought of it; “about as you say” (LJS 122) would be more helpful if we knew what Lovecraft’s correspondent had said about it. In 1933 Esquire began publishing a series of short essays from Hemingway. One of these, “Monologue to the Maestro” (Esquire Oct 1935), between Hemingway (Y.C.) and a young fan (Mice) appears to have been the subject of discussion:

Mice: Well what books are necessary?

Y.C.: He should have read WAR AND PEACE and ANNA KARENINA, by Tolstoi, MIDSHIPMAN EASY, FRANK MILDAMAY AND PETER SIMPLE by Captain Marryat, MADAME BOVARY and LʼEDUCATION SENTIMENTALE by Flaubert, BUDDENBROOKS by Thomas Mann, Joyceʼs DUBLINERS, PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST and ULYSSES, TOM JONES and JOSEPH ANDREWS by Fielding, LE ROUGE ET LE NOIR and LA CHARTREUSE DE PARME by Stendhal, THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV and any two other Dostoevskis, HUCKLEBERRY FINN by Mark Twain, THE OPEN BOAT and THE BLUE HOTEL by Stephen Crane, HAIL AND FAREWELL by George Moore, Yeats AUTOBIOGRAPHIES, all the good De Maupassant, all the good Kipling, all of Turgenev, FAR AWAY AND LONG AGO by W.H. Hudson, Henry Jamesʼ short stories, especially MADAME DE MAUVES and THE TURN OF THE SCREW, THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY, THE AMERICAN—

Mice: I canʼt write them down that fast. How many more are there?

Y.C.: Iʼll give you the rest another day. There are about three times that many.
—Ernest Hemingway, “Monologue to the Maestro”

Hemingway’s list of classics is a curious one—but perhaps typical of a disjointed transitional age.
—H. P. Lovecraft to J. Vernon Shea, 5 Dec 1935, LJS 275

As it happened, Lovecraft himself was creating a list of suggested books for readers as part of the revisions for a textbook titled Well-Bred Speech. They had several titles in common, including Madame Bovary, War and Peace, The Brothers Karamazov, Anna Karenina, and Joyce’s Ulysses. But Lovecraft felt it necessary to add: “Ernest Hemingway (A Farewell to Arms)” (CE 2.190).

While vastly different in style, that both men shared an appreciation for some of the same authors and works, or at least recognized their importance, should not be surprising. They were only nine years apart in age, both white men raised in America, voracious readers who loved literature. One notable fantasy writer that they both appreciated was Lord Dunsany, who was a major influence on Lovecraft:

Often a wonderful moon and the guy’s would have me read Lord Dunsany’s Wonder Tales out loud. He’s great.
—Ernest Hemingway to Grace Quinlan, 8 Aug 1920, LEH 1.237

Fantasy would be the subject of the final comment from Lovecraft on Hemingway, written only a month before HPL’s death:

I am, incidentally, amused by the definition of fantasy which you quote from Hemingway. The trouble with our literary toreador is, of course, that he tries to draw a parallel betwixt two utterly different and irreconcilable types of aesthetic emotion, each with an antipodal set of goals and origins. Fantaisistes and realists resemble each other only in the accidental circumstance that both usually employ paper and ink. Aside from that, they have no aims or wishes in common.
—H. P. Lovecraft to J. Vernon Shea, 5 Feb 1937, LJS 294

The phrase “literary toreador” shows that Lovecraft was at least aware of Death in the Afternoon (1932), Hemingway’s treatise on bull-fighting. It is not exactly clear which statement of Hemingway’s Lovecraft is discussing here, although there is another passage in “Monologue to the Maestro” which may fit:

Your correspondent: Good writing is true writing. If a man is making a story up it will be true in proportion to the amount of knowledge of life that he has and how conscientious he is; so that when he makes something up it is as it would truly be. If he doesnʼt know how many people work in their minds and actions his luck may save him for a while, or he may write fantasy. But if he continues to write about what he does not know about he will find himself faking. After he fakes a few times he cannot write honestly any more.

Mice: Then what about imagination?

Y.C.: Nobody knows a damned thing about it except that it is what we get for nothing. It may be a racial experience. I think that is quite possible. It is the one thing beside honesty that a good writer must have. The more he learns from experience the more truly he can imagine. If he gets so he can imagine truly enough people will think that the things he relates all really happened and that he is just reporting.
—Ernest Hemingway, “Monologue to the Maestro”

There is at once a convergence and divergence here between Hemingway and Lovecraft. Both emphasize the necessity of realism in writing; both differ as to the approach. Hemingway’s laconic “just reporting” works for his style of fiction, but as for Lovecraft:

One cannot, except in immature pulp charlatan-fiction, present an account of impossible, improbable, or inconceivable phenomena as a commonplace narrative of objective acts and conventional emotions. Inconceivable events and conditions have a special handicap to overcome, and this can be accomplished only through the maintenance of a careful realism in every phase of the story except that touching on the one given marvel. The marvel must be treated very impressively and deliberately—with a careful emotional “build-up”—else it will seem flat and unconvincing. Being the principal thing in the story, its mere existence should overshadow the characters and events. But the characters and events must be consistent and natural except where they touch the single marvel. In relation to the central wonder, the characters should shew the same overwhelming emotion which similar characters would shew toward such a wonder in real life. Never have a wonder taken for granted. Even when the characters are supposed to be accustomed to the wonder I try to weave an air of aw and impressiveness corresponding to what the reader should feel. A casual style ruins any serious fantasy.
—H. P. Lovecraft, “Notes on Writing Weird Fiction” (CE 2.177)

Hemingway and Lovecraft, though they never met in person or by letter, were both products of the same era, read some of the same books, wrestled with some of the same issues both in their life and their writing. Both might be seen as modernists; both at least acknowledged the necessity for realism in their fiction, though their approaches to achieving that differed markedly. Each had their harsh sentences in life, and served it ‘til the end.


Bobby Derie is the author of Weird Talers: Essays on Robert E. Howard and Others and Sex and the Cthulhu Mythos.

Deep Cuts in a Lovecraftian Vein uses Amazon Associate links. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.