Nécroéroticon (1986) by Anonymous and Adult Frankenstein (2006) by Enrico Teodorani et al.

Eldritch Fappenings
This review concerns graphic adult comic works.
Reader discretion is advised.

The cultural and economic factors that have led to at least two separate European pornographic comics involving the Frankenstein’s Monster and the Lovecraft Mythos intersecting, decades apart but identifiably through some of the same systems and processes, are difficult to articulate. A large part of the issue involves the odd currency that pornographic comics represent to publishers. It can be cheaper and faster to translate an existing work for publication in a new market than to commission and wait for an original work to be published in a given language. This has the odd effect that a number of the same works may be published in different languages, in different countries, years apart, and packaged at each stage as original works. And so readers, writers, and artists may be in communication with each other and sharing influences.

Before the internet, trying to track down the details of where this material was published was difficult. It requires recognizing the same material was published in different media, collating indices to erotic comics magazines (scarce enough data), and making connections with artists, writers, editors, translators, and publishers—data which is often missing or omitted. As a result, some of the data on these works is sketchy or nonexistent. Further digging might yield more details; the work always continues.

What is fascinating to me is that these two works represent independent expressions of the legacy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and H. P. Lovecraft’s Mythos fiction, which came together by different people at different times in different ways, yet clearly represent iterations on the same ideas. Horror fans who grew up with both of these mythologies to play with synthesized them into new and original erotic works. Because they are pornographic, the works have largely escaped popular notice and critical scrutiny. Yet for fans of horror, they deserve at least a little recognition. They are, if nothing else, deliciously weird.

Nécroéroticon (1986)

“Franky Stone,” a bald, muscular version of Frankenstein’s Monster, premiered in the black-and-white French comic magazine Supersexy #1 in 1977. The subsequent issues of Supersexy chronicled the continuing adventures of Franky, in and out of bed, as he faced off against various monsters and threats by day and made love with the beautiful Arlette Delapierre, whose company he prefers to his creator, Dr. Stone. Erotic content was limited: bare breasts are on display, and sexual action is often depicted, but without showing the genitals or penetration, using various artistic devices (a gripping hand and carefully placed head, for instance, could completely conceal the penis while implying oral sex.)

Supersexy ended with issue #8, and Franky’s adventures continued in Hypersexy #3 (1978) with the ninth chapter: “Le Nécroéroticon.” This was the chronologically last adventure, although Franky would be republished in the French magazines Miss Eros (1980) and Sexorama (1985). In 1986, all nine chapters would be translated into Spanish by an anonymous translator and published as the 9-issue series La amante de Franksextein, with one chapter per issue, the remaining pages of each issue containing another, non-Franky Stone story. The Spanish issues don’t track in the same order as the original French publication, so “Necroeroticon” appears in issue 8 of La amante de Franksextein.

After a romantic interlude with Arlette, Franky goes to the bookstore to purchase an erotic work in two volumes: the Necroeroticon, which contains some new positions for Arlette and Franky to try. However, in Franky’s haste, he leaves behind the second volume, which is discovered by the villainous Dr. Stone and his assistant Pietr follow:

C’est le Necroerotikon . . . écrit par un Arabe fou du sexe: un nommé Abdul.	Es el Necroerotikon, escrito por un árabe, loco por el sexo, llamado Abdul…	It is the Necroerotikon, written by an Arab, mad for sex, named Abdul.
French	Spanish	English

While the translation is mostly word-for-word, the anonymous translator did have a few moments where they went for the gusto.

Grâce à lui, je me libérerai d’Arlette et récupérerai mon Franky…	Thanks to him, I will free myself from Arlette and get my Franky back…
French	English
Por fin encontré el arma con el cual venceré a esa mujer ladrona e infame. ¡¡El Necroeroticon!!	At last, I have found the weapon with which I will defeat that thieving, vile woman. The Necroeroticon!
Spanish	English

Dr. Stone reads that when the planets are in alignment, and the sex ritual in the first part of the book is performed (which Franky and Arlette are in the middle of), there will be an earthquake that will awaken the sex god Phallocrath (Falocras in the Spanish version). Shortly thereafter, that happens, and Dr. Stone and Pietr (with three young women) go seek out Phallocrath in a cave, and find him. Since explicit sex and genitalia weren’t shown, the “sacrifice” of the three women occurs largely off the page, and Phallocrath is only seen in shadow.

Je suis votre serviteur! Commandez et j’obéirai! J’aime une belle femme pour toi, Phallocrath! Ensuite toutes les femmes de la terre seront tiennes!	Soy vuestro servidor… ¡Mandady, obedeceré! Tengo a una mujer muy bella para ti, Falocras. ¡Enseguida todas las mujeres de la tierra serán tuyas!	I am your servant! Give the command, and I shall obey! I shall find a beautiful woman for you, Phallocrath! And then, all the women of the earth shall be yours!
French	Spanish	English

Unaware of this, Franky and Arlette want to try another ritual… unfortunately, Dr. Stone interrupts the ritual, and Phallocrath loses his powers. Arlette takes the opportunity to dispose of their half of the Necroeroticon.

Je l’ai jeté par la fenêtre… J’aime mieux tes méthodes naturelles et souvaces!	Tiré el libro por la ventana. Me gustan mucho más tus métodos naturales y salvajes.	I threw it out the window… I much prefer your natural, wild methods!
French	Spanish	English

As with El Convento Infernal (1995) by Ignacio Noé & Ricardo Barreiro, we only get glimpses of the Necroeroticon as a kind of grimoire-cum-sex manual. The plot itself is a spicy comedy of errors, with the Lovecraftian elements largely a wink and a nod, with intimations of horrors that never appear on the page, a phallic eldritch entity we never see clearly, and consequences that basically don’t happen. Franky’s status as a Frankenstein’s monster-esque character plays no real role in the story, but Arlette’s assertion that she likes Franky’s natural and unsophisticated methods when it comes to lovemaking is a fitting denouement to the story.

Adult Frankenstein (2006)

Enrico Teodorani (15 May 1970– ) was born in Forlì, Italy; as a teenager in the mid-to-late 1980s began contributing to local fanzines and comics, and started singing in a couple of heavy metal bands. He has long had an affiliation with horror and erotica, and some of his most popular creations follow these trends, including the female western character Djustine, many of whose adventures have been translated and published in English as well.

In the early 2000s, Teodorani was publishing work with X Comics, an Italian-language monthly adult comics anthology magazine. This was a relatively popular format in Europe, and as with Metal Hurlant, there were often comparable volumes in different countries, such as Kiss Comix in Spain, which also had a French translation in France and an English edition in the United States. This meant that the work of a few creators could be available internationally in many languages in different publications, but it kind of makes it tricky to keep track of where everything was being published.

Around 2004, Teodorani began collaborating with various Djustine artists on a series of very short black-and-white works for X Comics that all feature Frankenstein’s Monster; the artists were Marco Guerrieri, Dario Santarelli, Gavino Piredda, Andrea Bulgarelli, Morrik, Luca Malisan, Danilo Loizedda, and Silvano, and the works vary from 1-6 pages. These appear to have been largely filler, but inspired by a 1976/1977 softcore Italian horror comic Frankenstein published by Edizioni Del Vascello/Edifumetto, which got a snapshot history in X Comics #37 (2002).

The Teodorani-written X Comics series appears as fairly disjointed, without a single plotline but more a series of brief erotic interludes in the saga of the Frankenstein’s Monster, the effect of the different artists and their unique takes on the monster, which vary from drawing inspiration from Boris Karloff’s makeup in the early Universal Frankenstein movies to the long-haired, sharp-featured Frankenstein’s Monster of Bernie Wrightson. It is a deliberately eclectic and pulpy mix, which often features Frankenstein’s Monster facing off against some other horror over a naked and nubile woman, and ending with a sex act. All in good fun.

There are two stories with Lovecraftian elements. In the 4-page “Island of Dr. Frankenstein” (artist: Andrea Bulgarelli), Dr. Frankenstein has taken his creation and a young woman to a remote island to use an ancient book to summon an amphibious humanoid from the deep for a sex rite—some clear overtones to “The Shadow over Innsmouth,” although nothing explicit. Frankenstein’s Monster objects, attacks the humanoid from the deep and drives it off, and is rewarded for his trouble.

Some of Bulgarelli’s figurework has a distinct resemblance to John Buscema’s from Marvel’s Conan the Barbarian comics, though none of these are swipes, but all original works. Doctor Frankenstein is sporting a slightly outlandish English-style moustache, but in a comic where he’s dabbling in interspecies sexual relations, that’s hardly his worst character flaw.

The second, and more explicit Lovecraftian entry is the 4-page “Frankenstein, King of Demons” (artist: Silvano), which is the last story in the book. In the second-to-last entry, Frankenstein’s Monster had died and gone to Hell. In this story, in Hell, Frankenstein runs afoul of various Lovecraftian entities and is captured, before being inadvertently summoned by a magician, taking on an armored, costumed appearance very much in keeping with the Dark Age of Comics, and reminiscent of characters like Tim Vigil’s Faust.

“Silvano” is credited for the art, and this is Silvano Calligari, who did some artwork for Djustine, and you can see him having fun here balancing light, nearly non-existent backgrounds with relatively dark, heavily detailed figurework. While other segments in Adult Frankenstein aim for comedy or eroticism, this one is clearly going for horror over titillation.

In 2005, the series was collected and translated into English by Enrico Teodorani, and published as a one-shot titled Adult Frankenstein by Eros Comix, which had handled other English translations of European erotic horror comics, such as Rosano Rossi’s Ramba (1992-1995); Raulo Caceres’ Elizabeth Bathory (2002-2004) and Morbid Tales (2004); and The Young Witches (1991-2005) by multiple writers and artists. An Italian edition with identical title but different cover was apparently published by EF Edizioni in 2008, though I haven’t been able to source a copy to confirm the contents.

When you look at “Nécroéroticon” and Adult Frankenstein side-by-side, it is easy to see the parallels. The creators have taken Mary Shelley and Lovecraft’s creations in very different directions, and the Frankenstein’s Monster is barely recognizable in some of his appearances, marked out from the other characters only by a few tell-tale stitches, while Lovecraft’s Mythos is present more thematically than anything drawn directly from his stories.

Yet both of these works are genuine descendants of an international diaspora of English-language horror media; the shared result of stories, comics, and films that have made their way around the world for over a century and informed the pop culture of countries that Lovecraft, at least, never visited. They are part of an ongoing tradition of erotic horror, a tradition that involves translation across linguistic boundaries so that new audiences can read and maybe be inspired by these works.

Frankenstein’s Monster lurches on…and at least in some iterations, he may have a bit of help from Abdul Alhazred.

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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“She Flows” by Takeuchi Yoshikazu (竹内義和)

I told him I saw no need to broaden, i.e., to dilute, my understanding of “Lovecraftian.” […] I realize that genres grow and develop by an incremenetal process of transgressions of inherited genre conventions. Thus it is no crime to do something different and still call it “Lovecraftian.” What passes for Lovecraftian tomorrow may seem quite different from what the term denotes today. But I can’t pretend to see how you get there from here.
—Robert M. Price, foreword to “She Flows,” Straight to Darkness 193-194

“She Flows” (2006) by Takeuchi Yoshikazu (竹内義和) was published in the third volume in the Lairs of the Hidden Gods series from Kurodahan Press, edited by Asamatsu Ken (朝松健). It is the English-language translation of the 2002 story 清・少女 (Se Shojō); the translator was Nora Stevens Heath.

The Mythos as a concept is a struggle for definition. What makes a Mythos tale? Does it have to use specific words, deliberate tie-ins? What are the minimal requirements? The status of “Mother of Serpents” (1936) by Robert Bloch as a Mythos story hangs on a single word. “Hypothetical Materfamilias” (1994) by Adèle Olivia Gladwell is a Lovecraftian tale with three. “Red Goat, Black Goat” (2010) by Nadia Bulkin has none, though we recognize the shadow of Shub-Niggurath without ever reading the name of the Black Goat of the Woods. Does any story become a Mythos story if it includes the Necronomicon? Can a story be Mythos but not Lovecraftian, if it uses the right words but in a vary un-Lovecraftian way?

Rhetorical questions. There is no set canon to the Mythos, no strict definition as to what is or is not Lovecraftian. Every individual carries a canon in their head, maybe multiple canons. You the reader decide whether a story is Mythos or Lovecraftian to you. Don’t let anyone else decide for you.

“She Flows” is challenging in this regard. There are, as Robert M. Price notes in his foreword, no explicit connections to the Mythos. The implicit connections are filtered through what feels like a different cultural lens: compensated dating, alcoholic parents, abusive parents, depression. Two girls with eyes a little too wide apart.

People with monstrous faces, long red tongues.

The reader has to make their own connections. Takeuchi’s approach is showing more than telling. Never says “Deep One,” or “Innsmouth.” But they write:

My theme is the ocean.

All I sing are songs about the ocean. You know that folksong, “My Bonnie lies over the ocean”? I liked that one. I remember my dad always used to sing it softly into my ear when I was little.

So maybe that’s why all the songs I write are about the ocean.
—Takeuchi Yoshikazu, “She Flows,” Straight to Darkness 206

Where does the reader’s mind go? A European folksong. A mother who hates her daughter’s face. Was her father a Deep One…or a Caucasian? It’s a story about the ambiguity. Reading between the lines. The reader bringing their own understanding to complete the story. Robert M. Price in his foreword wondered if this was a Deep One story; couldn’t quite make up his mind because there is nothing definite there.

Yet in context, this is a story in a Mythos anthology. Had it been placed in an anthology of yōkai stories, would it have been received differently? It would not be difficult to see these creatures as some form of yōkai, or as some delusion of a mind unhinged by child abuse. The story is weaponized ambiguity. It cuts those who want it to mean more than what it is, who want it to connect to something larger than itself.

Is “She Flows” Lovecraftian? It is if you want it to be.

Bobby Derie is the author of Weird Talers: Essays on Robert E. Howard & Others (2019) and Sex and the Cthulhu Mythos (2014).

“Lilloth” (2006) by Susan McAdam

Now what if I told you that there is such a work available for study, but this particular body of knowledge is near impossible to correctly interpret because sheer madness is the irreversible result from the mere reading of it? That’s right. You know the text.
—Susan McAdam, “Lilloth” in Rehearsals for Oblivion: Act I (2006) 107

The stories in The King in Yellow are structured as tragedies, in the sense that there is a certain inevitability that accompanies them, with all the characters’ actions leading them inexorably on; their fates cannot be otherwise, because they cannot be or do otherwise. This has often found expression in the stories of the Yellow Mythos: sometimes they evince a quiet irresistible force, as in “The Viking in Yellow” (2014) by Christine Morgan and “Yella” (2015) by Nicole Cushing, or as a portentous foreboding of doom, as in “Slick Black Bones and Soft Black Stars” (2012) by Gemma Files and “Flash Frame” (2010) by Silvia Moreno-Garcia. There are rarely horrors to be fought in the sense of a raised fist, a drawn sword, or a loaded gun; no spell to ward off the inevitable. Though certain outward manifestations may be halted, the knowledge of the horror remains…and the terrible reality is there, waiting, in Carcosa.

In “Lilloth,” Susan McAdam takes advantage of both these approaches. The titular character’s name combines ‘Lillith’ from Jewish mythology and the -oth ending favored by Lovecraft in names like Yuggoth, Yog-Sothoth, and Azathoth, suggesting something of her nature—and she acts as both catalyst and focus for the story, narrated by an unknown, not-quiet-omniscient narrator, somewhat in the manner of Arthur Machen’s “The White People.” Lilloth is the beginning and the end of the story; the doom of her teenage friends is foreshadowed long before it is developed, and the nature of that doom is inevitable as it is, to a degree, self-inflicted. The teenagers act as they must, being who they are. The reader watches it unfold, like a horror movie, third-party witness to the event.

How a story is told matters at least as much as who the characters are, the setting, or the actual events of the plot. One of the advantages of operating within a specific Mythos is that a certain amount of the heavy lifting is already done: the reader is familiar with basic concepts, familiar names, disbelief is partially suspended already. The reader wants to read the story.

Such a pre-investment can allow room for experimentation, and so it is with McAdam: Lilloth’s story is told in fits and spurts, as though the narrator was piecing everything together from disparate newspaper accounts, interviews, police reports—all for the purpose of illustrating a point about reading between the lines, and the dangers of connecting certain dots.

It’s a familiar Mythos trope, as old as Lovecraft’s line “We live on a placid island of ignorance…” from “The Call of Cthulhu,” and there are many more old favorites in “Lilloth.” The actual plot of the story is less interesting than the way it is told, the connective tissue between the scenes somewhat thin, as might be expected of a piecemeal narrative. Most of the mysteries are left untold, and that’s perhaps more fun.

Lilloth joins the new generation with Helen Vaughn, Wilbur Whateley, and Hester Sawyer, and the circumstances of her conception are perhaps less of interest than that of her coming of age—and that is an aspect of these characters it is interesting to compare and contrast. Born of human women, they live for a time a changeling’s life, though often apart from humanity, teenage alienation made flesh—a theme sometime explored, as in Stanley C. Sargent’s “The Black Brat of Dunwich” (1997) or W. H. Pugmire’s “The Child of Dark Mania” (1997). Lilloth’s characterization is in between those of Wilbur Whateley and Hester Sawyer: conscious of her heritage, but ignorant of the details; she has to learn, to grow as a person before she can take the next step, to transition from childhood to adulthood, from humanity to whatever lies outside of it…and there are casualties along the way.

“Lilloth” was published in Rehearsals for Oblivion: Act I: Tales of the King in Yellow (2006). It has not been reprinted.

Bobby Derie is the author of Sex and the Cthulhu Mythos (2014)