“In Memoriam” (1937) by Hazel Heald

Hazel Heald had three letters published in the pages of Weird Tales.

The first was published in the more-or-less immediate aftermath of Lovecraft’s death. Lovecraft died on 15 March 1937; in May 1937, “The Horror in the Burying-Ground” was published in Weird Tales, the last of the stories attributed to Heald and probably ghosted by Lovecraft, and then in the month after that, we get her acknowledgement of his death:

From Mrs. Heald
Hazle Heald writes from Newtonville, Massachusetts: “I want to express my sorrow in the passing of H. P. Lovecraft. He was a friend indeed to the struggling author, and many have started to climb the ladder of success with his kind assistance. To us who really knew him it is a sorrow that mere words cannot express. His was the helping hand that started me in the writers’ game and gave me the courage to carry on under the gravest difficulties. But we must try to think that he is ‘just away’ on one of his longest journeys and that some day we will meet him again in the Great Beyond.”
—Weird Tales (June 1937)

While stopping short of acknowledging that Lovecraft was a collaborator or ghostwriter, this was Heald’s first public acknowledgement that the woman praised as “veritably a female Lovecraft” (Weird Tales Jun 1935) owed more than a debt of inspiration to the man himself.

The second letter, published a couple months later, is effectively a memoir of her time and relationship with Lovecraft that Heald; the longest piece on Lovecraft by Heald that would be published during her lifetime:

In Memoriam
Mrs. Hazel Heald writes from Newtonville, Massachusetts: “A brain like H. P. Lovecraft’s seldom was found—uncanny in its intelligence. he was ever searching for more knowledge, gleaning by endless hours of study a richer and fuller understanding of people and of life. Being a great traveler, he reveled in the study of old cities and their hidden lore and would walk many miles to inspect some historic spot. he was a real friend to all who knew him, always ready to give his valuable time to aid some poor struggling author—a true guiding star. He was very partial to dumb animals, especially cats, signifying that interest in several of his tales. He would step out of his way to pat some forlorn alley cat and give it a friendly word, and the kittens of a neighbor furnished him unbounded enjoyment. He was an ardent lover of architecture and all the fine arts, and a day spent in a museum with him was time well spent. by endless hours of toil he worked far into the night giving the world masterpieces of weird fiction, sacrificing his health for his work. Lovecraft was a gift to the world who can never be replaced—Humanity’s Friend.”
—Weird Tales (August 1937)

In an era when fans and scholars tend to highlight Lovecraft’s cosmicism, and even his supposed misanthropism, the characterization of the benevolent, friendly Lovecraft might strike many readers as odd—yet this was part of his immediate legacy. Those who wrote about Lovecraft in the wake of his death weren’t his harshest critics or his most bitter foes, but his friends, those whom he had loved, even when he had argued with them; whom he had helped and corresponded with over years, even when they disagreed on many subjects.

Hazel Heald had corresponded with Lovecraft, he had visited her at her home and eaten dinner at her table, they had gone to view museums together. She wasn’t writing from ignorance of Lovecraft, but from personal experience.

Weird Tales would change. In 1938, the magazine was sold to the publisher of Short Stories, a more general fiction pulp headquartered in New York City. Editor Farnsworth Wright went with the magazine, and Dorothy McIlwraith, editor of Short Stories, also became his assistant editor at Weird Tales. The geographic shift caused other changes: Margaret Brundage’s delicate pastels had to be shipped under glass, an expensive option that meant the disappearance of her characteristic covers. With the death of Robert E. Howard and H. P. Lovecraft and the virtual retirement of Clark Ashton Smith from writing, new authors needed to be found. The look and feel of the magazine was shifting; and though none of the readers knew it, Farnsworth Wright would soon be fired and McIlwraith would take over as editor.

In February 1939, WT changed size, moving from 128 pages to 160 pages and using a cheaper, thicker pulp paper. Hazel Heald’s final letter is a concise comment:

Mrs. Hazel Heald writers from Somerville, Massachusetts: “Your improved and larger magazine contains a feast of reading enjoyment.”
—Weird Tales, Aug 1939

This was the last word Hazel Heald published in Weird Tales.

The first two letters (“From Mrs. Heald” and “In Memoriam”) were republished in H. P. Lovecraft in “The Eyrie” (1979), and “In Memoriam” was republished as a standalone mini-essay alongside other memoirs in Lovecraft Remembered (1998). Its inclusion in the latter volume might feel like filler; there aren’t many facts to latch onto, no dates or places. With Lovecraft’s letters, her letters to August Derleth, and Muriel Eddy’s fond memories, we have enough context to say that Heald was no doubt recalling her own museum visit with Lovecraft, and the carefully-worded emphasis on support for struggling authors maintains the fiction of Lovecraft as a teacher or reviser rather than a ghostwriter.

Yet this is the most Heald published about Lovecraft, and this memoir—brief as it may be—is at least a genuine expression of her view of Lovecraft, the Lovecraft that she knew and wanted other people to know.

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.

“Lovecraft’s Marriage and Divorce” (1968) by Muriel E. Eddy

Of his marriage to Sonia Greene, not too much is known. He visited us the night prior to his departure for New York, to advise us that he was saying goodbye to Providence, and asking us if we would accept some of the personal furniture he would no longer have any use for. He made no mention at all of his forthcoming marriage. One of these pieces of furniture was a marble-topped bureau, which we still have—another was a folding bed, gone with the years. Both were delivered to us by an expressman the next day.

[…218] The next news we have of Lovecraft was an engraved announcement of his marriage to Sonia Greene. It was a simple announcement, but it took us so completely by surprise that it was several hours before we thoroughly digested the news. The marriage, destined to be short-lived, took place in New York in the spring of 1924. Lovecraft sent us snapshots of himself and Sonia—now dimmed with the passing of the years—and in letters to us he never forget to include “Sonia sends he love, and hopes some day to meet you.” In the snapshots, Sonia Greene Lovecraft appeared as a tall, handsome woman, dark and stately. […]

At least one weird story by Sonia appeared in Weird Tales, bearing signs of Lovecraft’s unmistakable revision, and published when she was still Sonia Greene. If Sonia, too, was a writer, we anticipated a long and happy marriage, but such was not to be—after an interval of several months, during which letters from Lovecraft became few and far between, we began to receive postcards from Lovecraft bearing various postmarks, and we realized he had left New York and perhaps Sonia.
—Muriel E. Eddy, “Howard Phillips Lovecraft” in Ave Atque Vale 217, 218

One of the issues that arises from multiple memoirs by the same individual is that there are only so many memories to mine, so many impressions that can be conveyed before their small store of experiences of the deceased runs out. Muriel E. Eddy and her husband were friends and correspondents with Lovecraft (see: Her Letters To Lovecraft: Muriel E. Eddy), and she wrote fairly extensively about her encounters with Lovecraft in later years (see: Her Letters To August Derleth: Muriel E. Eddy, Deeper Cut: Muriel E. Eddy’s Selected Letters to the Editor, The Gentleman from Angell Street (2001) by Muriel E. Eddy & C. M. Eddy Jr.), even to speculative posthumous encounters (“Message in Stone” (1956) by Muriel E. Eddy). It should come to no surprise that a large part of her reminiscences over the years cover many of the same memories, the same impressions.

Yet the essay titled “Lovecraft’s Marriage and Divorce,” which ran in the fanzine Haunted vol. 1, no. 3 (June 1968) is a bit peculiar, if only because the one aspect of Lovecraft’s life that Muriel did not know much about was his marriage. They knew him in Providence, R.I. before his 1924 marriage in New York, and resumed the acquaintence after he returned to Providence in 1926, but had little or no contact with his wife (and then ex-wife) Sonia until some decades later. And perhaps that is what inspired this piece.

I had not heard from the former Sonia Greene Lovecraft for many years. In the Fall of 1967, she wrote to me, after August Derleth had published some of my husband’s work. Sonia told me about the happy marriage she had enjoyed with Dr. Nathaniel A. Davis for many years. Sonia said he had been an M.D., a PH.D., anthropologist, scientist, poet, artist, writer and lecturer.

At the time Sonia wrote she was in a nursing home in California because of a broken hip. She told me that she read poetry to other patients in the nursing home. She was in good spirits and said she was glad to still be mentally alert.

—Muriel E. Eddy, The Gentleman From Angell Street 29

The brief essay that results is a bit of a mish-mash, combining selected memories of Lovecraft mingled with details borrowed from Sonia’s memoir The Private Life of H. P. Lovecraft (1985) by Sonia H. Davis, then out-of-print, and a healthy dose of Muriel’s own speculation.

※

Lovecraft’s Marriage and Divorce
by Muriel E. Eddy

“Here, have some sweet chocolate. I buy it—broken up, much cheaper—down at the dime store. There’s lots of nourishment in chocolate! Chocolate and cheese, crackers and pears—and ice-cream when I can afford it—this is about all I require when I’m deep in the throes of writing!”

It was our dear friend, Howard Phillips Lovecraft, speaking, and the place was our humble little gas-lit kitchen, way back in the year 1923, on Furnace Street, in the Fox Point section of Providence. He had arrived at midnight, with a big sack of his beloved sweet chocolate and a brief-case of manuscripts under his arm…manuscripts to read aloud to us!

That was the never-to-be-forgotten night when he announced to use the fact that he was bound for New York on the morrow, to marry Sonia Greene, a writer whom he had helped sell some stories…a Jewish divorcée with a pretty face, a charming manner, and what he considered to be a genuine love for him.

His brown eyes looked misty with dreams as he recounted her many charms. he’d never expected any woman to want him, but according to her letters Sonia REALLY wanted him. Later, my children got many postcards to play with, which she had penned affectionately to him; and now wonder he thought she loved him—every other word was a “love-declaration!”

A long, long manuscript, entitled “A Magician Among the Pyramids,” which he had ghost-written for the late Harry Houdini, master magician, was all typed and in his pocket to go to New York with him. Unfortunately, he lost it, the next day, in the Union Station, while awaiting his New York train. He had fallen asleep while re-reading the typed manuscript, in the waiting-room, and that is why it fell to the floor and was lost. Evidently it was swept up by the station janitor and was destroyed. So part of HPL’s honeymoon was spent in re-typing the original manuscript, which, fortunately, he had in his suitcase. Some honeymoon!

I wish I could say that this marriage was a perfect union of souls; but oh, it wasn’t…not at all. Sonia failed to understand why this poetic soul could not thoroughly commercialize his talents. Little by little came the rift in the lute…that makes sweet music mute!

The divorce was touching to us, because we loved this man and understood his heartbreak at what he considered his failure to make Sonia happy. But it was Howard’s wonderful gentlemanly Spirit that made him marry Sonia in the first place. He couldn’t say “no” because he was a gentleman!

—Haunted vol. 1, no. 3 (June 1968), 86, 93

※

From a scholarly point of view, there’s not a lot here. The bit about Lovecraft and the broken choclate appears elsewhere in Muriel Eddy’s memoirs, with greater detail (and possibly less putting-words-directly-in-Lovecraft’s-mouth). The incident of the lost manuscript for “Imprisoned with the Pharaohs” and typing it up (with Sonia’s assistance) during their honeymoon is covered in Sonia’s memoir and Lovecraft’s letters. The bit about the children and the postcards is another anecdote which Muriel covers in greater depth elsewhere:

Mrs. Gamwell also gave the children about a hundred picture postcards that Sonia had mailed to Howard. These all held loving, spirited messages to H.P.L. from his sweetheart in New York. Not knowing their possible value in the far-away future, I did not hold on to any of these cards bearing Sonia’s signature, written in her breezy, happy handwriting. It was plain to be seen, from the messages on the cards, that this pretty woman of writing ability—among her other gifts—really liked H.P.L.! And the strange part of it all was that he had not once mentioned his love affair to us…and we were his very good friends.

The children played for hours with the cards, and they eventually went the way all children’s toys go…in the ash-heap!

—Muriel E. Eddy, The Gentleman From Angell Street 17

Given the lack of new facts or impressions, it is perhaps unsurprising that “Lovecraft’s Marriage and Divorce” was never reprinted. The main value it possessed at the time it was published was that there was relatively little information in print about Lovecraft’s marriage—there was no full biography of Lovecraft at that point, Sonia’s memoir was out of print, and the abridged letters of Lovecraft in Selected Letters I (1964) and II (1968) offered only limited insight into their relationship. This is a memoir that found a space largely because better sources were not widely available, and it shows.

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.

“Walkers in the City: George Willard Kirk and Howard Phillips Lovecraft in New York City, 1924-1926” (1993) by Mara Kirk Hart

My father, george Willard Kirk, died on March 22, 1962. With him died, I believed, all hope of reconstructing a history of his friendship with Lovecraft and of his membersip in the Kalem Club. But I was wrong. Recently, when my mother, Lucile Dvorak Kirk, entered a nursing hme, we were obliged to go through her effects, expecting few surprises.

But, behind closed doors, in a large sealed carton musty with age, marked “to be destroyed without opening upon my death”, we discovered a treasure: hundreds of letters to her from her yet-to-be husband, George, written between 1924 and 1927. In addition, the carton held a metal box containing letters and poems writen by Lovecraft and other Kalem Club members. Rather than destroy them, I brought them back to my home in Duluth, Minnesota, hungry for information about my father during those years.
—Mara Kirk Hart, “Walkers in the City: George Willard Kirk and Howard Phillips Lovecraft in New York City, 1924-1926” in Lovecraft Studies 28 (Spring 1993), 2

George Kirk (1898-1962) was a bookseller and sometime small-press publisher; during the 1920s he was also a friend and associate of H. P. Lovecraft, Clark Ashton Smith, and Samuel Loveman. Lovecraft first met Kirk while visiting Loveman in Cleveland, Ohio in 1922, the same trip where he met Hart Crane. All of them would find themselves in New York City within a few years, and Kirk’s time in New York City overlapped with Lovecraft’s marriage (1924-1926) and residence in the city, and Kirk was a member—with Lovecraft, Loveman, Frank Belknap Long, Jr., Arthur Leeds, Rheinhart Kleiner, James F. Morton, and Henry Everett McNeil—of the informal Kalem Club, so-called because their names each started with K, L, or M. A vital literary circle mentioned in many of Lovecraft’s letters during this critical formative period in his life.

Sunday evening we met the rare book dealer George Kirk—a friend of Loveman’s—and the quartette of us explored the excellent Cleveland Art Museum in Wade Park.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Lillian D. Clark, 4 Aug 1922, LFF1.51

In Lovecraft’s letters, we see only occasional glimpses of Kirk; he is one of the gang, but learn little about him. Mara Kirk Hart, poring over her father’s letters and other papers, presents Kirk in his own words—and Lovecraft as Kirk saw and knew him. Hart quotes from one of her father’s letters:

An adorable note from HL, next to yourself the move lovable creature on this or any other universe known or imagined. The salutation is “Georgius Rex.” HL is 18th Century English—English to the core—though he has become more and more interested in American colonial houses, furniture, and times. he has been interested in and knows quite well both Roman and Egyptian histories and living. But all that is secondary. I believe I had rather I had met him earlier in life that I might have less of GK [George Kirk] and more HL. But you love me as is, so I complain not at all.
—Mara Kirk Hart, “Walkers in the City: George Willard Kirk and Howard Phillips Lovecraft in New York City, 1924-1926” in Lovecraft Studies 28 (Spring 1993), 3

In her essay, Hart draws on both Lovecraft’s letters and her fathers’ to give an outline of their friendship during the 20s. Kirk was not a writer in the same way Lovecraft was, busy making a living through the book trade, with all of its ups-and-downs. His letters to his fiancée (engaged 1923, married 1927) are a counterpart to Lovecraft’s diary-like letters to his aunts from the same period. It was Kirk’s apartment building at 317 W. 14th St. that was the model for the apartment building in Lovecraft’s “Cool Air,” and Kirk’s brief notes about Lovecraft’s wife Sonia track with their own accounts of the marriage—although Kirk, being on the outside of things, could only make observations, e.g.:

Don’t dislike Mrs. L. She is, as I have said, at hospital. H more than intimated that they would separate . . .
—Mara Kirk Hart, “Walkers in the City: George Willard Kirk and Howard Phillips Lovecraft in New York City, 1924-1926” in Lovecraft Studies 28 (Spring 1993), 3

Hart’s essay in Lovecraft Studies #28 runs a substantial 15 pages, yet it really only whetted the appetite of Lovecraft scholars. Here was fresh primary source material, offering not just additional insight onto Lovecraft’s life, activities, and marriage during this period, but contextual details on Kirk and the Kalem Club itself. While the audience for more information was no doubt modest, it was there—and the essay was republished in Lovecraft Remembered—and eventually Hart published further works on her father’s life and letters.

Lovecraft’s New York Circle: The Kalem Club, 1924-1927 (2006, Hippocampus Press) was edited by Mara Kirk Hart and S. T. Joshi. The book publishes relevant excerpts from Kirk’s almost daily letters to his fiancée from 1924-1927, as well as poems and related essays by other Kalem Club members, including Lovecraft’s, as well as Rheinhart Kleiner’s essays reflecting on the Kalem Club. It is, without exaggeration, an essential resource to further understanding of Lovecraft during his New York period; which are otherwise really only attested by Lovecraft’s letters of the period and scattered references in memoirs by friends like Frank Belknap Long, Jr.

The excerpts go beyond a focus on just Lovecraft; Kirk was not a planet or moon in orbit around Lovecraft, but a comet tracing an arc through a much more complicated system of literary heavenly bodies. So for example, a particularly interesting entry from 1925 reads:

JANUARY [undated]. Wednesday. Meeting at Belknap’s tonight, and I shall not go. If I am strong enough to go anywhere, I shall go to the sale of Currier and Ives at Anderson’s. But I doubt that I shall go out. Have a bit of food and a bit more whiskey so I probably shall soon be either well or dead. . . . Shall send a “Weird Tales” with magazines. It contains “Hypnos,” a very fine short story by deal old H. P. Lovecraft. “Imprisoned with the Pharoahs” is also by him, but it is much too long and not very good. Do not try “The Latvian?” because it is by Herman Fetzer (Jake Falstaff, you know), for it is very poor. But “Hypnos” is little short of being a masterpiece.
—Mara Kirk Hart & S. T. Joshi, Lovecraft’s New York Circle 36

This is interesting in part because it falls into a gap in Lovecraft’s letters; after a 31 December 1924 note to his aunt Lillian, Lovecraft’s next letter to her is dated 22 Jan 1925. Also, it mentions the May-Jun-Jul 1924 triple-sized issue of Weird Tales that included Lovecraft’s ghostwritten story for Harry Houdini, and confirmation (if any was needed) that Lovecraft’s authorship was an open secret among his friends. It is only though Kirk’s letters that we learn that at times the Kalem Club conversations sometimes turned to the subject of women:

OCTOBER 11, Saturday. Last evening I sat at table thinking of you, only entering conversation when forced to. I missed little, however, since chaps were merely airing their usually absurd ideas about our sex. One was a homo, one an avowed fetishist, one quite nothing where sex is concerned, and your GW with whom you are usually acquainted. I tire of half-baked ideas and people, of old-fashioned and antipathetic prejudices, of raw geniuses, and, when I happen to consider him, of GW. However, in many ways, his sole company is the most bearable of them all.
—Mara Kirk Hart & S. T. Joshi, Lovecraft’s New York Circle 28

It is tempting to give identities here. Samuel Loveman is known to have been gay (“homo”), James F. Morton is known to have experimented with free love groups and even a nudist group at different points (“fetishist”). A close reading of Lovecraft’s diary-letters to his aunt shows that he probably wasn’t at that meeting, since on Friday, 10 Oct 1924, he went to Elizabeth, New Jersey to view the colonial sites (LFF1.185). Which may well be why the subject turned to women in Lovecraft’s absence! However, in a later letter Kirk does state that he and Lovecraft talked about sex a bit among themselves (Lovecraft’s New York Circle 65), so perhaps it had nothing to do with his absence at all.

One benefit of the fuller account is that we get more of Kirk’s accounts of Lovecraft’s marriage and his wife. In this, Kirk was very much HPL’s friend and not always very conscientious of Sonia, at least not in his letters, but this is still an outside view of the marriage that provides some insight into how they spoke and acted as a couple, e.g. in 1926, when HPL had returned to Providence but before the divorce:

JULY 6. Am on a nice fast express from Boston. Have had a very pleasnt itme seeing Providence with old HPL, and just had dinner with him and a chap I met and liked named Tycon. He’s a very decent young bookseller and is much interested in local history. Mrs. L. was with us much of my first day—very unpleasant at times. HPL loves cats and almost invariably stops to stroke htem. She—Mrs. L—several times remarked that cats are the only things H really loves—and once remarked—in a quite casual way, but looking at me to read its effect, which I doubt she did,—that she believes H would love to take a cat to bed with him. I have heard this sort of thing from her before and can’t say I respect her the more for it.
—Mara Kirk Hart & S. T. Joshi, Lovecraft’s New York Circle 92

This might have been a slight misunderstanding on Kirk’s part; in her memoir The Private Life of H. P. Lovecraft (1985):

My neighbor who so kindly made room for me had a beautiful Persian cat which she brought to my apartment. When Howard saw that cat he made “love” to it. He seemed to have a language that it understood and it immediately curled up in his lap and purred contentedly.

Half in earnest, half on jest, I remarked “What a lot of perfectly good affection to waste on a mere cat, when some woman might highly appreciate it!”
—Sonia H. Davis, “The Private Life of H. P. Lovecraft” in Ave Atque Vale 134-135

In 2013, Mara Kirk Hart self-published So Many Lovely Days: The Greenwich Village Years (Kirk Press). This is an account of her parent’s marriage, beginning when they met in Cleveland in 1923 and continuing through marriage, three pregnancies, two births, and many moves as they struggled to maintain a bookselling business; the New York portion ends in 1939, and the final chapters recount her parent’s final days, George Kirk passing in 1962, and Lucille Dvorak Kirk in 1994.

Lovecraft and the Kalem Club are not the main, or even minor, focus of this memoir. It is a deeply personal work at her parents lives, sometimes hand-to-mouth, through the difficult years of the Great Depression, the Bohemian atmosphere of Greenwich Village, and the final evaporation of the New York City dream they could no longer afford. Most of the book focuses on the period after Lovecraft stopped living in New York, but still touches on his occasional visits. One thing this book has that the other accounts lack is a better view of Lucille Hart. Women often fall into the cracks in history. At one point, Hart even draws from Lovecraft’s letters:

In May 1928, during a visit to New York, Lovecraft wrote to his beloved Aunt Lillian: “Kirk—good old Georgius—whose marriage has proved extremely congenial, and who is still the same happy-go-lucky, unsubdued old nighthawk of yore. . . . He has a basement flat on West 11th Street—separate from his shop and ciculating library on west 8th, although he lived over the latter at first. Kirk, honest old Mac [Everett McNeil,] and I walked down Braodway together, and when we came to the elevated at 66th, Kirk insisted that Mac and I hop on and accompany him home for a further session. We did so, and found Mrs. Kirk half-expecting such a codicillary assemblage. She is a pleasant blonde person, not especially young or good-looking, but apparently a highly congenial partner for the carefree and irresponsible Georgius. The household served tea, crackers and cheese.” Congenial as George and Lucy seemed to Lovecraft, they were often dsiappointed and exasperated with each other. They loved each other, yes, but financial problems prevented the hoped for marital bliss. What to do?
—Mara Kirk Hart, So Many Lovely Days: The Greenwich Village Years 37 (cf. LFF2.644)

This final book is not essential to Lovecraft studies in the way thatLovecraft’s New York Circlewas—but then, she had written that book. This is a book about the struggles of two people trying to have a marriage, raise kids, and run a business in the busiest city in the United States during a tumultuous period. It’s about love and affection being tested in a thousand ways, from government officials raiding the shop for illicit copies of James Joyce’s Ulysses to Lucy’s anger at George’s drinking habits. Lovecraft’s letter—almost the only time he mentions Lucy Kirk, and never by name—shows how scarce accounts of wives and partners can be in the standard sources that scholars rely on. This book, at least, gives a fuller appreciation of one member of the Kalem Club, his wife, and their life together.

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.

Memories of Lovecraft (1969) by Sonia H. Davis & Helen V. Sully

My memory is becoming a little bit dim; but the things of interest in my life, I still remember, and altho’ I am the widow of another man, I shall always remember H.P.L. as I would any good friend.
—Sonia H. Davis to August Derleth, 29 May 1966, Mss. Wisconsin Historical Society

To support and promote Arkham House, co-founder and editor August Derleth tried innumerable ways to get the word out about the press, publishing a vast array of ephemera to advertise the wares, attract notice from potential customers, and explain about delays or difficulties. On two occasions, Derleth attempted a regular journal to supplement and advertise the small press: the Arkham Sampler (1948-1949) and the Arkham Collector (1967-1971), both of which contained a similar mix of content: news about Arkham House and its publications, book reviews, original fiction and poetry, short essays by or about Lovecraft, etc.

There were two general problems with such publications: getting them to pay for themselves (through a combination of subscriptions and increased sales of Arkham House books), and getting enough solid content to fill an issue. It was an imposition on Derleth’s already crowded schedule, and perhaps it isn’t surprising that he occasionally cut a corner or two in an effort to save time or get an issue to press—and he did sometimes publish some exceptional content, without which Lovecraft studies would be the poorer.

In the Winter 1969 issue of the Arkham Collector are two small back-to-back articles: “Memories of Lovecraft: I” by Sonia H. Davis (Lovecraft’s ex-wife, who survived him) and “Memories of Lovecraft: II” by Helen V. Sully (who had visited Lovecraft in Providence). These are effectively filler for the issue; neither woman appears to have had a direct hand in putting them together, rather Derleth directly adapted what they had written about Lovecraft elsewhere and presented them as a series of quotes. Still, as memoirs go, each of these “Memories” has their points of interest.

“Memories of Lovecraft: I” by Sonia H. Davis

Sonia Haft Lovecraft Davis, who was married to H. P. Lovecraft in the 1920s and divorced by mutual consent late in the decade has written some paragraphs about Lovecraft in letters to the editor. The following excerpts are from her letters—
—The Arkham Collector (Winter 1969) 116

This is the original opening to “Memories of Lovecraft: I.” August Derleth and Sonia H. Davis first came into contact in 1947, and while their initial interactions were rough (even antagonistic), they did eventually make peace and become friendly correspondents, which lasted through at least 1970, based on letters in the August Derleth archive at the Wisconsin Historical Society; Derleth would pass away in 1971, and Sonia in 1972. It is from this collection of letters that Derleth borrowed several personal memories of Lovecraft that Sonia had shared with him over the years.

Given that the August Derleth/Sonia H. Davis correspondence is split between the John Hay Library in Providence and the Wisconsin Historical Society, it is difficult to consolidate a lot of the information in the letters, much less easily search them, but an attempt to survey the available documents has not uncovered which letters that Derleth excerpted these quotes from. The letters may have been misplaced, or included among the Arkham House business files, but it makes it difficult to gauge how accurate the quotations are, or in what context they took place. However we can say a few things based on internal evidence and other Lovecraft materials that are available to scholars.

During our marriage we often went to theatres, sometimes to the Taormina, a favorite Italian restaurant, where H. P. L. learned to eat minestrone and spaghetti with parmesan cheese, which he loved. But he balked at the wine.
—The Arkham Collector (Winter 1969) 117

In his letters to his aunts during their marriage, Lovecraft mentions the Taormina Italian restaurant three times (LFF 1.237, 264, 2.555), and the comments on Sonia introducing him to Italian food, particularly minestrone and spaghetti (with lots of parmesan cheese) are well-attested in his letters:

My taste has become so prodigiously Italianised that I never order anything but spaghetti & minestrone except when those are not to be had—& they really contain an almost ideal balance of active nutritive elements, considering the wheaten base of spaghetti, the abundant vitamines in tomato sauce, the assorted vegetables in minestrone, & the profusion of powdered cheese common to both.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Lillian D. Clark, 18 Sep 1925, LFF 1.402

Some of the comments attributed to Sonia’s letters involve information that she would not have had directly, but might have gotten through Lovecraft himself, family photographs, or conversations with his aunts; there is also evidence that her memories may be skewed somewhat by prior anecdotes or biographical notes on Lovecraft, for example:

As a child H. P. L. was not only far from being ‘hideous’ but he was a very beautiful baby with flaxen curls, beautiful brown eyes and an engaging smile. As a boy of six he was still a very handsome and interesting-looking child. […] H. P. used to speak of his mother as a ‘touch-me-not’ and once—but once only—he confessed to me that his mother’s attitude toward him was ‘devastating’. . . . In my opinion, the elder Lovecraft, having Beena travelling salesman for the Gotham Silversmiths, and his wife being a ‘touch-me-not’, took his sexual pleasures wherever he could find them; for H. P. never had a sister of a brother, and his mother, probably having been sex-starved against her will, lavished both her love and her hate on her only child.
—The Arkham Collector (Winter 1969) 116-117

Winfield Scott Lovecraft (1853-1898) and Sarah Susan Phillips Lovecraft (1857-1921) were both dead by the time H. P. Lovecraft met Sonia, so this is speculation—and no doubt inspired in whole or in part by earlier memoirs or brief biographical pieces like Winfield Townley Scott’s “His Own Most Fantastic Creation: Howard Phillips Lovecraft” (1944), which included the revelation that W. S. Lovecraft (who worked as a commercial traveller for the Gorham Silver Co.) died of syphilis, and Townley’s publication of excerpts from the Letters of Clara Lovrien Hess, which was the first suggest that Susan Lovecraft disliked her son’s appearance.

The most interesting snippet is one which frankly no one else could have provided, and which appears in no other source:

H. P. was inarticulate in expressions of love except to his mother and to his aunts, to whom he expressed himself quite vigorously; to all other it was expressed by deep appreciation only. One way of expression of H. P.’s sentiment was to wrap his ‘pinkey’ finger around mine and say ‘Umph!’
—The Arkham Collector (Winter 1969) 117

There is no significant doubt that Sonia did actually write these segments; several of them echo points in her long memoir The Private Life of H. P. Lovecraft (1985) by Sonia H. Davis, and can be taken as elaborations on ideas already expressed (although the ‘umph’ is new). It is unfortunate that the original letters from which they were taken have not come to light yet, as reading between the lines it seems likely that Sonia was responding to some specific point or question of Derleth’s, rather than random recollections.

“Memories of Lovecraft: I” has been republished at least twice, in Lovecraft Remembered (1998) and Ave Atque Vale (2019); in both cases, Derleth’s opening paragraph explaining the origin of the memories was not reprinted.

“Memories of Lovecraft II” by Helen V. Sully

Helen Sully (now Mrs. George Trimble of Auburn, California) a friend of Clark Ashton Smith’s, was given a letter of introduction to Lovecraft by Smith when she traveled east in the summer of 1933. She was driven to Providence to meet Lovecraft by the family of Frank Belknap Long.
—The Arkham Collector (Winter 1969) 117

Derleth pointedly does not give any indication of the source of the quotes that follow. It was originally a brief memoir titled “Some Memories of H. P. L.” (now located at the John Hay Library), which Derleth then revised, cutting out some portions and rewording others, and formatting it similar to “Memories of Lovecraft: I.” To get an idea of the extent of the revisions, compare these two paragraphs:

That night, after dinner, he took me into a graveyard associated with Poe. . . . It was dark, and he began to tell me strange, weird stories in a sepulchral tone and, despite the fact that I am a very matter-of-fact person, something about his manner, the darkness, and a sort of eerie light that seemed to hover over the gravestones got me so wrought up that I began to run out of the cemetery with him close at my heels, with the one thought that I must get up to the street before he, or whatever it was, grabbed me. I reached a street lamp, trembling, panting, and almost in tears, and he had the strangest look on his face, almost of triumph. Nothing was said.

That night, after dinner, he took me down into a graveyard near where Edgar Allan Poe had lived, or was he buried there? I can’t remember. It was dark, and he began to tell me strange, weird stories in a sepulchral tone and, despite the fact that I am a very matter-of-fact person, something about his manner, the darkness, and a sort of eery light that seemed to hover over the gravestones got me so wrought up that I began running out of the cemetery with him close at my heels, with the one thought that I must get up to the street before he, or whatever it was, grabbed me. I reached a street lamp, trembling, panting, and almost in tears, and he had the strangest look on his face, almost of triumph. Nothing was said.

The Arkham Collector (Winter 1969) 119

Ave Atque Vale 365-366

Derleth had done this kind of quiet editing several times before, such as when he revised the ending of “Medusa’s Coil” (1939) by Zealia Bishop & H. P. Lovecraft. Sully’s brief memoir is an especially interesting read because Lovecraft’s own notes on her 1933 visit are exceedingly sparse and lacking in detail; perhaps not surprising given its brevity.

“Memories of Lovecraft: II” was reprinted in Lovecraft Remembered (1998), without Derleth’s introductory paragraph, while “Some Memories of H. P. L.” was published in Ave Atque Vale (2019). Of the two, I prefer Sully’s unedited version, although for most purposes the content is almost identical.

While they may not appear to be much—a few pages of scattered recollections covering small portions of Lovecraft’s life—these are some of the pieces to the puzzle that was Lovecraft, and have been pored over by scholars, their ideas and accounts analyzed, challenged, accepted, refuted, and incorporated into every biography of Lovecraft since their publication.

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 & 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)
The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923)
The Phantom of the Opera (1925)
The Man Who Laughs (1928)
Dracula (1931)
Frankenstein (1931)
Murders in the Rue Morgue (1932)
The Old Dark House (1932)
The Mummy (1932)
The Invisible Man (1933)
The Black Cat (1934)
Life Returns (1934)
Bride of Frankenstein (1935)
Werewolf of London (1935)
The Raven (1935)
The Invisible Ray (1936)
Dracula’s Daughter (1936)

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.

*The Knoxville News-Sentinel*, 11 Nov 1934, p17

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:

The Universal Story: The Complete History of the Studio and All Its Films by Clive Hirschhorn
Horror in Silent Films: A Filmography, 1896-1929 by Roy Kinnard
Universal Horrors: The Studio’s Classic Films, 1931-1946 (2nd ed.) by Tom Weaver, Michael Brunas, and John Brunas
Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff: The Expanded Story of a Haunting Collaboration, with a Complete Filmography of Their Films Together by Gregory William Mank

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.

“Three Hours with H. P. Lovecraft” (1959) by Dorothy C. Walter

The time of this meeting was early in 1934. Mr. Lovecraft was living in Providence, Rhode Island, his native city. I was spending the winter with relatives there. A man who knew us both wanted us to become acquainted, and so it came about that one day Mr. Lovecraft climbed our doorsteps, rang out bell, and settled down on my aunt’s parlor sofa for a leisurely conversation.
—Dorothy C. Walter, “Three Hours with H. P. Lovecraft” in The Shuttered Room & Other Pieces 178

Lovecraft scholars are spoiled in the sense that so many of Lovecraft’s letters have survived. There are direct, primary source accounts of Lovecraft’s life and thought that are just absent from the majority of pulp writers or average individuals of the time when Lovecraft lived. This also means we have a large body of material to compare and contrast memoirs and anecdotes of Lovecraft’s life with; a way to evaluate the accuracy of recollections and see what a particular memoir actually adds to our understanding of Lovecraft’s life that his letters do not.

However, not everything made it into Lovecraft’s letters, or not all letters survive. There is, for example, no direct mention of Dorothy C. Walter or any meeting with her in Lovecraft’s extant correspondence. That doesn’t necessarily mean that the meeting didn’t happen or that Walter made it up, as is suspected with “The Ten-Cent Ivory Tower” (1946) by John Wilstach or “The Day He Met Lovecraft” (1972) by Lew Shaw. It does mean that we need to examine the content of Walter’s memoir carefully to evaluate the plausibility of the scenario and confirm and corroborating details.

In the opening to her memoir, Walter claims her meeting with Lovecraft occurred in “early 1934.” Lovecraft spent two weeks in New York City with friends after Christmas, returning to Providence on January 9th. Walter adds a further detail:

[…] I took my turn tending an exhibit of distinguished paintings of bird-life being shown that week by my aunt’s pet project, the Audubon Society, at the John Hay Library […]
—Dorothy C. Walter, “Three Hours with H. P. Lovecraft” in The Shuttered Room & Other Pieces 182

The Calendar of Events January 1934 for Brown University shows that from 9 – 23 January, the John Hay Library at Brown University hosted “Paintings of North American Birds by Rex Brasher under the auspices of the Audubon Society.” So that’s a good corroborating detail; it shows that Walter was at least in the right place at the right time, and narrows down the scope of when the visit could have occurred. Her memoir also emphasizes the extreme cold of that January, which called Lovecraft to beg off his first appointment to visit. Lovecraft was particularly sensitive to cold due to some undiagnosed circulatory issue, and this jives with behavior and observations in Lovecraft’s letters for January 1934, which contain passages like this:

I envy you your climate—we’re having a cold spell, so that I haven’t been out of the house for three days.
—H. P. Lovecraft to R. H. Barlow, [31 Jan 1934], O Fortunate Floridian 103

So while we don’t have explicit reference to Lovecraft visiting with Dorothy C. Walter some Sunday afternoon in mid-to-late January in his letters, such a visit is certainly very plausible.

To play devil’s advocate for a moment; the main reason to suspect the authenticity of Walter’s memoir, besides the lack of mention in HPL’s letters, is that the memoir is embellished with some additional research which may have skewed or informed her depiction of Lovecraft. Walter had written about Lovecraft previously in “Lovecraft and Benefit Street” (1943), and letters and papers at the John Hay Library show she was somewhat active in the early Lovecraft studies from shortly after Lovecraft’s death through the early 1960s, in part through her connection with Lovecraft’s friend W. Paul Cook (whom she claims encouraged her to meet with Lovecraft). It is clear reading her “Three Hours with H. P. Lovecraft” that some of her information was derived from Cook and/or his memoir “In Memoriam” (1941), including the anecdote with the kitten:

“Lovecraft, you know, prefers to write at night. He is also passionately devoted to cats. I suppose he knows every Tabby and Tom in Providence and loves them all.

“Years ago when I was living in Massachusetts and he was visiting me, I asked him to write an article on the Supernatural in Literature for the magazine I was getting out. He did it too—to the Queen’s tatste—but that’s not the story. Knowing his nocturnal habits, I settled him at my desk to make a start on it, when the lateness of the hour forced me off to bed to be ready to pull out and go to work next day. Just before I left him, I dropped a half-grown kitten into his lap. he was delighted. In no time at all the little cat was curled up comfortably, safe in the presence of a friend.

“Next morning I found Howard sitting exactly as I had left him—not one scratch on his paper, the kitten still asleep in his arms. And when I remonstrated because he hadn’t got on with my article, he replied, ‘But I didn’t want to disturb kitty!’
—Dorothy C. Walter, “Three Hours with H. P. Lovecraft” in The Shuttered Room & Other Pieces 189

The two versions of the anecdote aren’t identical, but it’s clear that Walter wasn’t above repeating second-hand material to pad out her brief hours with Lovecraft. In truth, aside from the fact of the encounter itself, there really isn’t much new information about Lovecraft that is contained in Walter’s memoir, no major surprises in thought or action, just a confirmation of Lovecraft’s habits as he himself maintained and as seen by someone outside his normal circle and a couple brief anecdotes. Better to have it than not, but easy to overlook among more substantial or provocative memoirs like The Private Life of H. P. Lovecraft (1985) by Sonia H. Davis.

Which is perhaps, as it should be. Not a great deal can be expected from a three-hour visit, nor did it develop into the kind of friendship and correspondence that Lovecraft had with other women. It was one of many social calls that were part of the life of old New England, even into the 1930s.

Soon after his call I went back to my home in Vermont, remaining away from Providence for several years. By the time I returned, Mr. Lovecraft was dead.
—Dorothy C. Walter, “Three Hours with H. P. Lovecraft” in The Shuttered Room & Other Pieces 178

Based on a letter from August Derleth dated 2 Nov 1959, Walter was concerned about misprints in “Three Hours with H. P. Lovecraft.” These concerns were apparently well-founded, as in a letter to Derleth dated 9 Jul 1960, Walter points out several misprints and a dropped line. Derleth’s reply dated 13 Jul 1960 was apologetic, but the damage was done. After initial publication in The Shuttered Room & Other Pieces (1959), “Three Hours with H. P. Lovecraft” was reprinted in Lovecraft Remembered (1998) and Ave Atque Vale (2018), retaining the same errors, and was translated into German for Das schleichende Chaos (2006).

Perhaps, when it is reprinted again, some kindly editor might fix the errors that Walter felt plagued the piece.

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.

“A Glimpse of H. P. L.” (1945) by Mary V. Dana

Sensible of the slowness with which the Old Corner turns over its stock, (they still have a 2-volume Gay’s Poems which they had years ago on Empire St.!) I cashed your money order & sailed confidently in—but lo! The daemon-book had performed an incantation on itself, & evaporated like a puff of smoke into the sinister & tenebrous aether! In other words, it wasn’t there—& just as I was looking forward to a free reading of it before mailing it on to you! Damn sorry—but Fate is Fate. And to think that it still remained on shelves till only a little while ago! Well—one may only shrug one’s shoulders philosphically & make the best of it. Here’s the $3.25.
—H. P. Lovecraft to Wilfred B. Talman, 28 Sep 1926, Letters to Wilfred B. Talman 44

The book was probably A. E. Waite’s The Book of Black Magic and of Pacts; the bookshop was the Old Corner Bookshop, formerly of 77 Empire Street and then on 44 Weybosset Street, Providence, R. I. Lovecraft browsed their wares for well over a decade, perhaps two, and no doubt the proprietor sold him many a volume—little knowing that those selfsame books might come back to him one day.

According to some letters, at the time of his death in 1937, H. P. Lovecraft’s library consisted of up to ~2,500 books. At the time, believing she might need to sell some of the books, his aunt Annie Gamwell asked a neighbor Mary Spinks to catalogue the collection; this partial and not always accurate list covers part of the books Lovecraft owned. R. H. Barlow, the executor of Lovecraft’s estate, was given the pick of some. Others may have been sold or dispersed. Sometime after Annie Gamwell’s death in 1941, a large portion of Lovecraft’s library—and, apparently, manuscripts and some of his knick-knacks—were purchased by H. Douglass Dana of the Old Corner Bookshop. Some of these were eventually sold to the John Hay Library to become part of their Lovecraft collection:

…but for a while there were books from Lovecraft’s library available for general sale.

Imagine Providence in 1945. The war was over, or almost would be. Word had got out that the bookstore had purchased what remained of Lovecraft’s library, and two fantasy fans converged like ghouls to an unopened grave. Donald M. Grant had just graduated high school; Thomas P. Hadley was a few years older. Together, they quickly decided to produce a tribute chapbook to H. P. Lovecraft: Rhode Island on Lovecraft (1945) was published by Grant-Hadley Enterprises, with a second edition issued in December. The partnership wouldn’t last—Grant was drafted near the end of 1945—but both Grant and Hadley would go on to make their mark on fantasy publishing in various ventures.

That is the legend. I’ve yet to find a direct account from Hadley or Grant on how they met or decided on their subject. The earliest I’ve been able to trace the story is Over My Shoulder: Reflections on a Science Fiction Era (1983) by Lloyd Arthur Eshbach. But the timing is more or less right. H. Douglass Dana had been selling used books in Providence, R.I. since 1910; Lovecraft used to frequent the Old Corner Bookstore, and mentions it in his letters. Dana’s bookstore was noted for periodic disasters: hurricanes flooded the shop in 1938, 1944, and 1954, and after every wave of destruction would require fresh stock.

It would explain why there’s a memoir from Mary V. Dana.

Mary Van Meter was born in 1909. The 1930 Federal census lists her profession as salesperson at a bookstore. By the 1940 Federal census, she had married Herbert Douglass Dana, and was definitely helping him run the Old Corner Bookstore. Her memoir of Lovecraft is probably the weakest entry in the bunch—how much might any bookseller remember a single, occasional customer?—but we can actually time this memoir fairly specifically:

Though the shop was then at the foot of his street and he came in occasionally, we rarely exchanged a word or even knew his identity until the summer of 1936. […] We met at that time a young booklover, R. H. Barlow by name, who became badly smitten, biblimanically speaking, with a little set of books we had. He was visiting an uncle, whom he mentioned with such enthusiastic admiration and affection, describing him as an author and scholar of rare erudition, that he aroused our curiosity. He kept popping in practically every day of his visit to look at this set, trying to calm his conscience or squeeze his pocketbook. Finally, he decided to have his uncle lend his approval to fortify his own.
—Mary V. Sana, “A Glimpse of H. P. L.” in Rhode Island on Lovecraft 25

The “uncle” was Lovecraft; Grant and Hadley either didn’t know better or didn’t care to correct her on that point. Barlow visited Lovecraft in Providence from 28 July—1 September 1936 (O Fortunate Floridian xvii; for more on Barlow and Lovecraft, see Adventurous Liberation: Lovecraft in Florida), so the dates work out. Unfortunately, there’s not a lot of new material on Lovecraft, otherwise. The one cogent observation Mary Dana made was:

In fact, the only thing we remembered about him up to that time was the fact that he often had a copy of Weird Tales or similar magazine under his arm, and once spoke with distaste of their lurid covers.
—Mary V. Sana, “A Glimpse of H. P. L.” in Rhode Island on Lovecraft 25

As an anecdote, this should be taken with a grain of salt, though it isn’t out of keeping with some of Lovecraft’s comments about Weird Tales covers in his letters. A comment similar to this may have been the origin of a particularly long-lived Lovecraftian legend:

[Lovecraft] was disturbed by even mildly sexual writing. When he bought pulps at Douglass Dana’s Old Corner Book Store, at the foot of College Street, he tore off the more lurid covers lest friends misunderstand his interests.
—Winfield Townley Scott, “His Own Most Fantastic Creation: Howard Phillips Lovecraft” (1944) from Exiles and Fabrications 71

There is no physical proof of this, or mention of such a practice in Lovecraft’s letters, but the Danas would seem to be a likely source for such an anecdote. It is ironic that Mary V. Dana remembered Barlow so vividly, a decade later. In 1951 catalogue, the Danas advertised for sale the books from Lovecraft’s library that Barlow had inherited (see The Man Who Collected Lovecraft), which they purchased after Barlow’s death.

There is one other important contribution that the Danas made to Rhode Island on Lovecraft. The book was “illustrated by Betty Wells Halladay from objects owned by H. Douglass Dana and the John Hay Library.” Halladay was then 15 years old and attending Hope High School in Providence; the drawings also appeared in a newspaper article that ran in the Providence Journal for 11 Nov 1945—with the added caption:

These drawings present objects from Lovecraft’s collection of oddities, items that he inherited, picked up on his travels, or was gifted by friends. While there are clues in Lovecraft’s letters that might help us identify some of these items, any such effort would be speculative. Is that stone head the Nameless Eikon that Clark Ashton Smith sent H. P. Lovecraft from California? Or the Cthulhoid effigy the horror in clay made for him by R. H. Barlow? Is that clay humanoid figure a gift from Stuart M. Boland or Samuel Loveman? Did Lovecraft pick up the Egyptian seal and scarab from some museum trip? We really don’t know. Some of them may yet reside at the John Hay Library, and perhaps there are answers there. For now, we can only say there were one more contribution that the Old Corner Bookshop made to preserving (and dispersing) Lovecraft’s legacy.

“A Glimpse of H. P. L.” was first published in Rhode Island on Lovecraft (1945) and the second edition; it was subsequently reprinted in Lovecraft Remembered (1998) and Ave Atque Vale (2018). It has also been translated into German by Malte S. Sembten for Namenlose Kulte (2006).

Rhode Island on Lovecraft can be read for free at the Internet Archive.

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.

“Miscellaneous Impressions of H. P. L.” (1945) by Marian F. Bonner

When Mrs. Phillips Gamwell, Howard Phillips Lovecraft’s aunt, returned to Providence from Cambridge, Mass., she and H.P.L. took an apartment on College Street near my dwelling. I had heard of Mrs. Gamwell before, so it was not long before I was visiting her, thusly bringing about my acquaintance with her nephew.
—Marian F. Bonner, “Miscellaneous Impressions of H. P. L.”
in Rhode Island on Lovecraft (1945) 23

The heart ceases to beat.

The last breath is released.

The countdown begins.

When someone dies, all that is left of them are the physical records—the letters, manuscripts, and other writings—and the memories of them in those still living who knew them. Both are perishable. Unless efforts are taken to preserve them, both will be lost. However, the living memories are the more fragile, the more liable to fade or shift with age, and once the person who holds them gone, they are gone forever, unless some effort was made to save them in fixed form. Some efforts were made to save H. P. Lovecraft’s written legacy: his stories, poems, letters, even the scraps were saved by friends and heirs.

The memories of his life, however, were not systematically preserved. Friends, neighbors, and acquaintances wrote and published their impressions of H.P.L. sporadically; there was no attempt to interview his surviving aunt Annie Gamwell while she was alive, for instance. In hindsight, that looks like an oversight—but in truth, it is the rare individual whose memory is preserved long after their death, except in census records and government databases, dusty family bibles and photo albums. Lovecraft, at least, inspired sufficient publication to catch a few recollections and memoirs before those who knew him passed on themselves.

Marian F. Bonner was Lovecraft’s neighbor and correspondent, although she was primarily a friend of his aunt. In 1945 she put together a brief memoir for the collection Rhode Island on Lovecraft. Bonner was not, apparently, a reader of his fiction; seemed entirely outside of the posthumous cult of personality that was Lovecraft’s fandom, or the politics of amateur journalism. Her random collection of recollections and impressions does not speak to any particular image or issue in Lovecraft by anyone else. It is a brief sliver of a life, and several of her impressions were apparently absorbed from Annie Gamwell, rather than directly from interactions with H.P.L.:

His aunt once told me of the meals he would pick up at various, unearthly hours, perhaps at a diner. He abused his digestion horribly according to her reports. His use of sugar in his favorite beverage, coffee, was enormous.
—Marian F. Bonner, “Miscellaneous Impressions of H. P. L.”
in Rhode Island on Lovecraft (1945) 24

At the time “Miscellaneous Impressions of H. P. L.” was published, none of Lovecraft’s correspondence with Bonner had seen print. Lovecraft’s letters would confirm much of what Bonner had said—the letters with the cat heads that Lovecraft had drawn on them, the Gaol Lane anecdote, the 1936 Christmas tree, his tendency to practically cover a postcard with tiny writing.

It is only a short memoir, and there is almost nothing in it that isn’t covered elsewhere by other memoirs or letters. Yet it captures her relationship with Lovecraft and his aunt. We are richer for its existence than we would be without it, for it is a piece of Lovecraft’s life we wouldn’t have had, otherwise.

As an addendum, at the John Hay Library at Brown University, a note survives which is attributed to Bonner:

Bridget Mullaney was one of the Lovecraft family’s servants during the 1890s. She was apparently unaware that Lovecraft’s cousin Phillips Gamwell had died in 1916, or the cause of the family’s slow financial dissolution. The black sheep uncle was Edwin Phillips. It is interesting to compare these third-hand impressions of a young H. P. Lovecraft with the recollections of the Letters of Clara Lovrien Hess.

“Miscellaneous Impressions of H. P. L.” was first published in Rhode Island on Lovecraft (1945) and the 1946 second edition; it was subsequently reprinted in Lovecraft Remembered (1998), Ave Atque Vale (2018), and Lovecraft Annual #9 (2015), alongside her letters with Lovecraft. It has also been translated into German by Malte S. Sembten for Namenlose Kulte (2006).

Rhode Island on Lovecraft can be read for free at the Internet Archive.

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.

Providence Journal, 2 Jan 1944
Thrilling Wonder Stories, Feb 1948
Thrilling Wonder Stories, Jun 1948
Famous Fantastic Mysteries, Aug 1948
The Atlanta Constitution, 8 Aug 1948
Providence Journal, 26 Aug 1948
Providence Journal, 19 Sep 1948
Fantastic Adventures, Oct 1948
Fantastic Adventures, Dec 1948
Startling Stories, Mar 1949
The Boston Globe, 29 Apr 1962
Fantastic, May 1962
Magazine of Horror, Jan 1965
Providence Journal, 8 Jan 1966
Magazine of Horror, Summer 1966
Fantastic, May 1966
Worlds of If, Oct 1966
Providence Journal, 19 Feb 1968
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.

Lovecraft y Negrito (2023) by Dolores Alcatena

Racist Language
This review concerns H. P. Lovecraft’s cat, whose name was a racial slur against Black people.
As part of this review, the cat’s name and variations are included. Reader discretion advised.

The first known reference to H. P. Lovecraft’s cat was in a letter from his grandfather when Lovecraft was only 5 years old:

You and Dumplin Mama must keep the Barn shut every night and take care of Nig.
—Whipple Van Buren Phillips to H. P. Lovecraft, 17 Oct 1895, Letters to Family & Family Friends 2.1046

“Nig” was short for “Niggerman.” It was a black cat, at a time when the N-word was relatively common for pets with black coats. Whether it was Lovecraft who named the kitten, or a family member or friend, is not recorded in any of Lovecraft’s letters. It was his childhood pet—and, as it happened, the only pet he could afford during his life, although he retained a great fondness for cats throughout his life, often petting or playing with strays. In 1904, Whipple Van Buren Phillips died. Lovecraft’s family home was sold, he and his mother moved away from his childhood home, and the cat disappeared during the tumult, never seen again.

Lovecraft remembered his feline companion in later years, and based two cats in his stories on his lost pet: Niggerman in “The Rats in the Walls,” and Nig in The Case of Charles Dexter Ward. Neither appearance caused any particular outcry at the time of publication; Weird Tales was no stranger to the N-word and other terms, and it was not until “The Rats in the Walls” (1956) that any serious effort was made to censor or bowdlerize the cat’s name. Works in translation and adaptation were more likely to change the name; different languages, with different histories regarding race relations and Black slavery, have their own nuances of language to give shades of meaning or seek to avoid giving offense.

In 2023, Argentinian illustrator and writer Dolores’ Alcatena published Lovecraft y Negrito, a short graphic novel about Lovecraft’s friendship with his beloved pet. As she puts it in the opening:

Como amante de los gatos, Howard Philips Lovecraft frecuentemente incluía en sus relatos a estos elegantes y misteriosos animalitos. En su estilo deliberadamente desamorado y serio, los describía como símbolos de perfección, estética, libertad e independencia. Pero entre las cartas del escritor aparece Niggerman, un gatito negro que acompañaba a Lovecraft en su niñez. Al hablar de Niggerman (rebautizado ‘Negrito” para esta obra) las palabras del autor asumían un tono cálido, recordando con ternura cómo jugaban juntos en el jardín. Al hablar del gatito, el escritor no pudo, o no quiso, esconder sus sentimientos. El cariño que Lovecraft mantuvo a lo largo de su vida por Niggerman inspiró esta historia, permitiéndonos acceder a un costado más humano del gran autor del horror.

As a cat lover, Howard Philips Lovecraft often included these elegant and mysterious animals in his stories. In his deliberately dispassionate and serious style, he described them as symbols of perfection, aesthetics, freedom, and independence. But among the writer’s letters appears Niggerman, a black kitten who accompanied Lovecraft in his boyhood. When talking about Niggerman (renamed “Negrito” for this work), the author’s words took on a warm tone, fondly recalling how they played together in the garden. When talking about the kitten, the writer could not, or did not want to, hide his feelings. Lovecraft’s lifelong affection for Niggerman inspired this story, allowing us to glimpse a more human side of the great horror author.

Dolores Alcatena, Lovecraft y Negrito (2023)

English translation

“Negro” in Spanish is the color black, “-ito” is a diminutive suffix; context is important because in some usages “negrito” can mean bold type, or it can be a reference to certain Southeast Asian peoples, or a not-necessarily-kind reference to small Black children. In the context of this story, it might be best to think of it as a term of affection, like naming a black kitten “Blackie.”

Su gato, Negrito, lo acompaña. Y, como siempre, lo cuida.	His cat, Negrito, accompanies him. And, as always, takes care of him.
Dolores Alcatena, Lovecraft y Negrito (2023)	English translation

The story is told in black and white, mostly from Negrito’s perspective. The cat aids and protects Howard through his journeys, including the events that would inspire “The Cats of Ulthar” and “The Shadow over Innsmouth.” From a cat’s perspective, the cat-killing couple in Ulthar are particularly horrific.

“Ningún hombre debería matar a un gato” Pensó el niño mientras recordaba a Negrito ronroneando frente al fuego.	“No man should kill a cat,” the boy thought as he remembered Negrito purring in front of the fire.
Dolores Alcatena, Lovecraft y Negrito (2023)	English translation

There is a somewhat fairy-tale quality to the retelling, the traipse through Lovecraft’s fiction. Most of Howard’s waking life we don’t see…but then his cat was not there to see that.

Qué suerte que Negrito siempre había estado en esos momentos.	How lucky that Negrito had always been there in those moments.
Dolores Alcatena, Lovecraft y Negrito (2023)	English translation

The Lovecraft of these stories is a scared, almost a traumatized kid, with Negrito as his only friend; parental figures are absent. It is a very sympathetic view of Howard as a child, but in comparison to El Joven Lovecraft by José Oliver & Bartolo Torres it does not show Lovecraft’s occasional joyfully morbid side. Readers are meant to empathize with a young Lovecraft.

The ending, a wordless reunion between the dead Lovecraft and his lost cat, is the kind of afterlife that every cat-lover might wish to experience themselves someday.

Es un tributo muy distintivo ser elegido como amigo y confidente de un gato. H. P. Lovecraft.	It is a very distinctive tribute to be chosen as a friend and confidant of a cat. H. P. Lovecraft.	It is no compliment to be the stupidly idolised master of a dog whose instinct it is to idolise, but it is a very distinct tribute to be chosen as the friend and confidant of a philosophic cat who is wholly his own master and could easily choose another companion if he found such an one more agreeable and interesting.
Dolores Alcatena, Lovecraft y Negrito (2023)	English translation	H. P. Lovecraft, “Cats and Dogs”

Lovecraft y Negrito is a story about a boy and his cat. It is not a historical work that delves into the nuances of the cultural forces that went into such names, or how naming cats did or did not reflect Lovecraft’s racial prejudices in later life. If readers want a scholarly exploration of what we do and don’t know about the real animal, check out Ken Faig’s essay “Lovecraft’s Boyhood Cat” in Lovecraft Annual #19 (2025). If you want a heartwarming fantasy about Lovecraft and his beloved pet, which has gained a kind of literary immortality, then read Lovecraft y Negrito.

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.