I am
fortunate to live in a university town with several fine used book stores. My favorite shop is also by far the most
hazardous. There are so many books, but
so few shelves, that the sound of books falling here and there can be heard in
any corner of the shop. I was once
nearly struck on the head by a very early edition of Dunsany’s Time and the Gods that had succumbed to
gravity. (I then was able to negotiate a
very reasonable price with the proprietor.) Should there ever be a fire or earthquake—the
latter is rare in Michigan—no one in the store at the time will survive.
The
entire north wall of the store is thick with stacks and rows of old science
fiction and horror, with the really good stuff in an ancient locked cabinet
under glass. Not far from this cabinet
of fiscal doom is a veritable goldmine: piles of magazines like Avon Fantasy Reader and Avon Science Fiction Reader. These are mostly from the early 1950s, and
were edited by Donald Wollheim, the author of Mimic (1942). They do not
have the same panache as the pulps of the 20s and 30s, but are still fascinating. Beautiful women in clothing-optional settings
adorn the covers with hideous monsters and malevolent robots. (My wife gave me a marital look when I
brought a few of them into the house.)
Avon Science Fiction Reader No. 3, published in 1952, contains 8
stories that originally saw print as early as 1927 (The Master Ants, by Francis Flagg) and as late as 1949 (P.N. 40 by S. Fowler Wright). Frank Belknap Long has a story in this issue,
which is illustrated on the front cover:
The Robot Empire. But the story I was most interested in was
H.P. Lovecraft’s collaboration with Kenneth Sterling, In the Walls of Eryx (1939).
L.
Sprague De Camp remarks that Lovecraft and Sterling began working together on
this story in 1936. In the Walls of Eryx is an unusual story for Lovecraft: realistic,
unadorned science fiction that takes place on another planet. Per De Camp, Lovecraft was “conservative”
about space travel, and did not think that manned space travel was feasible
because of the risk. Unmanned missions
to the moon seemed to him likely in the near future, but trips to the nearest
planets awaited the development of some as yet unknown technology. Nevertheless, given Lovecraft’s longstanding
interest in astronomy, it is interesting that he never wrote speculative
fiction set on other worlds.
According
to Donald Wollheim’s introductory note, Kenneth Sterling wrote the first draft
of In the Walls of Eryx while he was
a medical student in Providence. He
persuaded H.P. Lovecraft to review and edit the story. Lovecraft’s revision was evidently quite
thorough; the younger author insisted that his mentor also have a by-line when
the story was published—in Weird Tales
about two years after Lovecraft’s death.
As of 1952, Sterling had become a physician and was involved in cancer
research.
S.T.
Joshi reports that the idea of the invisible maze was Sterling’s, although he
borrowed it from an earlier story, Edmond Hamilton’s The Monster-God of Mamurth, published in Weird Tales in 1926. Joshi
suspects that the prose is mostly Lovecraft’s, but that Sterling’s ideas are
otherwise preserved. The renowned biographer
identifies several in-jokes that show up in the text. Some of the more noxious Venusian organisms—farnoth-flies,
effjay weeds, wriggling akmans—are wordplays on such pulp fiction luminaries as
Farnsworth Wright and Forrest J. Ackerman.
Joshi believes these are Lovecraft’s contributions. This is consistent with the latter’s clever,
linguistic humor.
In the Walls of Eryx is a fairly straightforward tale. It reads like the plot of an episode of Twilight Zone or The Outer Limits. The Venusian
setting and dire predicament of “Operative A-49, Kenton J Stanfield” are
described with such visual detail that one can imagine watching a story like
this on television. Stanfield works for a
rapacious corporation that harvests crystals needed on earth as a power source. (Readers who grew up with Star Trek will immediately wonder if
these are dilithium crystals.)
But
the ‘man-lizards’ of Venus use the crystals in their religious worship, and so
a violent ‘cowboys and Indians’ struggle is in progress. Stanfield’s situation is grim one: he is trapped inside an invisible maze
devised by the man-lizards, and faces immanent starvation and
asphyxiation as his supplies dwindle. Around the outside perimeter, the natives
gawk and mock him cruelly. In case he forgets his awful fate, there is
the corpse of a colleague sharing the labyrinth with him. Periodically there are updates on the decay
of these remains, which is accelerated by the actions of various Venusian organisms
lovingly described—this seems to be a Lovecraft touch.
Later,
as his condition becomes more desperate, Stanfield begins to have a philosophical
change of heart. “As the end approaches
I feel more kindly toward the things. In
the scale of cosmic entity who can say which species stand higher, or more
nearly approaches a space-wide organic norm—theirs or mine?”
This is
not H.P. Lovecraft.
There
are other qualitative differences between In
the Walls of Eryx and more typical Lovecraftian fare. The protagonist is not overwhelmed by cosmic fear or nightmarish terror. He instead approaches his dilemma with
calmness and systematically attempts to solve the problem. The trappings of science fiction are more
evident, with reasonable speculation about future technology and exobiology—given
what was known about space travel and the planet Venus circa the 1930s. The faith in science, technology and military
might anticipates the science fiction of the late 1950s and early 1960s.
Most
remarkable, despite his awful fate is Stanfield’s belated change of heart, and
his ruminations about how humanity ought to relate to alien species in the
future. This concern sounds familiar and
more contemporary than Lovecraft’s reflexive fear of ‘the other’. In the
Walls of Eryx seems to contain an early articulation of the Prime Directive.
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