The work of Lord Dunsany had enormous influence on writers like H.P. Lovecraft and Clark Ashton Smith, especially his earlier collections, The Gods of Pegāna (1905) and Time and the Gods (1906). This influence can be seen in Clark Ashton Smith’s The Chain of Aforgomon, which was published in the December 1935 issue of Weird Tales. The exotic place names, fable-like structure, and occasional regression into 18th Century English diction make Smith’s story appear superficially Dunsanian. But Smith was much more adept than Lovecraft at incorporating Dunsany’s style into his own creation, and The Chain of Aforgomon contains many elements that are unique to Smith’s fiction. It is one of his most impressive and memorable stories, in my view.
Because
the author excels at fashioning stories that end almost exactly where they
begin, it pays to reread the first few pages of this story after right after reaching
the end of it. The reader
will then have a greater appreciation for what Smith has done to express his
grim vision of reincarnation and the hazards of tampering with time.
The story
begins ominously. The narrator, who is
the executer of the late John Milwarp’s estate, describes how the author
suffered a bizarre death—a kind of spontaneous human combustion—in his
study. Milwarp has left behind a journal
of the hallucinatory adventures he experienced after taking a drug called souvara. His executor publishes the
diary entries in a magazine “as part of my endeavor to revive and perpetuate
Milwarp’s memory.”
There
is some urgency here. Despite the
ghastliness of Milwarp’s death, even the narrator himself is beginning to
forget details about him. Even the ink
with which Milwarp wrote his manuscript is beginning to fade into invisibility. His last novel has been turned down by
publishers despite being of equal quality to his earlier work. “They say that his vogue has passed.” It is as if the memory of John Milwarp is
being relentlessly erased from the minds of those who knew him. The narrator begins to wonder if he ever
existed. This perhaps is Smith’s sad
comment on the fleetingness of success and renown.
The
notion of an individual’s erasure from past, present and future time is reminiscent
of a short fable by Lord Dunsany—“The King That Was Not”—found in Time and the Gods. King Althazar enrages the gods of Pegāna by
having statues made of all of them, but with his face on each statue. “Slay him not,” the gods say, “for it is not
enough that Althazar shall die…”
Instead, his punishment is to be forgotten out of existence. Clark Ashton Smith takes this idea and adds
his trademark preoccupation with time travel, necromancy, blasphemy, torture
and justice.
Milwarp
experiments with souvara only once or
twice, but the effects are devastating.
He travels back in time, experiencing various lives in different historical
vistas. Eventually Milwarp goes backward
to a time before the creation of the earth, and finds himself in the city of
Kalood, on the planet Hestan. He is now
Calaspa, a priest of the time god, Aforgomon.
But contact with this earlier version of himself proves hazardous,
because the two personalities, separated by aeons of time, begin to meld
together—Milwarp soon begins to experience the dissolution of his identity.
A similar
hallucinatory experience can be found in Clark Ashton Smith’s earlier story Ubbo-Sathla (1933). The motif of reliving past lives also appears
in the stories of several of Smith’s contemporaries, for example, H.P Lovecraft’s
Polaris (1920) and Frank Belknap Long’s
The Hounds of Tindalos (1929).
(See
earlier posts: The
Hazards of Curiosity Shops, Star
Light, Star Bright, and A
Death by Metaphysics)
In Ubbo-Sathla, Smith’s character
reinhabits his life as an ancient wizard who travels back millions of years to
examine the primordial entity of the same name, using a mysterious crystal. In Lovecraft’s story, contemplation of a star
produces the vision of a past life in which the character failed to prevent a
cataclysmic attack on his beloved city of Olathoë. He is left guilty and confused over whether
the past or the present constitutes his real life. In The
Hounds of Tindalos, Long’s character wants to travel forwards and backwards
in time using the ancient Chinese drug called Liao—the reader suspects immediately that this excursion will end
badly.
In
Clark Ashton Smith’s The Chain of
Aforgomon, Milwarp—as Calaspa the priest of the time god—turns his back on
his religious training and commits sacrilege by desecrating the altar of his
deity. He invokes the time god’s arch
rival Xexanoth, “the Lurking Chaos”, in a ceremony reminiscent of Satanic
rituals. Why? In order to spend just one more hour with his
deceased beloved, Belthoris. But this blasphemous
distortion of time will have implications for his future lives, and those of
others as well.
In
all of these stories, the implication of reincarnation is not that souls improve through successive reiterations,
but that the evils of the past color and bleed through into the lives of people
in the present, and draw them backwards in time to the original horror. As a Calvinist, it is tempting to see in this
depiction of reincarnation a recrudescence of original sin, working its way out through successive lives.
The circular
structure of Smith’s story masterfully drives home the karmic insight, which is
also relevant to the psychology of a single individual. John Milwarp’s ultimate question of identity
is not ‘Who am I?’, but ‘Who were we?’ The
Chain of Aforgomon is strongly recommended reading; it is also interesting
to compare Smith’s treatment of reincarnation with those of his contemporaries.
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