The short
stories of Robert E. Howard are not
known for philosophical depth or discussion.
Often he will elaborate on the very practical insight that it is best to
preemptively kill those who would try to kill you. But that is about as far as it goes. No time for reflection; better unsheathe that
sword or reload that pistol. This is what makes his The Mirrors of Tuzun Thune (1929) unique among his violent, action oriented tales.
The story
was published in Weird Tales in the
same issue that featured H.P. Lovecraft’s The
Hound, Henry S. Whitehead’s The Lips,
and part three of Edmond Hamilton’s Interstellar
Patrol. Howard also had some of his
poetry in this issue, (“The Moor Ghost”).
The Mirrors of Tuzun Thune is probably one of Howard’s more
thoughtful works, and it is tempting to see in it some of the author’s
philosophical speculations. Other than staring into a mirror for long periods
of time, there is almost no action in the story at all. A requisite killing near the conclusion almost brings an end to the lead
character’s ruminations. What would a
Howard story be without at least one stabbing, impaling, or fatal projectile
wound? And there is only one. An accomplice is even shown mercy, which is
not often typical. One suspects that an
increase of philosophy is inversely proportional to the body count in Howard’s
work.
The Mirrors of Tuzun Thune is one of just three stories
featuring his character of Kull that Howard published in his lifetime. The author was 23 at the time. Though they occupy very different time
periods, Kull is a cousin—or at least an ancestor—of Conan the Barbarian and
Solomon Kane. He is the more politically
and philosophically inclined of the three.
In this story he is the reigning king of Valusia, though originally from
Atlantis.
Kull
is having an Ecclesiastes moment:
“All
things are wearisome, more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of
hearing. What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.” (Ecclesiastes 1: 8-9).
Though
king, he is unimpressed with the riches he has acquired, uninterested in his
friend’s offer of a sea voyage, bored with the affairs of court—he has done it
all. But he is still restless, wondering
if there is more to life, if there is an escape from boredom and
meaninglessness. He consults a local
wizard, the “Tuzun Thune” of the title, who engages him in a wide ranging
philosophical discussion.
At
first, Thune offers flip answers to Kull’s interview questions. When the king asks the wizard if he can
summon demons, he responds “Aye. I can
summon up a demon more savage than any in ghostland—by smiting you in the face.” It seems the humor is lost on Kull. When Kull asks Thune if he can do wonders,
Thune stretches out his hand, opening and closing it. “Is that not a wonder—that this blind flesh
obeys the thoughts of my mind?” And so
forth.
But
then Thune introduces Kull to his vast collection of mirrors, in particular,
three: “the mirror of the past”, “of the future”, and “the mirror of deepest
magic”. The first two provide Kull with visions
of primordial history and an unfamiliar future.
These visions allow the wizard to expound on the nature of time and the
rise and fall of civilizations. “The
mirror of deepest magic”, which Kull returns to repeatedly, neglecting his more
mundane duties, involves him staring intently at himself, and questioning the nature of reality on both sides of the
reflective surface. Idolatry and
narcissism may be in view here, but so is metaphysics. Thune offers this
remarkable insight, which he intones hypnotically to Kull as he gazes at his
reflection:
“See
and believe,” droned the wizard. “Man
must believe to accomplish. Form is
shadow, substance is illusion, materiality is dream; man is because he believes
he is; what is man but a dream of the gods?
Yet man can be that which he wishes to be; form and substance, they are
but shadows. The mind, the ego, the
essence of the god-dream—that is real, that is immortal. See and believe, if you would accomplish,
Kull.”
This
is pretty heady stuff for a conqueror who is experiencing a mid-life crisis. Many of us at the end of a long career—perhaps
even at the beginning of one—would be susceptible to ideas like these. Sadly, Tuzun Thune is involved in a plot to
overthrow the king. He is actually
trying to lure Kull into another dimension by way of “the mirror of deepest
magic”. Yet there is ambivalence
here: Kull wants to go, wants a new start.
Though the plot is foiled, the king is left wondering “…was it his
witchery that was changing me into thin mist, or had I stumbled on a secret?”
Like
his soul brother Ecclesiastes, thousands of years after Kull’s time, the king
is left asking whether there is in fact a way out. And thousands of years
after Ecclesiastes, so are we.
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