Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Fantasy Fan, November 1933<br />The Fans' Own Magazine by Various (best motivational books of all time .TXT) 📖
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Atal could not hear the voices Barzai heard, but he was now close to the bulging cliff and scanning it for footholds. Then he heard Barzai's voice grow shriller and louder:
"The mist is very thin, and the moon casts shadows on the slope; the voice of earth's gods art high and wild, and they fear the coming of Barzai the Wise, who is greater than they…. The moon's light flickers, as earth's gods dance against it; I shall see the dancing forms of the gods that leap and howl in the moonlight…. The light is dimmer and the gods are afraid…."
Whilst Barzai was shouting these things Atal felt a spectral change in all the air, as if the laws of earth were bowing to greater laws; for though the way was steeper than ever, the upward path was now grown fearsomely easy, and the bulging cliff proved scarce an obstacle when he reached it and slid perilously up its convex face. The light of the moon had strangely failed, and as Atal plunged upward through the mists he heard Barzai the Wise shrieking in the shadows:
"The moon is dark, and the gods dance in the night; there is terror in the sky, for upon the moon hath sunk an eclipse foretold in no books of men or of earth's gods…. There is unknown magic on Hatheg-Kla, for the screams of the frightened gods have turned to laughter, and the slopes of ice shoot up endlessly into the black heavens whither I am plunging…. Hei! Hei! At last! In the dim light I behold the gods of earth!"
And now Atal, slipping dizzily up over inconceivable steeps, heard in the dark a loathsome laughing, mixed with such a cry as no man else ever heard save in the Phlegethon of unrelatable nightmares; a cry wherein reverberated the horror and anguish of a haunted lifetime packed into one atrocious moment:
"The Other gods! The Other gods! The gods of the outer hells that guard the feeble gods of earth…. Look away…. Go back…. Do not see! Do not see! The vengeance of the infinite abysses…. That cursed, that damnable pit…. Merciful gods of earth, I am falling into the sky!"
And as Atal shut his eyes and stopped his eyes and stopped his ears and tried to jump downward against the frightful pull from unknown heights, there resounded on Hatheg-Kla that terrible peal of thunder which awaked the good cotters of the plains and the honest burgesses of Hatheg, Nir and Ulthar, and caused them to behold through the clouds that strange eclipse of the moon that no book ever predicted. And when the moon came out at last Atal was safe on the lower snows of the mountain without sight of earth's gods, or of the Other gods.
Now it is told in the mouldy Pnakotic Manuscripts that Sansu found naught but wordless ice and rock when he did climb Hatheg-Kla in the youth of the world. Yet when the men of Ulthar and Nir and Hatheg crushed their fears and scaled that haunted steep by day in search of Barzai the Wise, they found graven in the naked stone of the summit a curious and Cyclopean symbol fifty cubits wide, as if the rock had been riven by some titanic chisel. And the symbol was like to one that learned men have discerned in those frightful parts of the Pnakotic Manuscripts which were too ancient to be read. This they found.
Barzai the Wise they never found, nor could the holy priest Atal ever be persuaded to pray for his soul's repose. Moreover, to this day the people of Ulthar and Nir and Hatheg fear eclipses, and pray by night when pale vapours hide the mountain-top and the moon. And above the mists on Hatheg-Kla, earth's gods sometimes dance reminiscently; for they know they are safe, and love to come from unknown Kadath in ships of cloud and play in the olden way, as they did when earth was new and men not given to the climbing of inaccessible places.
INFORMATION
If you are puzzled by any fact connected with fantasy fiction, send your questions in to us, and we will do our best to answer them. Any question sent in by you and not answered in this issue was received too late and will appear in our next issue.
STARTLING FACT
Many readers have asked the Editor where they could secure such books as the "Necronomicon," "The Book of Eibon" and other books of medieval sorcery mentioned in the stories of Clark Ashton Smith, H. P. Lovecraft, and other authors of weird tales.
Upon these requests, the Editor wrote to Clark Ashton Smith, inquiring of him whether these books had been translated into English as yet or not, whereupon, Mr. Smith informs us as follows:
"'Necronomicon,' 'Book of Eibon,' etc., I am sorry to say, are all fictitious. Lovecraft invented the first, I the second. Howard, I believe, fathered the German work on the Nameless Cults. It is really too bad that they don't exist as objective, bonafide compilations of the elder and darker Lore! I have been trying to remedy this, in some small measure, by cooking up a whole chapter of Eibon. It is still unfinished, and I am now entitling it 'The Coming of the White Worm'…. This worm mentioned in Eibon is Rlim Shaikorth, and comes from beyond the pole on a strange, gigantic iceberg with a temperature of absolute zero."
We'll bet that most Smith and Lovecraft fans really believed in the existence of these books (as did the editor). A reader informs us that in the July issue of Weird Tales, these books were mentioned in three stories.
This incident only goes to prove that Smith and Lovecraft have the gift of creating the "illusion of reality," the phrase defined in the 1924 Anniversary Number of Weird Tales.
Urge your friends to subscribe to TFF.
ANNALS OF THE JINNS
by R. H. Barlow
2—The Shadow From Above
A midsummer day in the hamlet of Droom. The villagers went about their various tasks, and within the tiny market-square the spice-vendors and the people from the hills with their exotic burdens of gay fruits created a pleasant hum of busy occupation. Sleeping dogs lay contentedly in the warm sunlight, and the squat beasts of burden ambled about peacefully upon their six clawless paws, their grotesque faces slit with toad-like grins. All was, no one could have denied, entirely calm.
Then one of the dogs lying in a doorway sprang suddenly and omitted a sharp bark. At the same moment a dark cloud apparently obscured the sun. In a short time it had passed unnoticed save for the dog. But his owner—an old crone in a voluminous black hood—peered intently at the clear and vacant sky, and started chattering in an excited tone. Soon the whole population was out of doors looking upwards at that which could not be seen yet which cast a deep shadow. Nothing was to be perceived in the expanse of blue, yet upon the square cobblestones of the quaint little village an irregular black form wavered back and forth. Then it grew larger. Whatever it may have been, it was settling. The people drew back afrightened. Slowly the swinging motion ceased, and the thing drew near. A deep, heavy panting was distinctly audible, much like that of a great beast, and with a dull impact as though it was of great weight, it alighted upon a grassy plot before the Chancellor's house. For a long time it lay there, resting. And still nothing could be seen save the indentation of the grass nor aught heard but the heavy breathing.
Then, to the terror of the white-faced and nervous citizens, it rose on giant feet and tramped down a lane. Thud…. Thud…. Thud…. Thud…. The sound grew monotonous in its deliberation. Before its path lay a sleeping hound. It was lifted as if in a vast claw, and vanished among horrid rending sounds. A single drop of blood flecked the earth…. Its taste momentarily sated, the thing paused and turned.
It took some moments for reason to replace the stark terror of the townsfolk. Then there was a mad and frantic rush for the nearest houses. Those to first gain entrance barred the doors upon their comrades. In a moment the street was apparently bare—save for the unseen monster.
All that afternoon and night it pried at doors, scratched at roofs, muzzled windows and upset fruits-carts inquiringly. But the people of Droom had built well. It did not gain entrance during the night, although few slept, when they heard the constant breathing before their homes, and the dull thumping sounds as it wreaked its malice upon the shops of the marketplace.
It was high noon before any dared unbar their doors and venture forth. Nothing unusual greeted their blanched faces, and silently, apprehensively they stole to their tasks. Soon all activity again commenced.
The horror had gone.
Come over to "Our Readers Say" and "The Boiling Point" and join in the comment.
THE BOILING POINT
Herewith we continue the Ackerman-Smith debate, which is waxing hot.
"The Ackerman-Smith controversy assumes all the aspects of a mad comedy. To assail and reprehend the writings of Clark Ashton Smith is as preposterous and futile as a dwarf transporting a huge mountain peak upon the tip of his tiny finger. Either Forrest J. Ackerman is daft or an imbecile or a notoriety-seeking clown and knave. Clark Ashton Smith stands alone in the realm of present-day weird and fantastic literature, and, therefore, above all his contemporaries. He is still King: and has yet to be dethrone."—Robert Nelson.
"Personally, I thought that 'The Light From Beyond' was very good, and I saw nothing weird about it. It was fantasy and not stf., but some of the greatest classics of so-called science fiction have been almost pure fantasy. Witness: Merritt's 'Snake Mother' and 'Moon Pool,' and Taine's 'Time Stream.' Ackerman's objections to this were particularly obnoxious to me, as I thought it one of the best stories ever written. Certainly, there should be something more to science fiction than rays, machines, villains, heroines (composed of lipstick and leg, as Mr. Barlow rather bitterly expresses it), as has been stressed so greatly of late. There should be an element of fantasy, strong characters, and a well-developed plot in addition. The lack of those is why so many weird story lovers (like Mr. Barlow) can find so much fault with stf. I do not blame him. I, myself, as a reader, will stop reading stf when the fantasy element is dropped completely." William Crawford.
QUESTIONNAIRE
Here are the answers to the questions we asked you in September. How many could you answer without looking them up?
1. David H. Keller's first story was "The Revolt of the Pedestrians" in the February, 1928 issue of Amazing.
2. Tom Jenkins was the leading character in "In 20,000 A.D." and "Back to 20,000 A.D." by Schachner and Zagat, in the Sept., 1930 and March, 1931 issues of Wonder, respectively.
3. A. Hyatt Verrill lays most of his plots in Central and South America.
4. "Through the Veil" by Leslie F. Stone in May, 1930 Amazing, gave a scientific explanation of the fairy myth.
5. Clement Fezandie wrote the "Dr. Hackensaw's Secrets" stories, a series in the old Electrical Experimenter, and early issues of Science and Invention.
Not so much in rebuttal to Mr. Ackerman as to toss another stick onto the fire, let me confess that the scientific fiction type of literature seems to me among the dullest written. I avoid whenever possible, except in such cases where it passes the boundaries into the weird and horrible. Of course, the work of Wells is an exception. This may be blasphemy to most of your readers, but there it is. To return to Mr. Ackerman's complaint: I fail to see why it is any more deplorable for Wonder Stories to publish Clark Ashton Smith's horror story than for Weird Tales to publish Edmond Hamilton's pseudo-scientific effusions. And it was Amazing Stories that had the honor to publish "The Colour Out of Space" by America's master of the weird, Lovecraft. Richard E. Morse.
A DREAM OF THE ABYSS
by Clark Ashton Smith
I seemed at the sheer end:
Albeit mine eyes, in mystery and night
Shrouded as with the thick profundity of death,
Or as if underneath Lethean lentors drowned,
Saw never lamp nor star nor dead star's wraith of
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