The Land that Time Forgot: A tale best left forgotten

Repeat after me: Pulp is a great genre, but not all pulp is great. And some of it isn't very good at all, I'm afraid.

I lead with this because I've noticed that pulp often gets a free pass from its advocates. Fans will leap to the defense of poorly plotted, boring, or otherwise not well-written stories and pulp-inspired films with a simple, "well, it's pulp"--as if this fact somehow makes the genre above criticism.

Now, I happen to be a big fan of pulp, but I can also recognize a flawed example when I see it. Even when its written by Edgar Rice Burroughs, one of pulp's grand masters (see many of his wonderful Tarzan and John Carter stories).

I'm sorry to say that Burroughs' The Land that Time Forgot is not very good. It's not as bad as, say, Magic Kingdom for Sale: Sold , and I've read worse, but when compared to the best pulp has to offer--i.e., almost anything written by Robert E. Howard--The Land that Time Forgot simply does not measure up.

Part of my problem with this book may be the fact that I listened to an audio recording produced by Audio Realms, delivered in uninspired fashion by narrator Brian Holsopple. Audio Realms is also responsible for producing the fantastic series The Dark Worlds of H.P. Lovecraft, read by Wayne June (who is a terrific narrator), but I found this particular entry in their catalogue rather poor.

To be fair, Holsopple doesn't exactly have Lovecraft at the top of his game to work with. Some of the dialogue in The Land that Time Forgot is so stilted and cornball that I found myself literally cringing behind the steering wheel while driving into work. Here's one less-than-stellar example:

"You have evolved a beautiful philosophy," I said. "It fills such a longing in the human breast. It is full, it is satisfying, it is ennobling. What wonderous strides toward perfection the human race might have made if the first man had evolved it and it had persisted until now as the creed of humanity."

"I don't like irony," she said; "it indicates a small soul."

"What other sort of soul, then, would you expect from 'a comic little figure hopping from the cradle to the grave'?" I inquired. "And what difference does it make, anyway, what you like and what you don't like? You are here for but an instant, and you mustn't take yourself too seriously."

She looked up at me with a smile. "I imagine that I am frightened and blue," she said, "and I know that I am very, very homesick and lonely." There was almost a sob in her voice as she concluded. It was the first time that she had spoken thus to me. Involuntarily, I laid my hand upon hers where it rested on the rail.

I mean, this stuff makes the lines delivered in Days of Our Lives seem like John Keats in comparison.

The Land that Time Forgot tells the tale of Tyler Bowen, an American on a merchant vessel whose ship is attacked by a World War I German U-boat. Bowen survives and with the help of some British sailors manages to overpower the U-boat's crew. Bowen is eventually betrayed by one of his own men who smashes the U-boat's instruments in an attempt to doom the ship's crew. When Bowen finally learns who his betrayer is, the man on his deathbed reveals his secrets like an unmasked villain from Scooby-Doo:

"I did it alone," he said. "I did it because I hate you--I hate all your kind. I was kicked out of your shipyard at Santa Monica. I was locked out of California. I am an I. W. W. I became a German agent--not because I love them, for I hate them too--but because I wanted to injure Americans, whom I hated more. I threw the wireless apparatus overboard. I destroyed the chronometer and the sextant. I devised a scheme for varying the compass to suit my wishes. I told Wilson that I had seen the girl talking with von Schoenvorts, and I made the poor egg think he had seen her doing the same thing. I am sorry--sorry that my plans failed. I hate you."

And he would have succeeded if it wasn't for you meddling kids.

Lost at sea and low on food and water, Bowen and his men land on the island of Caprona, a literal island that time forgot. It's inhabited by dinosaurs of every age as well as ice-age beasts and men in various stages of evolution. Bowen then spends the rest of the book rescuing a stranded damosel from the hands of lustful Neanderthal men and hungry dinosaurs, as well as kicking the crap out of primitive men. Oh, I didn't mention that Bowen happens to be a physical specimen and a master of judo? Here's my favorite passage:

Three of the warriors were sitting upon me, trying to hold me down by main strength and awkwardness, and they were having their hands full in the doing, I can tell you. I don't like to appear conceited, but I may as well admit that I am proud of my strength and the science that I have acquired and developed in the directing of it--that and my horsemanship I always have been proud of.

And now, that day, all the long hours that I had put into careful study, practice and training brought me in two or three minutes a full return upon my investment. Californians, as a rule, are familiar with ju-jutsu, and I especially had made a study of it for several years, both at school and in the gym of the Los Angeles Athletic Club, while recently I had had, in my employ, a Jap who was a wonder at the art. It took me just about thirty seconds to break the elbow of one of my assailants, trip another and send him stumbling backward among his fellows, and throw the third completely over my head in such a way that when he fell his neck was broken.

"Californians as a rule are familiar with ju-jutsu?" "I am proud of my strength and the science that I have acquired and developed in the directing of it?" "A Jap who was a wonder at the art?" Man, if this isn't Mystery Science Theatre 3000 material than I don't know what is.

About the only thing that The Land the Time Forgot has going for it is that it isn't entirely boring, if you like one mindless action scene strung together after the next. But, in summation, if you're looking for a good representative of the pulp genre, look elsewhere.

Note: The Land that Time Forgot is now in the public domain, and if you're so inclined you can read it in its entirety at Project Gutenberg, here: http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/551

Addendum: This review also appears at SFFaudio.com: http://www.sffaudio.com/?p=3572

Journey to the Center of the Earth: A review

In listening to Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth, I was struck by how much modern films like Raiders of the Lost Ark and National Treasure owe to this book. Although it was written way back in 1864, while the War Between the States was in full swing and the earth was a very different place, in many ways its thoroughly modern, at home alongside recent sci-fi novels like John Crichton's Jurassic Park.

In summary, Journey to the Center of the Earth is a fast-paced and lively pseudo science/exploration story that manages to be mostly interesting and entertaining. Unfortunately, it also crosses over into unbelievable territory about three-quarters of the way through and ends with a classic deux-ex-machina, but I found I can live with it.

Journey to the Center of the Earth takes aim at the theory that the earth grows hotter the nearer that you travel to its center. Verne posits the idea that the earth's core is inhabitable and houses massive cavities, caverns so huge that you cannot see their roof. At its center is a sea large enough that you can travel across it and lose sight of land all around. Science has of course since proven this idea impossible, but it makes for a fun story if you divorce it from reality.

Journey to the Center of Earth has a compelling opening that reminded me of The DaVinci Code--Professor Liedenbrock and his nephew Axel, the heroes of the story, find a coded note written in runes within the pages of an Icelandic saga. They puzzle through it and discover that it is a note written by Arne Saknussemm describing a passage he has found to the center of the earth. The opening is located in the interior of a dormant volcano in Iceland. Liedenbrock and Axel recruit an Icelandic guide and the three men embark on their journey.

I found Verne's descriptions of overland and sea travel to Iceland interesting, and the first scenes of the descent fascinating. Verne vividly portrays the vast depths and terrifying downward drops of the volcano shaft, and creates excitement and dread in two sequences in which Axel gets lost in the inky blackness and the three men nearly die of thirst.

Unfortunately I thought that the tale started to unravel once the men near the earth's center, which contains ice age creatures, dinosaurs, and even early men. If the story didn't literally jump a shark it certainly started to lose me once Liedenbrock and Axel's small boat passes very nearly over an Ichthyosaurus. I was also puzzled with the abrupt ending--Liedenbrock and Axel gain great fame from their expedition, while others treat their claims with skeptcism. But, inexplicably, no one ever bothers to re-trace their footsteps and verify their claims.

Still, you could do worse than pass the time by giving it the book a listen. It's also skillfully read by English-accented, professorial-sounding narrator Simon Prebble.

Note: This review is also posted on SFFaudio.com.

Ketchum's Hide and Seek proves the worst terrors lurk within

So what scares horror writers? I imagine something like this: They draw back the curtain to provide the audience with a full look at their half-hidden ghosts, only to find that their readers react with indifference instead of terror at the final reveal.

This scenario has happened to me more than a few times during my reading experience, which is why I think that the old saw that horror writers "choose" not to write about vampires and zombies and ghouls because they're "overused" and "cliche" is so much bullshit. Horror writers avoid these elements not because it's hard to write about them, but because it's hard to write about them believeably.

Jack Ketchum's 1984 novel Hide and Seek unfortunately suffers a bit from this malady. Although its monsters are not truly supernatural, Ketchum's novel contains a beast that really isn't very scary, and its appearance towards the end of the book is a bit of a letdown--at least from my point of view.

Of course, it's only a letdown because the buildup to that point is so damned compelling.

Hide and Seek is set in Dead River, a sleepy, depressed tourist town on the coast of Maine, and follows the story of a 20-year-old townie, Dan Thomas. Dan is living a life of inertia ("A tired life breeds tired decisions," Ketchum writes), but the arrival of Casey, Kim, and Steve, three rich teenagers vacationing with their parents for the summer, shakes up his routine. Although he's from a very different background, Dan is drawn to Casey, a beautiful but cynical and wild girl with a volatile, dangerous streak in her. She returns his affections and Dan becomes an accepted part of the group.

The teens like to get their kicks by breaking the rules--skinny dipping and petty thievery, mostly. So when Dan tells them about the old Crouch residence--an abandoned coastal house with a grim past that includes rumors of a cannibalistic couple and a pack of wild dogs--the lure is too much to resist. Casey suggests a game of grown up hide and seek without flashlights at night in the house, and the fun (and horror) ensues.

I'll try not to spoil anything, but suffice to say that Hide and Seek has much more going on under the surface than a teenage slasher or haunted house movie. I wrote about Ketchum's depth as a writer in a recent post and he doesn't disappoint here. Hide and Seek is about the darkness we have inside of us. In a play on the title, Casey has her own dark secret that she keeps buried and hidden. Seeking it out at its dark core proves very dangerous, indeed.

The old Crouch house contains a tunnel of horrors in its dusty basement. Read as a symbol, the journey into this dark and rotten place is a voyage inside Casey's bleeding psyche. A horrible, vile truth lurks in this void, but it must be faced and stamped out if she is to become whole.

Hide and Seek begins with a brief meditation on how fate and chance are unpredictable, and how even a single, awful event can twist and ruin someone for the rest of their life. For Casey, a moment of unforgiveable weakness by her father in her 13th year causes her to develop a wild, nihilistic streak that threatens to consume her. Only when she finally faces her fear--the beast in the cave--does Casey grow up:

In the midst of all the terror, we were happy. The caves had shown us the worst the world could do to you. And for just a moment, something of the best.

But Ketchum is not a typical writer and happy outcomes are not guaranteed. His horrors--and those endured by Casey--are mean and nasty, and can kill.

In summary, if viewed in a purely psychological sense, Hide and Seek works and its implications are frightening. But with a literal reading in the cold light of day, the things in the Crouch house aren't really so frightening, after all.

Note: Hide and Seek is Ketchum's second novel and, although I still recommend it as a cracking good read, his later stuff (The Lost, The Girl Next Door) gets better.

The Dark Worlds of H.P. Lovecraft: A review

I have seen the dark universe yawning
Where the dark planets roll without aim--
Where they roll in their horror unheeded,
Without knowledge or luster or name.

--HP Lovecraft, "The Haunter of the Dark"

Seminal horror author H.P. Lovecraft may have a loyal following, but he also gets a lot of flak for his style--which some describe as overly archaic and distractingly adjective-laced--or by those who approach his short stories looking for a scare, but leave disappointed that he's not frightening enough.

I think both points have some validity though largely I don't agree with them. I love Lovecraft's style, mainly because it's so darn unique: All it takes is one or two sentences and you know exactly who you're reading. It also perfectly fits the atmospheric, slow-to-build horror for which he's known. As for the second criticism, Lovecraft really doesn't scare me, either. You're not going to get nasty shocks out of his stories, though I would describe them as occasionally unsettling: He can deliver a good chill and at times evoke strong feelings of dread.

But people who pick up Lovecraft for simple scares are missing the boat. Think of him instead as a dark spinner of stories set in a detailed and grotesque universe of his own creation, a world of dark cults, evil tomes, ancient curses, and formless, tentacled monsters from space. His subject material is just plain cool. Also, Lovecraft has the ability to draw you effortlessly back in time. Born in 1890, Lovecraft set his stories in the 1920s and 30s, when America was a bit wilder and stranger than the place we know today, a country of deeper woods and darker mountains and strange phenomena that science had not explained away.

With that in mind, it's no surprise that I enjoyed the heck out of The Dark Worlds of H.P. Lovecraft, Volume 5, an audiobook read by Wayne June. The 3 CD set contains three Lovecraft short stories, including "The Lurking Fear," "Haunter of the Dark," and "The Thing on the Doorstep." I've read quite a bit of Lovecraft, but this was the first time I've ever had his tales read to me, and it was a very enjoyable, immersive experience.

All three stories are excellent. "Haunter of the Dark" tells the story of Robert Blake, a horror writer/artist who becomes obsessed over a far off, decrepit church spire spied from his rented studio window. Blake's investigation reveals the place to be an abandoned, ruined church once used by a dark cult, and now inhabited by something far, far worse.

The best of the three tales is probably "The Thing on the Doorstep," which features full-blown Lovecraftian goodness. The tale is set in the famous, fictional town of Arkham, and involves Arkham University, the Necronomicon and other assorted monstrous tomes, a strange intermingled race of men and fish-like deep ones, mind control, a descent into an unholy pit "where the black realm begins and the watcher guards the gate," and much, much more. Although I've never read a Lovecraft biography (a fact I hope to rectify soon), I couldn't help but draw parallels between the author and Edward Derby, the protagonist and victim of the tale. I would imagine that essayists looking to peer inside Lovecraft's mind have veritable a goldmine to draw from in "The Thing on the Doorstep."

"The Lurking Fear" is the most straightforward horror tale of the three and explores one of Lovecraft's recurrent themes, that of cursed blood and hereditary corruption. Here an investigator of the supernatural looks into a strange massacre in the mountainous Catskills region of New York, where a deserted mansion holds the key to an unspoken horror living beneath the earth. The terrors he uncovers leave him a gibbering wreck at stories' end, a common fate for Lovecraft's narrators.

Reader Wayne June deserves a lot of praise for delivering the stories with a smoky, menacing, baritone voice perfectly suited to the tales. My only criticism is that I wanted to hear him scream the line, Kamog! Kamog! -- The pit of the shoggoths--Ia! Shub-Niggurath! The Goat with a Thousand Young! in "The Thing on the Doorstep," but he chose to deliver it with a half-whispered shout. But it's probably for the best, I guess, as hearing such unutterable phrases spoken aloud may have fractured my sanity, or worse, stirred Something That Should Not Be from its uneasy sleep.

Addendum: Although it hardly resembles anymore the place described in Lovecraft's stories, it should be noted that I live in East Massachusetts, the heart of Lovecraft country. Right next door is Newburyport, which is named in at least one of Lovecraft's tales, and every day to work I drive through "witch-haunted Salem" and directly past (now torn down) Danvers State Mental Hospital, both of which make appearances in Lovecraft's universe. I'm also a short drive from Gloucester, which many attribute as Lovecraft's inspiration for the fictional, twisted town of Innsmouth. It's no wonder his stories resonate with me.

Postscript: This review has appeared on SFFaudio.com: http://www.sffaudio.com/?p=2981

Magic Kingdom for Sale: Sold. A review

If you like a big, heaping helping of vanilla with your fantasy, you'll probably like the flavor of Terry Brooks' Magic Kingdom for Sale: Sold.

Me, I'm a New York Super Fudge Chunk guy and I thought Magic Kingdom tasted like shit.

Yeah, that's harsh. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all, etc. etc. But I have an obligation to review Brooks' work for two reasons: I owe it to http://www.sffaudio.com/, and I figure I might steer away a couple potential readers who might stumble with tragic results into the banal minefield that is Magic Kingdom.

To be fair, Brooks can write, in terms of stringing gramatically correct sentences together. I've read much, much worse stuff than Magic Kingdom. I also have fond memories of Brooks' Sword of Shannara series, which I read as a teenager and liked (although I knew even then that they were derivative of Tolkien). But I'm afraid to revisit Shannara these days, especially after Magic Kingdom. I just know its not going to hold up.

Magic Kingdom is about the tale of Ben Holiday, a 40-year-old lawyer burned out with his profession and his life, having lost his wife to a car accident and finding no satisfaction in his work. While thumbing through a specialty catalog he finds a literal magic kingdom for sale for a million bucks and decides to make the purchase. The broker, a wizard, whisks Holiday away to the fantastic realm of Landover, a once shining kingdom now in serious decline. The land is failing and the great castle of Sterling Silver is tarnished because Landover has been without a king for 20 years.

Holiday soon finds out that he's not the first king to try to ascend to the throne in that time, however. Far from it. Instead, he's been duped by the broker, and learns that dozens of previous kings have failed before him, and were meant to. Landover's peoples are bitter and disenchanted with the string of would-be kings turned failures, and Holiday has a fight on his hands to win their pledges.

But Holiday has help in the form of a doddering old wizard (Questor), a talking dog who once served as a court scribe (Abernathy), a beautiful shape shifting sylph named Willow, a pair of Kobolds, and a pair of hairy, grubby, earth-tunneling gnomes.

The biggest problem I had with Magic Kingdom is that this is kids' stuff, but it's not labeled nor probably intended as such. I don't buy that Magic Kingdom is written for an adolescent audience: its clearly marked as "adult fiction" on the cover of the audiobook I've reviewed. Nor is its subject matter for adolescents: At it's heart it's about a man's middle-age crisis, hardly the stuff to captivate a young audience. And because Magic Kingdom doesn't know what it wants to be, it suffers mightly. I enjoy good adolescent fantasy lit--C.S. Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia and Nancy Farmer's The Sea of Trolls, for example, are terrific reads for folks of any age--but Magic Kingdom failed to satisfy my grown-up tastes, or my childhood love for good, simple stories.

Secondly, Landover as a world is completely unrealistic and devoid of any personality or charm. With generic place names like "The Greensward," "the Deep Fell," "The Wasteland," and "The Mountains of Melkor," Landover may as well be anywhere fantasy USA. And the way Brooks describes Landover you'd think it was the size of a postage stamp--two sentences of description here and there and Holiday and his crew have traversed the whole continent without breaking a sweat.

Thirdly, I didn't much like the main character. There's nothing to dislike about Holiday, but there's not much to like, either. He's bland and featureless. Holiday stumbles around most of the story, avoiding scapes by luck or occasionally pluck and wit, but mostly because he's "fated" to become king. He's revealed as the chosen one almost from the outset of the story, so there's really no tension or doubt that he will ascend to the throne of Landover. I also found his companions extremely annoying. The kobolds, gnomes, and even Abernathy and Questor resemble a troupe of circus clowns who are there to provide levity, a sounding board for Holiday's questions, and occasionally bail him out of trouble, but do little else.

Fourthly, the underpinnings of the story have some serious flaws and holes. We find out that the evil wizard who "sells" Landover to Holiday is doing it for the money. Keep in mind that this is a wizard who has powerful magic at his disposal--and can use it freely on Earth--but can't seem to figure out how to use it to make a few honest bucks. Lame. Brooks draws some extremely tenuous connections between the health of the king and the health of the land, an old Arthurian trope that is not at all developed in Magic Kingdom. Other than a few brief mentions of blighted crops, swirling mists and gloom, and some unhappy farmers, there's no overt suffering, darkness, or disease, nor any explanations about why a king is needed to restore the land's health. In short, I had no emotional investment in whether Holiday succeeded or failed in his mission because I didn't find myself caring about him or the plight of Landover. By the conclusion of the story I was simply glad to see it end.

I could go on and on with the criticisms (the evil wizard allowed Holiday, a brilliant lawyer and a golden gloves boxer, to buy Landover because he thought Holiday was a good candidate to fail at becoming king?) but it's like shooting ducks in a barrel. I do think there is an audience for Magic Kingdom, and you could do worse if you're looking for a brainless beach read, but suffice to say that it's not for readers like me.

Edit: This review also appears on SFFaudio.com: http://www.sffaudio.com/?p=2908