The 70s were weird, man: Darrell Schweitzer’s We Are All Legends

Sometimes the 1970s seem not so far away. Photos from my childhood confirm I was there; my old albums and books are a tangible affirmation. I can still see and touch that decade, I can smell it when I riff through the pages of my old first edition Dungeon Masters Guide (1979).

But the 70s are also a different, distant country. Things were Weirder then, or at least seemed that way. I don’t believe in ascribing magical properties to arbitrary 10-year windows of time other than to say that if the 60s were the decade of rebellion, the 70s, freed of shackles, were a decade of expression and experimentation.

With the demise of censorship codes and the rise of talented young directors we got some of the best films ever made in the 1970s. Record labels gave unpolished artists the financial freedom and a lengthy creative leash to experiment. The result was heavy metal, punk, … and disco (mistakes were made).

Fantasy fiction was likewise Weird. We had yet to become Sword of Shannara-fied and reading endless series of identical epic quests.

I was listening to a recent episode of the Geeks’ Guide to the Galaxy podcast discussing Flame and Crimson and the history of sword-and-sorcery. Somewhere around the one-hour mark one of the guests—a co-creator of the fine rotoscoped animated S&S film The Spine of Night—observed that the 70s and 80s were possessed of quality where it felt the “guard rails were off” and a reader or viewer felt that anything might happen.

I admire this quality. 

Give me Weird. 

S&S has a streak of this. Weird fiction predates sword-and-sorcery, originating with Edgar Allan Poe and carried on with Arthur Machen and Algernon Blackwood and H.P. Lovecraft. But it was married to swordplay, probably, with the likes of Lord Dunsany, then continued in works by A. Merritt and Clark Ashton Smith, and on into Jack Vance, Michael Moorcock, Tanith Lee, and Michael Shea. Today you’ll see it in John Fultz and Schuyler Hernstrom, and others.

It’s always been in S&S’ DNA. Howard’s Kull of Atlantis stories, in particular “The Mirrors of Tuzun Thune” and “Striking of the Gong,” are in this tradition. Weird, brooding, dark, unsettling, introspective. They are the heritage of Weird Tales, the magazine from which S&S was born. If you abide by even a floor definition, its name, S&S needs swords (or a general medieval/pre gunpowder level of tech) and sorcery. Sorcery is not magic. It’s wild, dangerous, malevolent, often catastrophic to user as much as target. Think of a Neanderthal handling a hand grenade and trying to figure out where to throw the pin or the charge; that’s sorcery. That’s Weird.

In that era a series of weird S&S stories appeared across publications now largely lost to time. Whispers. Void. Alien Worlds. Fantasy Tales. Weirdbook. These died out in the 80s as high fantasy rose to ascendancy, magic replaced sorcery, and the short story fell out of favor, replaced by epic quest. But for a time weird stories about weird characters drifted through these lost pages, including a wandering knight named Julian.

Darrell Schweitzer’s We Are All Legends collects 13 short stories published between 1970 and 1981. It’s a weird, wonderful little book. The stories take place in medieval Europe but of an uncertain date and place, with permeable borders. Magic has not left the world. It’s studded with Arthurian references, of wounded fisher kings and Merlin and Excalibur, even though its decidedly S&S. It’s dark, both in tone but also subject matter. Julian is haunted by his past sins. He believes he is beyond redemption, his faith in God irrevocably shaken, possibly shattered. “God” if there is one appears to be gnostic demiurge, a flawed, limited, and possibly malevolent creator:

I knew that if God is mad, and the signs show that he is, his Foe is mad also, and there can be no hope for the world between them, for creation is but a battleground for two maniacs in their death struggle.

We Are All Legends ticks a lot of my boxes. Obviously S&S, but also King Arthur, horror (some of these stories appeared in DAW Year’s Best Horror). Stories of anti heroes, even ostensibly peerless knights, grappling with a loss of faith and their own brokenness:

“When I was a child I heard about a man, a very, very old man, whose father had been a werewolf. So they took him, the son, whose father had been a werewolf, and shut him up in a tower. He remained there always, never knowing love, never knowing life. I, too, live in a tower, only mine is invisible and I carry it around with me. Its walls are just as strong though.”

“Are you a werewolf then?”

“Only in my heart.”

Purple and awesome.

Schweitzer would have been in his mid-late 20s writing these stories, which is remarkable. He is very underrated, by me and the community at large, though this YouTuber is a huge fan of the book.  

Schweizer confirmed on a Facebook post by Charles Gramlich that the two biggest influences on these stories were Ingar Bergman’s 1957 film, “The Seventh Seal,” and “The Travels of Sir John Mandeville,” a 14th century travelogue (reportedly true) of an English knight into the middle and far east. It doesn’t seem The Life of Sir Aglovale de Galis is among its influences, but We Are All Legends feels something like Clemence Housman’s fine, near forgotten little tale, and its damned, forsaken, wandering knight, a tragic hero. I also noted the influence of Michael Moorock; a possible reference to Corum and the Hand of Kwll. Julian’s wanderings resemble something of a tormented Elric seeking the equilibrium of Tanelorn.

Fabian...

In addition to a fine series of stories the book is blessed with Stephen Fabian illustrations. These are terrific, both the wraparound cover and the wonderful black and white interior accent work. Weaknesses? It is tiring to read all at once; while I am happy having all the Sir Julian stories in one volume, some collections need to be dipped into and sampled from rather than read entire; eating too much rich food or red wine can spoil the effect. Perhaps too much repetition of theme, tone. Some of the stories are perhaps a little too weird for my tastes, untethered to the ground. I feel like this book could have used some more internal character work.

… but that is not what Schweitzer was after. He is of the belief fantasy is examining internal conflicts through explicit, external struggles against real-world demons. From an interview on Black Gate: 

In your estimation what are the elements that make truly great fantasy fiction? Truly great horror? Is “weird fiction” more than simply a co-mingling of these two genres?

The point of much fantasy is to deal with mythic elements directly, rather than through symbol and metaphor only. You could, for example, write a story about someone who “sells his soul” and makes a “Faustian bargain,” i.e. he sacrifices his personal integrity in an irretrievable manner for some dubious goal-say, success in the Mafia, or in Hollywood, or in politics. It needn’t have any fantastic content, and the Faust symbolism would resonate. But the fantasist’s approach is to bring the actual demon on stage and deal with the material directly.

Schweitzer is a former Weird Tales editor, living elder scholar, and longtime champion of the weird, you can find more of his observations here. Here’s a bit of his learned commentary on the weird and my response.

Of genre categories:

These categories are ultimately marketing tools. Horror is what is published as horror. Fantasy is what is published as fantasy. It’s all about labels and which shelf in the bookstore a book is displayed on. Aesthetically, the distinction is not particularly meaningful.

Believe it or not I an S&S historian agree with some of this. Genre categories began as marketing tools and probably function best that way, less so than tools of analysis. However, I do think having genre parameters or aesthetic template to follow, bend, or break, can produce surprising results and possibly great original art. As can deliberate mixing of genres. 

Of the greatness of Tanith Lee (agreed here; we need more Tanith Lee in this world):

Tanith Lee strikes me as the perfect Weird Tales writer, which is probably why WT has published more by her than anyone else. Her work is poetic, sensual, scary, imaginative, erotic if it needs to be. She’s got everything. 

And a final hell yeah; I could not agree more with his assessment of the winner take all state of publishing, death of the midlist author, and our need to cultivate more readers:

Forty years ago, you could assume anything in SF/fantasy would sell more like thirty to fifty thousand copies in mass-market paperback without even trying. Just slap the right kind of cover on it and it would sell this acceptable minimum. Well, maybe the ceiling on genre fiction has come off, and today you get an Anne McCaffrey or a Stephen King who can sell millions of copies, but we have also lost the floor, which protected us. Now the major publishers are only interested in writers who have the potential to be the next McCaffrey or King, not the interesting mid-list writers who are worth publishing for what they are, even if they never will sell a million copies — the Davidsons and Laffertys. We have lost our innocence. Once it was demonstrated that SF/fantasy/horror could go to the top of the bestseller lists, anything that doesn’t is now viewed as a failure by those faceless, impersonal Suits who control corporate publishing.

… The U.S.A. has a population of three hundred million. Two thousand copies is not a lot. We have a reading public the size of Luxemborg’s. What any genre needs to stay healthy is more readers and a means of reaching them.

A Fine Line Between Stupid and Clever: The Story of Spinal Tap

Tap crossed that line... which way?

There is a picture of me going to see KISS on their hotly anticipated, sold out 1996 reunion tour. In it I’m standing on my parents’ front lawn with two friends and my brother. All four of us are in KISS makeup.

I’m wearing a Spinal Tap t-shirt.

I love KISS, they’re a fun band who have written some rocking hits. But I also recognize them as ridiculous.

If you've read any of my metal posts here you know I’m a fan. I love the music, I take it seriously. But I also laugh at it. Metal is sometimes awesome, sometimes terrible. Sometimes brilliant, sometimes dumb. Powerful, but sometimes just too damned loud.

Hard rock and metal can be mocked. They should be mocked. Mockery and the ability to absorb it is the sign of a healthy genre, and rock and metal can take it.

Some genres and their fans take themselves too seriously. I see this sometimes in sword-and-sorcery circles; call John Jakes’ Brak or Lin Carter’s Thongor or Gardner Fox’s Kothar what it is—derivative and often dumb, though fun and something I will read and enjoy—and panties get bunched.

But we need good-natured mockery. Parody is a sign of respect that you’ve made it. S&S can take the likes of Mention My Name in Atlantis, and heavy metal can take Spinal Tap. Spinal Tap took the piss out of metal better than anyone before or since in their 1984 mockumentary. And metal bands (most, anyway) love them for it.  We all could use a little more laughter in our lives. Even if the world is ending (it’s not, though one would think so scrolling any social media app) the remedy is laughter.

I just finished reading A Fine Line Between Stupid and Clever: The Story of Spinal Tap, and experienced quite a few chuckles. Laughter is rare to pull off in the written form, I have found. This book made me laugh. But I also learned a lot. I love the film, and when I saw there was a memoir coming out penned by director Rob Reiner I knew I had to have it. Published by Gallery Books, my copy at least came signed by Reiner himself, complete with certificate of authenticity. Cool to have a signature of the man who not only gave us the best metal mockumentary ever, but also The Princess Bride, Stand by Me, and a Few Good Men, among others.

Reiner’s signature is not the only cool and unique feature of the book: It’s also double-sided, like the old Ace Doubles. Flip the book over and “book 2,” Smell the Book, is 60 pages of “interviews” conducted by director Marty DiBergi with band members Nigel Tufnel, David St. Hubbins, and Derek Smalls--an oral history of the band in their voices. Which is pretty funny. You get lines like this:

David: I was at Sacred Sacrament. My mom was a big Catholic.

Marty: Religious?

David: No, five foot ten.

Or old album titles like “Jap Habit” and “Bent for the Rent,” the latter a British expression for what you do for the landlord when he’s bugging you and you can’t pay him, so you do him a favor…

But the meat of the book is the memoir portion. A breezy but well-told history of how the principals came to meet each other, make the film, its reception, and lasting legacy. It offers an illuminating, behind the scenes look, and I learned several things I did not know. For example:

• Spinal Tap barely made it to the screen. The studios to whom Reiner pitched the film did not know what to make of it, just about everyone passed on it.
• It made very little money upon its release and Reiner and co. made almost no money even on licensing until a lawsuit spearheaded by Harry Shearer was able to wrest the rights to the film back and amend missing royalty payments. One city in which it was well-received right out of the gate, I’m proud to say, is Boston, in which it played continuously for a solid year.
• Spinal Tap played real shows before the movie came out to sharpen their playing, including at Gazzarri’s on the Sunset Strip—with opening act Iron Butterfly. No one knew who they were or suspected that they were a parody act (this is circa 1982-83, pre-film, and new metal acts were showing up in the scores.) Spinal Tap was just another unknown metal band.
• Reiner refers to several hilarious-sounding scenes that didn’t make the final cut, as 40+ hours of film was ultimately reduced to a lean 82-minute run time. There were often 3-4 versions of a given scene. Apparently some of these deleted scenes are on a special edition that I need to seek out (my copy is believe it or not VHS). For example, originally the band had an opening act called the Dose, who had a beautiful and easy female lead singer; her dalliances with Tap explain the famous scene where the band has unexplained cold sores on their mouths during a record launch party. But this subplot was left on the cutting room floor.
• The dialogue is almost entirely unscripted and improvised. Reiner, Christoper Guest, Shearer and Michael McKean scripted scenes and had the outlines of the movie plotted, but the actual dialogue was ad-libbed, and many of the verbal jokes utterly spontaneous expressions of the characters they created. Even a young Fran Drescher, then 25, fell into her role and extemporaneously came up with “Money Talks and Bullshit Walks.” That’s talent.

Spinal Tap 2 is just hitting and I’m a little worried. I know someone who got invited to an early screening and he was underwhelmed; he described it as just OK, certainly not terrible but lacking the punch and wit of the original. I will see it for myself, but regardless of whether it holds up as a worthy sequel we’ll always have the OG. The ultimate documentary, if you will, rockumentary, of the world’s loudest band.

Atom and Evil, Black Sabbath*

A day late on Metal Friday but today a close look at Ronnie James Dio’s lyrics for “Atom and Evil,” the opening track off The Devil You Know (2009). These are sufficiently abstract that interpretation is required.

Blue skies, once upon a dream

All eyes, never in between

We all once looked to heaven for answers, not to this middle earth.

Then into the garden came the spider

“I’m here for you,” said the spider to the fly

And when I’m through, you can open up your eyes to see

Eden corrupted by the spider/serpent, offering honeyed poison as “truth.” We’ll be masters of the world if we just follow him.

Your world on fire, and the liar won’t let go

Atom and Evil

Atom is an allusion to the biblical Adam but also atomic energy, the development of weapons of Armageddon. And perhaps technology more broadly. The world is on fire as technofascist overlords develop AI Agents to unburden us from grocery lists.

One more promise

We can tame the sun

And then we’ll shine forever

The old promise, of Marx and Ray Kurzweil, that technology will fix all our problems, and we’ll have utopia. Also a reference to the scientists (many of whom were pacifists) who built the bomb, whose release was described as brighter than a thousand suns.

Someday you can cry for everyone

We’ll burn when you were clever

The technologists build bunkers; they’ll shed crocodile tears and count their money as we burn.

Expand your mind, we’ve got a place for you

Just make believe that one and one are always two

Science has all the answers, just “expand your mind bro” and listen to its words. The physical world is all there is, technology doesn’t require governance, or principle.

When into the parlor comes the spider

Just say no!

Atom and Evil

Don’t fall for the sale, the deadly pitch.

Falling’s easy

Rising will never be

So we must rise together

Here are the changes

Powerful harmony

But then there’s no forever

Atom and Evil.

It’s much easier to bend and accept “progress” (which leads to the fall) than to reject it, stand for principle, preserve and protect what is good, live by values. “But then there’s no forever” is a hard lyric to come to grips with; does rejecting atomic technology mean we reject the possibility of man-made utopia/singularity? Is there no way out? Unless…

Maybe if we cry together

Maybe if we cry as one

The tears will fall to chill the fire

And keep everyone from 

Atom and Evil

… we unify.

Dio’s vocals are awesome BTW and I love the heavy doom of this track.

A fun aside; surely Dio must have been aware of the presence of another “Atom and Evil,” a gospel song performed by Golden Gate Quartet in 1946. It too is about the dangers of atomic war. “We’re sitting on the edge of doom” never sounded so harmonious and be-bop friendly: 

I'm talkin' 'bout Atom, and Evil

Atom and Evil

If you don't break up that romance soon

We'll all fall down and go boom, boom, boom!

*Yes, Black Sabbath, not Heaven & Hell, because that’s what this band is. 

Top 5 horror movie babes of the 70s and 80s

I'm howling...

I was born in 1973 and by the mid-80s developed a taste for horror films. It was a time when werewolves and slashers were the rage, monsters, mayhem, murder, prevalent--and the babes, beautiful.

Werewolves were my thing, for whatever reason. Maybe I, powerless but with a powerful hunger, felt the urge to shed my weakness and transform. I will leave the psychoanalysis to the more qualified. The best of the werewolf flicks was and remains An American Werewolf in London. The original Howling wasn’t bad either, and watching that led me to The Howling II: Your Sister is a Werewolf. Which is, charitably, a flawed film. The male lead is one of the worst I’ve ever seen, so wooden you could build a bridge out of him (joke rental courtesy Monty Python). The plot barely hangs together, though somehow it manages to be entertaining. It’s saved by a time-machine 80s vibe, the great Christopher Lee (the film’s entire acting budget must have been spent on him), and by Sybil Danning. The Howling II is basically an excuse to get her on film, a vehicle for her display, and for good reason. She's smoking!

The Monsters, Magic, and Madness podcast* recently hosted the B film actress for an interview. Danning genuinely loves the film as well as her other roles in immortal sexploitation classics like The Long Swift Sword of Siegfried (1971). I’m cool with that. I love weird B cinema too, even if the Howling II makes one howl (and wince, and cringe). I love 80s metal and S&S and so can cast no stones. We need not take life so seriously. 

Danning in Howling II spends most of her time in a wild powersuit, half sci-fi, reflective silver and black, topped with 80s shoulder pads. It shows plenty of skin--exposed hips and wide open from neck to navel. Danning chews scenery like a blood-hungry werewolf. Which she is. Sorry for the spoiler.

And then like a thunderbolt I realized it was time for my top 5 hottest horror movie babes of the 70s and 80s. With a couple honorable mentions thrown in.

I’m going deeper on these selections, so no Jamie Lee Curtis (beautiful, but safe and predictable) or Heather Langenkamp (everyone had a crush on her, but too teen normal and staid). My choices lean into full on sexy, wild, and B movie offbeat.

1. Sybil Danning. I grew chest hair the first time I saw her de-robe and transform into a she-wolf. Here is something to watch.

2. Amanda Donohoe. The Lair of the White Worm is a cult classic in every sense (ancient snake cult exists in the British Countryside), and a lot of tongue-in-cheek fun. I love this film unreservedly but Donohoe’s turn as Lady Sylvia makes it. She’s funny, wicked, drop-dead gorgeous, and sexy as hell, and the best realized character on this list.

3. Caroline Williams. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2 has some parallels to The Howling II. Both are campy, comic albeit packed with carnage and scares. And each is bolstered by a hot female lead. Williams as the harassed DJ Stretch is irresistible in blue jean shorts.

4. Ingrid Pitt. What can I say about Pitt that hasn’t already been said? The late Polish actress (1937-2010) and Nazi concentration camp survivor was absolutely stunning. She’s probably best known for her roles in a pair of classic Hammer horror films from the early 1970s—The Vampire Lovers and Countess Dracula. Time stops when she’s on screen.

5. Linnea Quigley. If you’ve ever seen Return of the Living Dead (1985) you know the show-stopping dance. Quigley earned “scream queen” status for a string of horror movies in the 80s but RotLD alone would put her on this list.

Honorable mentions

Adrienne Barbeau. Always loved her toughness and edge (and fantastic body, TBH). Underrated actress. But I felt like she could break me in half then (and now). Can she really be 80? 

Catherine Mary Stewart. Major crush on her as a kid (and perhaps now?). Only makes honorable mention because Night of the Comet is arguably SF, and she ventures into too popular/safe territory with roles in Weekend at Bernie’s and The Last Starfighter.

*Recommended BTW. Monsters, Madness, and Magic has stayed in my rotation with its eclectic lineup of semi-obscure celebrity interviews you don’t get anywhere else.

Ingrid Pitt

Caroline Williams

Linnea Quigley

Amanda Donohoe

Disconnect

“Jeremiah, maybe you best go down to a town, get outta these mountains.”

“I've been to a town Del.”

--Jeremiah Johnson

Technology has taken a wrong turn. Smartphones and algorithms and social media have stoked political division, stolen our attention, and sewn intrapersonal division and conflict.

I approve cancelling your favorite digital channels. I approve cancelling it all including ChatGPT. I don’t hold out much hope of any of this happening. I’ve seen people boycott Facebook and Twitter and now BlueSky and then return a day later. Or hop to the next platform of promised peace and civility where it all happens again.

I have faith in individuals. I suspect they’re out there, people who have made the silent choice. I don’t have faith in society at large.

It’s sad that we’re so angry and riven that we can’t even pause to acknowledge death. Our news cycle of endless hot takes won’t allow it. 

Robert Redford passed this week. Ironically he is now remembered by a meme.

But maybe that’s not so bad if it leads you to the source. 

In “Jeremiah Johnson” (1972) Redford plays a man who decides to go into the woods and live off the land. Looking for a suitable place to trap, a man tells him:

Ride due west as the sun sets. Turn left at the Rocky Mountains.

No GPS needed.

It was hard to watch this film. It is so anti 2025. The pace is slow. The dialogue is minimal, the shots long and extended. I found myself reaching for my phone, and the urge to look at … what? Pushed it away. And kept watching.

Soon it became nice to watch this film. The scenery was beautiful, the slow unfolding of the story, real cinema. The sparse dialogue is memorable, and no wonder, because John Milius wrote it.

Then it became meditative to watch this film. I was reminded what real hardships are (this isn’t a film of escape; terrible things happen). I was reminded of what beauty is. 

I’ll remember this film… I’ve already forgotten the 30 second reels on LinkedIn.

The ONLINE world is on fire. The real world is not. You don’t need an primeval forest or unexplored frontier to escape. The answer is the title of this post.

You just have to turn it off.

Which way you headed, Jeremiah?

Canada, maybe. I hear there is land there a man has never seen.

Well, keep your nose in the wind, and your eyes along the skyline.

Of pastiche and John C. Hocking’s Conan and the Living Plague

These dead are unquiet...

I don’t mind pastiche … which is I suppose a bit of a lukewarm way of saying I support it.

Nonetheless it’s how I feel.

I’m on record as loving SSOC and Roy Thomas stories and even (gasp) some of the old Lin Carter and L. Sprague de Camp Conan stories. I’m not a purist, as long as we have unadulterated Howard somewhere in print I’m good with new stories and interpretations. The Del Reys stand, so bring on the rest.

No one will ever match Howard at his own game, because he himself was of course in every story. Unless you have access via medium to his soul, or his ghost visits your shoulder like Conan did Howard and compels you to write, there will never be another REH.

While I used to indulge in Conan pastiche it’s not something I seek out anymore. I don’t read much of it these days … but once in a while I dip back in. I’ve bought the first half dozen SSOCs. I’ve read Scott Oden’s The Shadow of Vengeance and S.M. Stirling's Blood of the Serpent. I still feel a dim stir when I see the name of “Conan” in new art and stories.

What do I think makes for a good Howard pastiche? I have a few boxes I like to see checked. Here they are, and as with everything I write, YMMV.

The first and faraway most important: The story must be good, above all else. This almost covers for breaking any of the subsequent rules that follow.

The character should closely mirror the original. Conan should feel like Conan, act according to the broad parameters of his established nature. If not, why write him? That said, if a pastiche writes an immature Conan or an aged Conan reflecting on his deathbed, I would expect some new ground to be broken.

The world should feel that way too. I don’t think you should eliminate Hyborian Age countries or distort the literal map Howard laid down. The same goes for its peoples; Cimmerians should be mostly brooding and fierce, Picts savage and Pict-y. But I’m OK with adding to what is there, exploring a new island in the Vilayet or a dark and forgotten corner of Stygia, creating outlier characters and so on.

Here's what I don’t care about.

Established timelines. Because pastiche isn’t canon there is no need to connect up all the history. There is no way Conan could pack in all the adventure from every pastiche into one lifetime, so we can assume that pastiche operates independent of other pastiche—and even the originals. I don’t care how or when pastiche fits into the established storyline, even Howard’s chronology. Telling me that Conan couldn’t have done something because he was 27 at the time and a pirate might be technically accurate, but it also makes me yawn. YMMV.

Writing style. I admire when someone like Scott Oden can mirror Howard’s prose, but I don’t find it necessary. When someone covers a song I actually prefer hearing their own interpretation. Bruce Dickinson covering Sabbath Bloody Sabbath on Nativity on Black is not trying to be Ozzy … and its awesome and still honors Black Sabbath. Likewise Rob Zombie put his own unique Charles Manson inspired spin on Children of the Grave and Yungblud is fanastic covering “Changes” with his very different voice, albeit the same lyrics. Honor the original but do something new. It can sound different, whether musically or on the ear of a reader. The style should be appealing of course but it doesn’t have to sound like REH’s prose. YMMV.

***

This is a big roundabout way of saying that author John C. Hocking checks my boxes with Conan and the Living Plague, one of two complete novels published in the recent Conan: City of the Dead by Titan Books (2024).

I’m not a fan of plot summaries and I don’t feel like doing one here. But here’s what I liked about it:

Conan feels like Conan. I really like when we get to see how strong Conan is in non-combat situations. There’s a great early scene of him wielding a log-like wooden “sword” that leaves  hardened mercenaries with their mouths agape; we see him lifting stone doors of crypts that baffle other strong men, on and on. Fun. But he also comports himself with the same rough barbaric code of honor, the same ferocity in battle but not recklessness, and so on.

The writing, which includes some really fine turns of phrase and metaphor. Hocking is an underrated stylist even within the small circle that is S&S but I really enjoyed passages like this:

Pezur saw Conan bare his teeth in an unconscious snarl of defiance and felt a surge of kinship with the barbarian. He knew the Cimmerian felt the rigid touch of those distant eyes as keenly as he did.

Indeed, Conan sensed the unnatural scrutiny as well as if the dim figure had reached out across Dulcine and laid a cold hand upon his breast. The undulled instincts of the barbarian sent the same thrill along his nerves that he might have felt confronting a lion in a jungle grove. Though he could not give it a name, he knew there was danger here, a danger born of black sorcery.

“What are you, devil?” growled Conan.

It’s not Howard’s style but it doesn’t have to be.

The fast pace. The chapters are short and end on something of a cliffhanger, the action  almost unrelenting. Yes, we do have other characters, a small cast, which you need in a novel that doesn’t spend time inside the characters’ minds. But it’s still recognizably S&S, nothing like A Game of Thrones or its epic fantasy ilk. It reads fast.

A few particularly memorable scenes. A harrowing trip through dank underground crypts pursued by a horde of ghouls, and later an encounter with waves of plague infected living that attack in mindless zombie like hordes and whose touch brings death, are suitably hair-raising and stick with you.

Nice fights with mini-bosses. No spoilers but Conan has a nice mano-y-mano with a towering armored plague knight that was really freaking cool, a sorcerer wielding dangerous spells, and so on.

The sword-and-sorcery easter eggs (don’t think I didn’t see these, John). Two paired soldiers hold Conan at crossbow point, one named Rald and the other, Duar. A spell ripped right out of Jack Vance. Nice little nods there to the S&S faithful. And there’s also Lovecraftian menace and oblique reference, including the likes of the Hounds of “Thandalos.”

Little dashes of humor. Conan engaging in a bit of self-deprecation over his (very) short career as a sorcerer. A mercenary mutters that a sword weighs as much as his wife. And so on. It’s OK to have a little fun in S&S.

Rare 2019 Perilous Worlds edition... it's mine! mua-ha.

The plague and the characters needing to mask anticipates the COVID-19 pandemic. Prescient but happenstance because the novel was written pre-COVID (I have a rare copy of a limited printing from 2019), but it nevertheless serves as prospective commentary and evokes memories of the real-world outbreak.

I noticed a few wobbles (a side character is given a backstory late for no reason; perhaps too much description of architecture and rooms and the like, one of the big bads, a demon, is set up well but removed from the stage too quickly), but these are minor and hardly worth noting. 

What Conan and the Living Plague is not, is REH. It never will be, nor can be. And that’s OK. It’s still a hell of a lot of fun and a worthy S&S novel.

Bruce Dickinson at the House of Blues, Boston MA Sept. 11, 2025

If all Bruce Dickinson had was his solo career he’d still be remembered in the annals of heavy metal. Bruce’s best solo efforts—Accident of Birth, Tyranny of Souls, and The Chemical Wedding—comprise a power trio any metal band would be proud to have in their catalogue. 

And oh yeah, he did that Iron Maiden thing too.

I got to see Bruce solo for the first time last night at the House of Blues in Boston. My buddy Scott and I battled through brutal Boston traffic to get in but it was worth it. We met up with another friend for dinner and a couple beers before meandering in.

Bruce means a lot to me for a number of reasons and he did not disappoint. Even at age 67 he was still bringing the fire, and his air raid siren voice.

Here’s the setlist. Yes, I got see him perform the “Star Bangled Banner” (which Bruce is performing at the Pittsburgh Steelers game this weekend) and “Flash of the Blade,” a deep cut off Powerslave. Unexpected and fun. I deliberately stayed away from any reviews so as not to be spoiled, and was pleasantly surprised by it all:

1. Accident of Birth

2. Abduction

3. Laughing in the Hiding Bush

4. Shadow of the Gods

5. Chemical Wedding

6. Star Spangled Banner

7. Flash of the Blade

8. Resurrection Men

9. Rain on the Graves

10. Frankenstein

11. The Alchemist

12. Book of Thel

13. Road to Hell

Encore:

14. Tears of the Dragon

15. Gods of War

16. The Tower

I’m semi-embarrassed to admit I’ve barely listened to Bruce’s new album The Mandrake Project, released last year. But I greatly enjoyed “Rain on the Graves” and “Resurrection Men” and will work to rectify that.

Bruce is a very creative, musical dude. Last night he at turns played drums and an instrument called a theremin, which is played without touch, detecting hand movement only. Weird, and fun.

Here is a little bit of probably my favorite Bruce solo song (though “Jerusalem” and “Return of the King” are in the running), “Tears of the Dragon,” off Balls to Picasso, recorded on my cell phone. It's tinny as all cell phone recordings are but you can still get a sense of his power and presence:

I owe Bruce’s solo stuff a proper essay. When I look at the lyrics of “Chemical Wedding” and “The Alchemist” he’s telling us a story about the nature of human existence, and the possibility of transformation.

And so we lay

We lay in the same grave

Our chemical wedding day

Also I'm 99% certain I saw Jeff Talanian, creator of the Hyperborea RPG. Jeff if you're reading this let me know if you were there.