Showing posts with label Comic Books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Comic Books. Show all posts

Sunday, September 20, 2026

Goth Girls-Part One

Women who run from houses are the heroines of the Gothic Romance, but that's not the same as being a goth girl. The heroine of the Gothic Romance goes back a long way, definitely to the nineteenth century, possibly to the one before it. The goth girl as we know her is supposed to have originated in the 1980s. But what were her origins before her origins?

I'll start with three pictures:


That's Siouxsie Sioux of the band Siouxsie and the Banshees. The picture is from the 1980s. Siouxsie Sioux is supposed to have created the goth girl look. I don't know enough about these things to say one way or another, but even if she didn't create it, she was there near the beginning. I went looking for the picture above because I wanted to find something similar to this one:


That's Margaret Brundage's cover illustration for the November 1933 issue of Weird Tales magazine featuring what looks like a goth girl. I kind of hate the word iconic, but this image has become almost iconic. Maybe emblematic is a better word. When people want to show a cover of Weird Tales, this is usually the one. Alistair Durie used it for the cover of his book Weird Tales, published in 1979, at around the time Siouxsie Sioux was really hitting it big. Reginald Smith had used it previously for his booklet Weird Tales in the Thirties, from 1966. Here's another image from that prime year in pop culture:

This one is a picture of Julie Newmar as Catwoman, from the TV show Batman. Was she a goth girl? I guess so. You will soon see more about Batman, like within minutes. By the way, Julie Newmar was born in 1933, the same year in which Margaret Brundage's Batwoman cover was published. Her birthday was a month ago, so Happy Birthday, Julie Newmar!

Here's another picture of a possible goth girl from another show that made its debut in 1966:


That's actress Antoinette Bower from the Star Trek episode "Catspaw," with a teleplay by teller of weird tales Robert Bloch. "Catspaw" is one of at least three Gothic episodes of Star Trek. I'll write about them soon, hopefully in the 60th anniversary month of the first broadcast of the show. Born on September 30, 1932, in Baden-Baden, Germany, Antoinette Bower died earlier this year, on April 30, 2026, in California. I'm sorry to see her go, but this is as it ever was and ever will be for us on this earth. I wish I could have found a picture of her with her hands to her face in keeping with the current theme and motif.

Speaking of which:


Here's Adam West as Batman doing the Batusi. Batman isn't a goth girl, but Batman is in the Gothic-Romantic tradition, or of the Gothic-Romantic genre. Batman haunts Gotham City, of course. The name lets us know of its Gothic atmosphere and Gothic origins. He and his city and milieu are in contrast to the science-fictional character Superman and his Apollonian city Metropolis. You could also place Batman in the category of the weird hero genre, which began as such in the pulps. The Shadow is another example of the weird hero. Byron Preiss published a series of Weird Hero anthologies in the 1970s. Adam West, who died in 2017, was born in September, so Happy Birthday to the spirits of him and Antoinette Bower.

I mentioned this cover the other day:


This is Bob Kane's cover for Detective Comics #31, from September 1939, or 87 years ago this month. This is clearly a Gothic-Romantic image, complete with a full moon, bats on the wing, and a dark and forbidding castle. There is even a red-robed cultist. I guess he is that "terrifying master of crime known as The Monk!" Notice that the woman in his clutches is blonde. Blonde women do not make goth girls. The goth girl is always dark-haired, or, as in the case of Amelia, purple-haired. The one possible exception I can think of is Alannah Currie of the Thompson Twins, who turns sixty-nine years old today. Another Happy Birthday!

In thinking about the origins of the goth girl, I remembered Leslie Fiedler and his book Love and Death in the American Novel, the second edition of which was published in--when else?--1966. In that book, Dr. Fiedler pointed out that the blonde woman in our literature is pure and innocent, while the dark-haired woman is very often corrupt or fallen in some way. We continue to see this in movies and TV shows of today. One of my dark-haired sisters noticed the phenomenon a long time ago. She didn't like it very much. The dark-haired goth girl fits with that stereotype.

As I pondered on the origins of the dark-haired bad girl or goth girl, my thoughts went to a Gothic fiction called The Quaker City, or The Monks of Monk Hall by the American George Lippard, from 1845. I don't know why my thoughts went in that direction. It seems to me that the poor victim in that book is a young blonde woman. Maybe there is a dark-haired woman on the opposite side of things. Anyway, it's a strange coincidence in what I write today that the Batman villain in the illustration above is called The Monk. I have never read The Quaker City, but I would like to. I have been interested in it since I first read about it in Leslie Fielder's book. Now I wonder if there was ever a girl-meets-house-type Gothic Romance paperback cover of a girl running from a house in the city. In other words, has there ever been an urban Gothic Romance? In the next part of this series I'll have an example of the urban goth girl.

To be continued . . .

Text copyright 2026 Terence E. Hanley

Friday, September 11, 2026

Machines for Living, Haunts of the Dead-Part Four

"The past is never dead. It's not even past. All of us labor in webs spun long before we were born, webs of heredity and environment, of desire and consequence, of history and eternity."

--From Requiem for a Nun by William Faulkner (1951)

A lot of things happened all at once, or pretty close to each other, and I don't know how to puzzle it all out. Weird Tales came to an end in 1954 after thirty-one years in print. It was already a digest-sized magazine by then, and it didn't reappear until almost twenty years later. Even then it was only for four flawed issues. The institution of the Comics Code meant the end of horror comics in the mid 1950s. The Golden Age of Science Fiction is supposed to have ended before that, in 1950. What followed was a period of softer science fiction, or what some people wanted to call speculative fiction. Then, in the 1960s, New Wave science fiction and Dangerous Visions-type fiction became popular, if not dominant, in the field. Most pulp magazines, including science fiction magazines, either came to an end or switched to another format (i.e., not the pulp format) in the late 1950s. At around the same time there was a revival of monsters in popular culture. I think that had to do with nostalgia for the 1930s and early '40s. I'm pretty sure there was a commercial angle to all of it, too. The television horror host came along at the same time. He or she had previously been on radio and in comic books.

There was a lot of TV-watching in the 1950s, but that doesn't mean people gave up on reading. Men's adventure magazines became popular then. The readers of those magazines must have included a lot of veterans from World War II and the Korean War. Even if they hadn't been at war, an awful lot of American men had been drafted and had served in the military. There was almost a built-in readership for magazines of this type. Paperback adventure series novels also became really popular. These were as good as the James Bond novels of Ian Fleming and as poor as I don't know what. (Even some of the James Bond novels aren't that great.) Weird fiction, horror, and fantasy had to go somewhere once pulp magazines came to an end. There were digest-sized magazines in those genres during the 1960s and early '70s, but they also went into paperback publication. I think of mass market paperbacks of the 1950s and '60s as simply a continuation of pulp magazines and the pulp genres, only in a different format.

I'm sure there were women who read men's adventure magazines in the 1950s and '60s. There were, after all, some pretty strong and tough women in those days, and I'm happy to have known some of them. They weren't weak and afraid. They weren't shrinking violets. Nonetheless, the female readership of men's adventure magazines and paperbacks couldn't have been very great. There doesn't seem to have been much for women in the science fiction of the Golden Age and after, at least until the 1970s when women's science fiction became more of a thing. Maybe there was more for women in the more backward-looking genres. However, Weird Tales, which was always popular with women, was gone by the mid 1950s. That wouldn't have left much in genre fiction for women except for the romance, specifically the recently arrived or aborning Gothic Romance. In short, men had their type of reading, the extremes of which (not counting pornography) appear to have been in men's adventure magazines, and women had theirs, the extremes of which appear to have been in the form of the Gothic Romance.

Like I've said, I don't know when the Gothic revival began, specifically the girl-meets-house type Gothic Romance. I have looked at some covers of love and romance magazines and comic books of the 1950s. They are pretty rosy and sunny and wholesome, even when they are about unhappy things. There isn't any dark or Gothic imagery. But then something changed. I have wondered if the vast popularity of Peyton Place by Grace Metalious (1956) had anything to do with that. It is after all a book written for women that includes some Gothic elements. It even has an abandoned castle, although nothing happens there. I'm pretty sure that the paperback Gothic Romance was common and recognizable by the early to mid 1960s. (A fairly recent published history of that genre by Lori A. Paige has a beginning date of 1960.) I don't think Dark Shadows was a leader. I think it more likely that Dark Shadows was following a trend when it made its debut in 1966. I'll point out that near the end of Peyton Place, a young woman travels by train to a New England town (she's returning home), just as Victoria Winters travels by train to Collinsport.

So there were science fiction paperbacks and magazines; men's adventure paperbacks and magazines; and weird fiction, horror, and fantasy paperbacks and magazines, but was there ever a Gothic Romance magazine to go along with the Gothic Romance paperback? I asked myself that question before I looked. Then I looked and found out that the answer is yes, but not much of a yes. Two titles came up right away in my search, Gothic Romances, published in three issues by Dell in 1970-1971; and Gothic Tales of Love, published by the same group that published Marvel Comics (the editor of the magazine was Stan Lee) in at least three issues in or about 1975. There was a second magazine entitled Gothic Romances. That one was put out by Seaboard Periodicals, which also published Atlas Comics. If the second Gothic Romances magazine was like the Atlas comic book titles, it couldn't have lasted long. The first (and only?) issue came out in December 1974.

There were Gothic Romance comic books, too, including Charlton Comics' Haunted Love (1973-1975) and DC Comics' Forbidden Tales of Dark Mansion (1971-1974) and The Sinister House of Secret Love/Secrets of Sinister House (1972-1974). Before that, Gold Key had begun publishing a comic book version of Dark Shadows. That series lasted for thirty-five issues, from 1968 to 1976. DC Comics had other Gothic titles. These weren't specifically romances, but there were more than a few with girl-meets-house-type content. Titles included The House of Mystery (beginning with issue #175 in 1968), The House of Secrets (beginning with issue #81 in 1969), and The Unexpected (beginning with issue #105 in 1968).

So it looks like the Gothic revival reached its peak in the late 1960s and early 1970s, but maybe by then it was already in decline. Those few, short-lived Gothic Romance magazines may have been a final flourish, or a swan song. The three Gothic Romance comic books mentioned above came to an end at the same time, in 1974-1975. Gothic Romance paperbacks continued, though, and I think there are still some being published today. But then our current culture is mostly about mining the culture of the past. So many things now seem so tired. Anyway, that still doesn't answer when the revival began, or what was the first girl-meets-house-type Gothic Romance paperback. The romance is looked down upon, even by aficionados of popular culture. We have an Internet Speculative Fiction Database. Why not an Internet Romance or Gothic Romance Fiction Database? And why not an Internet Western Fiction Database to go with it? Maybe then we would have answers to some of these questions.

I'll close by pointing out that of the seven comic book titles listed above, four have the word house or mansion in their titles. For whatever reason, the Gothic story is tied to the house. That may just be a cliché. If it is, we shouldn't put too much stock in it. I would add that weird fiction and horror stories are also very often tied to the house, in other words, a place where there isn't any movement through space and may not be any movement through time, unless it is backwards in time. Either that or the past--including people from the past--moves through time by coming forward and intruding upon the present.* Science fiction and non-genre fiction or realistic fiction are not so tied to an unmoving place. Earlier this summer, I wrote about automobiles and rocketships. Both move. Neither is fixed in space. And if both can act as time machines, then they are also not fixed in time. Both allow an escape into the future and away from the past. Maybe that gets to the possibility that science fiction and novelistic fiction are characterized by movement--forward movement--while weird fiction, horror, and the Gothic Romance are static and unmoving, or they are retrogressive. The house, fixed in space and not having come forward in time, is the locus of plot, character, and conflict. It outlasts its inhabitants, which may very well reenact, over and over again, all of the dramas of the past. In short, in weird fiction, horror fiction, and the Gothic Romance, the house is a house not of the future but of the past. It becomes not a machine for living but the haunt of the dead.

-----

*How many Gothic stories are there in which the characters are basically stuck in a house? We ask ourselves, "Why don't they just leave?" But they don't or can't. (Instead they go hide behind the chainsaws.) That could be by convention, or it could be because they are physically trapped in the house, which may also be a convention. But what if they are not physically trapped so much as psychologically, emotionally, or even existentially trapped? In order to escape, they would have to outgrow decades or centuries of their own familial or cultural past. How is that possible in a single lifetime, let alone in a single episode from that lifetime? And if they are so trapped, what significance does that have for the rest of us? Is the past, and are the people of the past, especially the family, inescapable?

The Sinister House of Secret Love #4 (May 1971), with cover art by Tony DeZuniga. Again, there is the lit upper window and the fleeing woman as in so many illustrations for the Gothic Romance, but here a male figure, emerging from the house, takes the place of the house as the threat or the menace. The blurb lets us know, as if we didn't know already, that this is a tale of "Gothic Terror." And if you think this looks like the cover of a Gothic Romance paperback, you should have a look at the covers of the first three issues of this title.

Proof that the look of the Gothic Romance paperback made its way into superhero comic books: Batman #227 (Dec. 1970), with art by Neal Adams. This is a recreation of Bob Kane's cover of Detective Comics #31 from September 1939. The original cover was Gothic enough. Neal Adams Gothicized it (my new word) even more. In fact, he gave it the Gothic Romance treatment by including an old house with a single lit upper window and a young woman fleeing from it in our direction. The late Mr. Adams added two components, a villain and a hero. In the typical Gothic Romance paperback cover, the house seems to be the villain, and there isn't any hero. The heroine must save herself from the house of the past, haunted by the people of the past. But here, Batman looms over the landscape and its running figures. He is sure to intervene. And in case you were unaware of the Gothic content, there is the title blurb: "The Demon of Gothos Mansion!"

Text copyright 2026 Terence E. Hanley

Saturday, September 5, 2026

Machines for Living, Haunts of the Dead-Part Two

In the early twentieth century, during the Machine Age, the house became "a machine for living." That was how Le Corbusier saw it anyway. There were machine-like designs for houses and other buildings during the 1920s and '30s. I think that's what fictional architect Quintus Teal means when he brings up the modernistic "Service Station School" in Robert A. Heinlein's short story "'--And He Built a Crooked House--'", originally in Astounding Science-Fiction in February 1941.

The house as a literal machine for living became a popular idea after World War II when people thought that science was going to solve all of our problems. I won't make a distinction here between the house as a machine for living, the house of the future, and the house of tomorrow. All were based on ideas about science and progress that began in the early 1900s and continued into the 1940s, '50s, and '60s. Inasmuch as science fiction is the literature of progress and science, that genre contributed to the development, as concepts, of the machine-house, the automated house, the robot-house, the house of tomorrow, and the house of the future. There were houses of the future at the 1939 World's Fair in New York, and, if I understand things correctly, the 1962 World's Fair in Seattle and the 1964 World's Fair, again in New York. The future was in the air at all three fairs, but it was during the 1939 World's Fair that the first World Science Fiction Convention was held. The convention-goers also went to the fair. They probably saw the house in which they might have imagined they would one day live.

Warner Brothers made at least one animated cartoon about the house of the future. Entitled House Hunting Mice, it was directed by Chuck Jones and released in 1947. Tex Avery followed suit with a cartoon called The House of Tomorrow, released in 1949. Ray Bradbury wrote a short story, "There Will Come Soft Rains," in which the house of the future goes about its work even after its inhabitants have all been killed off in a nuclear war. The late Mr. Bradbury's story was published in the May 6, 1950, issue of Collier's magazine. It also appeared as a chapter in his novelized collection of short stories, The Martian Chronicles, also published in May 1950. In the book version, "There Will Come Soft Rains" begins on August 4, 2026, a date that has just passed. I wish I had remembered the date. If I had, I would have written something here in observance of it.

Wally Wood drew a comic book adaptation of "There Will Come Soft Rains" for Weird Fantasy #17, published in January/February 1953 by EC Comics. (Illustration below.) The house of the future, complete with a robot maid named Rosie, reappeared in the animated TV series The Jetsons, originally broadcast in 1962-1963. Now I learn that the architectural style shown in The Jetsons has a name. It's called the Googie style. The first Googie-style building was designed in the 1940s by architect John Lautner (1911-1994). It was a popular look in the 1960s and '70s. I seem to remember that Howard Johnson's had restaurants built in that style. I remember seeing Googie-style signs for shopping centers and bowling alleys, too, even into the 1990s. You can still sometimes see signs and buildings in this style, but I think they're mostly gone now. What a shame.

The machine-house or the house of the future was in art and in the real world from as early as the 1920s to as late as the 1960s and '70s. But the "future" of real life couldn't quite keep up with the future of the imagination: despite all of the hopes and promises of the past, the house of the future has never really arrived. Several years ago, I read that the last major household appliance that was developed was the microwave oven. That was in the 1960s. There have been refinements to that and other appliances since then. There are even house-of-the-future-type vacuum cleaners in existence now. Yesterday (August 23, 2026), I saw a robot lawnmower going about its boustrophedon work. (I hope it wasn't being paid for the subpar job it was doing.) But there aren't any of the houses of the future, and the house has not become a machine for living. If it is anything other than a house, the twenty-first American house is actually an investment. Don't live in your house too hard, and definitely don't personalize it in any way. That might damage its resale value.

Concurrent with the mid-to-late house of the future--i.e., the house of the 1950s to the 1970s--there was another kind of house that became more prominent in our culture. This one was far older, and it was the kind of house against which the architects of the futuristic house were rebelling. This was of course the Gothic house, or the house of the past. Gothic fiction or the Gothic Romance goes back to the 1700s, but in the 1960s and '70s, there was a kind of Gothic revival in popular culture. I have never read a history or chronology of this Gothic revival. (That's my own name for it. I wonder if there is another.) I don't know when it began. The immediate origins of it may have been in Universal monster movies and the original Weird Tales magazine of the 1920s to the 1940s. Monsters had their own revival in the late 1950s and early 1960s, especially on television. In the early to mid part of the century, there was of course Southern Gothic fiction, but there was also an Eastern or New England Gothic. Shirley Jackson (1916-1965), who lived in New York and Vermont, was an exemplar. She wrote The Haunting of Hill House (1959) and We Have Always Lived in the Castle (1962), among other works. As I wrote not long ago, Peyton Place (1956) by Grace Metalious (1924-1964) also has Gothic elements and may be considered a Gothic fiction. The Peyton Place of the title is an abandoned castle. Tom Tryon (1926-1991) was another New Englander who wrote Gothic fiction about his native region. He had a book called Harvest Home (1973), but that title refers to a festival, not a place. Stephen King (b. 1947) is a current practitioner of New England Gothic. His second novel, 'Salem's Lot (1975), is about an old house called the Marsten House. These fictional houses can be counted among the houses of the past.

To be continued . . . 

Text copyright 2026 Terence E. Hanley

Tuesday, July 7, 2026

Music, Automobiles, & Rocketships-Part Two

Rocket 88

I don't have a very good title for this new series, but when you're going to throw in everything but the kitchen sink, you've got to settle on something. I'll begin with Rocket 88.

After World War II, weird fiction faded and science fiction and the whole culture around it began to take off. Monsters were no longer the supernatural monsters of moors and marches, nor were ghosts the haunters of castles and abbeys. Instead, the ghosts and monsters of the post-war world were those of science and technology. We encountered them in places opened up by war as well as by exploration along the frontiers of science and technology. In The Thing from Another World (1951), that frontier is in the Arctic. In It Came from Outer Space (1953) and Them! (1954), the frontier is the American West, a place dotted with World War II-era military installations, the place where atomic bombs, rockets, missiles, and jet aircraft were developed and tested. These weren't the dark, decaying, gloomy, closed-in places of weird fiction and the Gothic romance. Instead they were bright, sunny, shiny, open, futuristic.

In 1949, Oldsmobile introduced its 88 model, nicknamed Rocket 88 for its Rocket V8 engine. The Oldsmobile Rocket 88 was a popular car, so popular and recognizable in its name that it inspired a song, "Rocket 88," released in 1951, sung by Jackie Brenston, and backed by Ike Turner and his Kings of Rhythm. Like the car, the song was a hit. There were car songs before it, but this was a big one. Some people call it the first rock 'n' roll record. It's nice to think that rock 'n' roll started with a car song.

In its advertising, Oldsmobile tied its Rocket 88 to its namesake technology. For example:


Thirty-four years later, artist Dave Stevens created the following cover for Planet Comics in its issue of July 1984:

The print of this illustration is entitled "Rocket 88" after the emblem on the fuselage. Notice that the riders in each of these two pictures are two in number and in roughly the same posture and position. I wouldn't call this a swipe. Instead, it looks like the first picture inspired the second, or call it a variation or an homage. Notice that the blonde pilot in the second picture is wearing a Nazi-like hat like a British New Wave singer or musician of the same period. (As I write, New Order has come on the radio. I was thinking of Modern English, but my psychic powers aren't strong enough to make that happen.) This comic book was published in the same year as Neuromancer by William Gibson. Don't you wish we had 1980s culture back? 

By the way, Planet Comics was a revival of a comic book title in print from 1940 to 1953. The original Planet Comics was the first science fiction comic book and a spinoff of the science fiction pulp magazine Planet Stories. Ray Bradbury and Leigh Bracket were among the authors published in Planet Stories.

Here is a poster design for Rocket 88, a local band in Wisconsin from 1972 to the 1990s or after. Notice the influence of artist Jack Davis, also of underground comics:


I'm afraid I don't know the name of the artist.

Americans have tested not only rockets, missiles, and jet airplanes in the Desert West. We have also tested automobiles. In 1953, General Motors opened its new automobile proving grounds just outside of Mesa, Arizona. Those proving grounds are no longer in operation. In their place are maze-like subdivisions with science-, space-, and technology-related names: Neutron Point, Wavelength Park, Lunar Green Park. If you have ever watched American car commercials, you are familiar with all of the scenes shot in the Desert West. Automobiles go with the West like A-bombs at Trinity, the Bell XS-1 at Muroc Army Air Field, V-2 rockets at White Sands Proving Grounds, and giant ants in the tunnels under Los Angeles.*

Automobiles and rockets were tested on the salt flats and dry lake beds of the American West. In the 1950s, cars were made to look like rockets with their chrome trim and nosecones and trailing fins. I remember our neighbor, Mr. Sherman, who had a giant 1950s light blue Cadillac. (I think it was an El Dorado Seville, circa 1956.) One time he forgot to put it into park. After he went in the house, his car rolled down the driveway and with a crash speared a parked car at the bottom with its short, heavy fins. Mr. Sherman came out of the house and drove his car back up the driveway. He went back inside, and that seemed to be the end of it. His car was untouched. No such luck for the 1970s car on the receiving end of the crash. Anyway, from the 1950s to the 1970s, cars were named after spacecraft and celestial bodies: Ford Galaxie 500, Mercury Comet, Oldsmobile Rocket 88, Oldsmobile Starfire, Plymouth Satellite, Pontiac Star Chief, Studebaker Starlight, and from the advertisement in the previous entry, Chevrolet Nova and Chevrolet Vega. The Saturn line came along about a decade later. The point is that there were clear connections made between cars and rockets, and between cars and outer space. There were also connections between these things and other aspects of popular culture, including music, comic books, and science fiction. For example, in July 1979, the B-52s issued a single called "Planet Claire," which begins with these lyrics:

She came from Planet Claire
I knew she came from there
She drove a Plymouth Satellite
Oh, faster than the speed of light . . . .

So here is a science-fictional rock song played by a band named after a superfast jet airplane from the 1950s--with eight engines no less--in which the subject drives a Plymouth Satellite. The only thing missing in all of this is a comic book. But there will be another one of those in almost no time at all.

Hold onto the idea of the science-fictional automobile.

(As an aside, the U.S. Air Force rolled out the Boeing B-52 Stratofortress in March 1954. It was preceded by the Boeing 377 Stratocruiser, which had its first flight on July 8, 1947, the same day that the U.S. Army announced that it had recovered the remains of a flying disc near Roswell, New Mexico. The Fender Stratocaster electric guitar, named for one kind of airplane or another, made its debut in the same year as the B-52 Stratofortress, 1954.)

From 1960 to 1979-1980, the Oldsmobile emblem was a rocket blasting out of a cartouche. Maybe you remember it:


I wanted a simpler graphic representation. You will see why in 10, 9, 8, 7 . . .

If you're a fan of 1950s science fiction, maybe you'll recognize the rocketship emblem:


This one was on the spine of the Winston Science Fiction series of juvenile novels published from 1952 to 1960. That series was graced by the artwork of former comic book artist Alex Schomburg and included the images of many, many rocketships.

Here's another rocketship blasting off into space:


Weird still had some cachet in the late 1940s and into the 1950s. Sometimes it was paired with superheroes (Captain America's Weird Tales, 1949-1950), more often with science fiction and fantasy as in EC Comics' Weird Science (1950-1953), Weird Fantasy (1950-1953), and Weird Science-Fantasy (1954-1955). Above is the cover of Weird Science-Fantasy #24, published in June 1954, with cover art by Al Feldstein. The rocket design in the left margin was a standard feature of that title. By the way, Jack Davis, mentioned above, also worked on EC Comics. By the way again, Weird Tales magazine came to an end in September 1954, just two months after this comic book was published. Science fiction magazines lived on.

The first time I ever heard the word modockin, I was a student at a flatland high school in Indiana. A friend named Greg used it a lot. I knew what it meant by the context. It means to drive really fast or for a car to go really fast. I thought I knew its origin. For years I thought it was in reference to a place in California where jet airplanes and maybe rocket sleds were tested. But that was Muroc, not Modoc. Muroc is where Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier in October 1947, a month after the U.S. Air Force was created and the same year in which the first flying saucers were sighted. You could say that in his flight he was really modockin.

If you look on the Internet, you will see that the word modockin is supposed to be from Modoc Brothers Trucking, which supposedly operated in Indiana and Illinois back in the old days, whenever that was. I haven't found any mention of the modockin Modoc Brothers in old newspaper accounts. I did find, though, that there was a racehorse called Modockin in the 1960s. Before that, there was a song, "Modockin" by the Silver Jets, recorded in 1962 in Frankfort, Indiana, and released by Parr Records. (I think it was actually a rock instrumental.) The Silver Jets were a local band in Frankfort. In 1962, they shared a bill with Roy Orbison at Shady Acres auditorium outside of Mulberry, Indiana. Mulberry, by the way, was the birthplace of brothers Vesto M. Slipher (1875-1969) and Earl C. Slipher (1883-1964), both of whom were astronomers. They didn't do any modockin themselves as far as I know, but they studied celestial objects that have a lot of get up and go. These two non-modockin brothers have a crater of the moon and an asteroid named after them. Anyway, the word modockin has its Indiana connection, maybe in fact has its origins in the Hoosier State. I also found that there is a school in Modoc, Indiana, called Union Junior/Senior High School. Guess what the name of their school mascot is. Believe it or not, it's the Rockets!

Watch them blast off!


*The non-science fiction equivalent of Them! might be He Walked by Night (1948), in which a man who may be a sociopath is finally tracked down in the tunnels under Los Angeles. The sociopath or psychopath--recognizable, describable, diagnosable by science--can be interpreted as a monster of science and suitable for the post-weird fiction twentieth century.

To be continued . . .

Original text copyright 2026 by Terence E. Hanley

Thursday, May 21, 2026

The New Weird-Part Four

From December 2017, updated for 2026.

A final quote from Wikipedia as I wear out this topic:
Part of this genre's [i.e., "the New Weird's"] roots derive from pulp horror authors, whose stories were sometimes described as "weird fiction." The "weird tale" label also evolved from the magazine Weird Tales; the stories therein often combined fantasy elements, existential and physical terror, and science fiction devices.
So is "the New Weird" just "the Old Weird" for a new readership? After all, Weird Tales in its original run was last published in 1954. Very few people alive today can remember when it was still in print. Every version published since then has been either an imitation, a pastiche, a paean, or--perhaps in the case of the Ann VanderMeer version--a reaction to the original. (That would make Marvin Kaye's version a restoration.) It seems likely to me that "the New Weird" is in fact just weird fiction--in more ways than one. What I mean is that weird fiction is a label placed on works that are not easily defined or categorized, specifically because they blend genres or cross over from one genre to another. (My original idea of what makes weird fiction is that it involves some kind of crossing over in its contents, i.e., within the story itself.) As Charles Fort wrote in 1919, that seminal year in the history of American fantasy fiction, the concept of discontinuity--the idea that there are barriers between things--is inadequate and can be a kind of willful blindness or a failure of the imagination. If writers of "the New Weird" are blending genres and breaking down barriers, they are only doing what writers of "the Old Weird" did, partly under the influence of Charles Fort, but more nearly in continuing what had gone on in storytelling and literature since time began. "The New Weird" might be just "the Old Weird" with a "new" label slapped on it, while "the Old Weird" was based on all kinds of stories that came before it in an unbroken--i.e., continuous--line going back to the beginning of time.

One last thing: "the 'weird tale' label" mentioned in the quote above may have been passed on to later generations through Weird Tales, but it was not original to the magazine. I suspect that the label originated in the nineteenth century, certainly no later than the 1880s and 1890s. It was current when Jacob Clark Henneberger (1890-1969) was a boy. If I had to guess, he chose the title for his new magazine for exactly that reason. In other words, Henneberger was looking back in nostalgia and found a valued thing from the past. He went with it rather than repudiating it. The past is where weird fiction came from. To try to make something "new" of it would seem an impossibility, especially considering that weird in its original, best, and truest sense is from a time before the modern world and the written word began.

Coda: I had intended in 2017 to go on with this entry with the following passage:
The past is where weird fiction came from. To try to make something "new" of it would seem an impossibility . . .
Unless weird fiction can make a break with the past. Unless it can be made discontinuous with other genres, forms, conventions, and traditions. And how might that happen? I can think of only one way, and that is for weird fiction to be mixed with science fiction, which may be, as I have suggested, a discontinuity.
That's as far as I got in this entry and in this series, but it's an idea worth considering, but only for a little more before I bring this whole series of series to a close as follows:

There was previously a mixture of weird and science. We call it science fantasy, or weird science, which is a term I like. Science fantasy is supposed to have started in the late 1800s--I have heard that term applied to the works of H. Rider Haggard--and continued into the pulp fiction era. I would consider "The Call of Cthulhu" and several other of H.P. Lovecraft's stories to be science fantasy stories. C.L. Moore wrote stories like that, too. But that was either before or shortly after science fiction was finally named as a genre. We now live in a post-weird fiction/post-science fiction age, at least as far as any golden ages go. Nonetheless, science and technology continue to shape our lives to such an extent that every day in the real world is a new science-fictional day for us. And here's the thing: weird is still in effect, too, because we are human beings. To paraphrase--very loosely--Tom Joad: wherever we go, there will be weird, even unto the stars. Again, science and technology are new every day. As a result, there can be new ideas in science fiction that will nonetheless be built upon our unalterable human nature and the unchanging laws of the universe. With that being the case, weird fiction can possibly be renewed by marrying weird to science. I would read that kind of fiction. But it doesn't need a brandname, label, or marketing concept, nor a gnosis, theory, or manifesto, least of all a corporate mission statement. It can just be a pure, innocent, unadulterated creation of the artist that speaks to the reader and to the human condition, and can thus be made timeless and ever new.

Weird Science #15, Nov.-Dec. 1950, with cover art by Al Feldstein. You can't spell "Weird Science" without "N-E-W."

Original text copyright 2017, 2026 Terence E. Hanley

Tuesday, April 14, 2026

A Proliferation of Genres

"The New Weird" is supposed by its proponents to be real. If it is, then it must be a sub-genre of weird fiction. Weird fiction is a genre. Some might say that it's actually a sub-genre of fantasy fiction, in which case "the New Weird" is a sub-sub-genre. But a weird tale isn't necessarily a fantasy. It's possible for a weird tale not to include any fantastic, supernatural, or speculative elements at all. "The Basket" by Herbert J. Mangham (sic) is an example. Although there is a visit to a fortuneteller--perhaps a weird-woman--in the story, there aren't any obviously supernatural events. "The Grave" by Orville R. Emerson is another example of a non-supernatural weird tale. Both are stories of weird being visited upon a man. Both were in the first issue of Weird Tales, dated March 1923. So let's call "the New Weird" a sub-genre.

So far in this series, I have talked about the proliferation of genres that happened after World War I (during the pulp-fiction era), and then again after about 1960 (during the academic/scholarly/nostalgic era). I won't list here the more realistic genres and sub-genres of romance, Western, railroad, boxing, war, spy, suspense, crime, detective, mystery, and so on. I also won't write about mythology, legends, sagas, fables, folk tales, fairy tales, or tall tales. Instead, I'll stick to the 20th-century genres that are supposed to fall under the very broad category of fantasy.

By the way, in writing this entry, I came across a very apt explanation as to why genres have proliferated. It's not because of artistic reasons. Instead, it's because of commercial considerations in the form of niche marketing, just as I wrote the other day. In his introduction to The New Weird (2008), Jeff VanderMeer gave a lot of credit to the development of this sub-genre to his fellow Gen-Xer, China Miéville, but then noted that Mr. Miéville moved away from "the New Weird." From Mr. VanderMeer's introduction:

The passion behind Miéville's efforts made sure that the term ["the New Weird"] would live on, even after he began to disown it, claiming it had become a marketing category and was therefore of no further interest to him. 

We should note here that China Miéville is a Marxist, thus disdains, I assume, the workings of what is called capitalism. I wonder what he thinks of the many brands of Marxism and socialism, of their many spin-offs and offshoots and sub-genres, as well as of all of the commercial products associated with it.

* * *

If you want to be liberal rather than conservative in your definition of what makes a genre or sub-genre, then weird fiction can include the following:

  • Weird fiction
  • Weird fantasy
  • Weird science or science fantasy
  • Heroic fantasy or sword and sorcery (such as the Conan stories)
  • Weird Western
  • Weird war
  • Weird hero
  • "The New Weird"
Related to weird fiction is horror. In fact, some people say "horror" when what they really mean is "weird fiction." They are not the same thing--they are not at all the same thing--but then "weird fiction" is not easily defined. In fact, weird fiction may be indefinable, as it involves an inscrutable and indefinable weird. Anyway, here are some horror genres:
  • Supernatural horror
  • Psychological horror
  • Ghost stories (ghost stories might be a genre separate from horror)
  • Gothic horror or Gothic fiction (the other day I invented the word Gothics to cover this genre, Gothic being an adjective and not a noun)
  • Terror, horror, or weird menace
  • Lovecraftian horror or cosmic horror
  • Urban horror
  • Body horror
  • Eco horror
  • Zombie stories
  • Vampire stories
  • Werewolf stories
  • Monster stories in general
  • Kaiju
  • Occult horror (devils, demons, demonic possession, cults, etc.)
  • Paranormal romance
If you separate science fiction from fantasy fiction, then science fiction might include:
  • Science fiction
  • Scientific romance
  • Pseudoscience, Scientifiction, and other types of proto-science fiction
  • Science fantasy
  • Planetary romance or swords and planets
  • Space opera
  • Hard science fiction
  • Military science fiction
  • Soft science fiction or social science fiction
  • "The New Wave"
  • A lot of -punks:
  • Cyberpunk
  • Postcyberpunk
  • Steampunk
  • Retropunk
  • Atompunk
  • Dieselpunk
  • Clockpunk
  • Mannerpunk
  • Biopunk
  • Nanopunk
  • Solarpunk
  • Slipstream
  • Cryptozoological or cryptid fiction
  • Superhero fiction
  • Alternate history
  • Time travel
  • Parallel universe or parallel worlds
  • Lost worlds
  • Utopia and Dystopia
  • Apocalypse and Post-Apocalypse
  • Cozy Apocalypse
  • (There could be a parallel sub-genre, Cozy Dystopia.)

Finally, in fantasy, there are these genres and sub-genres and probably many more:

  • Fantasy
  • High fantasy
  • Low fantasy
  • Science fantasy
  • Heroic fantasy or sword and sorcery (without any weird elements)
  • Planetary romance or swords and planets
  • Lost worlds
  • Contemporary fantasy
  • Urban fantasy
  • Dark fantasy
There is no way this is a complete list. Even if it were complete today, it might not be tomorrow. You never know when an author, critic, or academic will invent a new sub-genre.

Thanks to Wikipedia for a big part of this list.

Weird War Tales, September 1973, a comic book that crosses genres, with cover art by George Evans.

Original text copyright 2026 Terence E. Hanley

Sunday, October 20, 2024

"The City in the Sea" by Christopher Golden & Mike Mignola-Part Three

The self-references and meta-references continue:

We get a little of Hellboy's backstory in "The City in the Sea: A Hellboy Story." One sentence stands out to me:

And there had been countless hours reading pulp magazines and comic books on the floor of Professor Bruttenholm's office, or his study at home. [Emphasis added.] (p. 6, col. 2)

I think that sentence describes not Hellboy so much as many of the authors represented in this issue, as well as the editor who recruited them and whatever number of readers Weird Tales #367 might have had in its year (or less) in print. Things in their experience that are left out of Hellboy's are countless hours of watching TV and playing video games. If there is a stepping-down in our culture, it has reached a point where people learn about storytelling not by reading or even watching stories unfold on screen but by playing video games.

* * *

Decades and decades ago, a large part of American literature became not only by writers but, to the point, about writers and for writers. A good example of this is Larry McMurtry's All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers, from 1972, a novel by a novelist about a novelist writing a novel, and in which most of the action in the novel takes place in the head of the novelist McMurtry as he writes about his fictional novelist. In other words, it's not set authentically in a fictionalized real world but inauthentically inside a real-world novelist's head. In one sentence, the fictional novelist gets in his car, and in practically the next, he arrives at his destination hundreds of miles away. Didn't anything happen in the in-between? Didn't he do any living or thinking or seeing on his trip? Or did Scotty just beam him to where he was going inside of his car? Actually it was the real-world novelist who did this because he needed his fictional novelist to get from one place to the next as quickly as possible and without event. Things happen this way in novels, less often in real life. I like better what happens in The Charisma Campaigns by Jack Matthews, also from 1972, in which a short car trip--and the protagonist's story--is badly interrupted and the novel takes a drastic turn towards the end. This is more true to life. Matthews' protagonist, by the way, is a used car salesman, even if he writes imaginary newspaper headlines in his head. I guess that makes them literally headlines.

Anyway again, the same thing can be said now of genre fiction, at least in the case of Weird Tales #367. It's one thing to write about writing, writers, and stories in an essay in "The Eyrie." That's what essays are for. (I have just done a little name-dropping myself.) It's quite another to say that your main character reads pulp magazines and comic books and then write your story as if that's all you yourself have ever read, Edgar Allan Poe notwithstanding. Like I said, one thing missing from Hellboy's upbringing is countless hours of watching TV shows and playing video games. Poor Hellboy. Don't worry, though. Authors, editors, readers, and fans of today have more than made up for what he missed, and it all shows in what they create, what they prefer to watch and read, and how they spend their time.

* * *

In addition to Poe, there are references in "The City in the Sea" to:

  • Lemuria, a pseudoscientific, pseudo-historical, or pseudo-religious appropriation by Madame Blavatsky and her Theosophists of a previously hypothesized lost continent.
  • Pangea, a supercontinent of the distant past, in other words, another lost continent.
  • Hyperborea, a place in ancient Greek myth and another that has been appropriated by esoteric thinkers and writers. It isn't supposed to have been a continent (I don't think), but it was and is lost.
  • Mu, a mythical lost continent that also has a place in esoteric thought.
  • Vril, a type of energy and an overt fiction created by Edward Bulwer-Lytton, taken to be nonfictional by some people who can be described pretty well, I think, as crackpots. Writing like Vril is real drags down your story, I think. If your characters have a brain in their heads, they should know that Vril and things like it are not real, that they exist in the real world only as crackpot ideas and hoaxes.
  • Thoth, an ancient Egyptian god used in twentieth- and twenty first-century popular culture. His name is inside of Lovecraft's name for his god Yog-Sothoth and his own name for what is called "the Cthulhu Mythos," that is, Yog-Sothothery.

That's a list. Not a very long one, but still a list. It reminds me of the listing that August Derleth did in The Lurker at the Threshold (1946).

As you can see, some of these references are to cities or civilizations situated on island continents or surrounded by seas, just as in Poe's original poem "The City in the Sea." You could call all of this background information. Alternatively, you could call it name-dropping, a series of meta-references, or a lot of inside information. The problem is that all of these words and concepts have been used and overused to a point where they don't mean very much, if anything, any more. Their use could be an attempt to invoke something larger and more powerful than themselves, or to evoke thoughts and feelings in the reader. Words do of course have that kind of power. But these words have lost their power and their mystique. We don't need grimoires and dusty, buckled tomes at hand in order to read about obscure and esoteric subjects. We all have access to Wikipedia now. The mystique is gone. The balloon has been deflated. And all of it is old, so old, after we were promised new things.

* * *

I don't think name-dropping (or listing) works very well in fiction. When I read something like this:

On this now leaped and twisted a more indescribable horde of human abnormality than any but a Sime or an Angarola could paint. 

it doesn't mean much to me. (At least the artist's names are euphonic.) I guess those names are supposed to provide a kind of shorthand imagery. They are supposed to move us, or to hint at some esoteric, inside information held by the author in all of his erudition. But what if we are unfamiliar with the artists and their work? I think a better use of the author's limited word count would have been to tell us what he wanted us to envision or imagine rather than relying on name-dropping for his effect. The quote by the way is from "The Call of Cthulhu" by H.P. Lovecraft, from Weird Tales, February 1928.

* * *

There are also in "The City in the Sea" indirect references or similarities to other works of weird fiction or fantasy, including She, A History of Adventure by H. Rider Haggard (1887); "The Girl in the Gem," a Brak the Barbarian story by John Jakes, first in Fantastic Stories of Imagination (Jan. 1965); and "Claimed!" by Francis Stevens in Argosy (three-part serial, March 6-20, 1920). As for the statuette, it reminds me of the Maltese Falcon, which also arrives wrapped as a package. Or maybe it's like the weird obelisk on the cover of the Led Zeppelin album Presence. If they keep gazing at it, those nice people on the cover are going to be transported to that awful City in the Sea.

* * *

You might think that I don't like "The City in the Sea: A Hellboy Story." Sorry for sounding cranky and complainy. It's actually a story one can enjoy, I think, with a good setup and some vivid imagery. The prose is good and clean, meaning unencumbered and not clunky (there is at least one vulgarity, though), which is often a wonder in our world of today. And I didn't pick up on any twenty-first century inanities. Thank God. I think "The City in the Sea" suffers, though, from being unsustained or not fully developed. It moves too quickly from one thing to the next and then back again without much of an explanation of why they're happening and what it could all mean. But I'm not sure that's the fault of the authors. That lack of full development appears to be a feature of Weird Tales #367. I'm not sure why there couldn't have been more content in this issue. There's room for it, but the whole thing seems to have been cut short for some reason. Also, we know that because Hellboy is a series character, nothing extremely bad or life-changing can happen to him. He has to come through his experience unscathed, with all of his sanity points still on the board and ready for his next adventure.

Finally, being a comic book artist myself, I can't complain about reading a prose story about a comic book character. This kind of thing can actually work. (I have done it myself. I hope it can work.) See for example The Avengers Battle the Earth-Wrecker by Otto Binder, from 1967. It's not great literature, but it works. On the other hand, it has to be handled and developed in just the right way. The appearance of a comic book character in Weird Tales is something new, even if the character is not and the type of story in which he appears is not, even if the inspiration for the story is more than 175 years old. Finally, finally, I'm not sure that a comic book story, which is what this is, should take the lead over real prose fiction that does not resort or refer to any other work or form but instead stands alone.

Original text copyright 2024 Terence E. Hanley

Friday, October 18, 2024

"The City in the Sea" by Christopher Golden & Mike Mignola-Part Two

The authors of "The City in the Sea: A Hellboy Story" were obviously inspired by Edgar Allan Poe and his works, but they have also drawn from other sources. You will encounter here some very familiar conventions of gothic fiction and weird fiction: the title character arrives at a creaky and dusty old house where something mysterious has happened, and so on. You could call these things tropes or clichés and no one could or should argue with you. Many of these conventions or tropes are indirect, harmless, and not too bothersome or distracting. You might even find them comforting. Conventions and tropes are, after all, an appeal to the child in the reader to whom one reads a story or shows a video, the child who says "Read it again" or "Play it again" after it is finished. Children--and maybe all of us--want what is familiar to us. Repetition is comforting. Like a prayer, a chant, or a mantra, it soothes us and relieves us of our fear and anxiety. Again and again, the story turns out the same. Again and again, all will be well in the end.

But there are also some self-references and meta-references in "The City in the Sea" that are more distracting, and some that are a stepping-down, too. They make it so the story can't stand on its own. The main character is the most obvious example of this lack of stand-alone ability. Hellboy has been in prose before, but he is really just a comic book character. If you want to fully understand this story, you have to know something more about him and his universe, going back decades in another form. Related to that, "The City in the Sea" will never be anthologized because it's basically an issue of a comic book or an episode of a TV series. It uses and relies on what has gone before and what will be used again in future stories. The character and his universe are the important parts, the story itself less so. And what is really at stake here? Hellboy will go on. He has to. He has to appear in the next episode just as if nothing happened in this one.

* * *

On their surface, self-references and meta-references begin in "The City in the Sea" with Poe, but they actually begin on the cover, on the title page, and in the subtitle, for that is where you will find Hellboy. Hellboy is of course the creation of an artist and a fictional character, but he is also a branded product. Don't ask who or what he is. You're supposed to know already. You're supposed to have that inside information in your possession before you begin. If you don't, you won't get much of an explanation inside. You'll have to look elsewhere for what's missing from your experience as a consumer of the pop-cultural products of twenty first-century America. Or twentieth actually, because Hellboy is really that old. Should I point out that Hellboy is as old now as Weird Tales was in 1954 when it reached its end after thirty-one years in print? This after we were promised something new in "The Eyrie." 

* * * 

Again, in addition to being an artistic creation, Hellboy is a recognized brandname and a successful commercial product. That's the dream of every artist, I guess, to create something that proves itself a moneymaker. I wouldn't object if one of my creations took off that way. Anyway, you could say that Weird Tales #367 is just another venue for Hellboy, in addition to those that include comic books, movies, animated cartoons, video games, and I'm sure other kinds of media and merchandise. And you could say that in addition to being branded Cosmic Horror, this issue is branded Hellboy. So a double brand. That's okay I guess. If you're the publisher or editor, you should take into account the readers' tastes and give them what they want or what you think they want. You should also give them things they don't yet know they want. After all, what precedent was there for Lovecraftian horror before there were horror stories written by Lovecraft? Anyway, if you look at things from the publisher's and editor's points of view, this all makes sense, for why take a chance with an unknown quantity when you can use a brandname that has already proved itself a mover of merchandise?

In any case, there is an implication here that these self-references, meta-references, inside information, and use of brands and brandnames are meant for insiders. If you're an outsider, well, too bad for you. Remember that Lovecraft wrote a story called "The Outsider," one that will forever appeal to people who feel themselves to be like his eponymous character. Weird Tales in its original incarnation had the same kind of appeal, and it had broad appeal, too, not only across this great country but also in Canada, Great Britain, and other places far from its big-city American home. That appeal also went from top to bottom, from bankers, composers, theater directors, medical doctors, and university staff and faculty; to teachers, archaeologists, anthropologists, actors, writers, and psychologists; to military men, industrial workers, farmhands, dwellers in shacks, and schoolchildren. Maybe people like these are no longer the target readership. That would be a shame if it were true. Maybe the Cosmic Horror Issue should have been called instead the Insider Issue.

To be continued . . .

Original text copyright 2024 Terence E. Hanley

Wednesday, October 16, 2024

"The City in the Sea" by Christopher Golden & Mike Mignola-Part One

Born in Berkeley, California, in 1960, Mike Mignola is a comic book artist and writer. He has also worked as an illustrator, designer, and artist in the movie business. His co-author on "The City in the Sea: A Hellboy Story," Christopher Golden, was born in 1967 in Massachusetts. He is a novelist, editor, and scriptwriter for animated cartoons, comic books, and at least one movie, a Hellboy movie in fact. Among his credits are TV tie-in books and prose adaptations of comic book characters. Mike Mignola is one of his co-authors. So is Tim Lebbon, who also has a story in Weird Tales #367. Already we can see a pattern developing in the Cosmic Horror Issue.

The cover illustration for Weird Tales #367, dated 2022, is by Mike Mignola. The same drawing is in the interior as a full-page illustration on the title page of the story. There are also pieces of it used more or less as spot drawings or filler, and so it does triple duty. Although there have been comic book-like covers before in Weird Tales, I think this is the first that is overtly in that style and that features a comic book character. As far as I know, this is also the first story ever in Weird Tales adapted from a comic book. So already there are new things here, but only to Weird Tales, for Hellboy has been in comic books since 1993. He has also been in movies, animated cartoons, and video games. Maybe these are firsts, too: Hellboy may be the first character from each of these media or forms to appear in the magazine. On the other hand, all are just adaptations from Hellboy's original comic book appearances. Maybe we can expect to see soon a story in Weird Tales adapted directly from a TV show or movie with no other origins and no stops in between.

The inside information in "The City in the Sea" begins with the main character himself. If you have never read Hellboy comic books or seen him on screen, you might not know who or what he is and you probably know nothing at all about his origins or purpose. There isn't even a very good description of him in his own story. If you want to know what he looks like, see the illustration. In this way, Hellboy continues to work as a comic book character in that, in this story, the words and pictures must be taken together if we are to understand fully what's going on. The good thing in reading it is that you can get by without knowing very much about the main character. That's partly because the authors carefully observe the conventions and employ the trappings of genre fiction in their storytelling. The character may be unknown to you, but you have seen everything else here before. Maybe we can call this institutional weird fiction.

There is in "The City in the Sea" a mystery. A man is missing, an old scholar who lives in an old house in an old town somewhere in America at some indeterminate time in the past or present. He has a lone housekeeper, who explains that he has vanished after having received a mysterious package. It's clear that Hellboy is an investigator, like Edgar Allan Poe's C. Auguste Dupin and hundreds of other detectives--occult or not--born since then. He finds that the package contains a statuette of a woman. In gazing upon it, Hellboy is transported into an otherworldly vision or experience, an encounter with the missing man, who has preceded him on his journey, and what he calls the Black Goddess, alive but dealing death in the city of the title. There is narration of other, strange times and places, of vast, mysterious, and possibly menacing realms. This is a kind of crossing-over that is almost diagnostic of weird fiction, except that Hellboy is already a supernatural being. There really isn't any crossing-over. He has seen and experienced things like this before. An encounter with the supernatural can mean very little to him, nor can it have much effect. "The City in the Sea" isn't a very long story, and so Hellboy returns soon enough to the real world, alone, to where he was sitting in the old man's study. He may have gained some kind of knowledge or insight, but as proof of the lack of effect upon him, his final thought is of his hunger: he has his eye on a diner down the street.

To be continued . . .

Original text copyright 2024 Terence E. Hanley