Dear friends - I just re-read in some the detail the post on
"Joshi reviews...", and found some impetus to suggest the following:

At this point, I have not found Mr. Joshi's views particularly
insightful, and certain kinds of literary analysis don't really
tell us very much do they? Are not generalized statements about a
a body of work like Smith's a bit off the point? The poets
I have known personally (Smith, Robert Graves, Robert Frost, Harold
Holden, Jon Eckels among others), universally dislike literary
vivesection (place in history, influences et al, ad infin., ad nauseam).

I would love to hear in this forum from you folks about your views
on this abundant flow of previously unpublished work - Black Diamonds,
Red World, and my own, Sword of Zagan. The real issue is, did you
like reading them. There are some startling things in each. When
I think critically of CAS (not easy for me), I find there are stories
with scenes I cannot forget (Weaver, Black Abbott, Charnel God among
many others); the memory of their first effect is still with me after
50 years, and I have found myself re-reading them. On the other hand,
Mother of Toads is both unforgettable, and such a stomach churner as
to make me almost afraid to re-read it. In short, that which is
memorable to the reader, for whatever reason, makes the critic irrelevant. Yes, much of CAS is colour and description, but then one
encounters tales like "The Monster of the Prophecy" -- highly auto-biographical, elaborate construction whereby he slowly lifts his
arm to reveal in the last sentence a firmly upheld middle finger aimed
at the nosy gossips who pecked at him harpy-like most of his life
in Auburn -- absolutely delightful.
My plea is, share in this forum the tales and poems you have personally
loved, and why. That would be really good to read as I reflect on
the Genteel and courteous friend of years long gone, and the kind of words he would like
to hear from his readers -- "this poem moved me", "that story was
terrific" -- then add how,and why.

Dr. Farmer

I am writing an essay on one of my favorites, "The Isle of the Torturers," which I think will satisfy your wishes, Doctor Farmer. I still have to call you too, been a bit busy. Best, Scott

Say Doc, you sound like my old mother when she would get exasperated with Siskel and Ebert and look over to me and say, "Who cares what they think anyway?" If you like somebody's book or movie or what-not, by all means, screw the critic. But criticism is a charming little game, no more, and some people do like to play. It assumes a grand posture on the part of the critic, as he goes out on that limb either for or against the matter at hand. You clearly have little interest in being told what is good and what disappoints, having a strong compass of your own for what's what. But many if not most people are nowhere near as discerning and they truly need the critics. After all, someone really needs to tell them what to think.

I must agree with Dr. Farmer about the power of The Black Abbot of Puthuum. It may be my absolute favorite. I don't recall all the details now, since it was quite some time since I read it, but two images from that story have remained very strongly in my memory: When the company travels through the desert, "Noon, with its sun of candent copper in a blackish-blue zenith, found them afar amid the rusty sands and iron-toothed ridges of Izdrel." What deliciously decadent imagery! And how esthetic. He really understands colour-harmonies. The first beautiful sentence of The Dark Eidolon also shows the same fascination with dying suns. (Similar imagery and state of mind draws me to Jack Vance, who does it from a slightly more cheerful and materialistic viewpoint perhaps.)
The other image is the immense black monk Ujuk, in robe of saffron and two-horned purple hat of an abbot, with blubbery lips and other features, described in such an innocent and marvelling fashion, without any trace of aggressive racism.

My other favorite is The Flower-Women. Perhaps because of my painful encounters with seductive women. Those orchid-like woman-mimicking plants growing out of the moss by the stream are just unforgettable. With their "slanted eyes, like oblong opals of dew and venom," and "lips, that thirsted subtly even as they sang." Just unforgettable. Smith is the greatest master.

I have recently reread The Coming of the White Worm, in Lost Worlds, and the much richer original version in Strange Shadows. I understand that Smith thought highly of this story. The first time I read it, many years ago, I wasn't so taken by it. For example, the imagery of the white worm crying eye globules seem a bit exaggerated, overambitious, and out of balance at first. But one can always rest assured, there is subtelty and profound depth in all of Smith. However it is necessary to slow down and listen carefully. The iceberg drifting south against wind and tide, ruining everything in its path, is a powerful and nightmarish allegory of inevitable disaster, although it is simpleminded to interpret it to mere psychological symbolism. Smith's "imagery" isn't just imagery, but has the stamp of alternate reality, or reality beyond our limited perspective.

About newly issued works. Admittedly I bought The Sword of Zagan mostly out of curiosity about the memoir, and have otherwise yet only taken time to read the poems. The memoir is really nice and sensitive, with several delightful observations (aside from too much focus on other characters than Smith in the first half). The part about how he lost the money from the sale of the Smith land was almost unbearable to read, and together with parts in the latter letters in SLCAS (such as his economical problems, and vandalism of the cabin) shows that this talented man wasn't given many breaks. On the other hand he doesn't seem to have been such an extreme hermit (more than anything else he seemed a victim of his isolated surrounding). He had quite a few friends, and apparently much social competence.

Thank you for your kind words on the Memoir. Interestingly, your
comment jarred me regarding the Black Abbott: In all these years,
I had assumed the the adjective referred to his heart; it never
occurred to me that it might have been his race. "Blackness of
Heart" seems more telling I think - I never once heard Clark utter
a racial slur of any kind. I do recall that he once said, in his
usual terse fashion, that he understood slavery very well -- by which
I understood him to mean his nearly involuntary servitude to his
craft, but may have as well referred to his penury. Clark was,
nevertheless one of the most free men I ever knew -

As to the discussion in the memoir of other folk, my only purpose was
to make clear that Clark was not "out of the mix" of the artistic
ferment of the time - and, I must add, that I often found myself
surprised when I met such people as Bacon, Hurd, and Ansel Adams,
that it would be they who would remark as to whether the "Auburn"
I mentioned was the home of CAS. It should be added, that in my
youth, venturing into the higher academic and artistic world from
little Auburn was a bit daunting and that I often found myself
almost naturally a part of that kind of community of folk, and
took it (ignorantly and innocently) that I was there by right.
Yet had that not been the case, I might never have known that a
larger world than a "fan base" knew my friend Clark.
Thanks again -
I always appreciate remarks that are insightful, not merely
provocative -- the reverse being the case of most "critics" in
most of those arenas of endeavor deemed "artistic."
yours,
Dr. F

Personally, I feel that "The Sword of Zagan" has much more to offer than "The Black Diamonds." The stories and poems help round out the book, the pictures are a real treat, and Dr. Farmer's memoir is both moving and insightful. The more mature prose style of "Zagan" is also quite a relief: while I found "Diamonds" interesting (even amazing considering the age of the author) the over-convoluted plot made it nearly impossible to hold my attention.
"The Vaults of Yoh-Vombis" gave me such a thrill on first reading, one that has never yet been equaled. The melding of ancient alien horror with skillful foreshadowing and the many distancing factors; CAS starts out on Mars, then takes us into the Martian desert, then to a ruinous city , then to the chambers beneath, and finally through the locked tunnels where the horrific alien parasites have been imprisoned. This tale is a unique masterpiece which is absolutely unforgetable. (it also makes a geat bedtime story!)
-Ron

Greetings and salutations!

I must admit that my softest spot is reserved for "Sadastor", if only because I showed it to my then fiancee, and she went into raptures over it. As for the stories, I love the Zothique ones the best, with, perhaps, "The dark eidolon" being my favourite -- I also transcribed it years ago for Boyd, from a paperback (THE SPELL OF SEVEN if I remember aright).

I disagree, though, about criticism and CAS. Depending on the type of criticism, it can have much to say about why we read CAS, or it may use CAS to explore more theoretical concerns. In my current work, I tend to use CAS to explore issues, such as the nature of the beloved, or to look a bit more closely at certain works, such as the des Laurieres poems. The point is, though, I don't want to make others read what may be irrelevant and boring to them if they don't want to, but to communicate in part why I am so attracted to CAS, primarily as a poet, secondarily as a great writer of weird literature.

Even with my theoretical work, I hope to advance the cause of CAS studies, BTW. I'm planning a piece now, on how works define the broad parameters that allow meanings to be constructed, and how they interact with readers' competences, using CAS' verse. I could have easily chosen anyone else, such as Machen, but decided that CAS is important enough to be used as my primary example of a demanding, and yet flexible writer.

Besides, for those critics which like complexity for its own sake, CAS must be a godsend.