The Road to the Pulps

Tuesday, January 17, 2009

The paths to our most cherished obsessions take on many varied forms. For me, one such passion is reading science fiction and fantasy from an older, often more spirit-soaring, freewheeling era. My Yellow Brick Road to the type of pulps we publish at Planet Stories began at an early age with an uncle bequeathing to me a longstanding love of Edgar Rice Burroughs's works. Probably the foundation for my fascination with the pulps was laid much earlier, reading H. G. Wells and Jules Verne, although at the time I didn't really realize their novels were serialized in magazines like Burroughs's. And even after I'd read a healthy dose of Burroughs, it wasn't until I found Irwin Porges's mammoth biography, Edgar Rice Burroughs: The Man Who Created Tarzan, that I first saw reproductions of those splendid All-Story Weekly, Blue Book, Argosy, Amazing Stories, and Fantastic Adventures covers and made the connection between ERB and the pulps.

Then, of course, there was Philip José Farmer. Farmer was for me, as for thousands of SF/F readers growing up in the 1970s and '80s, the mega-gateway to the pulps. And like many, I stumbled across his writings through Burroughs, picking up Farmer's post-modern metafictional masterpiece Tarzan Alive: A Definitive Biography of Lord Greystoke, and later his "biography" of the 1930s scientific genius and crime-fighter Doc Savage. In these books Farmer proposed his intricate Wold Newton faux genealogy, linking together into one giant family an array of pulp era heroes and villains ranging from Allan Quatermain to Solomon Kane, Captain Nemo to Fu Manchu, and everything in between—and in many cases beyond. A virtual reading list of the "hero pulps," for which I will forever be grateful to Farmer for having amalgamated. If I would have been told back then that one day I would meet the man and edit three collections of his fiction, I would have lit up with such joy that my glowing manifestations would probably have been visible on far-off Poloda (for the as-yet ERB-uninitiated, I refer to a planet in the strangely shaped solar system from Burroughs's Beyond the Farthest Star).

I radiate a similar joy working with Erik and Pierce and James bringing back into print fantastic lost classics of the pulp era for Planet Stories. I think I speak for all of us when I say the task is more than a job, more even than a privilege, although it is unquestionably the latter. Planet Stories is about tradition, about carrying on the flame of the spirit of adventure and excitement and wonder of the type of science fiction that first soared free in the pulps.

But enough said about my road to the pulps. I encourage you to stop by the Planet Stories messageboards and let us know of your own unique journeys to the world of science fiction and fantasy literature. Like the out-of-this-world genre they lead to, they are always tales of wonder.

Christopher Carey
Planet Stories Editor

Illustration by Brandon Kitkouski

That's Racist!

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

At Planet Stories, we're all about recovering cherished pieces of SF's past; treasures that have fallen between the cracks and been forgotten by modern readers, despite their merit and importance to the genre. But one of the problems with history is that it happened in the past... and the past is rarely clean. In order to unearth the gems, you have to dig up some serious dirt. So let's get messy.

Let's talk about racism.

One of the issues we've run up against time and again with Planet Stories, especially with stories from back in the 1930s, is the use of racist language and ideas. Even beyond the standard prejudicial themes and cliches of the day—the fact that the "advanced" races were always white, and all the dark-skinned characters were described by their bright white teeth (seriously, try finding one where that isn't mentioned)—pulp writers were fascinated by the issue of race. Remember, this is decades before the Civil Rights Movement, a time when the oldest readers might still remember legalized slavery.

Otis Adelbert Kline was no different. Both of his novels published by Planet Stories, The Swordsman of Mars and the newly available Outlaws of Mars, deal extensively with the issue of race, and for Outlaws, the entire plot depends on it: a planetary race riot between the white-skinned rulers, their dark servitors, and the menacing yellow men from another world. The patois of Dr. Morgan's faithful African-American servant, Plato, is also likely to make the unsuspecting modern reader cringe—for in this blatant (if sympathetic) caricature, Kline paints a picture of a past most Americans would like to forget.

Yet, as Joe Lansdale points out in his introduction, you can't hold these stories to modern standards of political correctness—and in fact to do so would be a disservice to the author. In his words:

Kline's work is of its time. Non-white races suffer under his hand, though Plato, the black servant of Dr. Morgan, is treated kindly enough, if in an unintentionally condescending way. Still, Kline, like Burroughs, would have probably been considered liberal in their times. They could at least appreciate the fact that someone of a different color could be brave and loyal and worthy of the mantle of humanity. Even Jack London had problems with that, and no doubt he is a more celebrated author.

"Worthy of the mantle of humanity." A phrase so obvious to most of us today that it seems offensive, yet Joe is absolutely right. At the time, belief in racial equality was a bold position in the States.

Which is why at Planet Stories, we feel that it's important to give you the whole manuscripts, unabridged and unabashed. In the past, publishers uncomfortable with content sometimes cut drastically from older books (especially Kline) in order to sanitize for their new era. We say: let the works stand on their own and speak for themselves. H. P. Lovecraft used the N-word. Robert E. Howard had some (today) scandalously negative portrayals of non-white races. Yet this is history, and to redact history is to lose a vital part of how we got to where we are.

In 2009, with the United States' first black president in office, I can read these books and separate the prejudices of the time from the stories themselves, and I have faith that Planet Stories readers will do the same. If anything, I think these books are all the more significant for their transgressions—a glimpse, not just of science fiction's history, but America's past as a whole.

James Sutter
Planet Stories Editor

Illustration by Brandon Kitkouski

Lansdale on Kline

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

One of the greatest strengths of the Planet Stories book line is that, in addition to republishing SF classics by some brilliant and historically significant authors, we have the chance to get other amazing authors to introduce them. People like F. Paul Wilson, George Lucas, C. J. Cherryh, Ben Bova, Samuel R. Delany—it never fails to blow my mind every time I see their names in my email inbox. Through their introductions, these authors get to contextualize the forgotten literary heroes that influenced them most and help usher their teachers back into print, the better to educate the next generation of science fiction and fantasy authors.

Which, really, makes me wonder why I'm saying anything at all about these books, when I could get out of the way and let them do it for me. So without further ado, here's an excerpt from Bubba Ho-Tep creator Joe R. Lansdale on why Otis Adelbert Kline's The Outlaws of Mars deserves to be in your shopping cart as we speak:

The Outlaws of Mars was written in the thirties and appeared in Argosy Weekly. It is very much in the Burroughs interplanetary format. A young American, Jerry Morgan, already skilled in the ways of combat due to his time in the army, goes to the home of his uncle, Dr. Morgan, and is after a little too much explanation about telepathy and machinery, transported, via machine, to Mars. The reason for Jerry's departure is embarrassment of a sort, having to do with a woman. Though the event is never fully explained, it appears Jerry has allowed a lie about himself to exist to keep from compromising the aforementioned young lady. So, our noble, romantic, and very Victorian hero flees our world for one of adventure on Mars. Upon his arrival, there is enough action for three novels: some court intrigue, treachery, weird inhabitants, sword fighting, and one hot mama named Junia.

Frankly, the plot is of little consequence, and is not dissimilar from those of the Burroughs novels, or of any sword and planet adventure written by Kline himself. Movement is the name of the game, and Kline provides that in the proverbial spades. There is hardly a moment to breathe, and the only time the novel bogs down is when Kline tries to justify his plot with too much explanation. When Kline is moving the story forward, bringing on the action, keeping us tightly wrapped up in his warm and bloody dream, we are with him all the way. It is only when he pauses to explain that the cocoon we were so tightly wrapped in breaks open and we fall out.

These moments are few, and Kline is more than willing to rewrap us, and we are more than willing to let him. There is plenty of color and beauty and a sweeping approach to story that reminds me of the cinema. In fact, with the popularity of such films as Star Wars and Indiana Jones, I would have thought by now, considering special effects have improved to the point of being almost as incredible as our most astounding dreams, that Burroughs and possibly Kline's characters would have been updated and filmed. Certainly, it's this color and sweep and majesty of background that make these stories so damned appealing; they are like movies in the head.

James Sutter
Planet Stories Editor

The Dueling Writers of Mars!

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

The first manuscript I had an opportunity to read after being welcomed aboard the Planet Stories staff was Otis Adelbert Kline's The Swordsman of Mars. As a lifelong Edgar Rice Burroughs enthusiast I had, of course, heard about Kline and the long-standing notion among Burroughs's readers that the two men, Kline and Burroughs, considered themselves bitter rivals. Kline's Venus series is generally recognized as having been penned in the style of Burroughs's Mars (or Barsoom) books, and so the story goes that Burroughs launched his own Venus series to impart some kind of retribution against his popular imitator. The notion of a Burroughs-Kline feud, however, bears little evidence to support it, but even so, I must admit it was with some skepticism that I picked up The Swordsman of Mars and began to read it. After all, there's little doubt in my mind that fate would never have led me to a job at Planet Stories if as a kid I had never read ERB, the author who ignited my interest in reading and writing, and by a long and tangled path, editing. Above all, Burroughs is an incomparable Storyteller, capital S, and his works have never gone out of print in the 97 years since he published the serialization of his first novel, Under the Moons of Mars (later retitled A Princess of Mars), in All-Story Magazine—the same novel that introduced me to ERB and got me permanently hooked. When I was in my teens, I devoured ERB's works—systematically, ruthlessly, obsessively—racing first across the dead sea bottoms of Barsoom with John Carter, then on to the lands that time forgot of Caspak and Pellucidar, touring savage jungles and lost cities with Lord Greystoke, flying through the shrouded skies of Amtor (Venus) with Carson Napier, and reveling in the adventure and romance of every one of Burroughs's many standalone novels. How could Kline possibly measure up to that? It was such a game of expectations that kept me from reading Kline for all these years in the first place.

I was in for a heck of a surprise. What I found when I finally pored over The Swordsman of Mars was that Otis Adelbert Kline knew his ERB. In particular, he knew ERB's Mars books. He had an almost uncanny knack for creating Barsoomian-sounding names and terminology—Sheb Takkor, Sel Han, Lal Vak, Kov Lutas, Rad, Jen, Dixtar—and his descriptions of exotic settings, such as "the glittering, frost-covered jungles" of the Takkor Marsh or the dark pits of the Martian baridium mines, are on par with ERB's own. Kline was apparently so well studied in his Burroughs that some fans have gone so far as to conjecture that The Swordsman of Mars and its sequel The Outlaws of Mars (a forthcoming Planet Stories release) take place on some remote corner of ERB's own Barsoom!

But much more important than the literary artifices he employs, Kline understood the mechanics of story on the same instinctive level as Burroughs. For with both authors, it's all about the romance and adventure, pulling the reader in to the point where the distinction between reader and hero begins to blur—and that's where Kline (and Burroughs) grabs you. For at that point of identification, as the hero at last gets within fingertip-reach of the ultimate goal, the conditions shift unexpectedly. The hero suddenly finds that what had seemed a simple outcome of success or failure is instead a head-swirling, heart-wracking turn of events that leaves you racing to the next page to find out how the author can possibly maneuver out of what is seemingly the ultimate inextricable dilemma.

And that's why Otis Adelbert Kline deserves his place in history—like Burroughs he is a Storyteller who, on a primal level, has the ability to mesmerize his audience with a captivating tale of honor and betrayal. A pulp writer, yes, but one with a rare gift of the bards of ancient days, whose simple words enchant and bring to life the archetypes that lie in wait in the imagination. Readers of Burroughs should love The Swordsman of Mars. I know this one did.

Christopher Carey
Planet Stories Editor

Swamp Fight!

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Last time I discussed how Otis Adelbert Kline, author of The Swordsman of Mars, ties into the overall idea of Planet Stories—a forgotten master in the Edgar Rice Burroughs tradition, who set precedents both through his own work and as a member of the Weird Tales editorial staff (not to mention as the literary agent for Conan creator Robert E. Howard). This week, however, I'd like to focus the spotlight on the one reason for republishing The Swordsman of Mars that we haven't talked about yet:

Because it's fun.

In order to illustrate that, I've picked one of my favorite sections and included a snippet from it here. Though there are a number of memorable scenes, one of my favorite things about Kline is the new monsters he invents, and this scene features not just one, but three of his motley creations... and that's just on one page. Let's hear it for authors who aren't stingy with their beasties!

For some time the Earth-man was too busy getting his breath to take note of his surroundings. Then he looked around for his mount, and saw it swimming directly away from him at a distance of about three hundred yards. Although the gawr was moving at a speed which he could not possibly hope to equal, he was about to set out in futile pursuit when a huge and terrible reptilian head suddenly reared itself between them, a scaly, silver neck. The monster looked first at the retreating gawr, then at the man, and evidently deciding that the latter would be the easier prey, began gliding swiftly toward him.

Thorne glanced around him. Although it seemed utterly futile for him even to attempt to make the shore, about a quarter of a mile distant, where a dense fringe of trees nodded over the water, no other avenue of escape was open to him, and he struck out desperately.

It was manifest from the start that he could not hope to outstrip his fearful aquatic enemy. As he forged ahead with long, powerful overhand strokes, he glanced back from time to time, and saw that the monster was swiftly gaining on him. Soon the terrific pace began to tell on him. His arms grew numb, and it seemed that they moved automatically, while breathing momentarily became more difficult. But the thought of those dreadful jaws, now gaping close behind him, spurred him on.

With the shore but two hundred feet distant, he felt this last ounce of strength ebbing. A backward glance showed his monstrous pursuer so near that it was arching its neck for the kill. Then just ahead of him he noticed a tiny ripple of water, and there emerged a pair of jaws like those of a crocodile, but larger than those of any crocodile he had ever seen or heard of. There followed a broad, flat head, and thick neck, both covered with glossy fur, the head black, the neck ringed with a bright yellow band.

Hemmed thus between the two aquatic monsters, he did the only thing left for him to do. Filling his lungs, he plunged beneath the surface and dived under the oncoming beast. For a moment he heard the rush and swirl of the swimming thing above him, and felt the eddying currents which it kicked downward and backward. These passed, he forged onward, remaining under water until compelled to return to the surface for air.

When he had shaken the water out of his eyes, Thorne saw a fearsome sight. The two monsters had met, and were engaged in a terrific struggle. The silver-gray scales of the one which had been following him flashed in the sun as it endeavored to shake off its small adversary which had seized it by the lower lip.

Suddenly it reared its head until the black-furred creature was drawn completely out of the water, and he saw that the latter was a web-footed animal about as large as a full-grown terrestrial lion, with short legs and a leathery, paddle-shaped tail which was edged with sharp spines. With the exception of the tail and claws, the body was covered with fur. The scaly monster shook its head, dislodging its smaller enemy and losing most of its lower lip in the process. Then, as the furry creature splashed into the water, it arched its neck and struck.

Thorne expected to see the smaller creature instantly slain. Instead he saw a startling demonstration of its superior cunning and quickness. With a speed his eye could scarcely follow, it avoided the lunge of that terrible head, and turning, seized the slender, stalklike neck of its adversary in its own relatively large jaws. One powerful crunch, and the battle was over. The severed head sank from sight, and the huge body, floundering about with reptilian tenacity to life, churned the water to a foam and sent huge waves scurrying in all directions.

So absorbed had he been in this strange battle that Thorne had momentarily forgotten his own exhaustion and the peril that menaced him. Now, as the victor turned from the carcass of its vanquished enemy and swam straight toward him, the realization of his danger redoubled. He struck out for the shore, essaying the fast overhand stroke he had previously used on the surface, but his weary muscles had reached the limit of their endurance. A few feeble efforts, and a backward glance at the swiftly moving beast, convinced him that he was doomed. Better death by drowning than in those horrible jaws. He filled his lungs and dived. At a depth of about fifteen feet he found a large water plant to which he clung with his last remaining strength.

But it seemed he was not even to be given his choice of deaths. Suddenly he became aware of the dark object in the green water above him. Then a huge jaw closed around his waist...

James Sutter
Planet Stories Editor

One of a Kline

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Otis Adelbert Kline, author of The Swordsman of Mars, is probably the author with the least name recognition on our current schedule.

And that's on purpose. You see, once upon a time, before we realized that we could actually get folks like Michael Moorcock, Piers Anthony, and Robert E. Howard, we set our sights on trying to bring back, not just the best authors of the genre, but the best forgotten authors. Yet once we opened our doors, we discovered a veritable horde of high-quality, big-name authors who'd been languishing out of print. As the roster started filling up with giants—both the folks I've already mentioned and people like C. L. Moore, the first female sword-and-sorcery author, or Leigh Brackett, who wrote the first draft of The Empire Strikes Back—I began to wonder if there was indeed still a place in readers' hearts for Otis Adelbert Kline. Then I sent the manuscript out to our typist, who's retyped all the old books in our line, from Moorcock to Howard. Shortly thereafter I received the typed manuscript along with a simple note saying:

"This one was my favorite by far!"

And why shouldn't it be? Though these days he's best known as the literary agent for Robert E. Howard and supposed rival of Edgar Rice Burroughs, at the height of the pulp era Kline was nearly as big a name as Howard and Burroughs himself. Though Kline's famous feud with Burroughs—in which Burroughs would publish a Mars book so Kline would publish a Venus one, prompting Burroughs to publish a Venus one, which in turn forced Kline to respond with a Mars saga, etc.—turns out to have been entirely the creation of imaginative fans, there can be no doubt that the two authors shared both style and subject matter. Indeed, Kline has frequently been called Burroughs's only true competitor. While he produced only a handful of novels before his death at the age of 55, Kline's presence on the original editorial staff of Weird Tales and his sword-swinging romances on the red and green planets did much to influence the genre, and his legacy lives on in the tradition of sword and planet novels to this day.

So will our grand experiment work? Can we fulfill the promise we made to our readers, not just to give them fun, historically significant works of fantasy and science fiction, but to give them great stories that they've never heard of before? Are today's audiences open to the Burroughsian derring-do of characters like Harry Thorne, the swashbuckling, Depression-era dynamo sent to the Red Planet in The Swordsman of Mars?

Buckle your seatbelts, folks. We're about to find out.

James Sutter
Planet Stories Editor