At what cost progress?

Those who have read my novels might have noticed the recurring theme of recognizing the price that has been paid for progress. While I have been accused of being a luddite in my time, I certainly think that any price we have paid is well worth it. The ability to refrigerate food alone is probably worth any damage (real or perceived) that it has done to society.

That being said, I shall now begin my weekly ridiculous diatribe. If you are one of the half-dozen or so people who read this blog last week, you saw me praise Edgar Rice Burroughs's John Carter of Mars novels and specifically mention the strong female characters. While I appreciate a strong female lead like Thuvia, and love the fact that we see them more and more in today's media, I have to wonder what happened to the John Carter type?

Many people scoff or roll their eyes when I say that my favorite literary character is Howard's Conan of Cimmeria. A second favorite of mine is Flemming's James Bond. Both characters are often disregarded as one dimensional brutes who solve every problem with physical violence. Folks who take this view might have a point, but I ask you: Is that so bad? We have progressed as a society to the point where sensitivity and critical thinking are lauded (as they should be) but let us not forget that many of the major problems throughout history have been solved by men of action.

I am not advocating cracking fools over the head with a sword, but I fear the day that direct action has been driven so far from our collective consciousness that we become as soft as the people in Robert Howard's poem A song of the Naked Land:

"But our brothers still dwell in the sun-seared waste

And their sons are hard and lank;

They will hunt the wolf-pack that we chased,

And drink the water we drank.

They will know the hungers we once had,

While the stream of centuries runs,

Till they burst from the desert, hunger-mad,

To slaughter our slothful sons."

Robert E. Howard

as always, quotes and images used without permission. Come and get me coppers! But seriously, art by the late great Frank Frazetta, natch!

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The oldies are goodies

I have enjoyed many books written before I was born. Some are well-known classics (Lord of the Rings, etc.) and some have been less widely read (Romer's Fu Manchu series.) The men and women who wrote close to a century ago did so with a tone and sense of romance that is difficult to find in contemporary works. The haunting dread of Lovecraft, the relentless action of Howard, and the sere wit of Twain are hard to find. Every time a find a new body of work that is written in such an elevated style, and untainted by our twenty-first century social norms, I feel blessed. Edgar Rice Burroughs's John Carter of Mars series is the most recent such blessing.

With the lofty elegance of tone mentioned above, Burroughs recounts the tale of one John Carter of Virginia as he is transported to the planet Barsoom (Mars) and has various adventures. The first three novels in the series are told from the first person perspective, and though the story sometimes strains under the weight of such a restricted point of view, I found it easy to envision Barsoom through the eyes of a confederate veteran of the American civil war. I hesitate to give any more information lest I ruin the story for those like me who have gone their entire lives without reading this fantasy classic.

John Carter is a man who is unapologetically drawn in heroic proportions. Deja Thoris, the female love interest displays all of the qualities of a strong female character, which is somewhat surprising considering the time in which the stories were written. I have read books published in the 1960's which depicted females with far less depth than Burroughs did fifty years before (I'm looking at you, Ian Flemming.) Descriptions of the differing races populating the Martian surface show none of the racism which often salts older works of fiction (Sax Romer, I see you trying to slink out the back). Instead, Burroughs offers us a look at strange races which have their own identities and a truly alien perspective. The fantastic locations and impressively developed world always leaves me guessing as to what will happen next. Say what you will about the stories, formulaic they are not.

As you can see, I give the John Carter of Mars series two thumbs up. I only wish I was a Thark so I could make it four! If I were to work diligently for the next fifty years. I despair that my own stories will ever be half so good. Until next time, Kaor!

Why am I here?

"Writing a novel is a lot like crossing the Atlantic in a bathtub: There's a lot of room for self doubt."
-Stephen King-

Many times (usually about forty thousand words into writing a book) I get the feeling that whatever I am writing is the worst thing that was ever vomited out on a page, and represents the low point in English literature.

When I reach the doldrums, I begin to wonder why I write novels. Why am I spending all of my free time grinding out thousands of words worth of nonsense when I could be fishing? This happens so consistently that I have developed a defense against the blues, and I thought I would share it today with the three people who actually read this blog.

Books have been one of the subtle blessings in my life. No novel will fill the pantry or the gas tank. There has never been a story that was so good that it cured some horrifying disease. But the major crises of life have their own solutions. What sometimes lacks treatment are the tiny stresses and disappointments that snowball over the course of the day or the week.

It was these tiny stresses that books relieved when I was a young man. When the American luxury problems piled up, and I began to feel overwhelmed, I could pick up a book and go somewhere else for awhile. Finding a date for prom doesn't matter when Gus is riding out to save Lorena. Trying to pass a test that I haven't the time to study for is irrelevant when James Bond has been taken captive by Dr. No. The family problems which shall not be named could be put off till after Gotrek Gurnisson has stemmed the tide of beastmen swarming over Altdorf.

Considering how great this blessing has been for me, I like to think that my work can offer some small bit of relief to those who enjoy my novels. I have derived so much comfort from the authors that I love, I am proud to do the same for others. So as you struggle against the current of life this week, take the time once in a while to step back and open a book. As for me, I had better go and check on Thuvia The Maid of Mars, she was in a pretty tough spot when I left her.

Shifting Gears

     After the recent release of Mexican Silver, I decided it was time for a change. I have enjoyed working on westerns and historical fiction, and in the process learned more than I ever have before about the history of the west. However with five books of that genre under my belt, I thought I might try something new.
     New to my writing career, but not new to me however. At the tender age of ten or eleven, my mother bought me a book of stories about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. That was the start of a lifelong love of the fantasy genre. After King Arthur, came the The Hobbit, the TSR books, and literally hundreds of other fantasy and scifi novels that I consumed voraciously. Even now, I am working my way through the John Carter of Mars series, and loving every minute of it.
     It might seem like a major shift to switch from the western to fantasy genres, but I argue that the two are quite similar. The larger than life heroes, wielding weapons of awesome power, terrible struggles against the elements and deadly creatures, and fantastic settings populated by exotic peoples are elements that both genres have in common. In my own work, the careful reader might find parallels between certain characters in Plews and classic characters from fantasy novels (Fenelon, I'm looking at you.) Thomas Ammondale, the unseen villain in A Warrior's Elegy, was even named after the wizard Thoth Amon as an homage to the great Robert Howard.
     With the explanation for the switch out of the way, I would like to give some insight into my plan going forward. The first fantasy novel I released, Draught of the Mad God, was patterned after the pulp fantasies that struck my fancy as a young man (and still do today!) My second work, which is in progress now, will be a more in depth and complicated story along the lines of an epic fantasy. Both pieces take place on the same world, though on different continents. Each book will be the beginning of a series, and I hope to release books from each series alternately.
     I hope that you will all enjoy this journey half as much as I think I will. I will (hopefully) be blogging about my process on a weekly basis, and I would love to hear any feedback or questions you might have. As always you can find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads. Just put my name into the search engine, the world isn't big enough for more than one Arley Dial. Until then, may you all dream of Conan asking a Pictish raider "Are you going to draw that steel, or stand there and whistle Dixie?"