Barbarism and Civilization in the Letters of Robert E. Howard and H.P. Lovecraft: A Summary with Commentary (Part 1), by David Piske

The 2015 Cross Plains Postal Cancellation
artwork by Mark Schultz

Like most others, my first taste of Robert E. Howard’s writing was his Conan stories. A prominent theme in these works is the tension between Conan and the city. It helped define the character and fuel conflict, I thought little else of it. But during my second visit to REH Days in 2014 I learned of the debate between Howard and H.P. Lovecraft on barbarism and civilization. The topic immediately became my hook, drawing me deeper into the study of Howard.

My initial bias was against Howard. How could anyone defend barbarism? Not that I believe that our present civilization is all it is made out to be by some. But I enjoy the relative safety of my domicile provided by the rule of law. And I am happy to have access to medicines and treatments that are the result of vigorous scientific study. Neither of these, nor many other benefits, could exist without at least some degree of civilization. Though Howard never knew the mad joys of smartphones, the addictive buzz of social media, or the rush of illegally downloading the latest episode of Game of Thrones, I could not believe that he would suggest throwing away the other benefits of civilization, especially in favor of subsistence living and constant threat of physical violence. I had to know more.

My first step involved haranguing other fans and some experts at REH Days. Based on responses my impression was that everyone knew of the debate, many had actually read it, but few had anything like an analysis of it. The most memorable response I received about the written debate was, "It was all just bullshit." Unsatisfied, I resolved to read the debate and assess the merits of the arguments myself. The following reflects my attempt to do that. My primary source is A Means to Freedom: The Letters of H.P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard, edited by S.T. Joshi, David E. Schultz, and Rusty Burke. I will attempt to provide context as I proceed through the debate, but anyone wishing to follow along would be well-served by having this two volume set handy.

It is well known that REH initially wrote to HPL in June 1930. HPL responded, and the  correspondence continued until REH’s suicide in June 1936. Many of their letters were quite long, and the topics of conversation were wide ranging, spanning months and sometimes years. My focus in this project is on the portions of the letters that specifically deal with the debate. In all but the earliest letters in the debate the subject is clearly introduced with a statement like, "as for barbarism versus civilization." Unless otherwise noted I confine my attention to these.

REH and HPL frequently discussed history, especially the fates of ancient civilizations and the circumstances around them. But not until two years after they began corresponding did these ruminations coalesce into a conversation about barbarism versus civilization. As the conversation continues the controversy intensifies. A likely cause for this is that neither of them define their primary terms. When they refer to "barbarism" they generally connote something primitive, but the specific meaning varies. In one place it refers to the animalistic or aggressive inclinations in humans. In another context it means lawlessness, either the actual absence of law, or behaving against the law. At other times they intend the term to mean a primitive social order. The term "civilization" is similarly multifaceted. Remembering this will be helpful in understanding the arguments in the debate, especially in the later letters.

Letter 60: REH to HPL (August 9, 1932)

In the letters leading up to the beginning of their specific conversation about barbarism versus civilization, HPL comments at length many times on various aspects of the classical worlds of Rome and Greece. REH repeatedly responds with polite interest, thanking HPL for the education, though admitting only minor interest. His real interests lie with the barbarians. Yet HPL persists many times in continuing to praise classical civilization, even at times expressing a plainly derogatory attitude toward the subjects of REH's interests. Two months before their "debate" begins, HPL characterized the Dark Ages, one of REH’s favorite historical periods, as "ignorant barbarism" (307). It was only a matter of time before their diverging attitudes clashed.

REH, posing as
Conan the Conqueror.
Cross Plains, TX ca. 1933
Photo by E. Hoffman Price

REH's response, in August 1932, is the point where the well-known conversation begins to solidify. The response is similar to previous ones, except this time REH is more specific and emphatic. He explains why he does not hold great interest in Roman history (with the exception of the early Republic, which REH described as a "a struggling tribal-state"):

"I am unable to rouse much interest in any highly civilized race, country or epoch, including this one. When a race – almost any race – is emerging from barbarism, or not yet emerged, they hold my interest. I can seem to understand them, and to write intelligently of them. But as they progress toward civilization, my grip on them begins to weaken, until at last it vanishes entirely, and I find their ways and thoughts and ambitions perfectly alien and baffling." (338)

At best, he can maintain interest in a race yet emerging from barbarism, but the farther they get from that primitive state, the weaker his interest becomes. Clearly this more specific explanation perturbs HPL, for after this, he finally seems to get the point.

Letter 61: HPL to REH (August 16, 1932)

HPL acknowledges his and REH's diverging historical interests, and suggests that the cause is their own early environments. For his own part, HPL states: "Greece and Rome are prime realities because they had the same general problems and attitudes which the settled nations of modernity have" (359). The similarity he refers to is developmental. Each of these societies advanced beyond the early stages by securing basic material and defensive needs, which allowed their minds to develop in new ways:

"Important brain areas – such as those connected with pure intellectual curiosity and with the finer nuances of rhythm and coordination – which had been necessarily underdeveloped in the peril-beset barbarian, began to expand and enrich life among the people who had reached a stage of relatively stable adjustment to nature and to the problem of group-defence" (359).

To HPL, the trajectory of development itself teaches us which stage is to be preferred. The "few simple motives and pleasures" of more primitive man represents "only a small fraction of his heritage as a highly evolved primate," especially compared to civilized man's "infinitely vaster variety of stimuli and rewards which accrued from a more all-around development of his capacities" (359). Indeed, HPL cannot fathom "why the half-life of barbarism is preferable to the full, mentally active, and beauty-filled life typical of the age of Pericles in Greece or . . . the age of the Antonines in Rome or . . . in pre-war England and France" (359). Though one wonders why HPL seems so affronted by REH’s merely personal preference for barbarism to mount such a crushing attack on it.

The only merit of which barbarism might boast is its "simple ruggedness" and "spirit of physical struggle." But to regard this as a primary value is only appropriate during the early stages of society's development when it is concerned primarily with survival. In a society that has advanced up the "scale of humanity" physical strength is regarded in equal proportion to other qualities (like reason). For this reason "a vigorous, intellectual, and orderly civilization at its zenith . . . is about the best system under which a man can live" (359). But HPL admits that as a society declines it may loose its esteem for "physical prowess" to such an extent that it is threatened. Only in this state of decadence might we understand the nostalgic look back to "a primal barbarian age when the lost quality was in its fullest flower" (359).

HPL at Van Wickle Gates
Providence, RI ca. 1933 (?)

At this point HPL seems like he is about to conclude his comments on this topic: "Accordingly I can't feel any great kinship with barbaric tribes, even when they happen to be my blood ancestors" (360). This echoes his introduction of the topic on the previous page in which he reports a natural interest in civilizations like Greece and Rome. It also parallel’s REH’s statement in his previous letters about how civilized societies are alien to him. Perhaps writing the next line triggered a tangential line of thinking for HPL: "As I told you once, my sense of personal identification leaves the English race when I go back to the period of early Saxon England – skipping over to Rome and causing me to view all antiquity through instinctively Roman eyes. . ." (360). 

HPL expounds on this subject for a page and a half (as they appear in the published volume). First he writes for more than twenty lines repeating, detailing, and emphasizing his identification with Rome and the "strangeness" of barbarism to him, both in general, and that of his own Germanic ancestors. Finally he distills a general principle: 

"[B]lood is thicker than water only up to a certain point. At all times, the force of cultural environment . . . is a potent competitor of biological instinct; so that when the two are opposed, it is hard to say which will win the tug-of-war." 

He mentions two possible contingencies that could interfere with the force of assimilation (one of which is a plainly racist assumption), and then illustrates the principle with the Romanization of the Gauls. A once defeated people can become so assimilated into it's host culture as to view its own history from the perspective of their adopted identity. 

This phenomenon of cultural assimilation is not directly relevant to HPL’s argument for the superiority of civilization over barbarism, and yet he writes nearly twice as much about it as he does to present his argument. As such it is unclear what HPL’s intention was in proceeding at such length. Verbosity is characteristic of his letters, so perhaps we should not be surprised. Perhaps also HPL feels the need to justify what he might otherwise consider betrayal of his own race (i.e., a descendant of Saxon England claiming identity with Rome).

When HPL finally concludes by reestablishing common ground with REH, saying that while he does not identify with barbarians personally, he does take an objective interest in them. And while he does not understand them, he admires them. And when they are contrasted with decadent societies, he actually takes the barbarians’ side (361).

Letter 65: REH to HPL (received September 22, 1932)

REH's response on the topic comprises only three paragraphs in a much longer letter. Here he doesn't directly refute anything in HPL’s letter. Rather, he seems to leverage HPL’s argument (tangential as it was) against him; he uses the idea of assimilation to an environment to subvert HPL’s boast about civilization’s superiority.

First, REH agrees with HPL on the relative strength of "cultural environment" over "blood heritage." He offers the Americanization of second and third generation immigrants as further example of the principle. Then he proposes a hypothetical scenario in which he is suddenly transported back in time with an option of living where he wished:

"I would naturally select the most civilized country possible. That would be necessary, for I have always led a peaceful, sheltered life, and would be unable to cope with conditions of barbarism. Thus, for my own safety, I would select Egypt rather than Syria, to which otherwise my instincts would lead me. . ." (377).

With this hypothetical, REH strengthens HPL’s comments about the force of cultural environment. Despite his own preference for barbarism, REH recognizes the effect of living in relatively nonbarbaric circumstances: he is ill-suited to survive in a much more primitive environment.

REH then expresses his truest preference with a more fanciful hypothetical. Given the chance to be born in an earlier time, with no memory of this life, he would choose to be a barbarian, "to grow up hard and lean and wolfish, worshiping barbarian gods and living the hard barren life of a barbarian" (377). This scenario is obviously unrealizable (and self-defeating, as HPL will imply later), but REH uses it as a springboard to his argument.

He says that primitive life is hard and barren only by comparison. Knowing no other condition, a barbarian does not suffer under his circumstances as a modern person doubtlessly would under the same situation, and actually finds contentment unknown to moderns. As evidence, REH appeals to conversations he has had with "old pioneers." They endured hardships that would kill many moderns, but REH claims that they all report that pioneering is a "fuller, more vital" and more content life, as compared to "this newer phase" (377). Therefore, "To a man of intellectual accomplishments the life of a frontiersman would be intolerable; but to a man who has never known anything else, such a life would be full of vital interest" (377).

In other words, assimilation to a particular set of conditions cuts both ways. A civilized man would not be able to adjust to barbarism, but this is not an argument against it, for a pioneer cannot adjust to civilization, either. By posing this equivalence, REH cleverly uses the concept introduced by HPL to argue against him (though the point itself makes several assumptions which could be debated). Further, REH’s argument is not formal, but it is structured. Starting with a hypothetical, he then makes a claim, offers evidence, and then concludes by roughly reiterating the claim. Despite not being highly educated, REH presents himself here as a shrewd intellect that HPL would be wise not to underestimate.

Barbarie vs. Civilisation
Hand drawn poster ca. 1900

Letter 67: HPL to REH (October 3, 1932) 

HPL’s response is briefer than both his previous entry and REH's last contribution. He introduces the topic as "the relative merits of barbarous and civilised life" (401). Clearly he has interpreted this discussion differently than the apparent intent of REH’s claims, and views this as a debate, though this letter does not represent a strong defense.

He reiterates (with some contingency) his position: "the odds may be in favour of civilisation for those who utilise its advantages to the full" (401). But he claims this description does not fit the pioneers that REH mentioned in his last letter. As they moved into a more urban way of life, the pioneers probably never experienced its full benefits:

"The transition is apt to come a trifle too late in the history of the individual to permit him to extract the most good from the intellectual and aesthetic advantages of civilisation. Therefore, the thing he weighs unfavourably against his old pioneer existence is by no means civilisation at its best" (401).

This would be a good point if REH had used the testimony of pioneers to condemn civilization. But as noted, it is more likely REH used the pioneers to demonstrate that a person can be just as content in a barbaric setting as another person can be in a civilized one. Apparently, to HPL, claiming any kind of equivalence between barbarism and civilization is an affront to the superiority of civilization, which must be rebuffed. This echoes his reaction to REH’s initial statement of personal preference for barbarism.

Even less valid is the swipe HPL takes at the pioneers: "there is always a tendency to exalt the conditions of one's own youth" (401). Here HPL is quick to identify the bias of nostalgia in the pioneers, but fails to recognize it in his own preference for civilization.

Appearing to concede somewhat to REH, HPL says that barbarism and civilization both have their merits, and that personal preference for one or the other naturally vary. But just as before, he follows by reiterating the claim from his last letter: "Yet I think certain types of civilisation add much more to life, than they subtract from it" (401). If he believes what he says about the role of personal preference, it is difficult to understand why he is so animated about proving civilization’s superiority. It seems more like a merely superficial demonstration of fair-mindedness. Also the phrase, " certain types of civilisation" qualifies his statement so much as to be almost unfalsifiable.

The last few lines do little to strengthen HPL’s already shaky case. They seem like half attempts to maintain his position without actually arguing or giving any evidence. And he  concedes to a moderated version of one of REH’s points, as if to show fairness. He notes that some literature conveys an overly flattering view of the barbaric life, concealing flaws which we might not even suspect. And yet, he agrees that some individuals would be more happy under barbarism than under the conditions of a decadent civilization past its peak (401-2). He then ends simply: "The whole question is a complex and baffling one, and perhaps no conclusive answer is possible" (402). Here it seems HPL is willing to bring this topic to an end, being at a somewhat subjective impasse, yet poorly pretending to have the upper hand. It seems that he has indeed underestimated REH and as a result come up with a weak hand.

(To be continued . . .)

Clark Ashton Smith: January 13, 1893—August 14, 1961

 54 years ago today, Clark Ashton Smith died. Part of what is called the "Triumvirate" of Weird Tales writers (which also includes Robert E. Howard & H.P. Lovecraft), Smith left a legacy of excellent poetry and stories. In Memoriam, here are a few samples of his work along with a few quotes . . .

“Bow down: I am the emperor of dreams;
I crown me with the million-colored sun
Of secret worlds incredible, and take
Their trailing skies for vestment when I soar,
Throned on the mounting zenith, and illume
The spaceward-flown horizons infinite.”

From The Last Oblivion: Best Fantastic Poetry of Clark Ashton Smith

“To me, the best, if not the only function of imaginative writing, is to lead the human imagination outward, to take it into the vast external cosmos, and away from all that introversion and introspection, that morbidly exaggerated prying into one's own vitals—and the vitals of others—which Robinson Jeffers has so aptly symbolized as "incest." What we need is less "human interest," in the narrow sense of the term—not more. Physiological—and even psychological analysis—can be largely left to the writers of scientific monographs on such themes. Fiction, as I see it, is not the place for that sort of grubbing.”

"In his bleak mercy, Death forever strips The soul of light and memory, rendering blind Our vision, lest surmounted deeps appal, As when on mountain-heights a glance behind Betrays with knowledge, and the climber slips Down gulfs of fear to some enormous fall." from The Unremembered

“Not as the plants and flowers of Earth, growing peacefully beneath a simple sun, were the blossoms of the planet Lophai. Coiling and uncoiling in double dawns; tossing tumultuously under vast suns of jade green and balas-ruby orange; swaying and weltering in rich twilights, in aurora-curtained nights, they resembled fields of rooted serpents that dance eternally to an other-worldly music.”― from Lost Worlds

Below is a letter from Robert E. Howard to Clark Ashton Smith postmarked March 15, 1933, thanking Smith for a story and lamenting about the demise of Strange Tales magazine:

Dear Mr. Smith:

I hardly know how to thank you for the copy of The Double Shadow. I have read the stories with the most intense interest and appreciation, and hardly know which I like the best. All are magnificent, splendid examples of that poetic prose which is so characteristic of your work. I envy you your rich and vivid style.

It was a pity that Strange Tales went out of circulation, and I am sorry that the magazine's demise left so many of your stories unpublished. They had only one of my yarns when they quit. However, I sold them only three stories, altogether.

I am very glad that you have found the Conan series of interest, and appreciate very much the kind things you said about the yarns. I shall look forward with eager anticipation for "The Dark Eidolon" and the other stories you mentioned to be published in Weird Tales. Incidentally, your story in the current Weird Tales is splendid.

I am enclosing a check for Ebony and Crystal and would feel most honored if you would write your autograph on the fly page.

Thanking you again for the magnificent Double Shadow, I am,

Most cordially yours,

REH

Here's another letter to Smith from REH dated July 23, 1935 . . .

Dear Mr. Smith:

I'm ashamed of my long delay in answering your letter, but I assure you it was from no lack of interest. Since writing you last a number of things have combined to interfere with my correspondence: a month I was forced to spend in East Texas, during time I did no writing of any kind; a journey to Santa Fe, New Mexico; and a number of shorter trips to various points in West Texas, and the necessity of catching up on my fiction work which accumulated during the time spent on these trips, all caused me to get away behind on my letter-writing.

But I have, as always, followed your work in Weird Tales. I very much enjoyed "Dark Eidolon", "The Last Hieroglyph", "The Flower Women", and the splendid poem: "Dominion". I am not exaggerating when I say that I do not consider that I ever read a finer poem than that. I'd give my trigger-finger for the ability to make words flame and burn as you do.

I've been concentrating on adventure stuff recently, trying to break into that field permanently. I've made a start, with yarns published in Action, Thrilling Adventures, and Top-Notch; got a couple of covers designs in a row with Top-Notch and am toiling manfully to become a regular contributor. Sent a three-part serial to Wright yesterday: "Red Nails", which I devoutly hope he'll like. A Conan yarn, and the grimmest, bloodiest and most merciless story of the series so far. Too much raw meat, maybe, but I merely portrayed what I honestly believe would be the reactions of certain types of people in the situations on which the plot of the story hung. It may sound fantastic to link the term "realism" with Conan; but as a matter of fact - his supernatural adventures aside--he is the most realistic character I ever evolved. He is simply a combination of a number of men I have known, and I think that's why he seemed to step full-grown into my consciousness when I wrote the first yarn of the series. Some mechanism in my sub-consciousness took the dominant characteristics of various prizefighters, gunmen, bootleggers, oil field bullies, gamblers, and honest workmen I had come in contact with, and combining them all, produced the amalgamation I call Conan the Cimmerian.

Lovecraft tells you are doing some impressive work in carving, using dinosaur bone; I envy you your splendid variety of talent--artist, poet, author, and now sculptor.

With best wishes.

Cordially,

Robert E. Howard

_______________________________

REH and Callahan County by Damon C. Sasser

Robert E. Howard wrote the following in a February 1933 letter to August Derleth:

Whether the history of Callahan County will ever be written is doubtful. At least, I’m far too lazy to do the work necessary, though in a way it would be easier than writing the history of Brown, since it was settled at a later date, and more sparsely. At the same time, records of early settlement are not so plentiful. If I ever write any chronicle of the County, it will deal only with the time beginning at the date on which I came here. What with oil booms and the like, its history during that time has not been tame, though undoubtedly lacking the general interest of the early frontier days.

Of course Howard could not foresee the advent of the Information Age and the invention of the Internet, which made the history of everything, including Callahan County, easily accessible to everyone. You can throw a dart at a county map of Texas and no matter which county the dart’s point hits, odds are that county is going to have a violent and storied past. Such is the case of Howard’s home county of Callahan.

Callahan County Courthouse ca 1900-1929

Callahan County was established in 1858 from parts of Bexar, Bosque, and Travis Counties. Those counties covered huge areas of Texas in the early to mid-1800s and were divided up into smaller counties, allowing locals more governmental control over the area they lived in. The new county was named for James Hughes Callahan, a survivor of the Goliad Massacre and leader of the Callahan Expedition. But hardly anyone was interested in settling this isolated region for the first eighteen years of its existence. This was due to the fact that the Comanche Indians roamed the rolling plains region of Central Texas where Callahan County is situated.

There were numerous clashes between the early settlers and the local Indian tribes and Howard recounted some of these battles in his letters. Here is a real life account of the Sipe Springs Indian incidents, as told by Miss Carrie Childress:

Captain M.W Hall organized a company of Minute Men in 1873 for protection of the settlers against the Indians. In 1873 the Indians drove off the horses of a ranching operation owned by a Mr. Justice and (Cal) Watkins on the Sabano.  A man by the name of Gass Evans notified the company and they followed the Indians into Callahan County and recovered the horses. The last Indian raid was made in 1874, when the Indians killed Bob Leslie on Rush Creek. In leaving the country they touch[ed] the point where the house now stands on the old Tom Hale place east of town and swung into the north and west. A few earlier raids had been made in the early part of January 1870, the Indians raiding the Schmick and Follis ranch, and driving off the horses; Bill McGuire, the only man on the ranch who had been left to protect the women and children shot at the Indians but they made their get-away with their horses.

The Comanches remained a threat well into the 1870’s when a contingent of troops under the command of Colonel Ranald S. Mackenzie defeated the Comanches at Palo Duro Canyon in 1874, which was to be the last battle in the Texas Indian Wars. The few remaining hostile Indians were driven away later that same year by William J. Maltby commanding Company E of the Frontier Battalion of the Texas Rangers.

After the end of the Indian wars, more and more settlers moved into the area – part of the ceaseless westward expansion. Gradually, the string of forts manned by the US Army that threaded south to north across the West Texas Plains were abandoned one after the other until the last one lowered its flag in 1891.

Map of Callahan County

 In 1877, the County was formally organized and the Callahan County Commissioners Court held an election in December to name the county seat. The town of Belle Plain was in the running and so was the temporary county seat, Callahan City; no doubt so named with hopes of becoming the permanent county seat. But the name advantage did little good – when the votes were counted, Callahan City lost its county seat status to Belle Plain. This sentenced Callahan City to a slow death. But as it turned out, Belle Plain only got a brief reprieve from that same fate.

Stations for the new Texas and Pacific Railway line were being built from Dallas to El Paso, with stops planned for Putnam, Baird, and Clyde – small settlements which quickly developed into towns. The railroad had completely bypassed Belle Plain six miles to the north. In January of 1883, an election resulted in Baird being made the new county seat. The effect of this outcome led to Belle Plain’s stone jail and most of the residences being moved to Baird, leaving only a handful of families in the dying town.

Texas farming ca 1890s

During period from the 1880s until the early 1900s, farming and ranching were the mainstays of the County. Corn, wheat, oats and cotton were the primary agriculture crops, while beef cattle accounted for the majority of the ranching, with some sheep being a commodity during the decade from 1880 to 1890. The population grew from 8,768 in 1900 to 12,973 in 1910. The pace of growth slowed after 1910 and started to decline by the mid-teens. The number of citizens in Callahan County fell to 11,844 by the time the Howards arrived in Cross Plains in 1919. The Texas Central Railroad had only come to Cross Plains seven years before the Howards bought a house and settled down. After the railway was built, the town became a major trading center for cotton and other crops.

The agriculture boom that Callahan County enjoyed had its price. Increased demand for land caused the price of real estate to rise. As a result of this, a lot of newcomers could not afford to buy land and this led to an increased number of tenant farmers. By 1920 nearly half the farmers (823 of 1,649) were tenants. The majority of these were sharecroppers who were permitted by landowners to farm the land and collected only a share of the harvest as payment for their efforts. While most sharecroppers in the state were African American, the reverse was true in Callahan County – all but one of the tenants was white.

Eventually, overgrazing, drought, soil erosion, and a shortage of potable water took its toll on ranching and farming in the county. This led to several conservation programs being established.

The decline in agriculture was somewhat offset by the discovery of oil in Callahan County and adjacent counties in 1923. A number of promising fields were found in Cross Plains, Pioneer, Cross Cut, and Blake, and by the late 1920s the oil business was booming bigtime. The oil and gas revenues generated from the production from the numerous wells in the area made it easier for some landowners to survive the economic slump of the 1930s and even made a few large landowners quite wealthy.

Like all Texas oil boom towns of that era, the oil fields in and around Callahan County were flooded with land speculators, oilmen, roughnecks, prospectors, panhandlers and fortune seekers. Those in turn drew in a seedier element of society, including card-sharks, prostitutes, bootleggers and drug dealers. Here, in a December 1930 letter to H.P. Lovecraft, Howard expresses his disdain for what his town and county became during the boom years:

You’re right about oil booms — they bring a lot of money into the country and take more out, as well as ruining the country for other purposes. This might offend men in the oil business, but it’s the truth that I’ve seen more young people sent to the Devil through the debauching effects of an oil boom than all the other reasons put together. I know; I was a kid in a boom town myself. The average child of ten or twelve who’s lived through a boom or so, knows more vileness and bestial sinfulness than a man of thirty should know — whether he — or she — practice what they know or not. Glamor and filth! That’s an oil boom. When I was a kid I worked in the tailoring business just as one terrific boom was dwindling out, and harlots used to give me dresses to be cleaned — sometimes they’d be in a mess from the wearer having been drunk and in the gutter. Beautiful silk and lace, delicate of texture and workmanship, but disgustingly soiled — such dresses always symbolized boom days and nights, to me — shimmering, tantalizing, alluring things, bright as dreams, but stained with nameless filth.

An oil well in Cisco ca. 1920s

Howard made other references to the ills brought about by an oil boom, but this one in particular stands out. While the county prospered when the oil was flowing, once it stopped everyone who came seeking their fortune moved on leaving the permanent residents of Callahan County to clean up the “nameless filth” they left behind.

With the onset of the Great Depression in the 1930s, many of the county's farmers, both tenants and owners experienced hard times and were heavily indebted. A combination of falling agricultural prices coupled with a boll weevil outbreak caused most banks to cease extending additional credit to the struggling farmers, forcing many of them off the land they owned or sharecropped.

By the end of 1936, the year Howard died, things were turning around for Callahan County and the rest of the nation as it slowly started climbing out of the depths of the Great Depression. While Howard had no interest in writing the history of his county, he did have a strong desire to write a great novel of his beloved Texas, a desire that went unfulfilled.


About Damon Sasser:

Damon Sasser has been a staple in Robert E. Howard fandom and REH Studies for four decades. He is the founder of REH: Two-Gun Raconteur website and journal. Sasser is a member of The Robert E. Howard United Press Association (REHupa) and has written countless articles for various fanzines and journals.

Sasser also has a nice Facebook Page for both the TGR website and journal. Be sure and check it out and "like" the page. You will not only get updates about articles posted on TGR but other tid-bits of great information on REH, H.P. Lovecraft, pulp zines, and what is circulating around the REH scholarly network.

A Writer, A Saloon, and A Famous Town: Robert E. Howard in Lincoln, NM by Todd B. Vick

On June 19th of 1935 Robert E. Howard and his good friend Truett Vinson set off on a road trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico. During that same trip they visited the historic town of Lincoln, New Mexico. Howard had always been fascinated with Billy the Kid and the Lincoln County Wars, so when Truett needed to take a trip to Santa Fe, Howard certainly took the opportunity to go with him. Fortunately, for us today, Howard detailed this trip in a letter to his long-time correspondent and fellow writer friend, H.P. Lovecraft.

I can’t help but wonder if Howard plotted this trip in such a way that passing through Lincoln on their journey to Santa Fe would be inevitable. According to Howard, the day he and Vinson left, they drove over 500 miles and made it all the way to Roswell, NM. About that town Howard declares, “Roswell is a neat, spotless modern town, with the usual streams of tourists pouring through continually.” (Howard  3: 344) The next morning they loaded up the car and made their way into Lincoln.

The Old Courthouse (Murphy's Shop) ca 1930s

In June of 1935, Lincoln, NM was virtually the same as it was 55 years earlier during the Lincoln County Wars. The roads were still unpaved and none of the buildings were yet owned by the State. In fact, the County of Lincoln obtained the Murphy house (a.k.a “The House”)—what later became the old courthouse where Billy the Kid made his notorious escape— on December 15^th, 1880 for $15,000. It wasn’t until 1937 that the State of New Mexico bought this building, and in 1949 other buildings and sites were purchased and transferred to the Old Lincoln County Memorial Commission. Additionally, in 1977 the town officially became an historical site fully owned by the State of New Mexico. So when Howard and Vinson visited Lincoln, the Murphy House (courthouse) was empty and used as a storage building.

When Howard and Vinson entered from the East into Lincoln they had their minds set on finding that one particular building . . .

“[T]he old courthouse whence Billy made the most dramatic escape ever made in the Southwest. We rounded a crook in the meandering street and it burst upon us like the impact of a physical blow. There was no mistaking it.” (Howard  3: 346)

They parked the car and explored the exterior of the courthouse for some time. Since the building was not being used for anything other than storage, it was locked. Looking around, Howard described that they noticed, across the street, the La Paloma Saloon[1] “which bears a sign that claims existence in the Kid’s day.” (Howard  3: 346)

Evening at the La Paloma Bar, Lincoln, NM ca 1945.
Roman Maes inside of bar leaning on screen door
(Picture by Walt Wiggins)

It was in this establishment where Howard and Vinson met a man named Roman Maes. In his letter to H.P. Lovecraft, Howard describes not only meeting Mr. Maes but also gives Lovecraft a brief history about one of Maes’ relatives who fought in the Lincoln County Wars. Here is how Howard details it,

“The owner [of the La Paloma] is one Ramon [sic] Maes[2], grandson of Lucio Montoya, ‘Murphy’s Sharpshooter’ as he told us with pride—a supple well built man, tall for a Mexican and broadshouldered, with a thin-nostrilled Mountain Indian look about his face. The name of Montoya is woven into the Kid’s saga. He took part in the three-day fight in which McSween was killed; he lay on the mountain that commanded the Montana House, with Crawford, firing from behind a boulder.[3]” (Howard  3: 346)

Howard and Maes talked for some time, probably about Billy the Kid and the Lincoln County Wars. In his letter to Lovecraft Howard declares,

“He [Roman Maes] was very courteous and eager to point out interesting spots, and answer our questions,

 [. . .]

 Maes gave us the key to the old courthouse, which was once Murphy’s store. It is used as a storeplace for junk now, and there is talk, we were told, of tearing it down to build a community hall. It should be preserved.” (Howard  3: 347)

(L to R) Roman Maes & Robert E. Howard
ca June 1935

Howard and Vinson spent some time in the courthouse, wandering around, walking through the rooms, and imagining everything that happened that infamous day when Billy made his notorious escape.[4] Sometime between getting the key from Roman Maes and spending time in the old courthouse, Robert E. Howard and Roman Maes posed for a picture, now popular in Howard fandom (The actual picture is above, taken in front of the old courthouse). In the past it had only been speculated that the man to the left of Howard in the photo was Roman Maes. Thanks to several Lincoln, NM park rangers I was able, through social media, to track down the granddaughter of Roman Maes. She confirmed for me that the man in the photograph with Robert E. Howard was, in fact, her grandfather.

According to the Maes family, Roman Maes lived in Lincoln, NM his whole life. He acquired the La Paloma in 1935 and operated it until the mid-1980s when his wife became ill (cancer) and was forced to shut down operations. During World War II, Maes could not get liquor for the bar so he turned the La Paloma into a small grocery store and later sold Indian curios.[5] Roman Maes’ daughter, Priscilla Maes, would have been 6 years old when Robert E. Howard visited Lincoln, NM. She stated that she remembered people would stop in town at the bar, talk with her father, and he would show them around, but she never remembered anyone’s name. So, it's quite possible that she could have met Robert E. Howard when she was a child. Both Roman Maes and his wife, Theodora, are buried in the old cemetery of Lincoln on the East side of town.

I took a picture with a zoom lens of the
peak where Maes climbed.

During my visit to Lincoln, NM[6] I spoke with several park rangers. While discussing the La Paloma and Roman Maes, one of the park rangers told me that back in the 1940s, Maes, with a donkey, climbed the mountain on the southern side of town in order to place a cross on its peak. When he and the donkey neared the peak of the mountain, the donkey lost its footing, tumbled and slid all the way back down the mountainside. Concerned for the animal, Maes worked his way back down to find the donkey was uninjured. He took this as a sign from God, loaded the wood back on the donkey, and proceeded to climb the mountain again. This time he reached the peak, built a wooden cross on the mountain top, and slowly worked his way back down the mountainside. Today, Maes’ cross has been replaced with PVC pipe, but it still stands on the peak of the southern mountain. 

After spending a few hours in Lincoln, Howard and Vinson traveled toward Carrizozo, then up to Albuquerque, and northward reaching Santa Fe by nightfall. The following day, June 20^th 1935, in Santa Fe, NM, Howard mailed a postcard to fellow writer and friend, August Derleth, with this handwritten message on the back of the postcard:

“This card was purchased in Lincoln, NM from a descendant of a participant in the Bloody Lincoln County Wars. REH.” (Howard  3:  329)

The postcard had the famous tin photograph of Billy the Kid on the front. Howard purchased a few of them from Roman Maes at the La Paloma Bar.[7] Below is the actual postcard (Front & Back) sent to August Derleth.[8]

The Front of the Postcard sent to
August Derleth, ca June 20th 1935

The Back of the Postcard sent to August Derleth
(The Postcard is from the Wisconsin State Historical Society)

---

[1] Howard called the La Paloma a “Saloon” in his letter to H.P. Lovecraft. This is, in fact, what it would have been (a saloon) in Billy’s day back in the late 1870s early 1880s. However, at the time of Howard’s visit it would have been named The La Paloma Bar.

[2] In his letter Howard actually typed the name Ramon Maes. The man Howard and Vinson met was actually named Roman Maes. After corresponding with Rusty Burke (one of the editors of A Means to Freedom: The Letters of H.P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard: 1933-1936) about this, he concluded that Howard probably misheard Roman’s name. I will continue to quote Howard’s letters exactly as Robert E. Howard wrote them, but note that "Ramon Maes" is actually named Roman Maes.

[3] For a more detailed account of this event refer to Frederick Nolan’s book, The West of Billy the Kid, pages 151, 155, and especially 158.

[4] I will be writing a second article about this aspect of Robert E. Howard’s visit to Lincoln, NM.

[5] This information was provided to me by Roman Maes’ granddaughter, Roberta Maes Baker. She and her mother (Priscilla Maes)—Roman Maes’ daughter—were very helpful in providing me with facts and information for this article.

[6] I just recently took a trip to Lincoln, NM (July 25^th to 26^th, 2015) to research facts and information for this article and an article to soon be written.

[7] Roman Maes did in fact sell postcards from the La Paloma back in 1935, a fact confirmed by the Maes family. Maes was also the grandson of Lucio Montoya, involved in the Lincoln County Wars.

[8] Thanks to Rob Roehm for providing me scanned copies of the postcard. I would also like to thank Rusty Burke for answering several questions about the REH letters. And lastly, thank you to the Maes family and especially to Roberta Maes Baker and Priscilla Maes for providing answers to all my questions about Roman Maes and the La Paloma Bar.

Bibliography

Howard, Robert E. The Collected Letters of Robert E. Howard. Ed. Rob Roehm. Vol. 1-3. Plano, TX: Robert E. Howard Foundation, 2007. Print.

Nolan, Frederick W. The West of Billy the Kid. Norman: U of Oklahoma, 1998. Print.

One Who Walked Alone: Insights Into The Writing Mind of Robert E. Howard by Todd B. Vick

Novalyne Price
1927 Daniel Baker Yearbook

I'm currently re-reading Novalyne Price Ellis' book titled One Who Walked Alone: Robert E. Howard: The Final Years. I first read this work about 8 or so years ago, but I've gleaned much more from its pages during this reading. This is due to nearly a decade of REH studies on my part. I will actually be posting a detailed book review along with my thoughts about the work when I finish reading the book this time around.

My intent here is to point out a few nice nuggets about the creative/writing habits of Robert E. Howard. Ellis gives details about how Howard used to work, some of his habits, his creative ways, etc. I have found these aspects of Howard's personality quite fascinating. Here are a few . . .

"When I am with him, he talks a blue streak. I watch him closely, knowing he's trying to work out something in his mind. Other than learning about writing, I don't know what I see in him or why I still, in spite of everything, like the big lummox.
[. . .]
Some people might think Bob is just loafing around and not working at anything at all. But that's not true. His mind is hard at work. Although he doesn't get too far from home, he drives around over the country, thinking of stories, talking them out loud to himself. He'll stop the car on some little hill, get out and walk around, listening to the wind blowing across the prairies. He says that on the wind he hears the tuneless little whistles the cowboys made as they rode, stretching themselves now and then, throwing a leg over the saddle horn to ride sideways to relieve strain, being almost unseated when the horse shied at a prairie-dog or rattle snake. These are the things he wants to write about . . .someday.
     While he's riding around in the country, he may see an old man sitting on a porch by himself. Bob stops the car, gets out and visits with the old man, just to hear his stories of the country when it was new and fresh and uncluttered with the trappings of civilization.
     He reads history, too—the history of this country, about the settling of it." (Price 143)

Places Howard goes to find stories . . .

"Bob's been to Comanche, Coleman and Santa Anna, hunting stories, old books. Anything he can find. He's been to newspaper offices to go through old files, hunting stories and the things that interest people. He's filling the reservoir with these things, he says, so that someday soon, he can spend all his time writing about this country." (Price 143)

 The work of writing, writing habits, styles & formulas . . .

"People don't understand me or my mother," he said defensively. 'Writing is pounding out one damn yarn after another, pounding them out whether you want to or not, and it takes a family who understands that and who tries to help you by keeping you from being disturbed every minute of the day. I know people think I'm a freak and a damn nut, but the only way I can get anything done is to keep pounding away.' He moved about running his fingers through his hair. 'But what I have makes up for what people here think. I mean the writer friends I have. I think it's pretty damn good that Ed Price came out here to see me." (Price 115)

"'By God, girl." His voice boomed out cheerfully. "In this writing game, you have to read as much or more than you write. You've got to read the magazines you want to write for and the ones you do write for.' He stopped and looked at me, smiling. "Do you read the confessions?"

I shrugged my shoulders. 'I don't read them from cover to cover and practically memorize them the way you do the magazines you want to write for. I don't like the confessions much.'
'Well for God's sake,' he laughed. 'How in hell do you think you can write for them? You have to read 'em to write 'em. At least I do.' 

[. . .] 

'What works for one won't work for another. It just seems to me that you've got to study the magazines you want to write for. I mean study them. Tear each yarn apart. Put it together again. Try to figure out why that one sold and yours didn't.'" (Price 159)

"'You don't care about ordinary people  stories?"
'No. That's where we're different,' he said. 'But maybe you're right. Illegitimate children are the product of civilization with its myriad problems, its rules and regulations. Civilized man makes rules against his nature, then beats his damn brains out because he can't live up to them. I write a lot of my yarns about a different age, a different way of life.'
'Like "The Devil in Iron" where a man fights an enormous snake?'
He nodded emphatically. 'And against a strange pagan god. But that's my formula—man struggling to survive in an elemental way. Life and death in a new world.'" (Price 62)

 "'When you tell a story and someone listens to it, you are really publishing it. Then when you sit down to write, it just doesn't come. You're not excited about it anymore. You're not trying to discover something new. I mean, of course, that's the way it works for me. Maybe it wouldn't work that way with you. No two people write exactly alike. But I don't usually give advice. If you want to tell me your story, go ahead.'
     'I know what you mean,' I said. 'When you tell somebody something, the creativeness flows out with the telling.'
[. . .]
     'Don't get me wrong. I've done exactly what I'm telling you not to do, but when I do it, the yarn always comes out wooden. Not easy, flowing, light.'" (Price 77)

Moving in new writing directions . . .

"'I've been pounding out another yarn.'
'Another Conan story?'
'Yeah, but this may be the last one. I'm getting tired of Conan.' He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. 'This country needs to be written about. There are all kinds of stories around here.'" (Price 77)

There are dozens more of these nice insights into Howard the writer. If you have not read Price's book then I highly recommend it. It is a first hand autobiographical account about the last three years of Robert E. Howard's life.

Toltec Traces in “The Thunder-Rider” By David Bowles

Around the same time that Robert E. Howard was writing his James Allison tales (in which a young, dying Texan remembers adventures from various past lives), he crafted one of his most clearly anti-modernist tales, “The Thunder-Rider,” in which his now infamous tendency toward racism is tempered by a palpable reverence for indigenous American peoples. Most notable in this rough draft is Howard’s use of Mesoamerican myth, specifically that of the legendary city of Tollan and the dark sorcerer Tezcatlipoca who brought about its downfall. 

The Story

Quetz vs. Tezcat

Published posthumously in Marchers of Valhalla and The Black Stranger, The Thunder-Rider centers on John Garfield, a college-educated Comanche man who works in an early twenty-century office building. Despite having fully assimilated to the mainstream Western European culture of the US, Garfield finds himself increasingly in the grip of violent urges he ascribes to his ancestry. After some internal struggle and pointed criticism of the vices of modern American culture, Garfield sets out to seek guidance from an aged shaman called Eagle Feather, who offers to open up the younger Comanche’s spiritual memory through a grueling, torturous ritual. Upon reliving moments from his previous incarnations, the medicine man affirms, Garfield will sate his appetite for violence.

The blood rite brings him close to death, but the young man survives and is able to access memories of his former selves. One of these is Iron Heart, a Comanche warrior wandering the Southwest around the year 1575. Garfield recounts a particularly eldritch adventure of his. Recognized by enemies through epithets like “the Scalp-Taker, the Vengeance-Maker, the Thunder-Rider,” Iron Heart takes his mounted war party south toward Mexican settlements in search of more horses (Howard spends several generally plausible paragraphs explaining why the tribe has learned to ride more than a hundred years before history records that innovation).

Lipan Apache Raider

 But the party turns aside to attack and slaughter a group of Lipan Apaches near the San Saba River. Unfortunately for Iron Heart, these Lipan have an alliance with the Tonkawa and Wichita peoples, who butcher the Comanche until a remnant of fifteen warriors flee north, being chased for more than a hundred miles. Their luck is such that they run right into another group of Apache enemies. Barely escaping, the war party ends up wandering a vast, featureless plain.

Then, unexpectedly, they cross into the Darkening Land, the silent realm of spirits. All around them in the mists they see huge tipis fashioned from the hides of white buffalo. Within these ancient, abandoned homes they find the undecayed bodies of giants—the Terrible People of legend, a race long dead. From one of these, Iron Heart takes a massive axe of green jade. 

Before he can much delight in this beautiful weapon, a group of Pawnee surround the Comanche, led by the pure-blood Spanish woman Conchita, who was stolen as an infant and raised to be a “war-bird.” Just as the two groups begin to clash, they are incapacitated by the arrival of another group of feather-clad people who Iron Heart compares to the Puebloans in appearance and whose magical gong helps them capture Pawnee and Comanche alike. They are taken to a sort of ziggurat on a low hill, surrounded by a wall on the gate of which is carved a feathered serpent. From here rules a tall, cruel man who calls himself Tezcatlipoca, a name Conchita recognizes and fears—one of the sun’s incarnations, Howard suggests.

Mountainheart

 Tezcatlipoca is excited to have the jade axe—weapon of a long-dead foe of his—and he imprisons Iron Heart while having his gong-ringer Xototl take Conchita to the Room of Gold to await his pleasure. Visiting her, he gives his villain monologue, explaining how he left his ancient kingdom in Mesoamerica before the “barbaric Toltecs wandered into it,” coming north to establish a magical stronghold and to enthrall a tribe of Puebloans, whom his cruelty has reduced in number down the centuries.

As the Pawnee and Comanche are sacrificed one by one, Xototl sneaks into the Room of Gold to have his way with Conchita, but she kills him and frees Iron Heart. They start to escape, but Tezcatlipoca intervenes. He and Iron Heart struggle, but Conchita tricks the ancient creature by shouting that the long-dead giants have risen to attack the palace. Taking advantage of the distraction, Iron Heart kills Tezcatlipoca with the jade axe. Then he subdues the fiery Conchita, beating her until she relents and promises to accompany him to his people. 

Analysis

With some revision and editorial refining, The Thunder-Rider might have been a truly epic tale of conflict among indigenous North Americans whose cultures and religions historically overlapped in ways that encourage creative exploration of shared themes. Using the myth of Tezcatlipoca was particularly inspired, if not fully realized in the extant draft.

For Mesoamerican peoples, creation had occurred several times (either four or five, depending on the particular culture). Each age was called a sun, because a different god served that function from era to era. The principal creator gods were twin brothers, most commonly known to Nahuatl-speakers as Quetzalcoatl (the Feathered Serpent) and Tezcatlipoca (the Smoking Mirror). Two halves of a single process, the brothers represented order and chaos, respectively. Their conflicts were often the cause of cataclysms that brought one age to end and ushered in another.

Tezcatlipoca

 Tezcatlipoca, as Howard notes in The Thunder-Rider, was an “incarnation of the sun,” having served as that source of life for the First Age. The beings that peopled the earth during that epoch were giants, much like the Terrible Beings of Howard’s tale. It may be that the author was inspired to imbed an ancient conflict between the giants and Tezcatlipoca by the fact that the First Age came to an end when the god of chaos, displeased with the inhabitants of the earth, sent his his nahualli or animal spirit, the huge jaguar Tepeyollotl or “Mountainheart,” into the world.  Mountainheart transformed some giants into were-jaguars and led them in a vicious war against their brothers and sisters.

According to Aztec annals, in the year 1-Reed, on the day 4-Jaguar, Mountainheart and his army of jaguars devoured nearly every giant on the face of the earth. Quetzalcoatl wrestled his brother from the sky, and the First Age came to an end. Three more eras with three more attendant suns would come and go before our present epoch, the Fifth Age, illuminated by the son of Quetzalcoatl, Nanoatzin. And it is in the forgotten history of Mesoamerican of the present age when myths and blend to create legend.

The Nahua peoples or Chichimeca were a group of interrelated tribes that immigrated into the high plains of central Mexico over several centuries beginning about a millennium ago. Today we call them “Aztecs,” though that name actually describes their legendary overlords in their place of origin, Aztlan. They discovered the vast ruinous cities of the Tolteca, a glorious civilization whose benighted descendants now lived in small city-states at the edges of the once-mighty empire. The Chichimeca—especially the Mexica, last tribe to arrive—aped many of the cultural trappings and gods of the ancients. The term for artistic excellence in Nahuatl, toltecayotl, is a reflection of their reverence for the past.

Quetzalpetlatl

 In The Thunder-Rider, Howard has clearly availed himself of one of many Toltec stories folded into Nahua lore—that of Tollan, a long-forgotten metropolis often associated with the cities of Teotihuacan and Tula, whose ruins still inspire awe today. From the modern perspective it seems likely that a noble named Ce Acatl (“One Reed”) and titled Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl—“our revered lord the feathered serpent”—ruled Tollan during the 10^th century CE. However, as with the historical figure underlying King Arthur, Ce Acatl Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl became conflated with a myth—in this case, the actual god Quetzalcoatl.

The resulting legend—told in one fashion or another from the highlands all the way to modern El Salvador—depicts the incarnation of the creator god, born to a woman who swallowed a piece of jade and was thereby impregnated. This child, Ce Acatl, would grow to be a pious, good-hearted man who was selected to rule Tollan. Accompanied by his equally virtuous sister Quetzalpetlatl, Ce Acatl abolished human sacrifice, ushering in a time of prosperity and cultural revival. His people hailed him as Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl.

The story further recounts that the priests of the old order were incensed at the changes to the state religion. Chief among them was Tezcatlipoca, a dark mage whom the Nahua peoples conflated with the god of chaos, Quetzalcoatl’s brother. Setting out to destroy the righteousness of the ruler, Tezcatlipoca insinuated himself into the royal palace in a disguise and used his wiles to trick Quetzalcoatl into getting so drunk that he forgot his ritual duties (and, in some versions, had sex with his sister). Disgraced, the ruler of Tollan abandoned the city with a small retinue, traveled for several years through what is now southern Mexico doing penance, and then immolated himself on the Gulf shore, vowing to return.

As for Tezcatlipoca’s fate, the annals are less clear. The final ruler of Tollan, Huemac, continued to contend with the dark priest, who brought down one magical disaster after another until the city itself fell. Howard clearly means for the antagonist of The Thunder-Rider to be this same Tezcatlipoca, as he “came from the south more than a thousand years before,” fitting with the 10^th century setting of the original legend.

Tula

 If we take Howard’s Tezcatlipoca to be the same who deceived Quetzalcoatl in Tollan, the appropriation of the feathered snake (to be found on the gates of the palace to which Iron Heart and Conchita are taken) makes more sense; though it may still simply be conflation of the two mythical figures by the author. The snake diadem worn by Tezcatlipoca and the massive serpent that does his bidding until slain by Iron Heart could both be interpreted on this view as mockeries of the dark priest’s principal enemy. That the cruel demigod meets his demise via Conchita’s ruse then becomes deliciously ironic, as such deception was his own favorite tool in Tollan.

A few final notes. Upon arriving in the mist-shrouded kingdom of Tezcatlipoca, Iron Heart calls it the “Darkening Land,” which itself is a Cherokee concept—the realm to which all dead spirits are bound. It is not clear why Howard would not have used the similar Nahua term Mictlan, the Land of the Dead sometimes located in the North, or the Mayan Xibalba, Place of Fear. Perhaps further revisions would have prompted the use of such a Mesoamerican or Southwestern equivalent.

The name of the gong-ringer and would-be-rapist, Xototl, is not a true Nahua name. Instead, Howard has probably mis-transcribed or distorted “Xolotl,” the nahualli or animal twin of Quetzalcoatl. God of lightning, Xolotl would accompany the sun each night as it traversed the Underworld.  A revamped version of the tale correcting the spelling of this name would have added more poignancy to Tezcatlipoca’s usurpation of Quetzalcoatl’s power and his eventual destruction at the hands of mere mortal warriors.
 

Xolotl

In the final analysis, The Thunder-Rider represents a heartening respect for and interest in the mythologies of the indigenous peoples of what is now Mexico and the US Southwest. It is a real shame that Robert E. Howard was unable during his lifetime to return to this story and give it the final polish it needed, but we can nonetheless enjoy its flawed extension of a vital Toltec tradition.

For further reading, I recommend  several colonial-era documents translating Aztec codices: Historia de los Mexicanos por sus pinturas, Libro de oro y tesoro indico, Histoire du Mechique, Leyenda de los soles, Historia general de las cosas de Nueva España. Modern works with English versions of these documents and other pertinent pre-Colombian codices include Bierhorst’s History and Mythology of the Aztecs, Markman and Markman’s The Flayed God, and Carrasco’s Quetzalcoatl and the Irony of Empire: Myths and Prophecies in the Aztec Tradition. 

About David Bowles

A product of an ethnically diverse family with Latino roots, David Bowles has lived most of his life in the Río Grande Valley of south Texas, where he teaches at the University of Texas. Recipient of awards from the Texas Institute of Letters and Texas Associated Press, he has written several books, among them Flower, Song, Dance: Aztec and Mayan Poetry and Border Lore.

Additionally, his work has been published or is forthcoming in venues such as Strange Horizons, Apex Magazine, Metamorphoses, Rattle, Translation Review, Concho River Review, Red River Review, Huizache, The Thing Itself, Eye to the Telescope and James Gunn’s Ad Astra.