23 March, 2009
Today’s Tabbloid
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ROGUE FEED
Pulp Fantasy Library: Imaro
MAR 23, 2009 05:01A.M.
Charles Saunders’s Imaro doesn’t appear in Appendix N of the AD&D
Dungeon Masters Guide, but I like to think that’s only because the novel
didn’t appear until 1981, two years after the DMG was first published
(though, to be fair, its titular character first appeared in Dark Fantasy in
1974 and a year later in the very first Year’s Best Fantasy Stories). That’s
a pity, because Imaro and its sequels are remarkable books, at once
thoroughly steeped in the traditions of pulp fantasy and original
creations that transcend and transform the genre in ways that recall
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Michael Moorcock’s tales of Elric. By this, I don’t mean to imply any
dramatic, let alone thematic, connection between the writings of these
two authors. Rather, it’s that both Saunders and Moorcock turn critical
eyes on the tropes of pulp fantasy in ways that only writers who
understand and love the genre, warts and all, could do. Saunders isn’t an
ignorant young Turk out to prove himself by denigrating his pulp fantasy
elders, but instead a writer who clearly appreciates them, even as his
own unique vision is at least in part a corrective to what he sees as their
weaknesses.
Though originally billed as “The Epic Novel of a Black Tarzan,” which led
to the delay in its publication because of a lawsuit by the estate of Edgar
Rice Burroughs, I think it’s the writings of Robert E. Howard that cast
the longest shadows over Imaro. Saunders’s Nyumbani is a close cousin
of REH’s Hyborian Age, being a fantastical Africa that draws equally
from history and myth to create an imaginary world that artfully mimics
the depth and texture of reality. Reading through Imaro, one is
immediately struck by the opportunities pulp fantasy has lost over the
years by not turning its gaze more readily upon non-European settings
for its inspirations. It would be a gross over-simplification to call Imaro a
“black Conan” as some have done, not least because Imaro’s motivations
and ultimate destiny are far more inward-directed than are those of the
Cimmerian. Nevertheless, it’s hard not to compare him to Howard’s
creation, as Imaro is one of the few swords-and-sorcery characters to
match — and perhaps exceed — the complexity of his barbarian
predecessor.
Indeed, Saunders excels at writing characters who feel like people rather
than caricatures and it’s here, I think, where Imaro shines brightest and
offers the most strident critique of the genre of which it’s a part.
Saunders isn’t content to paint with broad strokes, particularly when it
comes to entire peoples and societies. Nyumbani is not only beautifully
drawn, but diverse and variegated. Its inhabitants are similarly diverse
and well realized, in stark contrast to the more stylized approach favored
by many other pulp fantasy tales. Reading Imaro, one is often subtly
reminded of just how often even writers as talented as Howard relied
upon stereotypes to do the heavy lifting in their characterization. And
because the reminders are subtle, one never feels as if Imaro was written
solely to criticize or make a point. The novel isn’t a parody or a satire of
the genre but rather an unapologetic illustration of its under-used
potential, not to mention a celebration of its primal appeal.
If it sounds like I’m gushing over Imaro, it’s because I am. I never read
this novel or its sequels back in the day and I doubt I would have
appreciated them even if I had. Having filled in this gap in my pulp
fantasy education, I can’t help but imagine many “what if?” scenarios in
which Saunders’s stories had become more widely read and influential.
Had this occurred, it’s possible that swords-and-sorcery might have
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renewed itself, remaining vital and energetic until the present day.
Fortunately, the novel and its sequels have been reprinted and are
available once again. Likewise, Saunders has written another novel set in
Nyumbani, about the warrior-woman Dossouye, and is working on two
more novels in the saga of Imaro. If you’ve never had the opportunity to
do so before, there’s no better time to delve into the adventures of Imaro
than right now.
ROGUE FEED
Pondering Conan the Barbarian
MAR 22, 2009 06:53P.M.
What to make of John Milius’ 1982 film, Conan the Barbarian, which
made a star of the largely unknown Arnold Schwarzenegger? That’s a
question with no easy answer, even though I’ve spent more time than I
care to admit trying to disentangle my own very conflicted feelings about
it. Conflicted feelings seem to be par for the course from what I can tell,
with even professional Howardists (is that a word?) divided, sometimes
bitterly, over its relative merits. That said, there are at least two points
on which everyone agrees:
1. The film’s soundtrack, by the late Basil Poledouris, is pretty much
perfect in every way.
2. The film’s 1984 sequel, Conan the Destroyer, was abominable.
Unfortunately, that’s the extent of the common ground between the
lovers and the haters of this film.
I was 13 when this film was released, but, due to its R rating, I didn’t see
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23 March, 2009
the film until it was released on video sometime afterwards. At that
point, my exposure to the character of Conan was limited primarily to a
handful of Lancer paperbacks I’d picked up here and there, almost none
of which contained any actual stories by REH. Consequently, I wasn’t
much bothered by most of the divergences from the Howardian canon,
because, quite frankly, I was utterly unaware of them. Having only read
(I think) parts of Conan the Avenger and Conan of Aquilonia, my sense
of the both the character of the Cimmerian and of the Hyborian Age was
lacking. I’d also seen the covers of many a Marvel comic featuring Conan,
though I’d never read one.
Given this background, the story and character we got in the film
matched my own expectations reasonably well. Indeed, if one takes
Conan the Barbarian simply on its own terms, as a swords-and-sorcery
tale vaguely inspired by some names found in Robert E. Howard stories,
I think it still holds up quite well. Certainly it reaks of pastiche.
Untutored though I was in the mysteries of pure Howard back then, I
could still sense that it was a strange, cobbled together Frankenstein of a
movie, unapologetically borrowing elements from a wide variety of
sources. I don’t consider “pastiche” a term of opprobrium. Dungeons &
Dragons wouldn’t exist if not for the gleeful pastiche-making of Gygax
and Arneson and, as readers of this blog know, I actually believe D&D is
at its best when referees and players alike adopt a similar approach in
their own games.
Yet, there’s little question in my mind that Conan the Barbarian can’t
really be called “Howardian” except in a tenuous analogical sense. Yes,
there are characters, themes, and even scenes that appear in the film that
are broadly consonant with Howard’s own work. However, I can’t recall a
single line of dialog in the film that comes from a REH story (someone
can correct me if I’m wrong) and there are a few places where I feel the
film actually undermines Howardian themes, replacing them with its
own. Again, I don’t mean this in a negative sense. Much like D&D, I
think there’s virtue to be found in creating one’s own story by looting the
parts of other stories one likes. So long as one doesn’t mistake this for
“being true to the spirit” of authors and stories one loots, you won’t hear
a peep of criticism from me.
As I got older, though, I read more genuine Howard and came to
appreciate his work considerably more than I ever had as a youth. It’s
hard now, with the knowledge of and love for those stories that I now
possess, to view Conan the Barbarian as much more than a typical
example of Hollywood grave robbing, albeit a riotously fun example of it.
As I said before, if this movie had been about some other northern
barbarian seeking revenge against the slayer of his parents and people, I
could continue to extol its virtues without qualification, because I think
Conan the Barbarian may well be the best swords-and-sorcery movie
ever made. Admittedly, that’s as much an indictment of Hollywood’s
woeful treatment of the genre as it is praise for the film, but I mean it
positively.
Conan the Barbarian is a fun, occasionally insightful, feast for the eyes
and I enjoy it on that level. I think, though, that it’s also an exercise in
brandification, playing off the fame of the name “Conan” to tell a very
different story than any Robert E. Howard would have told. For many
Today’s Tabbloid PERSONAL NEWS FOR riorio2@rogue-games.net 23 March, 2009

people, Schwarzenegger’s portrayal of Conan in this film is the only

exposure to the character they will ever have and that’s a shame — not
because I think Schwarzenegger’s portrayal is bad (I don’t) but because
his portrayal has very little to do with Howard’s Cimmerian. Now, for
many, this isn’t an issue, in much the same way that they can shrug off
the brandification of D&D over the years. If one has no particular
knowledge of or liking for the real Conan, this criticism likely rings
hollow. And of course many people who possess both still don’t see it as a
fatal flaw to what I cannot deny is a well-made fantasy action film.

So where does that leave me? I still don’t know. Part of me just wants to
sit back and revel in the spectacle of it all, for the film has many terrific
moments that I absolutely adore. Another part of me recoils, though, at
the hash made of Conan, the Hyborian Age, and the auctorial voice of
Robert E. Howard. Even more than the Peter Jackson The Lord of the
Rings films, Conan the Barbarian misrepresents its ostensible
inspiration to audiences who might otherwise not be familiar with them.
Traditionalist that I am, I can’t help but be bugged by that. Is that
enough to make me stop watching the film every now and again? No, it’s
not, which makes me wonder if why. Do I continue to enjoy it in spite of
the things I dislike about it or do I perhaps sense some hidden depth to
the film that I’m not yet consciously aware of? Or is it that I just hope
that there’s something of substance beneath the spectacle? I wish I knew.