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Fantasy Commentator, v. 1, issue 7, Summer 1945
Page 165
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FANTASY COMMENTATOR 165 I've had some pretty gaudy high spots. But in the face of the growing mass of Lovecraftian extant, I'd like to mention one aspect of HPL's life and times that has never (to my knowledge) been properly presented to fandom. When I think of Lovecraft the man, I think of a rather different picture than the one generally presented. (The tall, thin, ascetic eccentric; encyclopedic in his knowledge, picturesque in his philosophy, renowned as a recluse---you know the story; you've read it in almost everything written about him.) When I think of H. P. Lovecraft I think mainly of his most outstanding attributes...his kindness and his courtesy. Lovecraft was the kindest, most courteous man I have ever encountered. (And dammit, I'm not given to gushing or to using such hackneyed words loosely or profanely.) In order to elucidate I must descend for a moment to that "I knew him when" level...but I trust the spirit will not be misinterpreted. I wrote the first (and just about the last) "fan letter" of my life to Lovecraft in the early months of 1933, when I was fifteen. As I recall it, the letter contained a specific request for information as to where I could purchase magazines containing his older stories that I had not read. So you get a letter from a fifteen-year-old kid wanting to know about magazines...you tell him to try the second-hand bookstores, and forget it. Not Howard Phillips Lovecraft. I got back a complete typed list of all his published stories, together with an invitation to send for them in any order I chose. He would mail me the tear-sheets, and if they were unavailable, he'd send me the original manuscripts or carbons. And of course I must feel free to write again. I felt free. The second letter mentioned my general interest in fantasy and some of the reading I'd done. Lovecraft didn't rattle off a list of supplementary book titles. Instead, he sent me a handwritten complete list of every fantasy book in his own library---again with an invitation to borrow at will. His later kindnesses in introducing me to the "gang", his interest, encouragement, critical readings of and suggestions for my early stories---all were typical of the man. His delicacy, unfailing tact and finesse in the critical approach were unsurpassed. Of course his letters were magnificent---but it is the spirit behind the letters that overshadows all else for me; the erudition, the profundities, the prodigality of his correspondence. As to the psychological and philosophical motives which led to the creation of his stories, I am not qualified to speak. But in all that I have read, I have never heard one important consideration mentioned as a factor in Lovecraft's work...and to me it was the most human aspect. I refer to his enthusiasm for writing the weird tale. He loved to turn out a story, and through all his misgivings and self-recriminations and self-criticism it is impossible to read through a sheaf of his letters referring to work in progress without consciousness of that enthusiasm shining through. Lovecraft wrote weird fiction because he enjoyed it; because it gave expression to escape-fantasies. In other words, he wrote for the same reason that most of us in the fantasy field write our yarns. The fact that he wrote much better stuff does not mean that his motives in doing so were any loftier, or that he was consciously attempting to build up a cosmological philosophy or create a new school of writing. I don't know whether I'm coherent or not---I rather doubt it. But one point is important to me: having been one of the "Lovecraft circle" of correspondents, I cannot think of the man as primarily a genius, an eccentric, or a literary prodigy. To me, first and foremost, Howard Phillips Lovecraft was a hell of a swell guy.
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FANTASY COMMENTATOR 165 I've had some pretty gaudy high spots. But in the face of the growing mass of Lovecraftian extant, I'd like to mention one aspect of HPL's life and times that has never (to my knowledge) been properly presented to fandom. When I think of Lovecraft the man, I think of a rather different picture than the one generally presented. (The tall, thin, ascetic eccentric; encyclopedic in his knowledge, picturesque in his philosophy, renowned as a recluse---you know the story; you've read it in almost everything written about him.) When I think of H. P. Lovecraft I think mainly of his most outstanding attributes...his kindness and his courtesy. Lovecraft was the kindest, most courteous man I have ever encountered. (And dammit, I'm not given to gushing or to using such hackneyed words loosely or profanely.) In order to elucidate I must descend for a moment to that "I knew him when" level...but I trust the spirit will not be misinterpreted. I wrote the first (and just about the last) "fan letter" of my life to Lovecraft in the early months of 1933, when I was fifteen. As I recall it, the letter contained a specific request for information as to where I could purchase magazines containing his older stories that I had not read. So you get a letter from a fifteen-year-old kid wanting to know about magazines...you tell him to try the second-hand bookstores, and forget it. Not Howard Phillips Lovecraft. I got back a complete typed list of all his published stories, together with an invitation to send for them in any order I chose. He would mail me the tear-sheets, and if they were unavailable, he'd send me the original manuscripts or carbons. And of course I must feel free to write again. I felt free. The second letter mentioned my general interest in fantasy and some of the reading I'd done. Lovecraft didn't rattle off a list of supplementary book titles. Instead, he sent me a handwritten complete list of every fantasy book in his own library---again with an invitation to borrow at will. His later kindnesses in introducing me to the "gang", his interest, encouragement, critical readings of and suggestions for my early stories---all were typical of the man. His delicacy, unfailing tact and finesse in the critical approach were unsurpassed. Of course his letters were magnificent---but it is the spirit behind the letters that overshadows all else for me; the erudition, the profundities, the prodigality of his correspondence. As to the psychological and philosophical motives which led to the creation of his stories, I am not qualified to speak. But in all that I have read, I have never heard one important consideration mentioned as a factor in Lovecraft's work...and to me it was the most human aspect. I refer to his enthusiasm for writing the weird tale. He loved to turn out a story, and through all his misgivings and self-recriminations and self-criticism it is impossible to read through a sheaf of his letters referring to work in progress without consciousness of that enthusiasm shining through. Lovecraft wrote weird fiction because he enjoyed it; because it gave expression to escape-fantasies. In other words, he wrote for the same reason that most of us in the fantasy field write our yarns. The fact that he wrote much better stuff does not mean that his motives in doing so were any loftier, or that he was consciously attempting to build up a cosmological philosophy or create a new school of writing. I don't know whether I'm coherent or not---I rather doubt it. But one point is important to me: having been one of the "Lovecraft circle" of correspondents, I cannot think of the man as primarily a genius, an eccentric, or a literary prodigy. To me, first and foremost, Howard Phillips Lovecraft was a hell of a swell guy.
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