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Fantasy Commentator, v. 1, issue 11, Summer 1946
Page 282
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282 FANTASY COMMENTATOR in perfect happiness watching the lights of the house as they increased in number until the whole heaven shone with twinkling lamps. "I could not have had a more painless death." And on looking up the governess finds herself once more alone. She runs to the house in terror, entering the hall in time to hear the stairway clock strike the hours of nine. "The Devil's Bridge" is not, strictly speaking, a ghost story. In the broad sense of the word it is a supernatural one, but since its otherworldliness does not hinge on the malevolent, one would probably best label it a fantasy. To render this tale in precis and still retain its peculiarly effective flavor would be a difficult task---one one which this writer has no intention of attempting. The theme is familiar even to the casual follower of the outre: a pact with the devil. Obviously, then, to produce a fable of near-classic level---as this one unquestionably is---there must be a primary dependance upon characterization and atmosphere, and these Harvey manages with the utmost dexterity. Most examples of bargains with the devil are either of the Faust variety---with the hapless mortal petitioning heaven in vain as his end approaches, and being seized by a Marlovian satan on the final page---or else of a homier kind, wherein peasant wit is able to triumph over Old Scratch by capitalizing on some clever technicality. Serious and sympathetic treatment has seldom been meted out to the ruler of the nether regions. This being the case, "The Devil's Bridge" is a most welcome addition to Satanic literature. Harvey has sketched the rural French background admirably, and cast against it, his devil gains in realistic stature by sharing with its people some of their own very human frailties. He is not handsome, but disfigured by a puckering facial scar; he accomplishes the building of a bridge by the sweat of his brow rather than with muttered spells; and in his very entrance into the tiny community's life---amid a pelting rain---he remarks, "It's only the blessed saints that can ford bridgeless streams dryshod." His use of supernatural forces is marked always by a quiet rather than a melodramatic touch, and such characteristics make him a far more believable Satan than those one usually encounters in fiction. VI The last remaining groups of tales are small, each contributing by two stories to Harvey's total. The first division, which embraces themes of non-supernatural horror is less important, and necessitates only passing mention. The macabre nature of "Deaf and Dumb" and "The Tortoise" is interesting in that one may relate it to Villiers de L'Isle Adam and the conte cruel school; but Harvey is undistinguished int his vein, falling far short of even the mediocre efforts of its French exponents. The sixth and last group offers fiction which tends toward the mystical. "Shepards and Kings," the only outrightly allegorical tale so far encountered, veers sharply into a theme of religious mysticism in delineating the experience of a dying New Zealand soldier of World War I. The subject is disarmingly handled, and carries a general rather than a secularized appeal. Admittedly the classification of "The Tool" as a story of mysticism is open to question; possibly it would be better placed in the third major grouping of the author's fiction which has already been described. However that may be, it nevertheless impresses this critic as being the finest story William Fryer Harvey has written. It is told in the first person by a curate, and describes his strange experience during a Summer walking trip in Devonshire. One day, while alone on a wide expanse of moors, he encounters a large isolated mound of shale, and simultaneously experiences a strong feeling of repulsion, an inner
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282 FANTASY COMMENTATOR in perfect happiness watching the lights of the house as they increased in number until the whole heaven shone with twinkling lamps. "I could not have had a more painless death." And on looking up the governess finds herself once more alone. She runs to the house in terror, entering the hall in time to hear the stairway clock strike the hours of nine. "The Devil's Bridge" is not, strictly speaking, a ghost story. In the broad sense of the word it is a supernatural one, but since its otherworldliness does not hinge on the malevolent, one would probably best label it a fantasy. To render this tale in precis and still retain its peculiarly effective flavor would be a difficult task---one one which this writer has no intention of attempting. The theme is familiar even to the casual follower of the outre: a pact with the devil. Obviously, then, to produce a fable of near-classic level---as this one unquestionably is---there must be a primary dependance upon characterization and atmosphere, and these Harvey manages with the utmost dexterity. Most examples of bargains with the devil are either of the Faust variety---with the hapless mortal petitioning heaven in vain as his end approaches, and being seized by a Marlovian satan on the final page---or else of a homier kind, wherein peasant wit is able to triumph over Old Scratch by capitalizing on some clever technicality. Serious and sympathetic treatment has seldom been meted out to the ruler of the nether regions. This being the case, "The Devil's Bridge" is a most welcome addition to Satanic literature. Harvey has sketched the rural French background admirably, and cast against it, his devil gains in realistic stature by sharing with its people some of their own very human frailties. He is not handsome, but disfigured by a puckering facial scar; he accomplishes the building of a bridge by the sweat of his brow rather than with muttered spells; and in his very entrance into the tiny community's life---amid a pelting rain---he remarks, "It's only the blessed saints that can ford bridgeless streams dryshod." His use of supernatural forces is marked always by a quiet rather than a melodramatic touch, and such characteristics make him a far more believable Satan than those one usually encounters in fiction. VI The last remaining groups of tales are small, each contributing by two stories to Harvey's total. The first division, which embraces themes of non-supernatural horror is less important, and necessitates only passing mention. The macabre nature of "Deaf and Dumb" and "The Tortoise" is interesting in that one may relate it to Villiers de L'Isle Adam and the conte cruel school; but Harvey is undistinguished int his vein, falling far short of even the mediocre efforts of its French exponents. The sixth and last group offers fiction which tends toward the mystical. "Shepards and Kings," the only outrightly allegorical tale so far encountered, veers sharply into a theme of religious mysticism in delineating the experience of a dying New Zealand soldier of World War I. The subject is disarmingly handled, and carries a general rather than a secularized appeal. Admittedly the classification of "The Tool" as a story of mysticism is open to question; possibly it would be better placed in the third major grouping of the author's fiction which has already been described. However that may be, it nevertheless impresses this critic as being the finest story William Fryer Harvey has written. It is told in the first person by a curate, and describes his strange experience during a Summer walking trip in Devonshire. One day, while alone on a wide expanse of moors, he encounters a large isolated mound of shale, and simultaneously experiences a strong feeling of repulsion, an inner
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