I’ve gathered most of the yule-themed Cul de Sac Sundays… one of these days, I might devote an entire post to Madeline Otterloop’s Christmas sweater dailies.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
RT: « The creepier side of Christmas. A German Expressionist Christmas has been done by someone, somewhere, I’m sure. » December 11, 2005.RT: « Taking down Christmas is always so hard. I like the timing here. » January 1st, 2006.RT: « Petey dreams of Christmas with music by Tchaikovsky. » December 24, 2006.RT: « Santa Claus commands a lot of fear and awe in children.I could never get a coherent sentence out when sitting on his lap when I was a kid, and I doubt I could today. Thank God I don’t believe in him anymore! » December 23, 2007.RT: « The first appearance of Dill’s mysterious, malignant, poignant, and possibly educational toy. I just wanted something that’d be easy and repetitive to draw, because I was behind. » December 30, 2007.RT: « What I like the most is the tree seller’s resemblance to a mortician. » December 21, 2008.December 28, 2008.RT: « Drawn from life. Nothing more need be said. » December 19, 2010.RT: « Petey’s faith in his commentaries’ scathing qualities is misplaced. » December 4, 2011.RT: « Doing this was a joy. The hard part was doing it in pantomime. » December 11, 2011.
« A merry Christmas to all my friends except two. » — W. C. Fields
I was in the middle of writing a post on another topic, getting bogged down in its complexities, and then it dawned on me that Christmas was fast approaching, and I’d better switch gears pronto.
Thankfully, I had something in mind: an Angel and the Ape tale initially produced in the late 1960s but orphaned with the book’s cancellation. It was half-heartedly released from limbo –shall we say buried? — in one of those awkward tabloid format volumes, Limited Collectors’ Edition C-34: Christmas With the Super-Heroes (Feb.-Mar. 1975, DC) and not even advertised on the front or back cover… which is why it took me decades to learn of its existence.
On average, Angel and the Ape was only marginally funnier than the rest of DC’s humour books (save of course for Shelly Mayer’s consistently hilarious Sugar and Spike), but still leagues ahead of Marvel’s painful Not Brand Ecch et al. A&A was, imho, at its peak when E. Nelson Bridwell wrote it, lobbing some choice barbs at the esteemed competition.
To briefly illustrate my point, here’s a relevant panel from Angel and the Ape no. 3 (Mar. 1969, DC).
Script by Bridwell, pencils by Oksner, inks by Wood. The redhead in the green cape and star-spangled tights is Stan Bragg, editor-in-chef at Brainpix Comics, a clever amalgam of the Smilin’ One and his Rascally subordinate. “When you write good stories and do good artwork, don’t I sign it?“
I talked about Carol Lay all the way back in 2017 (see The Giant Licking Machine), but did her a disservice by only featuring a single one of her Story Minutes. I am here to remedy that inadequacy.
In 1990, Lay drew a 5-page story for LA Weekly titled The Thing Under the Futon (read it here – the thing under the futon even has tentacles). « The pay was several times what independent comics paid and the audience was larger and included women », Lay quips on her website, so a one-time story planted the seed for a weekly comic strip called Story Minute, so named because it would just take you a minute to read a story (I might also add that it’s very difficult to stop at reading just one). That eventually was rechristened Way Lay and ran until 2008.
My introduction to the subject at hand.
As I mentioned in the earlier post, the most recent collection of these is Illiterature, published in 2012, and it’s where the strips below have been selected from. Lay picks all kinds of topics as strip springboards, but since I am the one selecting the ones to feature, there’s a definite interpersonal tilt, as I think her forte is her ability to showcase the inner workings of a close relationship by plonking people into a slightly surreal or sci-fi context. The line between cynical and poignant is navigated with ease.
« I kept mostly to the order in which I produced the strips, but I took the liberty of tossing some clinkers or shuffling a few so that they flow better in book form… I also used my artistic license to improve on some of these older works – I’m a better writer and artist than I was when I created these strips… In a sense several of the strips in these volumes are ‘director’s cuts’ in that I’m a better director now than when I drew them. »
« It’s easy, from our 21st-century perspective, to condemn Waldman as nothing but a sleazy bottom-feeder eking out a precarious living by pirating the marginal dregs of an industry he was only peripherally a part of. » — Don Markstein
It’s been suggested to me several times that I should devote some column space to Rostislav “Ross Andru” Androuchkevitch (though my co-admin ds certainly has, by dint of the man’s long stint on Bob Kanigher’s regressive Wonder Woman), but the trouble is, unlike the many of my generation who, presumably more through circumstance than discernment, imprinted on Andru and Gerry Conway*‘s The Amazing Spider-Man (1973-76), I had already lost all interest in Spidey after Steve Ditko‘s rightly acrimonious 1966 departure; I just wasn’t buying what they were selling.
My own, somewhat less agreeable run-in with Andru was through his ill-advised residency as DC’s principal cover artist (under “art director” Vinnie Colletta) paired up with Dick Giordano**, who reportedly slapped inks, and likely some coffee, on a few covers each day before catching his train to work.
However, as I always say, with a career that lengthy and prolific, there’s bound to be exceptions. Which brings me to a comment a dear friend and old comrade in ink-slinging made — just this week! — regarding an Andru cover I featured during last month’s Hallowee’n Countdown:
« Mmmm… that Ross Andru cover. Such a delightful classic! Who knew he was so good back then compared to his later work, which was pretty damn awful. »
So, like John Severin, Andru (with inking partner, for better — though mostly for worse — Mike Esposito in tow) was approached by Israel Waldman to gussy up his shoddy, oft-illegal reprints.
Redoubtable comics historian Don Markstein (1947-2012) did a breathtaking job of compiling a dossier of the whole I.W./Super Comics operation, complete with the cross-referencing of most — if not all — the ‘borrowed’ properties and personages. Essential reading if you’re at all intrigued by crafty reprobates of Waldman’s ilk.
This is Doll Man no. 11 (1963, Super Comics). Read it here!This is Strange Mysteries no. 11 (1963, Super Comics). Read it here! The 60s Marvel colouring gimmick of leaving the background grey to make the foreground figures stand out (not to mention spare much time and effort) leads me to think that resident Marvel hues-man Stan Goldberg (no Rube he) may have been moonlighting for Izzy Waldman. This is Danger no. 12 (1963, Super Comics). Read it here!
Mr. Markstein on The Black Dwarf: « The first question, of any character, is — why? Putting on a bizarre outfit to battle crime on an unpaid, freelance, anonymous basis seems pretty strenuous, requiring strong motivation. But his isn’t much. He just hates crime, no particular reason cited.
Next, what’s with the name? He was shorter than average, but not so short he qualified as a Little Person. Santa Claus would reject him on sight. And would identifying himself as a dwarf instill fear in criminals, confer fighting prowess on himself, or in any other way be an asset in his war on evildoers? It just sends a message that he’s small, so the evildoers can probably beat him up. At least he made up for his shortcomings by packing a gun. »
This is Mystery Tales no. 16 (1964, Super Comics). Read it here!This is Strange Planets no. 16 (1964, Super Comics). Read it here!This is Danger no. 16 (1964, Super Comics). Read it here! I was tempted to quip that it takes tremendous chutzpah to hire the then-current Wonder Woman artist to illustrate a cover featuring one of her numerous knock-offs… but I’m pretty sure Waldman, hardly a comics insider, didn’t know and didn’t care.
Of this particular breed of characters, Markstein wrote: « Superheroes first turned up in American comic books just before World War II, and flourished during the early war years. Especially flourishing were a sub-species of superhero that wrapped themselves in the U.S. flag like a cheap politician. Inexplicably, these are referred to as “patriotic” heroes, indicating that wearing the flag like Captain Freedom or Miss Victory was deemed a mark of patriotism higher and more… »
This is Fantastic Adventures no. 16 (1964, Super Comics). Read it here!This is Strange Mysteries no. 17 (1964, Super Comics). Read it here!This is Daring Adventures no. 17 (1964, Super Comics). Read it here! « May I have this dance, Green Lama? » « Why, I thought you’d never ask, Falstaff! »This is Police Trap no. 18 (1964, Super Comics). Read it here! In my opinion, this is one of the best-composed of Andru’s Super/I.W. covers: very nice sense of depth, though the effect would play out far better without the quite superfluous ‘We proudly present...’ blurb, which breaks the visual flow. I think the guy on the left is a bit ticklish. This is Plastic Man no. 18 (1964, Super Comics). This is actually a pretty spiffy issue, featuring classic work by masters Jack Cole and Will Eisner. Read it here! DC, who owned the character — having bought it from its original publisher, Quality, when it left the field (along with Doll Man, Phantom Lady, Blackhawk…) — would resurrect Plas in 1966. That didn’t click. It wasn’t until the Steve Skeates / Ramona Fradon revival of 1976-77 that someone managed to grasp the appeal of Jack Cole’s unique creation. But again, sales were low. In 1980, Andru would again depict Plastic Man on Adventure Comics covers spotlighting Jean-Claude “Martin Pasko” Rocheford and Joe Staton‘s unfunny, misguided and mercifully brief run. And hey, if you’d always longed to see Andru’s version of Eisner’s The Spirit, this is all you get!
-RG
*Harlan Ellison on Conway, circa 1979: « I mean, the first time I met Gerry Conway, who the hell would’ve known that Gerry Conway would single-handedly ruin the entire comics industry. He’s a classic example of the deification of no-talent in all industries. He’s not good, but he has it in on Thursday. And that’s all they care about. You know, fill them pages. » [ source ]
**taking over from Mike Esposito and actually making him look good in comparison!
I was very excited to come across the comics of Hyena Hell. I don’t even remember where I got No Romance in Hell (2020), but it was cheap and intriguing. A funny comic about a cantankerous dick-driven demoness that also is excellently drawn? Well, sign me up, and pronto. Anyway, I read it, enjoyed it greatly, and stuck it on a shelf (after pursuing co-admin RG with it for a bit to get him to read it, which I’m still not sure he has done*). Recently, I discovered that there are two more instalments — Demons: To Earth and Back(2021) and Demons: Bloodlust (2022), and devoured them with great delight, one recent Sunday afternoon.
The transition from demon-girl to normal-girl and back again – back cover of No Romance in Hell.
HH’s art is dynamic and convincing – bodies have real weight and a variety of shapes. There is also stuff happening in the background, so the reader feels like these are real… well, err, maybe not people, but real creatures walking on real streets (and equally tangible depths of hell). I love her main characters, fully-fleshed, quick-witted, and flawed in a way that makes one sympathise even when they’re being irrational. No Romance in Hell is a jaunty (if violent) romp with great social commentary on the state of the dating scene, happily skewering the endless parade of ‘nice’ guys who think life owes them.
‘If that’s how it is… Maybe I’ll just LEAVE then!‘ — and our heroine makes her way to the surface to see whether humans can give her satisfaction where the demon failed.
After a cavalcade of brief dates with men spouting the usual nonsense (distinctly not sex-worthy material), Bug finally comes across a contender…
As much as I enjoyed No Romance in Hell, I was even happier to find that Demons: To Earth and Back featured a longer story and more glimpses into the organisation of the pits of Hell, home sweet home. When Bug needs to rescue her demon sweetie from his forced summoning to earth, Bug’s sibling Skud comes up with a plan to sneak her out of Hell, since obviously the former is built on the solid foundation of bureaucracy and endless pencil-pushing —
Hyena Hell says she has a tough time with spelling, but ‘monastery’ is the only typo I noticed.
This demon’s actually pretty bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, aside from badly wanting a cup of coffee. The pimple-faced fascist teenage jerk who summoned him, however, is in distinct danger of having his face smashed in.
Demons: Bloodlust is even more ambitious, telling the gruesome (with many incinerations) tale of Bug and Skud embarking on a vampire-annihilating mission (and introducing a vampire trio of old friends whom I would love to hang out with).
Social anxiety, the vampire/demon edition.
At the end of the story, we are treated to a couple of ages of Cass, Marco and Baby Jay answering questions, which is possibly my favourite bit of the whole thing.
There is a fourth Demons book in production as we speak — follow HH on instagram to get a peek of the pages she’s working on. Also pay a visit to The Comics Journal for a sampling of the Fair Warning – Hyena Hell interview.
~ ds
* Given that he was kind enough to scan a bunch of pages for me, I’m sure he’s read some while scanning, at the very least.
« I’m going to Boston to see my doctor. He’s a very sick man. » — Fred Allen
My turn to spotlight a recent find: last month, during a fruitful visit to Ellsworth, ME’s The Big Chicken Barn, I spotted — among others — an item of interest in the humour section: a hardcover volume entitled Dahl’s Brave New World, published 1947. Spare but effective cartooning, plenty of imagination and wit. See what you make of it.
Replace ‘miniature plane’ with ‘drone’ and you’ve got a cartoon for these here times.While the ordinary citizen has been waiting for his long-promised, personal jet pack for decades on end, a ready-to-wear helicopter would be, it seems to me, a reasonable substitute.
I love knowing that there’s a world of talented folk I’d never gotten wind of. Even if a lifetime is too short, even if I’ll miss out on some great art, both capital A and lower-case, I prefer to hold the optimistic view and raise the half-full glass in a heartfelt toast.
By way of biography, Mr. Dahl (1907-1973) thankfully rated an obit in the New York Times on May 7, 1973. Allow me to quote liberally from it:
« Francis W. Dahl, Boston’s best‐known cartoonist, whose works have appeared in newspapers here for 45 years as well as in a series of books, died today at his home in Newton. He was 65 years old.
Mr. Dahl’s cartoons focused on Bostonians and their politics, customs, costumes and foibles, with most of his subjects growing out of local news items.
From 1928, when he began his newspaper career as an $20‐a‐week illustrator, until last June, Mr. Dahl drew his cartoons for The Boston Herald and its successor, The Herald Traveler. When the paper was purchased by The Record‐American last June, he joined The Boston Globe.
Collections of the cartoons also appeared in a number of books, including “Left Handed Compliments,” “Dahl’s Cartoons,” “What, More Dahl?” “Birds, Beasts and Bostonians,” “Dahl’s Boston” and “Dahl’s Brave New World.”
Stories about Mr. Dahl have become part of Boston’s journalistic legends. Once, for example, a Herald engravers’ plate broke just before deadline and 144,000 copies were printed without his cartoon. A printed box asked readers if he was missed, and 4,000 letters were sent to the editor saying yes.
On another occasion, Mr. Dahl broke his right arm — his drawing arm — but rather than miss a day the paper had him draw left‐handed for six weeks. »
While the NYT piece itself draws heavily from a 1946 Time Magazine profile of Dahl, it left out the juiciest part of the anecdote: « Since draftsmanship is the least of Dahl’s assets, the switchover didn’t show much. »
It’s refreshing to see — especially in light of the era it was produced in — the lady take the amorous initiative.I couldn’t pass this one up: I mean… mushrooms, bats, moles and skinks!
And here’s some insight into Dahl’s relative obscurity: « Because he concocts his cartoons out of local news items, and refuses to change his ways, mild-mannered Francis Dahl has never been syndicated. But for his collections of reprints, he would be unknown outside New England. » [ source ]
« I can’t decide whether to give up peanut butter on account of its calories, or to eat it on account of its vitamines… »
When it comes to what Amazon loosely classifies as ‘literary graphic novels’ (very much a meaningless category), it’s rare for me to stumble across something completely unfamiliar on a bookstore shelf, unless of course it’s something hot off the press. Denys Wortman’s New York: Portrait of the City in the 30s and 40s (Drawn & Quarterly*, 2010), which I spotted in the well-stocked The Comic Hunter (Moncton, Canada), looked unfamiliar and intriguing.
The edition I purchased is from 2010; I wasn’t able to find out when this one, with an arguably more striking cover, was published. This illustration had the caption of ‘If I have to come down to buy them, you’ll have to come down on your prices’, and was drawn on August 30th, 1948.
I’d never heard of Wortman, but just a quick skim through this volume showed that he clearly had an amazing ability to evoke a certain place and time, and fill it up with characters so real that one wouldn’t be surprised to run into them on the street. Nostalgia for a place one never experienced is a recurring feature of the human mind – Wortman’s New York is one I am familiar with from books and movies, and that faded away long before I was born. One would also be remiss in failing to express admiration for DW’s living, breathing linework. His attention to the minutest details are used to recreate scenes from lives of people who certainly didn’t have an easy time of it, yet still inspire a sort of familiar comfort almost a hundred years later.
To get some bibliographical stuff out of the way (for a full story, I shall direct you to the website maintained by Wortman’s eighth son), Denys Wortman was born in 1887 and died in 1958 at 71. Among other things, he also drew Metropolitan Movies, a comic strip that ran between 1924 and 1954 and is mostly remembered (if that’s the right term here) for two of its characters, a couple of cheerful vagrants named Mopey Dick and the Duke.
It was a tad difficult to decide which pages to feature, so I tried to go for a variety of scenery. Wortman must have been a Gerald Kersh character to possess such an intimate knowledge of all these industries, markets, streets, and types of human beings… I invite you to a bit of time travel.
« In art school days there was much talk about “character,” but I feel there was a small amount of misapprehension mixed up with its interpretation. I could not see then and I can’t now why a man with a lot of whiskers has any more character than one who is clean-shaven. Nevertheless I would prefer to draw the former. And I would prefer to draw him after he has lived long enough for Experience to have etched lines in his face — the more the better. Because the more lines and markings he has in his face the more chance I have of finding ones that I can match with lines on my paper to help create the illusion that the face I am drawing has bones under the skin, that the eyes are seeing things, that the mouth is speaking, and that the man has a soul. »
It must be mentioned that these drawings have been rescued from the mists of forgetful time by WOT favourite James Sturm (see Free Inside Package: James Sturm’s The Cereal Killings (1992-95)), who hunted down Wortman’s son and his astonishingly large, apparently languishing archive of his dad’s illustrations.
I’ll end this with a great quote from the foreword to Denys Wortman’s New York, written by Robert W. Snyder —
« You can still see traces of Wortman’s New York in crowded Manhattan side streets, spirited New Deal Murals, and soaring skyscrapers**. Harder to find are the feelings and lived memories of this place. The sailors and their sweethearts who strolled the boardwalks of Coney Island are now, in their eighties, a fading presence. To understand them, and how they lived in a city that inspired hope and fear, idealism and wisecracks, solidarity and individuality, there is no better place to look than a Denys Wortman cartoon. »
~ ds
* I tend to not like what D&Q publishes, but this is another pleasant exception to the rule (here’s the original exception).
Well, I made it through another countdown. Thanks for your interest and support!
In the proper spirit of the thing, I’ve indulged and reserved my very favourite Hallowe’en treat for last, and that’s a Joe Gill–Steve Ditko chiller — for the second consecutive year!
I’ve always adored this one for its adroit juggling of hushed atmosphere and giggles, its casually dropped hints and layered subtlety. Ditko really had no peer when it came to insinuating his narrator into the visual tapestry. In this case, his first and finest host, Mr. L. Dedd (or I. M. Dedd, depending on the source). Ditko is clearly having a ball.
Unless I’m mistaken, Steve Ditko always inked himself (and sometimes gloriously inked Kirby) until 1964, when George Roussos as ‘George Bell‘ (seemingly using the wrong end of the brush, sorry) inked Ditko’s pencils on a trio of early Doctor Strange episodes (Strange Tales nos. 123-125, if you must know).
Even while working at Marvel, Ditko (wisely) kept working for Charlton. At his busiest, he was assigned an inker on a revival of Captain Atom, Rocco ‘Rocke’ Mastroserio, and the combination bore splendid fruit. Ditko was one of those cartoonists who laid down the basics in the pencils, then had most of his fun in fleshing them out in ink. Finishing Ditko’s layouts wasn’t a task just any Joe could handle, as the ensuing years would bear out.
And so we’re done, countdown-wise, for another year. If that’s not quite sufficient to slake your loathsome lust, promenade yourself through our bloated-by-now archives, at this point two hundred and seventeen posts strong :
Wishing you all a hair-raising Hallowe’en — thanks for all the creepy loitering!
-RG
*did I imagine that someone (David Mamet?) once said that her name sounded like ‘a bowling ball tumbling down the stairs’? It may have been meant as a compliment.
« Addams’ idea of a bracing day’s outing is to visit an insane asylum. He takes a kind and friendly interest in the inmates and will chat with them unselfconsciously by the hour. “They have a refreshing conversational approach,” he says. » — John Kobler
For this, the penultimate entry in this year’s Hallowe’en, I’ve reached for one of the most prized items in my collection: a book I apparently picked up for 10 dollars in the 1990s… it’s a bit hazy. It was originally given to (or by) one ‘Sadleir’ on December 25, 1950.
Coming upon the tome while browsing the general humour section, I vaguely recall being intrigued by its title, ‘Afternoon in the Attic’, and upon realising that it was illustrated by Charles Addams, the deal was sealed.
Since most of you won’t make it past the paywall, here’s part of the author’s New York Times obituary:
« John Kobler, a writer whose early days on the crime beat resounded in an enduring biography of Al Capone, died on Monday in Manhattan. He was 90.
He was born in Mount Vernon, N.Y., and was a 1931 graduate of Williams College. He worked for various news organizations as a reporter before editing the crime reportage of PM, a 1940’s New York tabloid.
In World War II he was a civilian intelligence officer posted to North Africa, Italy and France, where he was attached to the United States Embassy. He returned to freelance for The New Yorker, Colliers, Vanity Fair and The Saturday Evening Post. His first book, published in 1938, was ”The Trial of Ruth Snyder and Judd Gray.’‘ It interwove trial testimony with commentary about a notorious 1927 murder case. ”Some Like It Gory” (1940) and ”Afternoon in the Attic” (1950) were collected essays about bizarre crimes and creepy characters. ”Afternoon’‘ was illustrated by Charles Addams.
He was best known for ”Capone: The Life and World of Al Capone,” a biography published in 1971 and reissued most recently in 1992 by Da Capo Press. It remains in print, as does ”Ardent Spirits: The Rise and Fall of Prohibition” (Da Capo, 1993).
He also wrote biographies about Henry Luce (1968), John Barrymore (1977) and Otto Kahn (1989), the banker and arts patron. His favorite among them was ”The Reluctant Surgeon: A Biography of John Hunter’‘ (1960), the 18th-century Scottish anatomist and precursor of modern surgery (1960). » [ source ]
My copy had already shed its dust jacket by the time it came into my possession, but the cover image was also used as a frontispiece.While Kobler provides what’s likely the definitive biographical essay on Charles Addams (at 10 1/2 pages), Addams, in return, gives us this picture presumably worth the proverbial thousand words.
For this post, I’ll stick to a single essay, the one entitled « Next Week: Murder in a Madhouse ».
The introductory illustration…« Satisfied customers », quips the caption.
« The seats in front of me were occupied by an American family — father, mother, two girls and a small boy. “I just can’t bear it,” mother was saying, “I just won’t look.” The girls were chewing their programs which bore the Grand Gignol trade mark – a bat with a man’s head. The small boy, who I felt sure was a connoisseur of American comics, sat unruffled and superior. “Kid stuff,” he snarled. “Quiet!” said father, who seemed uncertain what his proper attitude ought to be. “The curtain’s going up.”
The climax bursts with all the restraint of a fire alarm. While Hunchback and Normandy Woman pinion Louise’s arms, One-Eye goes after the cuckoo bird with a knitting needle. Blood splashes all over everybody. (“Heavens!” mother gasped, forgetting not to look.) Louise’s screams shiver the scenery.
But a super climax is yet to come. Hunchback and Normandy Woman, suddenly fearful of what they have done, turn on One-Eye and force her face down upon a hot stove where it sizzles in a jet of smoke and flame like a barbecued mutton chop…
That was enough for father. He herded his family through the exit amid the shrill protests of the small boy who did not want to miss the rest of the program. What he missed included a maniac who disembowels small boys, a woman who gets shot in the head by a gangster and, sandwiched between for comic relief, a bedroom farce with lines never intended for little pitchers to hear, all of it staged with determined realism. »
« Life is like a maze in which you try to avoid the exit. » — Roger von Oech
Some time in the late 1980s, a friend handed me a book, challenging me — I guess — to “see if I could work out the solution.”
He had, however, misread me: altogether lacking that flavour of ambition, I wasn’t in the slightest interested in solving the riddle. Instead, I was quite content to wallow in the uncanny ambiance and enjoy the stunningly wrought textual clues.
This is Maze (1985, Holt, Rinehart and Winston), written and illustrated by Christopher Manson; Amy Hill, designer.
« This is not really a book. This is a building in the shape of a book… a maze. Each numbered page depicts a room in the Maze. The doors in each room lead to other rooms. For example, the room on page 1 has doors leading to rooms 20, 26, 41, and 21. To go through door number 20, simply turn to page 20. Your challenge is to find your way from room 1 to room 45 and then back to room 1 using the shortest possible path. If you use your head, you should be able to make the journey in only sixteen steps. »
« … a gloomy, cavelike place far underground. Even I was oppressed by the weight that hung over our heads. A very small hole, high above, admitted a feeble light. »« … what appeared to be an old storeroom. Dust obscured a damaged painting, making it hard to understand just what the artist had intended. »« … one of the biggest rooms in the House. All three doorways were dark. “Afraid to go out?” I asked. »« … a much warmer room. Shadows danced across the floor to the fire’s music. »« … a dramatic room with four entrances and exits. “Not enough light in here,” they remarked. “Not very tidy either.” »« … a darkened chamber dominated by a large figure. We could see that someone had been working here recently; the entrance I had so carefully hidden had been uncovered. I made a note to return as soon as I could and fill in the hole again. »« … a melancholy little courtyard surrounded by a brick wall too high to see over. A dead tree lifted its bone-white branches to a sky filling with gray clouds. »« … what appeared to be someone’s basement. One of them sank gratefully down on an old couch which promptly collapsed. »« … the foundations of the Maze. Deep underground stones had been carved and fitted; passage opened in the natural rock. »
Nearly four decades after its publication, Maze’s mystique endures. And interest resolutely lingers, which I salute. Apparently, Maze belongs to a genre termed ‘ergodic fiction‘.
Should you wish to try your hand at the task, the entire book’s available to peruse here.
Who's Out There? 