Gods of the North, Robert E. Howard

Image from The Crom Cast.

For a very long time I have been a fan of Robert E. Howard. How unfortunate it is for me and many
of his readers that he cut his life so short. At the age of 30, due to depression on account of his mother's death, he killed himself. Literary success, had he hung on a few more years, surely would have come his way. But in the end, happiness and success are not bound to each other, right Robin Williams? I did some serious reading of most of his books when I was in my teens, and have recently reread them.

"Gods of the North," a short novella, is available freely on Gutenberg.org.
 
In a great battle, there are but two survivors. They clash together and thanks to Conan's trusty helmet, and a killing blow, Conan survives the ordeal. Even as he barely clings onto consciousness, a nearly naked girl comes into the scene:

Image from fictionbook-lib.org

Her body was like ivory, and save for a veil of gossamer, she was naked as the day. Her slender bare feet were whiter than the snow they spurned. She laughed, and her laughter was sweeter than the rippling of silvery fountains, and poisonous with cruel mockery.

Beautiful, Conan is taken over by lust. She leads him on, always just out of his reach. But this vixen has no love for our hero. She is bringing him as the main course for her brothers' dinner. They, being giants, do not expect a mortal half dead from battle to offer much combat. Not only can he still fight, but he kills them as well.

He is ready to rape her. But just as he gets to her, feet bleeding from running, she disappears even as he grasps her gossamer gown. He then learns the story from an old man:

"It was Atali, the daughter of Ymir, the frost-giant! To fields of the dead she comes, and shows herself to the dying!"

Found at The Crom Cast,  "...Atali is Siren-like. Not because it absolves Conan from being a rapist, but because it fits the evidence we're given in the story better." It seems to me that perhaps the criticism is trying to avoid labeling Conan as a rapist. Quite frankly, throughout all the books of Howard's that I have read, I have never seen a character of his rape a girl. This is as close as it gets. But this brings up an interesting topic which is common in rape culture theory: a girl can say no at any time. Well, this is the ultimate test of such a theory. What if in this fantastical world a girl is siren-like. She can compel a man to follow her by using her charms, but does so at her own peril. Eventually she is defenseless and has to be rescued by her father (or destroyed?) If her father hadn't saved/destroyed her at the last moment, Conan would certainly have raped her. Would his reputation therefore suffer? Would he no longer be the heroic figure who would champion beautiful women against impossible odds, but rather a man who gives into his passion despite the vixens protestations? I think I would have forgiven Conan for it. But Howard loved his mother far too much to let Conan so soil even the tantalizing 'siren.'


I really love Robert E. Howard's stories. He writes very well. If you've thought about trying some classical fantasy hack-and-slash literature, it gets no better than Howard. While many compare him to Lovecraft, Lovecraft simply isn't on the same battlefield.

R. H. Barlow once wrote a poem in memoriam for Robert E. Howard shortly after his death. He laments Howard and Conan, as being one and the same. Little did he know that Conan would rise from such an ignoble end, and continue hacking and slashing. However, while the likes of Robert Jordan lent a pen to such a resurrection, the truth of the matter is that they were in no way able to match Howard's brilliant narrative style. However, I think Barlow very nearly captured Howard's poetic narrative in "R. E. H."

R. E. H. 

Conan, the warrior king, lies stricken dead 

Beneath a sky of cryptic stars; the lute 

That was his laughter stilled, and sadly mute  

Upon the chilling earth his youthful head. 

 There sounds for him no more the clamorous fray,

 But dirges now, where once the trumpet loud:  

About him press old memories for shroud, 

And ended is the conflict of the day.  

Death spilled the blood of him who loved the fight  

As men love mistresses, and fought it well—  

His fair young flesh is marble where he fell 

With broken sword that vanquished all but Night;  

And as of mythic kings our words must speak 

Of Conan now, who roves where dreamers seek.

 R. H. Barlow 1936