Clark Ashton Smith's Genius Loci and Other Tales, first published by Arkham House in 1948 and reprinted by Neville Spearman in 1972, presents 15 stories originally appearing in magazines such as Weird Tales between 1928 and 1936. As with those of the 1942 Out of Space and Time and the 1944 Lost Worlds, the stories here depict situations ranging from cloyingly creepy to the shockingly horrible. Style, of course, is syrupy and adjective-heavy and polysyllabic, including the use of words both obsolete and idiosyncratically re-formed, such that perhaps a dictionary might come in handy, though general meaning will be clear from context. It is a book for readers who enjoy the old and baroque rather than someone looking for, say, crisp Hemingway or a breezy beach read.
With Lost Worlds, every now and then I felt a particular story was decent, but just not quite top-notch, perhaps being a bit lightweight or gimmicky. Genius Loci and Other Tales, however, was very solidly entertaining throughout. Yes, there is variation of quality, with some being just a tad more predictable, but these close-but-not-quites are more than offset by numerous others that scintillate like a dark gem in the eye of an idol in the long-buried subterranean temple of some mercifully forgotten cult of dread cycles past.
The book starts out with the title story, told by a first-person narrator visiting a friend in the country, namely an artist who reports that he has been "compelled to make a drawing..., almost against [his] will," of a nearby "sedgy meadow, surrounded on three sides by slopes of yellow pine," that is "silent and desolate" and somehow "evil--it is unholy in a way that [he] simply can't describe" (1972 Spearman hardcover, page 3). This may sound like some sick Poe-esque fixation, but the narrator "examine[s] the drawings attentively," and across a description of nearly a full page, he, too, is "impressed immediately by a profound horror that lurked in these simple elements" of the sketches (page 4):
"[E]ver, as he looked, the abomination of a strange evil, a spirit of despair, malignity, desolation, leered from the drawing more openly and hatefully. The spot seemed to wear a macabre and Satanic grimace. One felt that it might speak aloud, might utter the imprecations of some gigantic devil, or the raucous derision of a thousand birds of ill omen. The evil conveyed was something wholly outside of humanity--more ancient than man. Somehow--fantastic as this will seem--the meadow had that air of a vampire, grown old and hideous with unutterable infamies. Subtly, indefinably, it thirsted for other things than the sluggish trickle of water by which it was fed." (pages 4-5)
So...although we of course see roughly where this is headed--a place where modern skepticism falters and a siren's song calls toward an irresistible doom--the details still need to be picked out bit by morbidly thrilling bit.
Aside from "Genius Loci," there are many more. "Vulthoom," for example, shows two Earthmen caught up in treachery and danger in secret caverns below the surface of a Mars whose "civilizations had grown old in diverse complexity before the foundering of Lemuria" (page 58). In "The Primal City," a pair of explorers trek the high Andes "to verify a strange and fearful theory which [they] had formed regarding the nature of earth's primal inhabitants" (page 103). "The Disinternment of Venus" relates "certain highly deplorable and scandalous events in the year 1550," when monks discover a buried marble nude with "full hips and rounded thighs" (page 111) and lips "half pouting, half smiling with ambiguous allure," a statue of "languorous beauty" that is "sly and cruelly voluptuous" and redolent "of dark orgies, ready for her descent into the Hollow Hill" (page 112).
Smith's obvious delight in handling scenes of necromancy is showcased here as well, of course.
"The Colossus of Ylourgne" gives us "coffins,...[lying] aslant or [standing] protruding upright from the mould, offering all appearance of having been shattered from within as if by the use of extrahuman strength," and "the fresh earth itself...upheaved, as if the dead men, in some awful, untimely resurrection, ha[ve] actually dug their way to the surface" (page 121)--nor shall that flesh be spared further indignity and torture. And while "The Charnel God" features a city's god that requires all dead be brought unto his temple, there to be fed upon, "The Black Abbot of Puthuum" has a foil to its titular character in what, through the "hopeless sorrow" of half-heard whispering, appears to be "a dead man who had sinned long ago, and had repented his sin through black sepulchral ages" (page 206), and whose "half-decayed corpse" lies in a bone- and mummy-piled catacomb with a "charnel stench so overpowering" that a battle-hardened warrior "turn[s] his face away and [is] like to have vomited" (page 207).
These stories are good--very good. As the foregoing suggests, for connoisseurs of "weird" and fantastic horror of the pulp era of the late 1920s and 1930s, Smith's Genius Loci and Other Stories is a wonderful 5-star read.