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Lemuria #1
Lemuria: Book 1
Translation by Joe Bandel. This is the first collection of short stories by Karl Hans Strobl to have ever been translated into the English language. Karl Hans Strobl was noted for his short fiction, particularly his dark fantasy fiction and "Lemuria" collects some of his finest stories.
You can sense his passion and zest for living in these pages.
These stories come at a time when "Steam Punk" is popular. His stories fit into this genre quite well and it is astonishing how modern and readable these fantastic stories are. As an avid reader of science fiction and fantasy, I've become convinced that there is a power and force within these stories that is very hard to find in today's world.
Stories include: The Mermaid; At a Cross Roads; The Witch Finder; The Head; The Repulsion of the Will; My Adventure with Jonas Barg; The Manuscript of Juan Serrano; Familiar Moves; The Tomb at Pere La Chaise; The Wicked Nun; The Bogumil Stone; Master Jericho
You can sense his passion and zest for living in these pages.
These stories come at a time when "Steam Punk" is popular. His stories fit into this genre quite well and it is astonishing how modern and readable these fantastic stories are. As an avid reader of science fiction and fantasy, I've become convinced that there is a power and force within these stories that is very hard to find in today's world.
Stories include: The Mermaid; At a Cross Roads; The Witch Finder; The Head; The Repulsion of the Will; My Adventure with Jonas Barg; The Manuscript of Juan Serrano; Familiar Moves; The Tomb at Pere La Chaise; The Wicked Nun; The Bogumil Stone; Master Jericho
228 pages, Kindle Edition
Published April 16, 2016
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87 people want to read
About the author
Karl Hans Strobl
82 books12 followersKarl Hans Strobl (18 January 1877 (Jihlava) – 10 March 1946 (Perchtoldsdorf)) was an Austrian author and editor. Strobl is best known for his horror and fantasy writings. Strobl was a member of the Nazi Party
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
September 28, 2017
In his lifetime, Karl Hans Strobl was relatively well known fantasist in German-speaking world. No small feat, given the sort of talent that came from those environs. Sadly, his decidedly nationalist, right-wing views (and the fact that unlike Ewers, ruination of whose career and reputation somewhat “redeemed” him in the eyes of some post-war readers, he remained on good terms with the Nazi regime) meant that he was relegated to obscurity in his home country after the end of WW2, and that, until recently, barely anything of his work saw translation into other languages.
That is really a shame for, if this collection is anything to go by, his was a very unique talent, somewhere between Hoffmann and Ewers in his themes and style.
In his brief introduction, Joe Bandel writes that these stories are marked with “a lust for living and for self-empowerment” and, indeed, they can appear to be bursting with this mad, blood-thirsty Dionysiac frenzy, with the same lust of life being at the very core of certain stories (The Bogumil Stone). Furthermore, Strobl isn't shying away from particularly grotesque, explicit themes and imagery. At various points in this collection, one encounters: necrophilia, cannibalism (act of which is described with curious relish), post-mortem transgenderism, children being fed to pigs, disease-spreading nymphomaniac nuns and so on.
Stories themselves are extremely varied: some read like raw transcriptions of Strobl’s actual nightmares (At A Crossroads, The Witch Finder… dreamlike quality is something that is present in pretty much every single story here tho), others are curious takes on some familiar tropes (The Tomb at Père Lachaise) and fables (The Mermaid), some show strong influence of Hoffmann (My Adventure with Jonas Barg, or the mad pursuit of music in Master Jericho), others appear to be used as vehicles for Strobl‘s personal philosophy (The Repulsion of the Will)…
From „The Witch Finder“
„The doctor became quiet. The dark one poked once more and with a bang the navel flew out of the belly of the woman, like the cork out of a pop gun. A long white cord was attached to the navel. It had notches or segments like those of a tapeworm. The navel fell to the floor and pulled the white tapeworm with it. It coiled around on the floor as if it were alive. More and more of the white cord kept coming out, faster... in spirals... coiling about like snakes… the womb of the woman was inexhaustible. Already the entire floor was covered.
The doctor climbed up onto a chair. It shook beneath him. The thin white cord became thicker. It was already the size of an earthworm. The segments became deeper and limbs started poking out of each one... and still more kept gushing out of the hole where the navel used to be... Now the cord was as thick as a thumb. The segments swelled and became almost ball shaped. Then they began to cut away from each other and separate, began rolling around on the floor very much alive—some hopped into the air, others raced around with terrible speed between their siblings.
Then all of these round white balls assumed a new appearance. They grew feet with bird claws, a long, heavy sloping hind part and a head—a serious bearded head with a velvet beret—noisy little doctor heads. They were already the size of a fist and growing larger.“
Strobl had a talent for this sort of nightmare-imagery, and this is far from the only example of it.
Particular standouts in this collection, in my opinion, are:
The Head: mad background of French Revolution is used for one of those „no, death is not the end, but you‘ll wish it was!” tales, this one having some particularly disturbing imagery.
My Adventure with Jonas Barg: narrator, who is a member of this Dionysian club whose members are dedicated to their pursuit of life’s extreme excitements and pleasures, narrates his dealings with the titular character, goal of whom appears to be to face the club’s members with the only thing they’re honestly afraid of. This one evokes Hoffmann in his less disciplined, in the best way possible.
The Tomb at Père Lachaise: in this decadent nightmare, impoverished young scientist accepts the offer to spend an entire year in the titular tomb for the reward of two hundred thousand francs. Said offer was left by the tomb's permanent inhabitant, Russian noblewoman who, in life, was akin to a cross between Catherine the Great and Countess Bathory. Now, such a creature couldn’t have made that sort of offer from the goodness of her heart… Luckily, our thoroughly skeptical, materialistic narrators knows that there’s really nothing to be afraid of. Right? Right?
Familiar Moves: young student, suffering from the tragic death of his beloved, is faced with otherworldly stage adaptation of Goethe‘s poem “Dance of the Dead“. There something oddly familiar about one of the performers...
That is really a shame for, if this collection is anything to go by, his was a very unique talent, somewhere between Hoffmann and Ewers in his themes and style.
In his brief introduction, Joe Bandel writes that these stories are marked with “a lust for living and for self-empowerment” and, indeed, they can appear to be bursting with this mad, blood-thirsty Dionysiac frenzy, with the same lust of life being at the very core of certain stories (The Bogumil Stone). Furthermore, Strobl isn't shying away from particularly grotesque, explicit themes and imagery. At various points in this collection, one encounters: necrophilia, cannibalism (act of which is described with curious relish), post-mortem transgenderism, children being fed to pigs, disease-spreading nymphomaniac nuns and so on.
Stories themselves are extremely varied: some read like raw transcriptions of Strobl’s actual nightmares (At A Crossroads, The Witch Finder… dreamlike quality is something that is present in pretty much every single story here tho), others are curious takes on some familiar tropes (The Tomb at Père Lachaise) and fables (The Mermaid), some show strong influence of Hoffmann (My Adventure with Jonas Barg, or the mad pursuit of music in Master Jericho), others appear to be used as vehicles for Strobl‘s personal philosophy (The Repulsion of the Will)…
From „The Witch Finder“
„The doctor became quiet. The dark one poked once more and with a bang the navel flew out of the belly of the woman, like the cork out of a pop gun. A long white cord was attached to the navel. It had notches or segments like those of a tapeworm. The navel fell to the floor and pulled the white tapeworm with it. It coiled around on the floor as if it were alive. More and more of the white cord kept coming out, faster... in spirals... coiling about like snakes… the womb of the woman was inexhaustible. Already the entire floor was covered.
The doctor climbed up onto a chair. It shook beneath him. The thin white cord became thicker. It was already the size of an earthworm. The segments became deeper and limbs started poking out of each one... and still more kept gushing out of the hole where the navel used to be... Now the cord was as thick as a thumb. The segments swelled and became almost ball shaped. Then they began to cut away from each other and separate, began rolling around on the floor very much alive—some hopped into the air, others raced around with terrible speed between their siblings.
Then all of these round white balls assumed a new appearance. They grew feet with bird claws, a long, heavy sloping hind part and a head—a serious bearded head with a velvet beret—noisy little doctor heads. They were already the size of a fist and growing larger.“
Strobl had a talent for this sort of nightmare-imagery, and this is far from the only example of it.
Particular standouts in this collection, in my opinion, are:
The Head: mad background of French Revolution is used for one of those „no, death is not the end, but you‘ll wish it was!” tales, this one having some particularly disturbing imagery.
My Adventure with Jonas Barg: narrator, who is a member of this Dionysian club whose members are dedicated to their pursuit of life’s extreme excitements and pleasures, narrates his dealings with the titular character, goal of whom appears to be to face the club’s members with the only thing they’re honestly afraid of. This one evokes Hoffmann in his less disciplined, in the best way possible.
The Tomb at Père Lachaise: in this decadent nightmare, impoverished young scientist accepts the offer to spend an entire year in the titular tomb for the reward of two hundred thousand francs. Said offer was left by the tomb's permanent inhabitant, Russian noblewoman who, in life, was akin to a cross between Catherine the Great and Countess Bathory. Now, such a creature couldn’t have made that sort of offer from the goodness of her heart… Luckily, our thoroughly skeptical, materialistic narrators knows that there’s really nothing to be afraid of. Right? Right?
Familiar Moves: young student, suffering from the tragic death of his beloved, is faced with otherworldly stage adaptation of Goethe‘s poem “Dance of the Dead“. There something oddly familiar about one of the performers...
December 12, 2017
Tales of Weimar dread. A troupe of amateur acrobats realizes that death is one of their number. A mad balloonist takes his party high into the air to reveal the infinity of art. A student of higher physics rents a tomb for a year and discovers that something is feeding on him. These stories are like a window into the horrorific fiction of Germany after the first world war, imperative, cynical, and awash in vanishing, damned romance, Expressionist pulp. Joe Bandel deserves applause for rescuing Strobl from obscurity and making him available to modern English readers.
January 6, 2025
A rather morbid read worthy to kill a couple of hours with. Not all tales may be to one's taste, but within a few pages you'l know whether it can be skipped. While i enjoyed most, a few were a feat of drudgery to work through. The style of writing is different enough between the stories that it could read as if written by a collection of authors. While they tend towards a theme of virality and will to strength, they cover any topic tangentially vulgar. His technique varies wildly, in some the finer points left to ones imaginations, while others read as transcriptions of nightmares. I've spent enough time on 4chan that the most vile grotesque images he could muster weren't enough to phase me, though i'll commend him for what must have been a salacious work for the era.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews