I first read the great majority of the Conan stories a number of years ago. I enjoyed them so much and quickly sought out other Robert E. Howard writings. The man has his weird quirks and sure, his stuff can be a little repetitive at times, but I would argue that in terms of pulp writers he was probably one of the more diverse, being able to work in a variety of different genres, in contemporary, historical or constructed settings. of course, one of the tricks to his apparent diversity was that he told adventure yarns, and was able to transpose stuff easily from one setting to another. For example, he could write a western, but if the market wasn't biting to his satisfaction....change the characters, names and places, throw in a bit of magic, and boom, you have a hyborean Age story fit for the pages of Weird Tales. So, yes, some of the Conan stories feel like westerns. Some have pirates and brigands; others kings and decadent civilisations. A few have hints of science fiction lurking beneath the surface. They're all bold, bloody, thunderous and a huge rush to read.
This recent collection is the second of three; within their pages are compiled all the tales Howard wrote about Conan of Cimmeria. I'll admit that Conan is not really Howard's most nuanced creation. Most of the time he did create a kind of hero archetype for each historical period/location he wrote in: usually a big, strong man, handy with all forms of weaponry and his fists too, and also, in the cases of Conan, Kull or Solomon Kane, prone to fits of brooding melancholy or budding existential angst. The Conan tales proved to be extremely popular though, and seem to have been a great boon for Howard in the 1930s, when he was really struggling financially, so he wrote about twenty of them. In The Bloody Crown of Conan, we have two of the longer novelas, plus the novel-length "Hour of the Dragon". I'm writing this now after having discovered that, somehow, while reading all the other Conan tales way back, I skipped "Hour of the dragon", either because I was just waiting to save the longest for the right time, or because I believed it was a kind of "fixup" of a bunch of other Conan stories sloppily thrown together for novel publication and thus probably not as good as the other stories.
It turns out, to my delight, that "Hour of the Dragon" is one of the best Conan tales, precisely because it's able to take advantage of a longer format. I'll be the first to admit that yes, as great as these tales are, there is a certain formulaic quality to them. I'd recommend them to a good number of people, but always with some caveats. Don't read too many of them in a row. Savour them, take breaks, don't let the tropes get too stale. Steel yourself for the kind of stuff modern writers just shouldn't be able to get away with, like pathetic powerless women and blacks who are often described as "ape-like" and speak in gutteral animalistic tones. There's also sometimes a sense that Conan is just this unbeattable, unstoppable force of nature and that nothing can significantly stand against him. usually this isn't a problem because, if you're a certain kind of reader, you just learn to roll with it and have fun as Conan takes out six guys at a time or wrestles with some eldritch monstrosity from beyond time and space. He's just that good and you want to see him victorious, want to see him crush his enemies, sweep up the lamenting women and tell the treacherous, civilised dogs just what he thinks of them before cleaving their heads from their bodies. it's cathartic, basically. But it doesn't always create good tension when Conan is the only point of view character and you know he's always going to come out on top. there are a few exceptions though, and these tend to stand out in the range. Those tales that have a Point of view other than Conan's, where Conan almost seems to arrive like a cold northern breeze, an outsider in someone else's world. You know shit is going to get real when this happens and don't always know who will survive. I can think of no better example than the excellent "Beyond the Black River" (in the next volume), or the extremely contentious (it's the race thing) "The Vale of Lost Women", which if nothing else provides some really powerful atmosphere and a female perspective for a change.
In "Hour of the Dragon" we get something a little different. The story is still very episodic, but the scope feels bigger than normal, as Conan does a lot of travelling, is captured, rescued, nearly recaptured, rescued again, struggles to regain his usurped kingdom. Usually when Conan rouses people to his side, they're pretty quick to follow, but here he gets stymied by even some of his friends and allies who keep telling him everything is hopeless. The frustration is palpable and a bit atypical for a Conan tale. Another slight subversion: Conan twice gets rescued by women. I won't say Howard is really stepping out of bounds here as the first girl throws herself at his feet for the silliest of reasons, and the noble Aquilonian Countess he later saves from the headsman's axe is basically a nonentity, but it's still kind of neat to see the tables turned in this way. There's a lot of violence, fiery masculine passion, and an underpinning of dark eldrtich horror as a milennia-old evil sorcerer is resurrected to aide Conan's enemies. Said sorcerer is not around for the huge chunk in the middle of the story, as he spends so much time in his chamber "dreaming the dreams of the black lotus", or manipulating the other antagonists (who all really hate each other) from the shadows. Still though, there's a great sense of menace at almost every turn and one can feel Conan's mounting unease as he no longer can tell who is friend or foe. The world feels properly large this time, and not just because Howard drops loads of talk about geography and races the way he normally does, but because Conan has to do a whole lot of travelling. Travelling often sows seeds of introspection, especially when one walks the road alone as Conan does, and we even get a whole lot of that here, which should put to rest the notion that Conan and his stories are all bulging muscles and clashing swords. Of course, there's loads of that, too; there's probably a huge fight every few pages. The story is just packed with incident, and we even get a proper trip into the bowels of Stygia, where Howard cranks up the horror and evil iatmosphere to near suffocating levels. I found the level of danger and suspense to be higher than normal, and I think this shows that Howard could have been a great adventure novelist had he continued writing into the following decades. Yeah, there are some inconsistencies in the text, both in the way Conan is portrayed (usually very keen and sharp-witted, except when once or twice he inexplicably isn't), and in the passage of time (sometimes it seems like just a couple of days have passed since Aquilonia has fallen to the Nemedians, sometimes months), but it's all just such headlong, fast-paced, moody, bloodthirsty fun to read that I can't really fault Howard for any of that.
"People of the Black Circle" is one of my favourite Conan tales, and it's a great way to open the anthology and possibly as good an introduction to Conan as you can find (although I would maybe suggest something shorter first, like the immensely enjoyable "Rogues in the House"). Lots of wizardry in this one, and Howard does a splendid job of capturing the reader's attention from the very first sentence. Sure, he tends to fall back on similar sorts of descriptive phrases sometimes, and occasionally repeats himself, but the man had an excellent feel for grabbing you right away with his writing and just increasing the tension until you're just racing along with him and left breathless by all the action and spirited prose. He's not immune to poetry and sometimes will surprise you with some truly gorgeous passages. You won't find anything as majestically existential as "The Mirror of Tuzun Thune" among the Conan tales (a friend once likened the opening passages of this one to Gormengast), but the grand vastness of the world depicted makes looking outward into great landscapes peopled by brigands, witches, sorcerers and kings, as well as the odd demon, monstrous serpent or ape, a supremely pleasurable experience.
"A Witch shall be Born" is certainly the weakest tale here, but it contains a few incredible scenes that are memorable indeed. One of them was lifted for the 1982 Conan film, which is really just a likable hodgepodge of elements taken from Howard's universe and watches more like a tribute to the writer than to Conan himself. "A Witch shall be Born" is really over-the-top in a selacious pulp sort of way. It's very fun to read but sometimes you just have to go along with this crazy shit and let Howard do his thing. The female villain in this one is a monstrous bisexual hellion and damn, you can just tell how much REH relished writing these scenes of a terrible beautiful witch from the pits menacing a simpering princess, turning the city into a riotous den of sin and iniquity, and making sacrifices to her toad-like Lovecraftian entity in the basement. I just can't come down hard on this guy though. I guess I can understand a certain lack of tolerance for this sort of thing nowadays and it's certainly true that even sword and sorcery itself has come a long way since Howard's day, but I always prefer to take artists on an individual basis and somewhat detach them from a big picture to come, and so I have no trouble grinning along and taking all of this happily in stride, excesses and all.
I don't think everyone will love this, and perhaps the joy of reading Howard is a little hard to articulate, but if I've been able to communicate even a part of that through these reviews, I count myself as successful. The man's work stands like a towering monument whose influence spreads far and wide, yet today it seems so few read his work. I don't really know why that is but I suggest it's probably due in part to some of the caveats I mentioned earlier. I think it's important to keep in mind that Howard was a young man living in rural Texas in the '20s and '30s who never got to travel, but whose heart was set aflame by tales of history and imagination, and who feverishly worked for a period of a mere ten years or so, churning out dozens and dozens of stories, most of which contain impeccable action writing and occasionally reach depths of melancholic, mysterious intensity. He died too young. I and I'm sure many other readers often wonder what would have happened had he not blew his brains out at age thirty; had he had the chance to travel the world and see so many of the cultures he wrote about. We'll never know what that would have been like, but in the meantime, we have the stories, and they are marvelous. Read, by Crom!