She was a creature of the wildest paradox, this warrior lady of Joiry, hot as a red coal, chill as steel, satiny of body and iron of soul. The set of her chin was firm, but her mouth betrayed a tenderness she would have died before admitting. But she was raging now.
Before Red Sonja and before Xena inflamed the imagination of teenage boys with their skimpy outfits and their curvaceous bodies, there was a true mail-clad, sword swinging warrior maid that should have taken the sword & sorcery genre by storm... and she did made quite a splash, with some very good novellas published in the pulp magazines of the 1930s. Jirel of Joiry is mostly forgotten today, which is a pity because I believe C. L. Moore is just as good as her contemporaries Robert E. Howard and H. P. Lovecraft, with whom she shares some sensibilities to violent, dark and weird themes.
So, who is this lady Jirel? She controls a castle and a mercenary band in medieval France / Burgundy in the year 1500. She leads the battle from the front and refuses to be a modest and obedient servant to the powerful men of her age.
Something her neighbour Guillaume will learn to his own sorrow when he tries to kiss a captive Jirel without asking for her permission first.
Guillaume scarcely heard her. He was still staring, as most men stared when they first set eyes upon Jirel of Joiry. She was tall as most men, and as savage as the wildest of them, and the fall of Joiry was bitter enough to break her heart as she stood snarling curses up at her tall conqueror. The face above her mail might not have been fair in a woman’s head-dress, but in the steel setting of her armor it had a biting, sword-edged beauty as keen as a flash of blades. The red hair was short upon her high, defiant head, and the yellow blaze of her eyes held fury as a crucible holds fire.
And so we start on our journey on this collection that gathers in one volume all the separate stories featuring Jirel that were published in the pulps:
Black God’s Kiss [1934]
Jirel descends into Hell in search of a weapon against Guillaume, the handsome bastard who defeated her in battle and now thinks he can claim her body as his prize: ... she had wanted him to understand what it cost to take Jirel’s kiss unbidden.
Jirel’s passage alone into the underworld is filled with both real and imaginary nightmares, her only strength against them being the white hot anger against the abuser and her steel determination not to go down without a fight.
Black God’s Shadow [1934]
After exacting her revenge, Jirel is haunted by the ghost of the man she sent down into Hell. So she descends once again the secret stairs to the dark world beneath her castle, to fight once again the Black God, this time for the soul of her former tormentor.
She sobbed on, knowing herself in hopeless conflict with the vastness of death and oblivion, a tiny spark of warmth and life fighting vainly against the dark engulfing it; the perishable spark, struggling against inevitable extinction. For the black god was all death and nothingness, and the powers he drew upon were without limit – and all she had to fight him with was the flicker within her called life.
Jirel Meets Magic [1935]
Jirel might be a force to be reckoned with when in full armour and riding a war horse through the broken gates of a besieged castle, but she can do little against wizardry as she is tricked into jumping through a magic portal and into a world controlled by sorcerers Giraud and Jarisme.
She saw jagged black mountains with purple dawns rising behind them and stars in unknown figures across the dark skies; she saw gray seas flat and motionless beneath gray clouds; she saw smooth meadows rolling horizonward under the glare of double suns. All these and many more awoke to the magic of Jarisme’s flute, and melted away to others.
Once again, only Jirel’s fiery heart and steel resolution will carry her through this shape-shifting reality.
The Dark Land [1936]
Jirel lies dying in her castle after receiving a grievous wound in battle, when she is pulled by a vortex of fire before a giant statue sitting on a black throne in yet another land of darkness. Then the statue starts speaking. It seems that her previous exploits in the underworld have brought her to the attention of Pav, king of Romne, who wants to make Jirel his wife.
“Strong you may be, but not as strong as I, Jirel of Joiry, and when I command, henceforth obey!”
“Never touch me again, you black hell-dweller! Before God, you’d never have dared if you’d left me a knife to defend myself with! I swear I’ll tear the eyes out of your head if I feel the weight of your hand on me again! Yours, you filthy wizard? You’ll never have me – never, if I must die to escape you! By my name I swear it!”
This Pav should have paid better attention to those previous adventures: no man can ‘command’ this early feminist icon to obedience, no amount of magic can break Jirel’s determination to be the sole master of her body and soul.
Quest of the Starstone [1937]
Jirel of Joiry joins forces with the other signature pulp hero of C. L. Moore: Northwest Smith, gunslinger and vagabond among the stars. Together, they must fight a powerful wizard in his own realm for possession of a magic talisman.
Jirel, the warrior-maid of Joiry, leaped through the splintered ruins, dashing the red hair from her eyes, grinning with exertion, gripping her two-edged sword.
A more straightforward sword & sorcery fare, with a dash of early planetary romance, than the previous supernatural horror stories.
Hellsgarde [1939]
Jirel goes alone to a haunted castle, searching for a cursed treasure that she needs to exchange for the life of some of her mercenaries captured in battle: It was not unfitting – dead men guarding a dead castle in the barren deadlands of the swamp.
An example of saving the best story for last, although I liked the rest of the collection well enough.
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The stories are maybe not the most original I’ve read in the genre, and the prose does shift towards the colour purple, but Jirel is a truly memorable character. In almost all her adventures, Jirel is alone and has to rely only on her wits and on her will. Rarely her problems can be solved by the double-edge of her sword, especially when they are of a magical nature or crushing her with existential dread.
Her independence, her self-reliance and her refusal to use her beauty as an argument single Jirel out from the subsequent crop of pin-up ‘bad’ girls that pose in the comic books in particular.
The closest scion of Jirel, a warrior-maid leading a mercenary band and fighting against supernatural forces I encountered in a book that I’ve read many years ago: Ash: A Secret History by Mary Gentle.