Each October, I try to read a bunch of books with a particular horror subtheme; this year (2023), the theme was water-adjacent horror. This is one of the books I read for that. Here's what I thought:
Premise: The book is a collection of more or less every sea-located short story Hodgson—early 20th century bodybuilder, photographer, and writer—ever wrote, or at least the ones that weren't put into the first and second volume of his works put out by Night Shade Books. It's about 480 pages, including one novella and 29 short stories. And of that set, “The Riven Night,” “The Habitants of Middle Islet,” “Demons of the Sea,” “The Real Thing: 'S.O.S.',” “The Haunted Pampero,” “The Stone Ship,” “the Derelict,” “The Voice in the Night,” “A Tropical Horror,” and the lead novella The Ghost Pirates are outright supernatural. Still, I read them all.
Characters. It's not that there aren't characters here, but there are so many and they're all of stock types that listing doesn't seem too productive. There's the brave captain, the bully captain, the old hand, the uber-competent working class sailor, and, occasionally, a woman, whose presence is entirely defined by some male character. Every now and then, there's a scientist or scholar who finds more than they've bargained for, and a tricky ordinary sailor who bamboozles a less worthy captain or officer.
Instead, I'm going to pick and briefly describe five of the horror-related stories.
The Ghost Pirates. Beings from another dimension phase a ship out of our reality and start picking off the crew, one by one. It's a pretty heady idea for a story from 1909!
“The Voice in the Night.” A ship come across a voice in the night, who relates to the sailors a story of a strange lichen that transforms anyone who gets too close to it.
“Out of the Storm.” There's no supernatural element here, but in some ways, it's the most horrific story of all: two men receive a telegraph from a ship sinking in a storm, and the author relates what it's like to face certain death.
“The Stone Ship.” Sailors at sea come across a floating stone ship, and decide to come aboard and explore. The stone ship's inhabitants do not like visitors.
“The Haunted Pampero.” Were-shark!
'”The Habitants of Middle Islet.” When his friend's fiancee's ship goes missing, the narrator goes on an expedition to find it—and they find it abandoned and empty on a small island. They go further inland to seek out the would-be shipwrecked, and find something else, and worse.
Are there red skies in morning? Oh yes. Admittedly, reading them all one after other diminishes the overall effect a lot. If anyone reading this ever attempts something similar, I'd recommend spacing them out a lot, or sticking to the works I highlighted. But that aside, these are quintessential ocean-based horror stories. Lots of strange monsters, ghosts, and despair at an unforgiving environment. And honestly, there's a good balance too—I think mixing in the more adventure-based stories keeps the proceedings from getting too bogged down in one tone or another. It does drag on a bit towards the end; 400+ pages of short stories is a lot of short stories.
Is it Spooky? Yes again. If you look up responses to Hodgson by his contemporaries, you'll find a lot of Lovecraft endorsements, and that makes sense; a lot of Hodgson's more horror-related tone seems to have an influence on Lovecraft. There's a keen sense of dread in these stories, to the point that in some cases, when and if the monster surfaces, there's a sense of relief. It's not perfect, and reading them all at once instead of spread over years and years of Hodgson's career reveals a tendency to return to the same tropes, sometimes literally telling the same stories but with a few of the details changed. And the racialized elements don't age particularly well. But in general, the horror is definitely there.
Is it Halloween? Yes again, though less certainly so than the other two. The supernatural stories tend to have a very specific nascent cosmic horror approach to them, and the tone that follows. It's very atmospheric but arguably not very fun. The narrators tend to be a dour lot, which is understandable given their circumstances. On the other hand, that's where the balance I referred to comes in. The scary stories are well-mixed with fun stories about crew rebelling against bullying captains, or noble sailors fighting off would-be mutineers or German navies. There's definitely a spooky adventure mix, with even an occasional bit of humour, and that's how I tend to define this category.
Quotation: (from “Out of the Storm”) “Oh! God, art Thou indeed God? Canst Thou sit above and watch calmy that which I have just seen? Nay! Thou art not God! Thou art weak and puny beside this foul Thing which Thou didst create in Thy lusty youth. It is now God—and I am one of its children. ... On the forecastle, I saw a mother and her little son clinging to an iron rail. ... Then the Mother stooped and bit like a foul beast at the hand of her wee son. She was afraid that his little additional weight would be more than she could hold. I heard his scream even where I stood—it drove to me upon the wild laughter. It told me again that God is not He, but It.”
Random Thoughts:
--This isn't the first appearance of Hodgson in my Halloween romps; I read The House on the Borderland for the year I read Haunted House stories. None of these stories are quite that trippy, not even The Ghost Pirates. That said, they're probably much more accessible over all.
--Towards the later works, there are two stories that take a more patriotic direction, with English sailors fighting off German submarines and vessels. It's interesting how quick both stories are to portray the Germans as fundamentally more sneaky but less clever than their English counterparts.
--”The Regeneration of Captain Bully Keller” is the story of a retired boxer attempting to morally reform a notoriously bullying captain. It's clear pretty early in the story that yes, this boxer is absolutely going to thrash this bully. But Hodgson build towards it slowly, including the boxer's apprehension with getting dragged back towards violence, a largely false Christian conversion for the bully, and the boxer's promise to his wife to never hit anyone again. It's the same sort of skill in rising story that shows in his horror work, only applied to comedy instead. It suggests a pretty good versatility on his part.
--Likewise, “Jack Grey, Second Mate” shows a high level of generic flexibility in Hodgson; it's an adventure romance, albeit a highly violent one, where a female upper class passenger grows increasingly close to the rugged second mate, until they eventually have to hold back/fight a crew of two dozen mutineers. Kind of Titanic meets the Raid in 1910 sort of vibes.
--Like Hodgson, I married later in life. Unlike Hodgson, unless things go very differently than expected this year, I don't see enlisting in the army at age 40.
--As alluded to previously, Hodgson is an equal opportunist when it comes to class: there's bullying captains who deserve to be robbed, overthrown, or both; there's scurrilous sailor mutineers who meet their end at the second mate's guns. I suspect his overall stance is more the familiar British one, where moral decay is inevitable if the upper classes aren't properly executing their responsibilities.
--Most of the stories are very, very white, with all the characters rooted in British origin. It's not that there aren't non-British sailors in the crew, so much that they don't warrant any mentioning except in passing. The primary exception to this is a later story, “The Sharks of the St. Elmo.” The plot is that a ship has a secret cargo in the hold that none of the sailors are allowed to see, and the ship is being followed by a shiver of sharks. The crew is getting suspicious, and the captain and first mate are very evasive. What's eventually found is that the compartment is full of drugged Chinese dissidents who had fled to San Francisco; the captain was being paid to return them to China, presumably to their deaths. Instead, the crew—which Hodgson is plain to mention, also contains Chinese crewmen—lets them go. I'm not sure what's going on here exactly, but the shark swarm in particular gives it a weird orientalist kind of sense.
Verdict: 100 out of 10 grogs of ale paid to wet the tongue of an old sea dog recounting tales from his life on the waves