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Patrizia's avatar

I forget what years I worked for "Locus," the trade magazine for the English-speaking science fiction and fantasy fields. 1978 & 1979? Maybe.

Fritz Leiber lived at that time in one of the seedier hotels along Van Ness Avenue. Every two weeks or so, my boss Charlie Brown used to call on him to make sure Fritz was more-or-less okay, and as Charlie didn't drive, and most of my "assistant editor" duties consisted of chauffering Charlie around, I got to call on Fritz, too.

I don't remember Fritz as particularly derelict. His bread and butter at the time were his sword and sorcery novels, "Fafhrd and Gray Mouser," which the company that was attempting to commercialize Dungeons and Dragons had incorporated into the game, true, but which were also constantly being optioned for movies that never got made. He had a girlfriend, Margo (Skinner???) She on staff at the SF Chronicle. (Was she a film reviewer? Who can remember now!) She kept a pretty sharp eye on Fritz, too.

What I remember was that Fritz was courtly, charming, erudite. Could speak articulately and fascinatingly on a range of subjects.

He _did_ have a macabre streak. As for example: He was always being sent floral arrangements and gift baskets by various admirers. I recall one particular bouquet—a showy thing with peach-colored roses and a single pomegranate. When I came back two weeks later, the bouquet had deteriorated, but it was still in its place of honor, near his chess books. When I came back two weeks after that, the bouquet was still there, but it was now a thing of horror, Miss Haversham's wedding flowers, perhaps.

"Would you like me to throw this away for you?" I asked.

"Oh, no, my dear," he said in his kindest voice. "Dead flowers are so much more interesting than living flowers. Don't you agree?"

And then he threw back his head and howled with laughter. Even as an aging alcoholic, Fritz Leiber was a handsome man. Very tall. Leonine head. Sculpted features.

I wouldn't say Fritz was a "devotee of H.P. Lovecraft" either (though it 's true a year or so before Lovecraft's death, the 26-year-old Fritz—then a player in his famous father's theater company but trying to break out as a fantasy writer—struck up a correspondence with Lovecraft.) Rather, I would say that Fritz and Lovecraft were both devotees of the Big Bad as exemplified by the ghost stories of, say, M.R. James or Arthur Machen.

For Machen and James, the Big Bad had a classic Dionysian foundation. Lovecraft saw the Big Bad as something from outer space. Fritz was smarter and more imaginative than Lovecraft and saw the Big Bad as a feature inherent in certain landscapes. In his San Francisco novel "Our Lady of Darkness," he conjures a Big Bad he calls "megapolisomancy", which uses the geometries and topographies of large cities to summon malevolent creatures.

Some of that "megapolisomancy" is in "Coming Attractions," too.

Sorry to ramble on at such exhaustive length. But since you enjoy Fritz's work, I thought you might be interested. 😀

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NDDV's avatar

This is high flying, high brow entertainment by two of America’s freest, coolest minds. These weekly installments of intelligent banter translate for me into some kind of salvation. I’ve started to feel like a churchgoer. An underground church for the sub-stacked and the subterraneans.

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