Not to put too
fine a point on it, Jena-Luc Godard’s 60s films have an athletic womanly grace
to die for. Literally in Made In USA, where Karina survives a
treacherous state secret by sanguinely shooting those she deems her enemies.
Such savage
grace is to die for; or simply romantic love. Romance is the active female form
– the fencing socialite Helene in Mundy’s Tros of Samothrace (Hyborian
Bridge 18.) Howard seems to be one of the pioneers of American romance – as
well as heroic fantasy – and his women are lusty and as morally powerful as the
men.
The athleticism
has a darkness – that of blood – so the fertility is tinged with the hunt;
Diana bounding, bow in hand, hounds baying under the ivory moon. It is the
darkness of savagery – common to both Kull and Brule – rather than the obscene
darkness that hides behind the masks of the languid smile. Such was Kamula, the
city of pleasure in Black Abyss.
The scent of
rare incense filled the air from hanging censers of silver openwork and all
about lay evidence of a high culture gone lax and soft, degenerate, weak,
hovering on the brink of decay. (page
54)
Kamula’s is a
serpentine palace of
undulating,
curving halls wherein were niched alabaster statuary and great jade urns of
flowers
where “even
the men stank of perfume”. At least Brule feels free to spit on the “rose-strewn
marble flags” as at an honest banqueting hall. But the blackness at the
core of Kamula holds more than a trace of The Shadow Kingdom, where the
phrase is spoken,
“The – snake –
that – speaks”
There is a
hellish intelligence glinting behind serpentine eyes, and what Kull and Brule
stumble on in Kamula is the sad spectacle of insane joy at such macabre
worship.
For they stumble
on the apparently fey nobility disrobed and capering in “loathsome obscene
joy”. The longueur and seemingly civilized veneer of Kamula bears more than
a semblance of Euripides - Hyborian
Bridge 62/2.
Taligaro, the pampered, silken, languid poet.. crouched like an animal,
naked, slimed with sweat, piping like a mad bacchante, grovelling before a
heathen altar! (page 59)
And the naked dancing girl, Zareta is worshipping nothing more than a
monstrous, oozing worm which seems to hold the spark of inhuman intellect in
its appalling orbs.
Unlike the cities of the south, luxury-loving Kamula seems to have no military
code and is steeped in a slumber almost akin to death. This merely hides a
Dionysian reality of inhuman lust.
The disrobed nobles are easy prey to the “luxury-despising primitive”
Brule – and blood spurts. From that one grasps the divide between the darkness of
savagery – blood – and the inhuman worship of darkness.
While the dancing girl Zareta whirls in nude rapture, Kull’s blood is
stirred. But when he sees what writhes on the altar his blood is stirred in
another way.
This is the savage fertility of moral action. The girl is not always an
innocent, and the athletic darkness of the hero must strike with moral force.
The savage fertility of Man the hunter is his protection against the forces of
necromancy and inhuman, serpentine intellect.
What I mean is there is really a feminine aspect to this, and woman is
the object of fertility. As I’ve been trying to suggest, the dainty aspects of
nature are frequently found in Howard’s prose; the strong and the dainty are
often found together – as in By This Axe I Rule (prev.)
Unlike Kamula where longueur reigns, the dainty sights of nature are
bright and bold and speak of gay girls dancing with sprightly abandon – to no
devil-tune.
The female side, at one level Daphne - sweet repose - at another Diana - blood
and sweat – are an aspect of Howard that combats the overly masculine
stereotype.
Illustrations are a good example of what I mean by that.
The Achilleos cover has strong curves, the bronzed shoulder-armor, and
just the shaft of the axe to break-up the curves of shields and limbs. It has a
heroic aesthetic of limber grace harking to Frank Frazetta, who is known for
his lissom beauties. It is masculine and feminine together.
Of course, BWS is known for his curvaceous lines.
As a counter-example, I came across Conan and Kull artist Jason Sweet.
Which I would term masculine and photo-realistic, rather than the line
which moves with grace and abandon.
