Page:Fantastic Volume 08 Number 01.djvu/5



Doing a little homework the other day, we were browsing through some back issues of those two never-to-be-forgotten great magazines in the fantasy field—Weird Tales and Unknown, now both unfortunately defunct. (It is pleasant to imagine that Unknown is perhaps existing in some impossible but strictly logical un-world in non-space; and that Weird is comfortably at rest in a mouldering coffin in some unhallowed ground, with a few choice and hungry rats to keep it company.)

There were giants in the field, in those days! And the odd part of things is that, while science-fiction has improved and attracted brilliant new writers by the satellite-full, fantasy has not. Some of the old masters still practice the black art; and some new ones have graduated with highest honors. But where are the successors to Lovecraft, Machen, Poe and Bierce?

In recent years there has been, I fear, a growing tendency to be embarrassed about fantasy—as if it had no place in the world of real things. (Yet the world of real things, today, is incredibly fantastic!) And the literature of fantasy has suffered. It has been prostituted variously to coyness, cuteness, gothic-ness; it has sometimes sneaked around in the guise of science-fiction in hope of being accepted as "just one of the boys," instead of as "the queer one."

Well, it is my feeling that it is about time for fantasy to come right out and stand up on its own two feet (or three or five, if necessary). And it also is my feeling that a magazine which honestly tried to give its readers unabashed fantasy—well-conceived and well-written—would be met with glad huzzas by hordes of readers.

We'd like to try to do just that in future issues of Fantastic—if you agree. May we have your opinions?— 5