The Fantasy Fan, Volume 2, Number 5, January 1935: The Fan's Own Magazine

In Short

This publication is a rare artifact of the mid-1930s "fanzine" movement, serving as both a professional newsletter and a creative outlet for fantasy enthusiasts. It functions as a mixture of literary criticism, industry news, original poetry, and spirited correspondence between fans. By providing a platform for voices like H.P. Lovecraft alongside amateur writers, it helped solidify the foundations of modern science fiction and fantasy fandom. Its lasting significance lies in its role as a primary source for understanding how early genre readers organized, debated, and canonized the authors they loved.

The Story

The progression of this issue begins with an editorial directive from Charles D. Hornig, who shifts the publication’s focus away from repetitive reader praise toward a more curated approach. He frames the issue as a "Special Weird Poetry Number," setting an atmospheric tone that carries through the subsequent pages. The narrative arc of the issue itself is one of community building and intellectual exchange. It moves from internal administrative updates—such as the explanation for dropping the "Our Readers Say" column—to robust debates regarding the quality of the "general public," highlighted by a contentious exchange between the editor and an anonymous, self-proclaimed "moron."

The content then transitions into a series of columns that serve as the heartbeat of the genre at the time. Julius Schwartz provides a professional update on the state of the commercial magazine market, detailing upcoming releases and shifting editorial trends at Weird Tales. This provides a factual anchor before the reader is swept into the more theoretical and literary contributions. H.P. Lovecraft’s contribution, the sixteenth part of his survey on supernatural horror in literature, serves as the intellectual centerpiece. He traces the American "weird" tradition from its colonial, Puritan origins through the psychological complexities of Nathaniel Hawthorne. His essay provides the necessary context for the darker, more visceral poetry that follows, including pieces by Duane W. Rimel, Robert E. Howard, and William Lumley.

The middle section of the issue is punctured by brief, often surreal anecdotes and "true experiences," such as a humorous encounter with a "monster" who merely seeks the post office, and a strange observation of light beams in the Massachusetts sky. These vignettes offer a respite from the heavier literary critique. The final act of the issue returns to professional industry discourse. Bob Tucker offers a grim, candid assessment of the failing British science fiction market, while Forrest J. Ackerman and Mortimer Weisinger provide lighter, self-referential anecdotes that emphasize the camaraderie—and occasional rivalries—among those writing for the pulps. The issue concludes not with a resolution, but with a call to action: a reminder to subscribe and a teaser for a "sensational announcement" regarding the future of the magazine. The arc is complete in its intent to sustain a community through shared intellectual labor, ensuring that while the individual issue ends, the collective project continues.

How It Unfolds

The organizational shift The editor announces a departure from standard reader mail columns to favor more substantive fan-led articles. He clarifies the publication’s limitations regarding space and the backlog of submitted material.

The public debate A heated exchange with an anonymous reader over the editor's previous claim regarding public intelligence showcases the combative yet playful nature of the fan community. This beat establishes the personality of the magazine as one that encourages, rather than avoids, confrontation.

The industry pulse News reports on upcoming novelettes, cover art changes, and author health updates ground the reader in the reality of the 1935 literary marketplace. These details reveal the precarious, fast-paced nature of professional genre publishing.

The historical survey Lovecraft delivers an authoritative analysis of the American weird tradition, grounding the genre in colonial anxieties and Puritan morality. This section elevates the magazine from a mere newsletter to a repository of serious literary criticism.

The creative expression A succession of poems and atmospheric pieces explores themes of decay, cosmic dread, and the supernatural. These works provide the aesthetic substance that justifies the publication's existence.

The industry prognosis Final reports on the decline of international science fiction and humorous tales of authorial insecurity wrap the publication in the reality of the trade. The issue concludes with a plea for financial support, underscoring the volunteer-driven nature of the project.

The People

Charles D. Hornig stands as the central architect of the magazine, balancing the roles of a professional editor and a devoted fan. He wants to elevate the quality of discourse, which leads him to censor the repetitive "I liked this" fan mail in favor of more meaningful literary contributions. His resolve against anonymous detractors shows his commitment to the magazine’s identity.

H.P. Lovecraft emerges as the intellectual anchor. He is portrayed not just as an author, but as a historian of the "weird." Through his writing, he seeks to bridge the gap between classic American literature and the modern pulp magazines. His commitment to mapping the evolution of the genre provides a sense of legitimacy to the other writers featured.

Julius Schwartz acts as the diligent reporter, maintaining the link between the fans and the commercial publishing world. He keeps the community informed about the changing landscape of Weird Tales, ensuring the readership remains current with the industry.

Then there is the anonymous "General Public" respondent, who represents the skeptical, outside world looking in. This individual’s challenge to the magazine’s intellectual superiority serves as a foil to Hornig’s elitism, forcing the editor to defend the magazine’s existence. Together, these figures create a dynamic where professional expertise, creative ambition, and raw, amateur enthusiasm collide, shaping the trajectory of the genre.

In Its Own Voice

"America, besides inheriting the usual dark folklore of Europe, had an additional fund of weird associations to draw upon; so that spectral legends had already been recognized as fruitful subject-matter for literature."

Lovecraft contextualizes the roots of the American weird story within a history of colonial isolation.

"Many people have seen freaks and monsters, both in the circus and in their nightmares, especially after a gay night, but this which I tell of happened when I was cold sober, on a crispy winter night in the middle of July."

This introduction sets the stage for a humorous, subverted take on the traditional "true experience" genre of the era.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the attempt to build a coherent literary identity out of what was then considered "disposable" fiction. The contributors are preoccupied with the question of whether the "weird" is a legitimate artistic pursuit or merely a sensationalist trend. By linking the work of pulp writers like Robert E. Howard to the established canon of Nathaniel Hawthorne, the magazine argues that fantasy is a serious, historically rooted genre worthy of intellectual rigor. It explores the tension between the "moronic" general public and a "higher type of intellect" that finds value in the dark, the spectral, and the speculative. Ultimately, it is an argument for the cultural importance of the imagination in an age of grim, everyday struggle.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the history of genre fiction will find this a fascinating, if occasionally challenging, experience. The writing style is distinctly of the mid-1930s: it is verbose, academic, and deeply earnest, reflecting the period's love for expansive, decorative prose. It feels like stepping into a private clubhouse where the members are intensely serious about stories that the rest of the world ignored.

You will encounter period attitudes that can feel jarring—such as the editor’s blunt arrogance toward the general public or the casual, uncritical references to stereotypes of the time. These are not glossed over; they are front and center, serving as a reminder of the era's specific social climate. However, the reward for navigating these artifacts is an authentic look at how a community of enthusiasts built the culture of modern fantasy from the ground up. You see the birth of the fan-critic, the early obsession with canon-building, and the genuine joy of discovery that accompanied every new issue of a pulp magazine. For anyone interested in how "nerd culture" began long before the digital age, this volume offers a poignant, unvarnished, and surprisingly intellectual look at the people who first decided that the weird and the wonderful were worth saving.