Matthew Sunrich Presents: Conan the Barbarian 92
Conan the Barbarian #92
By Matthew Sunrich
"How can you kill a thing that is already
dead?"
Both mythology and modern
fiction have myriad lessons to impart, but one of the most prominent is that it's
always a bad idea for the living to mess around with the dead.
Tales from all over
the globe, dating back to humankind's earliest civilizations (The Epic of Gilgamesh, anyone?),
chronicle horrifying encounters between hapless (or just stupid) humans, who
think it's acceptable to disturb a tomb, and the resurrected or reanimated dead,
who are none too happy about it. It's likely that these sorts of stories were
devised to deter grave robbers, since people were frequently interred with the
riches they had enjoyed in life, but outside of that there's just a natural
inclination for the "quick" to fear the deceased (or, at the very
least, be bemused by them).
There are two main
reasons for this. One, they serve as a grim reminder of our own mortality.
(That could be our mummified corpse
inside the display case.) And two, our minds find it difficult to process the
idea that a once-living body is no longer occupied by the life force (whatever
that may be). I personally find the Western funerary ritual to be a bizarre
thing indeed. Do we really need to see a dead body? Does that somehow provide
proof that the person in question has actually, to quote Shakespeare, shuffled
off this mortal coil? How many of you can honestly say that he or she has not
attended a visitation and not expected the corpse to opens its eyes and sit up
in the casket? After all, if the human life force has moved out, might not
something else fill the vacancy?
In any event, if, as
these stories teach us, the dead are the sworn enemies of the living, what is
the source of this animosity? Are the dead merely jealous of the living, or is
it something more complicated than that?
Zombie fiction is
more popular than ever these days, and it's true that many people find the
concept of a mindless, flesh-eating corpse, impelled by some inscrutable force,
to be more terrifying that anything else in the realm of horror. Vampires will
subdue you and drink your blood, but there's an intrinsic, albeit twisted,
romantic element to that, Twilight
notwithstanding.
But zombies?
Nothing romantic there,
man. They'll just devour you (or your brains, depending on your interpretation)
and then move on to their next victim. They're, quite simply, creepy as hell.
There's also the
fact that they're virtually unstoppable.
Conan the Barbarian #92 addresses this very issue. Adapted from
the 1967 short story by L. Sprague de Camp and Lin Carter, "The Thing in
the Crypt" is a straightforward tale of a young Conan who inadvertently
arouses the ire of a centuries-dead king.
Having escaped from
Hyperborean captors, Conan finds himself pursued for two days by a pack of
ravenous wolves across the frozen wastes of the north. Armed with only the
chain that once bound his wrists, the Cimmerian dispatches one of the number,
but the others are undeterred. He finally manages to take refuge in a cleft in the
rocks, which leads into a cave. Fumbling through the gloom, he finds rotten
furniture and an ancient chariot.
Using his survival
instincts and scraps of the materials he has discovered, he manages to get a
fire going. Sensing an evil presence, Conan turns around to behold a huge
mummified corpse reposing on a throne of stone. He's initially unsettled, but when
he notices the sword splayed across its lap, his fears take a back seat to his
need for a weapon. He removes the blade and, finding it very suitable, bellows
the war cry of his people.
Which awakens the corpse.
Utterly nonplussed, Conan
backs away as the thing rises from its chair and shambles toward him. Swinging wildly
with his purloined sword, he finds that his blows do nothing to stop the monster's
approach. A fierce struggle ensues, and even though he takes off one of the
thing's arms and cripples one of its legs, it keeps coming.
Conan has all but
resigned himself to his fate when a lucky kick propels the thing into the fire,
filling the chamber with the stench of ancient flesh. It is finished. The
Cimmerian opts not to sleep in the crypt and, finding that the wolves have
abandoned him, continues on his way.
It's a simple tale,
but I think its simplicity is what makes it work so well. Unlike many of Conan's
adventures, which involve intrigue and/or various warlords vying for control of
some territory or other, the uncomplicated framework of "The Thing in the
Crypt" allows the reader to be easily drawn into the story. Even though
the illustrations provide a visual element that was absent in the original
prose story, I could still feel myself groping my way through the dark tomb,
the floor littered with shards of broken pottery, the air heavy with dust and
iniquity.
Similarly, the
straightforwardness of the story allowed de Camp and Carter to build a fully
realized world around a very basic setting, something that Roy Thomas obviously
recognized the value of and explored. Not being bogged down by details permits
the story to spread its wings, even if they are the wings of some monstrous
primeval bird.
When Conan takes the
sword from the corpse's lap, he ponders whether it might have been used by some
hero from a bygone era, say Atlantis' own Kull the Conqueror, to slay his foes.
What, indeed, is the provenance of the weapon, and while we're at it, who was
the "thing" in life? He appears to have been an unusually tall man,
perhaps a giant, which is interesting because it brings to mind the giants of
Norse myth, which are fixtures in the Hyborian world. Where, exactly, does this
ancient king fit in?
Perhaps the most
important question, though, is why Conan's war cry awakened him. What mechanism
did his ululation activate within its desiccated mind? Food for thought.
John Buscema was
taking a break when this issue came about, so his brother Sal stepped in to
handle the pencils. Sal is a unique artist in the pages of Marvel because his
illustrations are solidly executed yet unremarkable (this is not criticism,
merely observation), which makes them a perfect foundation from which a good
inker can work. In this case, Conan regular Ernie Chan's embellishments are
very effective, making the issue unforgettable.
I think it's safe to say that "The Thing in the Crypt" is a classic in the Conan canon. The original issue isn't that expensive, but it's also reprinted, along with two other tales of Conan's youth, in Conan Saga #75.
I think it's safe to say that "The Thing in the Crypt" is a classic in the Conan canon. The original issue isn't that expensive, but it's also reprinted, along with two other tales of Conan's youth, in Conan Saga #75.
Labels: comics, Conan, Guest Blog, Matt Sunrich, review
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