A shorter and more sombre piece today, specifically to mark the centenary of the death of writer William Hope Hodgson (15th November 1877 – 17th April 1918). Many listeners will know that Hope Hodgson was a huge influence on me in my teens, and continues to be so as I write these days. Without family or collegiate precedents, Hope Hodgson embarked on a literary career which produced some of the most striking weird fiction of his time, work which still has a powerful impact today.
“…In (his) three novels, in The Night Land, and in some of his short stories, he showed a mastery of the bizarre, the mysterious, the terrible that has not often been equalised outside the pages of Edgar Allan Poe.”
Arthur St. John Adcock, journalist, poet and later editor of The Bookman
Coming before H P Lovecraft and the Weird Tales circle, he produced tales of both cosmic and maritime horror, along with brooding poetry and, unexpectedly, perhaps the first ‘true’ occult detective in literature, Carnacki the Ghost Finder. His work has been re-published many times and in many languages; occasional ‘lost’ poems have been found over the years, and we have frequently featured contemporary writers who have been inspired by Hope Hodgson, drawn directly on his themes, or produced skillful pastiches to expand his worlds.
As this is the 17th April, and thus the anniversary of the day he fell during a bombardment, we’re not going to drift into lengthy commentary here. Over the next few weeks, we’ll be running a number of Hope Hodgson pieces on greydogtales.com, but today we simply remember him. This edited entry from Great War Lives Lost summarises the man:
Wednesday 17th April 1918
Lieutenant William Hope Hodgson (Royal Field Artillery) is killed by a mortar shell at age 40. He is the son of the late Reverend Samuel Hodgson and is a… writer and author. He produced a large body of work, consisting mostly of short stories and novels, spanning several overlapping genres including horror, fantastic fiction and science fiction. Early in his writing career he dedicated effort to poetry, although few of his poems were published during his lifetime. He also attracted some notice as a photographer. Born 15th November 1877 in Blackmore End, Essex Hodgson ran away to sea at the age of thirteen and eventually served in the Merchant Marine. In 1898 he was awarded the Royal Humane Society medal for saving another sailor who had fallen overboard in shark-infested waters After a bodybuilding business venture failed he decided to support himself by writing. Two of his most noted works, “The Voice in the Night” and “The Boats of the Glen Carrig”, are based on his experiences at sea, and much of his work is set aboard ships or features seafaring characters.
More details of some of the tragic losses on that day and during the war can be found on their website: https://greatwarliveslost.com/2018/04/16/wednesday-17-april-1918-we-lost-1292/
From his poem ‘Bring Out Your Dead’:
And I, am I guiltless? What shall I cry
When the Trumpets thunder across the sky
To know what soul I have caused to die;
Ah, then, O People, then must I
Bring out my Dead! Bring out my Dead!
You can read the full text of the poem on Sam Gafford‘s excellent WHH site: https://williamhopehodgson.wordpress.com/2014/04/30/bring-out-your-dead-a-poem/
So today we remember him, and all of those who have drawn on his work as writers or artists, and who have marvelled at his work as readers. Out you go, old fellow.