Brown University holds the typed manuscript of “The Nameless City” and has scans of the entire manuscript on the Brown Digital Repository. When I drew nigh the nameless city I knew it was accursed. I was travelling in a parched and terrible valley under the moon, and afar I saw it protruding. When I drew nigh the nameless city I knew it was accursed. I was traveling in a parched and terrible valley under the moon, and afar I saw it.
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The Virtual Library - Free online ebooks in pdf, epub, kindle and other formats. Free ebooks in English, French, The Nameless City. English. Book ID: The Nameless City (The Nameless City, #1). ·. ··4, heading there. A city kid, Rufus quickly loses sight of Penny, but while making his way back. The Nameless City. Home · The Nameless City The Nameless Something · Read more Sara Douglass - The Nameless Day. Read more.
In Hicks's world social and economic inequity have been operative, too. How is it so many cultures come to this city? Political unrest, displacement, forced immigration. Okay, it's not an original theme, exactly, been in the world of kid comics it has some political depth and complexity, and in the process we get to know Kaidu's cool coalition-building kinda Dad, we get to like Kaidu's commitment to books over fighting, we get to like the pretty solid characterizations of gentle and good Kaidu and Rat, and the development of their relationship.
We also get to see the best artwork Hicks has yet done, pretty cartoony and manga-inspired, with the strong lines of a growing master. Maybe inspired a bit this may be just me by the scope and historical and moral vision of Gene Yang's Boxers and Saints, but also with a touch of the swashbuckling action figures of The Last Airbender. The action in The Nameless City has this broader scope. I like memoir more than action comics, but let me give this one credit for being entertaining and ambitious: The action involves an assassination attempt, the development of a young fighting corps and lots of Rat and Kaidu breathlessly running and jumping rooftops there's ultimately purposes for all this movement , and the artwork for all of this movement is great!
Especially since there are political themes that it gets at in the process. Well, I dunno, maybe that doesn't matter, but I'll put my money on her to come through.
Against the choking sand-cloud I plodded toward this temple, which as I neared it loomed larger than the rest, and shewed a doorway far less clogged with caked sand. I would have entered had not the terrific force of the icy wind almost quenched my torch.
It poured madly out of the dark door, sighing uncannily as it ruffled the sand and spread about the weird ruins. Soon it grew fainter and the sand grew more and more still, till finally all was at rest again; but a presence seemed stalking among the spectral stones of the city, and when I glanced at the moon it seemed to quiver as though mirrored in unquiet waters.
I was more afraid than I could explain, but not enough to dull my thirst for wonder; so as soon as the wind was quite gone I crossed into the dark chamber from which it had come. This temple, as I had fancied from the outside, was larger than either of those I had visited before; and was presumably a natural cavern, since it bore winds from some region beyond.
Here I could stand quite upright, but saw that the stones and altars were as low as those in the other temples.
On the walls and roof I beheld for the first time some traces of the pictorial art of the ancient race, curious curling streaks of paint that had almost faded or crumbled away; and on two of the altars I saw with rising excitement a maze of well-fashioned curvilinear carvings.
As I held my torch aloft it seemed to me that the shape of the roof was too regular to be natural, and I wondered what the prehistoric cutters of stone had first worked upon.
Their engineering skill must have been vast. Then a brighter flare of the fantastic flame shewed me that for which I had been seeking, the opening to those remoter abysses whence the sudden wind had blown; and I grew faint when I saw that it was a small and plainly artificial door chiselled in the solid rock.
I thrust my torch within, beholding a black tunnel with the roof arching low over a rough flight of very small, numerous, and steeply descending steps. I shall always see those steps in my dreams, for I came to learn what they meant.
At the time I hardly knew whether to call them steps or mere foot-holds in a precipitous descent. My mind was whirling with mad thoughts, and the words and warnings of Arab prophets seemed to float across the desert from the lands that men know to the nameless city that men dare not know.
Yet I hesitated only a moment before advancing through the portal and commencing to climb cautiously down the steep passage, feet first, as though on a ladder. It is only in the terrible phantasms of drugs or delirium that any other man can have had such a descent as mine.
The narrow passage led infinitely down like some hideous haunted well, and the torch I held above my head could not light the unknown depths toward which I was crawling. I lost track of the hours and forgot to consult my watch, though I was frightened when I thought of the distance I must be traversing.
The place was not high enough for kneeling. After that were more of the steep steps, and I was still scrambling down interminably when my failing torch died out. I do not think I noticed it at the time, for when I did notice it I was still holding it high above me as if it were ablaze.
I was quite unbalanced with that instinct for the strange and the unknown which has made me a wanderer upon earth and a haunter of far, ancient, and forbidden places. In the darkness there flashed before my mind fragments of my cherished treasury of daemoniac lore; sentences from Alhazred the mad Arab, paragraphs from the apocryphal nightmares of Damascius, and infamous lines from the delirious Image du Monde of Gauthier de Metz.
Once when the descent grew amazingly steep I recited something in sing-song from Thomas Moore until I feared to recite more: I could not quite stand, but could kneel upright, and in the dark I shuffled and crept hither and thither at random. I soon knew that I was in a narrow passage whose walls were lined with cases of wood having glass fronts.
As in that Palaeozoic and abysmal place I felt of such things as polished wood and glass I shuddered at the possible implications. The cases were apparently ranged along each side of the passage at regular intervals, and were oblong and horizontal, hideously like coffins in shape and size.
When I tried to move two or three for further examination, I found they were firmly fastened. I saw that the passage was a long one, so floundered ahead rapidly in a creeping run that would have seemed horrible had any eye watched me in the blackness; crossing from side to side occasionally to feel of my surroundings and be sure the walls and rows of cases still stretched on.
Man is so used to thinking visually that I almost forgot the darkness and pictured the endless corridor of wood and glass in its low-studded monotony as though I saw it.
And then in a moment of indescribable emotion I did see it. Just when my fancy merged into real sight I cannot tell; but there came a gradual glow ahead, and all at once I knew that I saw the dim outlines of the corridor and the cases, revealed by some unknown subterranean phosphorescence. For a little while all was exactly as I had imagined it, since the glow was very faint; but as I mechanically kept on stumbling ahead into the stronger light I realised that my fancy had been but feeble.
This hall was no relic of crudity like the temples in the city above, but a monument of the most magnificent and exotic art. Rich, vivid, and daringly fantastic designs and pictures formed a continuous scheme of mural painting whose lines and colours were beyond description. The cases were of a strange golden wood, with fronts of exquisite glass, and contained the mummified forms of creatures outreaching in grotesqueness the most chaotic dreams of man. To convey any idea of these monstrosities is impossible.
They were of the reptile kind, with body lines suggesting sometimes the crocodile, sometimes the seal, but more often nothing of which either the naturalist or the palaeontologist ever heard.
In size they approximated a small man, and their fore legs bore delicate and evidently flexible feet curiously like human hands and fingers. But strangest of all were their heads, which presented a contour violating all known biological principles.
To nothing can such things be well compared—in one flash I thought of comparisons as varied as the cat, the bulldog, the mythic Satyr, and the human being. Not Jove himself had so colossal and protuberant a forehead, yet the horns and the noselessness and the alligator-like jaw placed the things outside all established categories.
I debated for a time on the reality of the mummies, half suspecting they were artificial idols; but soon decided they were indeed some palaeogean species which had lived when the nameless city was alive. To crown their grotesqueness, most of them were gorgeously enrobed in the costliest of fabrics, and lavishly laden with ornaments of gold, jewels, and unknown shining metals.
The importance of these crawling creatures must have been vast, for they held first place among the wild designs on the frescoed walls and ceiling.
With matchless skill had the artist drawn them in a world of their own, wherein they had cities and gardens fashioned to suit their dimensions; and I could not but think that their pictured history was allegorical, perhaps shewing the progress of the race that worshipped them.
These creatures, I said to myself, were to the men of the nameless city what the she-wolf was to Rome, or some totem-beast is to a tribe of Indians. Holding this view, I thought I could trace roughly a wonderful epic of the nameless city; the tale of a mighty sea-coast metropolis that ruled the world before Africa rose out of the waves, and of its struggles as the sea shrank away, and the desert crept into the fertile valley that held it.
I saw its wars and triumphs, its troubles and defeats, and afterward its terrible fight against the desert when thousands of its people—here represented in allegory by the grotesque reptiles—were driven to chisel their way down through the rocks in some marvellous manner to another world whereof their prophets had told them.
It was all vividly weird and realistic, and its connexion with the awesome descent I had made was unmistakable. I even recognised the passages.
Now that the light was better I studied the pictures more closely, and, remembering that the strange reptiles must represent the unknown men, pondered upon the customs of the nameless city. The Complete Fiction collectible edition. The Complete Cthulhu Mythos Tales. Fall River Press, The Complete Fiction of H. Lovecraft slipcased. Race Point Publishing, The New Annotated H. Liveright Publishing Corporation-W.
Hippocampus Press, The Complete Cthulhu Mythos Tales collectible edition. Chartwell Books, The H. Lovecraft Collection: Classic Tales of Cosmic Horror.
Arcturus Publishing Limited, The Call of Cthulhu and Other Stories.