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Imagination, v. 1, issue 3, whole no. 3, December 1937
Page 4
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4 EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEWS by Henry Kuttner. E. HOFFMAN Price "Have some goulash" said E. Hoffman Price. E. stands for Edgar. I had luncht lightly on a pint of blood & a corpse's leg--a tough one at that--so I had some goulash. I had been dri-ving for hrs. Now, in Price's home overlooking Redwood City, a repulsive little vil-lage on San Francsisco Bay, I peerd thru a film of goulash & observd "How long have you been writing?" "Yrs" he said. "Remember 'The Sultan's Jest'? That was my first yarn." Or maybe it was "Apricots from Isapahan". I don't remember. "I love goulash" I said. "How about 'The Stranger from Kurdistan'?" This is perhaps Price's most famous yarn, which ran in Weird Tales back in 1926 or 1927. "My 3d. I sold it to Wright, who didn't publish it for about a yr, & during that yr I don't think I sold him any-thing. He wasn't sure my stuff would go over with the roaders. Then 'The Stranger' was printed, & it got such a good response that he bought plenty from me after that." "You're not writing weird fiction now?" "No" he observd. "Can't afford to. Ad-venture is much more profitable. Some more goulash?" He lifted the cat from the plat-ter & ladled out more goulash. Price's cat is a strange creature. It isn't his, really, belonging next door, but it creeps into his house at every opportunity & steals food. It is a huge brindled affair, whicht leapt on my lap & thrust its tail into my face. I pickt myself up from the floor & resumed the goulash. Frankly, I prefer Price's own cat, a serious looking black, who eyes the world wearily & scorn-fully from its cushion. Edgar Hoffman Price is a medium sized chap who reminds me of a dynamo. He is so full of inexhaustible energy that one expects him to burst in your face. He has a stiff ruff of dark brown hair, a bristling moustache, has traveld ra-ther extensively, & is fond of taking motor trips to Hell & back. Recently he went to Mexico, or maybe that wasn't recently. At any rate, he went to Mexico, because he mentioned getting maroond on a mt rd by a landslide. He works very quickly, averaging about 2 cigarets a pg. In fact, he knockt out a 9,000 word yarn in one day while I was there. He has acquired a reputation for fast & reckless driving, tho I don't know why, for when we went to Auburn only 7 pedestrians were maimd, & none of them died. At Auburn we threaded our way thru pastures, following something laffingly calld a rd, & arrived at P(?) A(shton?) Smith's home. I was a little perturbd, I must con-fess, by the curious noises that appeard to come from far underground, & by the loathsomely shaped white objects which occasionly wriggled across our path. Nor was I reassured when Price informd me of the tales about a leprously shining wingd thing that sometimes percht on the great oak beneath which Smith writes. Also, there were certain ft-prints--but better not to speak of that... Smith is somewhat similar to Price in appearance, tho serious & quiet. He has been known to emit ghoulish cackles whilst devouring small children, &, in fact, there are very few small children in Auburn, a rather odd circumstance. Smith has a cat, which eats rats when it can find any. But after hearing it make a number of unpleasant personal observations in a squeaky but undeniably hum-an tone, I studiously avoided it.
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4 EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEWS by Henry Kuttner. E. HOFFMAN Price "Have some goulash" said E. Hoffman Price. E. stands for Edgar. I had luncht lightly on a pint of blood & a corpse's leg--a tough one at that--so I had some goulash. I had been dri-ving for hrs. Now, in Price's home overlooking Redwood City, a repulsive little vil-lage on San Francsisco Bay, I peerd thru a film of goulash & observd "How long have you been writing?" "Yrs" he said. "Remember 'The Sultan's Jest'? That was my first yarn." Or maybe it was "Apricots from Isapahan". I don't remember. "I love goulash" I said. "How about 'The Stranger from Kurdistan'?" This is perhaps Price's most famous yarn, which ran in Weird Tales back in 1926 or 1927. "My 3d. I sold it to Wright, who didn't publish it for about a yr, & during that yr I don't think I sold him any-thing. He wasn't sure my stuff would go over with the roaders. Then 'The Stranger' was printed, & it got such a good response that he bought plenty from me after that." "You're not writing weird fiction now?" "No" he observd. "Can't afford to. Ad-venture is much more profitable. Some more goulash?" He lifted the cat from the plat-ter & ladled out more goulash. Price's cat is a strange creature. It isn't his, really, belonging next door, but it creeps into his house at every opportunity & steals food. It is a huge brindled affair, whicht leapt on my lap & thrust its tail into my face. I pickt myself up from the floor & resumed the goulash. Frankly, I prefer Price's own cat, a serious looking black, who eyes the world wearily & scorn-fully from its cushion. Edgar Hoffman Price is a medium sized chap who reminds me of a dynamo. He is so full of inexhaustible energy that one expects him to burst in your face. He has a stiff ruff of dark brown hair, a bristling moustache, has traveld ra-ther extensively, & is fond of taking motor trips to Hell & back. Recently he went to Mexico, or maybe that wasn't recently. At any rate, he went to Mexico, because he mentioned getting maroond on a mt rd by a landslide. He works very quickly, averaging about 2 cigarets a pg. In fact, he knockt out a 9,000 word yarn in one day while I was there. He has acquired a reputation for fast & reckless driving, tho I don't know why, for when we went to Auburn only 7 pedestrians were maimd, & none of them died. At Auburn we threaded our way thru pastures, following something laffingly calld a rd, & arrived at P(?) A(shton?) Smith's home. I was a little perturbd, I must con-fess, by the curious noises that appeard to come from far underground, & by the loathsomely shaped white objects which occasionly wriggled across our path. Nor was I reassured when Price informd me of the tales about a leprously shining wingd thing that sometimes percht on the great oak beneath which Smith writes. Also, there were certain ft-prints--but better not to speak of that... Smith is somewhat similar to Price in appearance, tho serious & quiet. He has been known to emit ghoulish cackles whilst devouring small children, &, in fact, there are very few small children in Auburn, a rather odd circumstance. Smith has a cat, which eats rats when it can find any. But after hearing it make a number of unpleasant personal observations in a squeaky but undeniably hum-an tone, I studiously avoided it.
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