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	# 2025-04-02 - Pan's Garden by Algernon Blackwood

	Algernon Blackwood portrait

	I recently discovered this author online while searching for
	something else. I browsed his books on Project Gutenberg and The
	Internet Archive, and felt drawn to the title Pan's Garden.

	Once in a distant grotto i chanced upon a devotee of Pan and we had
	long conversation. I remember him describing how Greeks would open
	festivals with an invocation of Pan in order to energize the
	participants. He explained that the word "panic" stems from Pan's
	chaotic nature.

	> At parties, panic was said to descend upon a crowd when Pan began
	> to lead the dance. The party would get into full swing and the
	> crowd leap and dance in a more uncivilized way.

	Algernon Blackwood's friends called him by the nickname Pan. This
	gives special meaning to this book's title. Below is a biographical
	article where Algernon tells the story of how he became an author.

	# Personal Portrait of Algernon Blackwood by Walter Tittle

	I stood on the terrace of a Kentish country house watching for the
	arrival of guests for a house-party. Conspicuous among them was a
	very tall man to whom might well be applied the expression "rangey."
	His lean, bronzed face was as dark as that of an American Indian, and
	afforded a startling contrast to his pale-blue eyes. There was a
	mournful look about his face in repose, and a development of the
	lines of character that made him look like an actor. His smile
	revealed strong white teeth, again in sharp contrast to his dark
	skin. A more thoroughly English type one could hardly imagine.

	At first glance I thought him almost ugly; after the smile I thought
	him so ugly as to be handsome. In a short time I was convinced that
	he was an unusually good-looking chap, and am sure that women would
	be astonished at the former and share the latter view. His friends
	call him by the nickname "Pan," our "rangey" friend being Mr.
	Algernon Blackwood, novelist, and author of "Pan's Garden."

	I have said that he looks like an actor. In our party was also a
	famous actor who might from his appearance, have been a literary man;
	and, as an exception to prove the rule that rules are mostly
	exceptions, a well-known poet who looked like a poet. A prominent
	publisher and a Russian Minister of the Kerensky régime were also of
	this consistently interesting assemblage, and at luncheon Mr.
	Blackwood was of the gayest in his contributions to the table-talk.

	Coffee on the terrace was followed by a stroll in the park, which
	ended at the tennis courts, and here was at least one explanation of
	Mr. Blackwood's complexion. Other good players were there, but he
	was by far the best. His technique with the racket and the ease with
	which he covered the court were a pleasure to see.

	My pencil would not have crept in as an interruption to this pleasant
	party had it not been for the activity of Henry Ainley, whom I have
	mentioned anonymously before. He arranged the thing on both sides;
	so, after a dip in the pool and tea in the shadow of a large "monkey
	tree," Mr. Blackwood and I repaired to my room. He still wore his
	tennis togs, with shirt open at the throat.

	"Don't you want me to put on a regular collar?" he asked. I
	succeeded in preventing the change on the plea that the present
	arrangement better suited my scheme of composition.

	"I'll print this sketch and write a few things about you. So now is
	the time to protect yourself. What shall I say?"

	He smiled rather sheepishly. "I always feel foolish and speechless
	when I have a request like this. But if you'll give me a bit of time
	I'll be able to say something. Now, let me see--I might tell you
	something about my life and how I happened to start writing."

	The story that followed was varied and interesting. As a young man
	he went to Canada and engaged in farming; and then joined in the rush
	for the Rainy River goldfields. Failing to find fortune there, he
	tried his hand unsuccessfully at running a hotel, and in the
	dried-milk business. New York lured him then, and here he learned
	the meaning of real poverty. During a period of about two years he
	lived in the meanest of lodging and boarding houses, supporting
	himself by posing, when possible, for artists. "Dana Gibson used me
	from time to time, as did Arthur Keller, and many of the old-timers.
	I finally got a precarious job as reporter on the staff of the /Sun/,
	and later the /Times/, where I had as my companions young chaps who,
	like myself, ate and slept according to their luck or ability in
	finding space-filling material. If one of us happened to be out of
	luck the others would help him."

	"I used to entertain them sometimes of evenings by telling
	ghost-stories, some of which I had written down with no thought of
	ever attempting to publish them. There was a gay young fellow who
	used to join us occasionally: he was full of life and schemes of
	various kinds, and he took a great liking to these yarns of mine. He
	asked me if he could take some of my stories to show a friend, and
	departed with a handful of them. I forgot all about the incident and
	the stories as well, as I placed no value on them. In the meantime I
	heard that the young man who took the manuscripts had, for no
	apparent reason, committed suicide. About a year after I saw him
	last I received a letter offering to print my stories in a book. I
	did not know what he was talking about, but investigation assisted my
	memory, and my first book was the result."

	"It must have been a delightful change," I ventured, "to go at one
	step from poverty to successful authorship."

	"But my success has been a rather one-sided affair. Financially, it
	has been no success at all. I never expect to make much money. I'd
	like to, but I'm sure I never will."

	I saw him twice in Venice a few weeks later, and on one of the
	occasions had the pleasure of presenting him to a lady who is
	numbered among his most enthusiastic admirers. She told him of the
	pleasure his novels gave her, dwelling on their psychiatric
	[psychological?] side with an understanding that was evidently a joy
	to him. "It is most heartening and refreshing to meet you," he said.
	"I wish there were more people like you."

	Writing was far from his thoughts in Venice; apparently he was in a
	complete holiday mood, and browner than ever. On both our meetings
	he begged me to join him at the Lido. "We can play tennis and swim.
	I am in my bathing suit all day long." I wanted so much to go, but
	my time there was short. Sometimes in retrospect I am almost annoyed
	with Titian, Bellini, and Tintoretto for having been so prolific in
	this town.

	--Walter Tittle

	From: gopher://tilde.pink/1/~bencollver/ia/details/sim_illustrated-london-news_…

	See also Algernon Blackwood's autobiography:

	Episodes Before Thirty

	What follows are notes about individual stories in the book. I liked
	the first and last stories the best of all.

	# The Man Whom The Trees Loved

	The Man Whom The Trees Loved

	What a powerfully written story. The key conceptual theme i took
	from this story is "relationship". The narration is compassionate
	toward all characters. The story is deep with meanings beyond the
	surface level, and contains paradoxes both dark and delightful.

	See document below for a queer reading of this story.

	Blackwood's Greenwood

	# The Glamour of the Snow

	This story spoke to me. I loved that the adventurous and alluring
	nature spirit was also dangerous and deadly. Many aspects of nature
	are fascinating but fatal. The story gives explicit foreshadowing
	when the narrator discusses the hazards of going out unprepared. He
	is still vulnerable in spite of knowing better!

	I enjoyed the description of the ski adventure down the mountain.
	Once i met a mountaineer on Mount McLoughlin who skied down the
	steep eastern side, hiking back to the summit several times that
	day to repeat the thrill of weaving around large outcroppings on
	that dangerous slope.

	# The Transfer

	This story delivers grim poetic justice to an emotional vampire. He
	had it coming!

	# Special Delivery

	In this story the narrator describes a once in a lifetime psychic
	experience. Several of these stories remind me of Poe. There is a
	whiff of predestination or fatalism.

	# The Temptation of Clay

	The most prominent idea i took from this story is a question of
	primacy between different ways of being and seeing. Does the
	physical realm stem from a spiritual cause? Do empirical facts reign
	supreme? I love the suggestion that you can have it your way, but
	you must live with the consequences.

	To pose a few Socratic questions: Is your way of seeing the world
	and being in the world fun and worthwhile? Can you afford to pay the
	opportunity cost of changing your ways? Can you look yourself in the
	mirror without flinching?

	author: Blackwood, Algernon, 1869-1951
	detail: gopher://gopherpedia.com/0/Algernon_Blackwood
	LOC: PZ3.B5683 P5 PR6003.L3
	source: gopher://tilde.pink/1/~bencollver/ia/details/pansgardenvolume00blacuoft/
	tags: ebook,fantasy,outdoor
	title: Pan's Garden

	# Tags

	ebook
	fantasy
	outdoor