Notes on "The Man With a Thousand Legs," By Frank Belknap Long
Notes on "The Man With a Thousand Legs," By Frank Belknap Long
This is from a series of 2-component posts. They begin with a link to a curated short story, and end with an analysis of that story.
This story, “The Man With a Thousand Legs,” is a recommendation by Sandy Petersen, the creator of the Call of Cthulhu RPG. The story can be found here.
Note: the first post in this series is here
Spoilers Below!!
Synopsis
An ambitious scientist meddles with powers that he cannot begin to comprehend. In his vanity, he transforms himself into a giant tentacle monster, and… you would not suspect it, but this plays out compellingly due to how the story is told.
The details are below.
Structure
This story is composed of seven or so shorter stories. Each of these stories tells one segment of the larger story, and is told from a different character’s perspective.
After a time, I came to suspect that we are reading the collected accounts of witnesses. Some person, after the fact, has gone around interviewing people, or else asking for descriptions by mail, or else asking them for diary excerpts.
For that reason, there is not as much need to assist with suspension of disbelief within the individual stories: these aren’t random accounts from people who coincidentally witnessed part of the larger story.
So, the events from earlier stories are sufficient to make the later stories believable.
This is a unique quality to this story structure — if it were an independent series of stories, this wouldn’t work nearly as well.
Style
Notably, the style of the writing changes section to section! It is not a mere shifting of perspective — as the type of account varies, so does the speaker, and the style that the speaker tells the story in.
We move between diary entries, formally written records, casual statements, a manuscript in a bottle (?!), etc.
I find this incredibly charming.
Character / Characterization
The characterization in the story is excellent. Let me find some examples of it…
(after an outburst about his own magnificence) He was trembling and shaking so violently that I was obliged to rise and lay a restraining hand upon his shoulder. “Delusions of magnificence,” I murmured, “undoubtedly induced by a malignant inferiority-complex.”
One character has presented a frame and tried to impose it on the other; the other character is still comfortably within his frame. Both are looking down upon the other, each in their heads and unwilling to step into the other’s way of seeing the situation.
This is not only how a realistic conversation works — it somehow makes the characters quite likeable for how confident and matter-of-fact they are about it.
“I want no treatment,” he shouted, and then, in a less agitated voice, “You would be surprised, perhaps, if I told you my name!”
(…)
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Arthur St. Amand,” he replied, and stood up.
I was so astonished that I dropped my cigar. I may even add that I was momentarily awed. Arthur St. Amand!
When introducing a fact about a character in this way, ie, by hinting at the conclusion — where the other party is skeptical at first that they will be impressed — this smells a little like dramatic irony, doesn’t it?
And, as we know, dramatic irony is outstanding for making something feel believable.
Thus, we are effectively and concisely led to believe that this character is highly thought of by the other educated characters in the story. We are almost honoured ourselves to meet him in this diary entry!
Suspension of Disbelief
Two curious developments. The chemist who examined the jellyfish substance found near the body on the beach declares that it is living protoplasm
I am incredulous: are the police really informing this person of new developments? Did the lab tests truly come in so quickly? Do they tell the media such a huge amount about the cases?
It threatens suspension of disbelief, but only about the police. This is one of only two places where suspension of disbelief failed in the story and the rest was rather well done.
And this is the story of little Harry Doty. I offered him a beautiful new dime, but he told it to me gratis. I give it in his own words.
The tentacle has 2 separate stories to prove its existence. The first felt too random to be real, but with this corroboration, it feels more like a real event.
I think they call this “social proof,” and people respond strongly to it.
Tension
“Get him into his suit, boys!” ordered Wilshire, and the poor wretch was lifted bodily upon strong shoulders and transformed into a loathsome, goggle- eyed monster.
I worried about this poor guy.
The constable — how does he know the man won’t get dragged in by the tentacle and drowned? This diver has cause to avoid this task.
I worried about him so much!
“Personally, I don’t think he’s got much chance of ever coming up. I wouldn’t be in his shoes for all the money in the United States mint.”
Doubling down on that tension.
“Come away!” I commanded. “Come away at once.” I seized her by the arm and was in the act of forcefully leading her from the edge of that dreadful charnel, for charnel it had become, when I was arrested by a shout from Wilshire.
“Look at it! Look at it!” he yelled. “That’s the horrid thing. God, it isn’t human!”
This buildup is really effective. The author keeps the horror offscreen, keeps delaying the reveal by putting words between the declaration and the description. By the time you get to “see” it (so to speak), you are jumping in your seat in anticipation.
Under no circumstances must anyone enter this room.”
This happens in a later account, and is a case of using dramatic irony to great effect — the reader knows why nobody should enter that room, but the characters don’t. And, of course, somebody is going to enter the room. And goodness, what will they find? Oh no.
And that’s the end of you!” I shouted as it sank. I ought to have got a medal for that, but I ain’t complaining. It isn’t every man has the pleasure of calling himself a disinterested benefactor of humanity.
I love this ending, oh my goodness! He has no idea how lucky he was! What a wonderful simpleton!
It works because of all the dramatic tension involved — the character is a fool, and only the reader fully understands the stakes involved. Despite this, the character saves the day, and it’s hilarious, and it’s endearing because of how humble yet proud he is.
Other
“What is the matter?” she asked "you look ill.’ “I am ill,” I replied.
A curiosity: in this period, writers wrote entire conversations within a single paragraph. These days, each speaker gets their own paragraph.
‘Rats!’ I gasped. But I wasn’t really surprised. I knew there were rats in the house. They made life miserable for me. I was never able to get rid of them. Even the cats feared them.
A mundane concern to act as contrast to the bizarre thing happening in the main story. The big bad thing will sometimes seem bigger, badder, and more magical if it’s contrasted with more mundane things — as long as the comparison doesn’t threaten suspension of disbelief.
Terrible trouble. I can’t keep it from coming back. I wake up in the night, and find it spread out on the bed and all over the floor. Its arms writhe and writhe.
Again, we see a technique where the dread redoubles because not only do we dread the fate of the victims, but we dread the guilt and panic of those involved who can’t stop it from making more victims!