Tuesday, June 9, 2026

A CHIP OFF THE OLD BLOCH


Another article from Crime Reads, this time a discussion on Robert Bloch's career and his very entertaining autobiography.

THE EVOLUTION OF ROBERT BLOCH
The legendary author rode the waves of changing markets, like any other author.

By Keith Roysdon | May 29, 2025 | crimereads.com
“I have the heart of a small boy. I keep it in a jar, on my desk.” Robert Bloch wrote those words a couple of decades before I was born and long before he became best known as the author of the 1959 novel “Psycho,” the basis for the 1960 Alfred Hitchcock suspense and horror film.

Those words were pretty much the first thing I knew about Bloch. He was introduced to many of us youngsters in the pages of Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine, where that joke was recounted by FM’s editor, Forrest J (no initial) Ackerman, a contemporary of Bloch and his longtime friend.

Ackerman noted, sometime in the late 1960s or early 1970s, that Bloch was so well known as the author of the original “Psycho” novel that he was often introduced as “Robertpsychobloch,” all one long, run-on word.

Bloch liked puns almost as much as Ackerman did, judging from “Once Around the Bloch: An Unauthorized Autobiography,” his 1993 review of his life which manages to cram hundreds of puns into its text: hell, there’s two in the title alone.

So many puns, in fact, that they make Bloch’s autobiography tough reading, at least in the first 200 pages. More on the book in a bit.

I often think of “Psycho,” both book and film, as a horror tale, but it’s filled to the brim with crime, including the bank theft that kicks off the story as well as murder and attempted murder. It’s fitting that Bloch was the guest of honor at the first Bouchercon, the world convention devoted to crime and mystery writing, in 1970. Bloch was a well-known figure in literature, especially genre literature, for decades before his death in September 1994. 

In some ways, Bloch is among the fathers (and mothers) of all of us who write crime fiction today.

Bloch felt the effects of changing tastes
It was not Famous Monsters but another classic horror film genre magazine, Castle of Frankenstein, that in a two-part 1971 feature on Bloch also used the “heart of a boy” gag – but not as succinctly and not as pithily as did Famous Monsters. But it’s fascinating to read, in successive issues, an interview with Bloch, just a little more than a decade after “Psycho.” 

CoF recounts what Bloch later told in fairly elaborate detail in his 1993 autobiography: that among the career-defining moments of his life was his friendship with horror writer H.P. Lovecraft, who encouraged him to write tales of the macabre that were ultimately published in Weird Tales magazine, the definitive pulp purveyor of the odd and fantastic. 

Besides becoming a friend, Lovecraft was a formative influence on Bloch. And the stories told by Lovecraft and others in issues of Weird Tales helped shape Bloch’s writing style and genre leanings in the late 1920s and early 1930s. Bloch sold his first story to Weird Tales in 1934, just weeks after he graduated from high school. He would write hundreds more, in almost every genre, as well as 30 novels and dozens of film and TV screenplays. Of the latter, Bloch wrote three for the original “Star Trek” series alone.

The Bloch interview, beginning in issue 16 and continuing into 17 of CoF, opens with Bloch’s answers to questions about “Frankenstein” actor and Bloch friend Boris Karloff, who had died in 1969, two years before the issue came out. But after that it settles into Bloch’s work on “Psycho” and some of the films he wrote in the 1960s and early 1970s. 

Bloch, whose novel was the basis of one of the most classic of classic films, told the interviewer that he felt the same insecurities and frustrations of any writer. By the end of the 1960s, he confessed he had his struggles.

“Markets have changed. I will say quite candidly that in the past year, I’ve written five short stories – three of them haven’t been placed because the markets have changed for that sort of material. I would like to write a great deal more fiction, but there is the problem of market accountability. So I write to specification.” Bloch spoke about how things had changed since he wrote for Weird Tales and other magazines in the 1930s. “I feel the times have changed. And they change for every writer. There is no writer living who will end up 30 years later with the same market conditions and the same audience and the same media.”

Bloch was critical of himself: “I’ve always suffered from a shortage of talent. I’m very limited.” He cited his “inadequate” education and the challenge of keeping up with trends. “Empathy is the only strength I have. The ability to put myself inside the characters and understand their motivations.”

Bloch was equally self-deprecating in his autobiography.

Bloch wrote the book on Bloch
The autobiography recounts Bloch’s growing up in the Midwest, early successes as a short story writer and friendship with Lovecraft. There’s a recounting of his work in advertising and a too-lengthy account of his work for a local political candidate. I’m hard-pressed to imagine why Bloch or any editor thought it was good to spend so many of the first 200 pages on some of these minutiae. How did he remember so many details of what he did and where – and why render them so dull and punny? 

The book really, finally takes off as Bloch recounts what might be his second best-known story. “Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper.” Published in Weird Tales in July 1943, the story has been adapted into various mediums – and ripped off even more. If you’ve seen a TV drama or movie with the late 1800s killer who prowled London has been updated to modern day, particularly in the United States, you’ve seen someone ripping off Bloch. The author returned to his own Ripper character several times, including for “Wolf in the Fold,” one of his “Star Trek” episodes.

Two hundred pages in, Bloch’s autobiography gets rolling, with discourse about writers, readers, fandom and, eventually, “Psycho.” Hitchcock’s production company famously made an anonymous purchase of “Psycho” for filming. (Hitchcock – in the book-length conversation “Hitchcock/Truffaut” – calls Bloch’s “Psycho” a “serious story told with tongue in cheek.”)

Bloch was one of those authors – referred to as all one run-together name that included his most famous work – who was part of a well-known, even brand-name literary class. James Patterson and Lee Child are more modern-day examples, and Stephen King might be the ultimate brand-name writer working today.

Gentle, generous – and a cheater?
With “Psycho” making him a marketable name, Bloch shifted his focus to screenplays for movies and dozens of TV episodes for series like “Thriller” – hosted by Karloff – and “Alfred Hitchcock Presents.” He maintained a mix of fiction and screenplay output and even wrote two novels that served as sequels to his “Psycho.”

And his likable persona loomed large.

Harlan Ellison, the writer of fantastic stories who had “Star Trek” and several short story collections in common with Bloch, cited the author in a column reprinted in Ellison’s 1985 collection “An Edge in My Voice.” He said Bloch was an example of why readers should never confuse writers with the characters and stories they write. 

“Just because Bob Bloch – one of the gentlest men who ever lived – wrote “Psycho” is no touchstone to a perception that he is secretly a deranged mass murderer,” Ellison wrote. Ellison cites Bloch in a column reprinted in Ellison’s 1988 “Harlan Ellison’s Watching,” also noting that Bloch was capable of moving freely from novels to short stories to movies to TV scripts. “Because for every William Goldman, William Faulkner or Robert Bloch, who can swing both ways, book to film and back, there are thousands of narrative writers who have fruitlessly thumped their noggins against the enigma of how to write cinematically.”

In the “Hitchcock/Truffaut” book, the famed French director had nits to pick with Bloch’s original novel. “I’ve read the novel from which ‘Psycho’ was taken and one of the things that bothered me is that it cheats,” Francois Truffaut says. Truffaut cites what he believes was Bloch’s misdirection in the book, staging a scene between Norman Bates and his mother by noting, “Norman sat down beside his mother and they began a conversation.” He maintains that’s “misdirecting,” and says Hitchcock’s movie doesn’t do that. 

Bloch’s credits as a screenwriter are all over Michael Weldon’s indispensable 1983 reference book, “The Psychotronic Encyclopedia of Film.” Bloch’s original screenplays are cited throughout, including the 1972 anthology film “Asylum,” written for the screen by Bloch based on his own stories, to the 1973 thriller “The Cat Creature.” And of course, “Psycho” is represented. 

In a video released after Bloch’s death, Ellison recounts how Bloch loaned him $200 – a princely sum in 1962, Ellison notes – when the younger author arrived in Hollywood. They two had known each other through writing and fandom circles since Ellison was a teenager. Ellison said he couldn’t pay Bloch back for several years and Bloch not only never mentioned the debt but seemed caught off guard when Ellison paid it back. 

Bloch was “a generous individual,” Ackerman said after Bloch’s death. “He gave away thousands and thousands and thousands of words free to fans starting their mimeographed magazines.”

Maybe Bloch’s heart wasn’t really the one in a jar on his desk.

Monday, June 8, 2026

IN PRAISE OF THE MAD SCIENTIST


Pity the poor mad scientist. All they try to do is to help out mankind with their admittedly sometimes crazy notions. Never mind that the occasional monster is created that wreaks havoc or an accidental catastrophe or two occurs.

One thing for sure, they can almost always be inciting, and this is the term that author Nick Cutter uses to explain the mad scientist's motivation in this article from the Crime Reads site.

An Aria to the Mad Scientist
"[A] mad scientist is a veritable cornucopia of incendiary incidents. They’re forever pushing the plot forward."

By Nick Cutter | May 27, 2026 | Crimereads.com

There’s a term you’ll hear in fiction writing, the “inciting event.” Loosely stated, it’s an event that kicks the protagonist out of their quotidian state, unsettles their personal world—or, perhaps, the greater sum of humanity of which they are a part—and forces them to act.

Sometimes, there can be a cascading effect when it comes to such events. Sometimes, what feels at first blush to be the inciting event is in fact precipitated by the true inciting event. Was the bank robbery the inciting event? No, it was the cancer diagnosis the robber’s wife received that forced her husband (with his long-buried criminal past) to return to his old crew and to bad habits.

Each genre has its own realm of standard inciting events. Some of the more common are: murder of a loved one (revenge arc), the mysterious invitation, a protagonist’s past comes back to haunt them… We’ve all read and loved novels that use these flashpoints to generate narrative momentum and up the stakes.

Have I myself utilized various inciting events? Of course, as has almost any writer seeking page-turning propulsion. But it’s also quite common for me to utilize an inciting character type. Those stock but malleable characters that tend to pop up in all sorts of books. Some of them are generally benevolent. The kindly uncle with or without a dark past. The kindly next-door neighbor who knows where the bodies are buried (often literally).

Some types are much less benign. The femme fatale. The contract killer. The elderly couple who are far more dangerous than they initially appear.

For me—for the stories I write—my most common inciting character, who keeps turning up in my work like a doomy bad penny, is the Mad Scientist.

Why do I so often gravitate to that type? Well, as I said above, if inciting events are a needful hallmark of narrative progression, a mad scientist is a veritable cornucopia of incendiary incidents. They’re forever pushing the plot forward. How? In as many ways as a novelist can dream up. They create conundrums of every type—physical, moral, psychological, philosophical—and force other characters to react to, cope with, and survive the threats they’ve set in motion.

A list of mad scientists in literature would exhaust the limits of this short essay and be rather pointless anyway, as anyone reading this can summon a handful without prompting. Perhaps, the most famous—the ne plus ultra, the template—is Victor Frankenstein. Mary Shelley’s second most famous creation embodies everything that so fascinates both writers and readers about the character type. Victor is brilliant and ambitious (to the point of being out of touch with humanity and its moral concerns), he’s blindered, headstrong and isolationist and romantically doomed… and maybe, most crucially (or to me this is so), he really wants to help.

This is the most fascinating element of the character type, what makes it so rich on an emotional level. The ideas of many a mad scientist at their most core definition are often good. Or they aspire to be so, at least. They could conceivably benefit mankind. Broken by the death of his mother, Victor Frankenstein’s goal was to banish disease, deny death, and create a new order of life. Was that all bad? On the range of human endeavor from penicillin to the atom bomb, I’d tender that it sat somewhere between those two poles. But like all mad scientists (this being the crucial facet of the type), Victor was so blinkered by his superiority complex, his singlemindedness, that he never gave any thought to the ripple effects of his ambitions: how it could all go so spectacularly and horridly awry.

Well, that was fine. Mary Shelley had it covered.

Take John Hammond, billionaire owner of Jurassic Park. Wouldn’t it be nice, he must’ve thought, to build a secure park on an isolated island (islands—ideally volcanic ones—are the known habitues of mad scientists and a great deal of evil geniuses, too), where dinosaurs are conjured back into existence via DNA trickery… and if someone should happen to mention that there may be chaotic effects to his plan that he couldn’t possibly forecast, well, in best mad scientist fashion (what a sad lot for a character type that they must always act so relentlessly to type, no better than a train on rails), it was Hammond’s duty to fob off such dire warnings as so much poppycock. And then… well, we know the rest.

But was Hammond’s concept bad? Was it wrong? I’d argue that in another writer’s hands it may’ve been positively utopian. Jurassic Park opens to much fanfare and goes on to rival Disney World as a tourist destination, just as Hammond forecasted. But this was a Crichton book, so we knew that wasn’t going to happen. Frankly, it wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.

What about Dr. Moreau and his island of human-beast hybrids? I suppose one can argue that there wasn’t much noble good to be mined from that particular experiment. H. G. Wells himself labelled the novel “an exercise in youthful blasphemy,” but the world was a great deal more puritanical in those days. Wells, like Crichton, was a devotee of the mad scientist character, as evidenced by The Invisible Man, The Time Machine, When the Sleeper Wakes, and of course, Moreau. If Moreau’s experiment wasn’t expressly good, and it’s hard to find how it might benefit mankind (or animal-kind), he emblemized all else that we love and hate about the character type: the odd charisma, the unfailing belief in oneself, the Promethean hubris that it takes to force the disastrously magnificent consequences that such narratives demand.

When you think about it, factually good science—by which I mean science that has actually been put into use in the real world, benefitting humanity—is kind of… boring.

Jonas Salk, Banting and Best, Alexander Fleming… the fathers of the polio vaccine, insulin, and penicillin… have books been written about them? Sure. Biographies. Have films been made? Dry documentaries.

Have any of them had the cultural impact and cache of Victor Frankenstein, who has been endlessly imitated in the years since Mary Shelley wrote him into existence?

Bad science, morally grey science, mad science that goes haywire and berserk, is fictively fascinating. Good and ethical science… you may as well watch paint dry.

So here’s to the Mad Scientists. May they go on gerrymandering with the stuff of life on their isolated islands, inciting ever more dire events, until the sun collapses into a wormhole.

Sunday, June 7, 2026

GIANT MONSTER VS. ATOMIC SUB!


Another excursion into Truevision is ACG's COMMANDER BATTLE AND THE ATOMIC SUB (July-August 1954). Art is by Sheldon Moldoff.