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# 2025-04-02 - Pan's Garden by Algernon Blackwood
IMG 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
HTML From: https://archive.org/details/sim_illustrated-london-news_1925-07-25_167_4501
See also Algernon Blackwood's autobiography:
HTML 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
DIR 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.
TEXT 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
TEXT detail: gopher://gopherpedia.com/0/Algernon_Blackwood
LOC: PZ3.B5683 P5 PR6003.L3
HTML source: https://archive.org/details/pansgardenvolume00blacuoft/
tags: ebook,fantasy,outdoor
title: Pan's Garden
# Tags
DIR ebook
DIR fantasy
DIR outdoor