This isn't your typical book. The Fantasy Fan, November 1933 is a single issue of the world's first fanzine dedicated to fantasy and weird fiction. Think of it as a blog from 90 years ago, printed on a mimeograph machine and stapled together. The editor, a teenager named Charles Hornig, was mailing these out from his home. The content is a wild mix: you get a brand-new, chilling short story from H.P. Lovecraft (often published here first), alongside poems by the cosmic horror poet Clark Ashton Smith. There are also book reviews, letters from readers debating the latest weird tales, and ads for other pulp magazines.

The Story

There's no single plot. Instead, the 'story' is the birth of a community. You're peeking over the shoulders of the very first fantasy fan club. One page has Lovecraft's fiction building a sense of dread about ancient, unknowable gods. The next page has a reader from Kansas arguing about the merits of a story in last month's Weird Tales. It's all here together—the legendary authors and the everyday fans who loved them, talking to each other in real time. The 'conflict' is the struggle to get this kind of strange, non-mainstream fiction taken seriously, all while the Great Depression is happening outside.

Why You Should Read It

Reading this feels like discovering a secret history. The writing is direct and unvarnished. Lovecraft's story here is pure, uncut cosmic horror without the later baggage. But for me, the real joy is the letters section. Seeing fans in 1933 geek out about the same stories we still read today creates a powerful connection. It reminds you that fandom isn't a modern internet invention. That passion has always been there, waiting for a way to find its people. This magazine was that way.

Final Verdict

This is a niche read, but a glorious one. It's perfect for history buffs who love fantasy and horror, for writers who want to see the grassroots of a genre, or for any fan who wants to feel that link to the very beginning of our community. Don't expect a slick, modern anthology. Expect a fragile, passionate artifact. You're not just reading stories; you're holding a piece of fandom's DNA.