Yet while the plot here is nominally "A Journey to the Hollow Earth" in the tradition of subterranean fiction, it is much more. It is a book-within-a-book, wherein the narrator, Llewellyn Drury (a fictionalized version of Lloyd) had 30 years earlier experienced visitations by a mysterious adept calling himself "I-Am-The-Man". This visitor presented him with the titular manuscript of the adept's experiences some time earlier. He had taken up the challenge of an "alchemistic letter" to join and expose the secrets of a secret society (obviously the Freemasons) for the betterment of humanity. Caught, exiled, and given the glamour of premature aging to be unrecognizable to his family and friends, he was escorted to the caves of Kentucky and given over to a featureless escort who led him on his journey.
As with metaphorical (and metaphysical) underground journeys, the rules change as he descends deeper into the earth. Weight, breathing, heartbeat, even speech decrease and become unnecessary as mind transcends matter. Food and drink also become irrelevant, as shown in a discussion that sunlight is the real food of humanity; their journey is lit by an ethereal light without apparent source. The journey becomes a platform for discussions, both between "I-Am-The-Man" and his mysterious escort, and between Drury and the visitor during interludes in the reading of the manuscript. Among others, these topics cover gravity, biology, fluid mechanics, the workings of the brain, even the nature of time itself. In a hallucinatory journey sparked by drinking the juice of a particular mushroom, the adept undergoes terrifying visions (perhaps a little preachy by today's standards) on the evils of drink and other intoxications, and an encounter with the goddess Etidorhpa herself, the soul of love. After a final leap of faith across the centre of gravity of the Earth's hollow shell, "I-Am-The-Man" arrives at the End of Earth itself, is given over to a new adept for further training, and his manuscript ends, where other tales would begin.
In both senses of the word, Etidorhpa is an underground classic of its time, and worth the read.
Editor's Note: No pagan calendar for January, or any time in the forseeable future. I'm going on hiatus in that respect, probably permanently, as it may be time for someone of the next generation, and certainly more active than I am in the community, to compile their own calendar. If all else fails, there's Facebook. Blessings to all,
Stephen Hergest
