Tarzan, Tentacles, and the Trouble with Apes

Have you ever chased a wild notion down a rabbit hole and only to find yourself ankle-deep in jungle vines and cosmic horror? That was me the other day—sitting on the back porch, Buddy at my feet snoring louder than a chainsaw, coffee in one hand, and a reprint of Weird Tales in the other—when I started wondering: Could H.P. Lovecraft have been inspired by Tarzan?

Now I know what you’re thinking, “Tom, that’s like asking if whiskey inspired root beer.”

But hear me out.

Lovecraft’s “Facts Concerning the Late Arthur Jermyn and His Family” is a peculiar story. There’s an English gentleman, some shady family history, a mysterious white ape goddess, and—spoiler alert—a match made in evolutionary hell. The poor fellow finds out he’s part simian and promptly sets himself on fire. Cheerful, huh?

Compare that with Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan, who also has apes in the family, but instead of self-immolation, he swings through trees shirtless and gets movie deals.

Now, on paper, it’s easy to say no way one inspired the other. Tarzan hit print in 1912; Lovecraft’s monkey business didn’t appear until 1921. So, no, Tarzan didn’t crawl out of the wreckage of Arthur Jermyn’s ancestry.

But flip the question. Could Burroughs’ clean-cut, loincloth-wearing jungle man have crept into Lovecraft’s darker corners?

Well, I chewed on that for a while because Buddy wasn’t in the mood to go on a walk, and I needed something to do. Here’s the thing: Burroughs’ Tarzan of the Apes was huge. And by the time Lovecraft penned Arthur Jermyn, Tarzan was practically a household name—like Campbell’s Soup or unscheduled plumbing repairs.

Lovecraft was a well-read fellow—proudly weird, full of dark, brooding thoughts, and allergic to sunlight. He might’ve scoffed at Burroughs’ adventure tales, but you can’t convince me he wasn’t at least aware of them.

He lived in the same cultural stew as the rest of us. Back then, everyone had jungle fever—lost cities, talking gorillas, ancient tribes—you name it. It was the golden age of the “noble savage” and the “hidden horror.”

Maybe—just maybe—Lovecraft read Tarzan, rolled his eyes, and said, “That’s cute. Now let me write a version where the jungle man finds out he’s the byproduct of an unholy union and lights himself up like a roman candle.”

Tarzan was the dream. Arthur Jermyn was the nightmare.

And isn’t that how stories evolve? One fella writes a tale about a man raised by apes who becomes a hero. Another fellow, a bit gloomier and possibly vitamin D-deficient, takes a similar thread and spins it into something grim and shivery.

So, is there hard evidence that Lovecraft borrowed from Burroughs? No.

But literature’s funny like that. Sometimes ideas don’t shake hands—they drift through the air like dandelion fluff, and land where they please.

I looked over at Buddy and asked what he thought. He rolled onto his back, scratched at the air with one paw, and went right back to dreaming—probably about steak, not simian ancestry.

Anyway, that’s the trouble with apes and ideas. They swing through trees you didn’t even know were connected.

But maybe that’s not a problem. Perhaps it’s a gentle reminder that inspiration doesn’t always come from a single vine—it comes from the whole tangled jungle.

And in the end, whether you prefer your apes heroic or horrifying, it’s all part of the great human story. Just don’t set yourself on fire, okay?

Let’s keep reading, keep wondering, and—when the mood strikes—maybe write a story or two of our own. Now, where’d I put that second cup of coffee?