Wherein the Writer discusses his Respect and Admiration for the creations of HP Lovecraft; touches on the Personal Faults of that Author, with an eye toward the Separation of Creator and what is Created; and the standard enumeration of the writer's Current Reading
My first Lovecraft was The Tomb and Other Stories. I found a very hip little paperback edition at a little book shop back in Marietta, GA - it had a super cool -cover and a keen, sinister feel to it. I had heard the author's name, so I bought it and read it at one of the comfy little reading nooks they had.
Call Samwise Gamgee, He'll Know what To Do
I'll tell you a funny thing about Lovecraft. At some point when I get into a book I find myself deciding what the narrator sounds like in my head, and that becomes the voice I hear when I read. For example, I often hear comic novels in my sister's voice, or my mother's, or in Janeane Garofalo's. I can't read Stephen King without hearing the author himself. Audiobook narrator's often get in my head permanently - Harry Potter sounds like Jim Dale, every voice in Discworld sounds like Stephen Briggs.
And then there is reading HP Lovecraft, every word of which I hear in a voice that I did not create, a voice that is woven into the warp and woof of the writer's language. Its the creepiest, most subtle voice in the world. It scares me wonderfully.
HP Lovecraft is brilliant, strange, arcane, and vastly imaginative. He can be slippery and subtle, and utterly mysterious, then go in the opposite direction and turn up the volume on the weird until its painful. He is great at conceiving of elder gods and describing flavors of madness and arcane mysteries - human beings and relationships, not so much. He has a limited bag of tricks, and yet they get you again and again and again.
Oh, and the man pretty much created a genera. He took gothic horror, science fiction, existential literature, and New England regionalism, ran them all through his personal filters and created what he created. New in the universe, like an extraterrestrial invader whose logic and motivations are beyond our ken. The Mythos.
I started with The Tomb and Other Tales, and then it was Call of Cthulhu. Sometimes when you have deep understanding of an artist, you hate which work they are best known for by the layperson crowd. But I think that Call of Cthulhu is a fine representation of the artist. Its arcane, dark, and twisted. And when its all said and done the Great Old Ones are not defeated, but rather they are just off in the wings, waiting for the stars to line up once more so they can come and wander through the waking world once more. Call of Cthuhlu encapsulates one theme best of all - the horror of the forces beyond our comprehension interracting that can destroy us utterly without ever even knowing we exist.
Good stuff!
I love the Mythos. I am crazy about the Dream Cycle - especially The White Ship, a story that shaped not just my daydreams, but the way that I daydream. But the Mythos is as much a part of my imagination landscape as any unreal place I have ever visited - and, brothers and sisters, I have been to a few.
Before You Slip Into Unconsciousness . . .
Lovecraft's stories are so much of their time that not only do they read like ancient relics now, but I imagine readers of their time felt the same way. That is not accidental - Lovecraft carefully crafted this feel. I see it like this - the man understands his own style. So he features hidden and secret ancient tomes throughout his Mythos stories: the Pnakotic Manuscripts, Cultes des Goules, and of course the Necronomicon. And when one of his characters finds one of these books, and starts to read it and loose his mind once faced with the unthinkable horrors they contain - well, that character is us, the readers, faced with the horrific relics Lovecraft created. The fictional manuscripts he invented, so much a part of that world, are a mirror of his creative process.
Lovecraft is not everyone's taste, nor for every mood. But if you have the patience and fortitude to brave the strange worlds he has created, the reward is vast and very, very rich.
On The Other Hand . . .
Lovecraft was a huge jerk.
Total racist, utter sexist, educational elitist. Big, huge jerk. Google "Lovecraft racist poem," I dare ya.
I remember discovering a passage in one of his stories, talking about an evil diety worshiped by "certain degenerate swamp folks." My eyes popped. I'm Irish-Creole. I, me, myself, am one of those degenerates.
Wheres the love, HP?
I do not require an artist be a saint for me to appreciate their art. If that is your requirement then your world will not have very much art, and much of it will be of the variety known as terribly bland.
So the creator doesn't need to be a candidate for canonization for me to appreciate his work. But I do have a line.
Lots of super creative people are lunatics who you wouldn't want to spend time with. Its part of the creative package. But you draw a line. Sin beyond simple jerkdom and into the realm of the truly Evil and Uncool and I can't get into your art any more. I should say that I could, but I won't.
I give most of Lovecraft's works a pass, but not the man. He's a racist and a sexist, he looks down on the what he sees as the unimaginative rank and file of humanity - that would have included me and everyone I love, if he had ever met me. Lovecraft is like that freshman college self-styled genius misanthrope who hates on the jocks and cheerleaders and popular kids without actually knowing any of them.
I think the man was in a lot of pain. His father went mad,and the writer spent his life in fear of madness. Lovecraft is an outspoken anti-Semite, who turned around and married a Jewish woman. In my mind he is an individual in crisis.
Faced with those circumstances, a great man would have done the more difficult thing and risen above his pain and circumstance, used it to transform himself into a better person. Other artists of his era, the quote happy go lucky 1920's, did so brilliantly. But Lovecraft didn't do that.
So yeah - not evil, but not a great man either. But what a writer.
Currently Reading
Evil Eye, by Joyce Carol Oates
During my time at Kennesaw State University, I vowed to take every 490 level Literature class they offered. A 490 level class focused on a single author. I took Shakespeare, Shakespearian Tragedy, Jane Austen, and Joyce Carol Oates. That last one was the very best of all. Joyce Carol Oates is a fantastic storyteller and craftsman, one of America's best novelists and storytellers. She is so precise its thrilling.
Okay, enough of that. Evil Eye is a collection of four stories. I am about halfway through the first eponymous one, and its great. Oates writes a lot of stories about dysfunctional relationships and quasi-dangerous men, and this one is a doozy. It has its hooks in me.
Current Audio Book
Self Inflicted Wounds, by Aisha Tyler
This book rules. I had great luck with every comedian written-and-read audiobook that I have done so far - Tina Fey's Bossypants, and Rachael Dratch's Girl Walks Into A Bar. And I love the Girl on Guy podcast, and Ms Tyler's standup, so I downloaded this one from Audible.
Self Inflicted Wounds an entirely different class of book than most comic memoirs. Self Inflicted Wounds is funny, like you would expect - often laugh out loud funny. But it is also a mission statement, a guide to life, and a alcohol fueled bildungsroman of epic scope and insight. I truly love this book, and want Aisha Tyler to be my Pai Mei.- like success, performance and home distillation coach.
Aaaaaand I Love You
I do love you. If you read my blog for whatever reason you have my love and respect. Thanks much. Until next time, be well and take care. Read and share.
