H.P. Lovecraft: TalesSeventy years have passed since the death of H.P. Lovecraft, and the good fellows at
Little Man, What Now? are celebrating in style. If you happened here through them, welcome; if not, take a stroll over there and feast on the rest of the Lovecraft goodness.
For those unfamiliar with Lovecraft (for shame!), he is firmly established as a master of horror fiction, yet the debate over his literary importance rages on. This debate was renewed upon the publication of the Library of America's 2005 edition of Lovecraft's
Tales.
Some people went rabid over the inclusion of Lovecraft to this "American canon" -- but I side with Lovecraft supporters (like S.T. Joshi, noted Lovecraft scholar), who maintain he was a tormented genius characterized by his meticulous narrative technique and penchant for squid-like creatures. The opposing team, including late literary critic Edmund Wilson, is quite vocal in their hatred of Lovecraft, claiming he is a twisted hack characterized by his verbosity and melodramatic penchant for squid-like creatures. Stephen Schwartz, another nay-sayer, writes that “Subtle Lovecraft was not; he never used one word when a score suggested themselves.” His verbosity is undeniable, and yet Lovecraft remains one of the most important writers of twentieth-century horror fiction. Perhaps subtlety is overrated; any fan of the
Saw franchise will surely agree, and no one can seriously deny modern horror's debt to Lovecraft.
Years ago, I would have sided with Wilson and Schwartz after reading Lovecraft’s “Dagon.” I remember it was exceedingly boring and quite wordy, and to the best of my memory, seemed to involve fish, and mating with fish, and fishy-type creatures. Peter Straub is quite right in omitting it from Library of America’s 2005 edition of Lovecraft’s collected tales. Thankfully, I did not ignore the collection when I saw it in the bookstore, instead deciding to give Lovecraft another go. And it’s a good thing I did! For while part of me has trouble acknowledging Lovecraft’s genius (causing me to snicker when I wrote the above words “noted Lovecraft scholar”), my inner Cthulhu cannot help but love his work.
Quite simply, Lovecraft is just too much fun to read.
For his own part, Lovecraft never professed to be a master; he once wrote: “No one is more acutely conscious than I of the inadequacy of my work. I am a self-confessed amateur and bungler, and have not much hope of improvement.” This self-described “bungler” has, however accidentally, created a collection of horror stories that readers still love today--partly due to Lovecraft's memorable freaks, oddities, and creepy-crawlies. In fact, many first encounter Lovecraft through his creations, often without knowing the source.
He is perhaps best known for what is called the Cthulhu Mythos, a pantheon of ancient, alien deities, but I first (unknowingly) encountered Lovecraft through the
Necronomicon; Lovecraft wrote so convincingly of the non-existent text (purportedly written by the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred) that many believed it to be real, and fake copies have been published. I am ashamed to admit that, happening once upon a copy in the deepest depths of Walden books—a repository of esoterica if ever there was—I bought a copy of this “book of secrets.” Clearly, I knew no better. I was in college.
The Craft was all the rage. I later threw away the tome, breaking an old “book vow” (to cherish forever each dearly bought volume) in the process.
Oh, the shame.
But let’s get back to Lovecraft. The Library of America’s collection includes what I consider to be his best stories, including “Herbert West—Reanimator”, “Cool Air”, “The Thing on the Doorstep”, “The Colour Out of Space”, and “At the Mountains of Madness.” While each represents the hallmarks of Lovecraftian literature, each story is sufficiently unique; Lovecraft’s precise narrative technique and, yes, even his wordiness compel the reader to piece together each new mystery along with the protagonist.
“The Thing on the Doorstep” is my favorite of them all, as it best exemplifies Lovecraft's superb narrative technique and pacing--we never know what "the thing" is until the final moment, but each successive page is so compelling that you soon forget "the thing" alluded to in the first paragraph. The story also illustrates some of Lovecraft's most favored themes, like that of forbidden knowledge, discussed at length below. Finally, “The Thing on the Doorstep” is also a perfect illustration of Lovecraft's narrative formula. But, plain and simple, “The Thing on the Doorstep” is just a great story.
Most of Lovecraft's stories follow the same narrative formula (and yet they manage to remain entirely distinct and unique from the rest--take that, nay-sayers!). In a story that reads like a scientific report, a protagonist leaves some record of his horrifying secret, which he often discovers from questioning “natives” or reading ancient texts or conducting some other sort of investigation. This “horrifying secret” is generally alluded to in only the vaguest of terms, at least during the story’s onset. The story proceeds by recounting the course of the protagonist’s investigation, culminating in the complete destruction of everything the protagonist has previously accepted as true and rational about the world, illustrating Lovecraft’s belief that human laws are completely insignificant when applied to the universe as a whole.
In fact, Lovecraft argues in favor of a world without order, a world whose supernatural beings are either malevolent or simply uninterested in us. It seems to be the latter possibility (illustrated best by "The Call of Cthulhu") that troubles Lovecraft more: supernatural beings who take no notice or care that we are here at all. And so our life here on earth is a freak of nature, a science experiment gone awry. There is no Master Plan. I wonder what Brian Weiss would say about that?
But the most important of all Lovecraft’s themes (present in both “The Thing on the Doorstep” and "The Call of Cthulhu") might be that of forbidden knowledge (versus the "false" truth believed by the ignorant masses). In an age obsessed with information and technology, one cannot help but think that Lovecraft is timelier than ever. Forbidden knowledge is always destructive in Lovecraft; his protagonists are either destroyed or driven insane by the knowledge they have so doggedly pursued. Those who try to use this knowledge for their own ends (as in “Herbert West — Reanimator”) are usually destroyed by their own creations. Real truth is dangerous, but what the dumb masses believe to be truth is really a tale told by an idiot, signifying nothing.
So, while many complain that Lovecraft is antiquated, verbose, and just plain stupid, let his work remind the “post-modern world” (or whatever it is we’re now in) that increased technology and knowledge will inevitably lead to destruction. Some secrets are best kept secret; perhaps ignorance is, in many ways, bliss after all. And I cannot omit the most important lesson in all of Lovecraft: do not mate with fish. Really, it's just unpleasant.
Bibliolatry Scale: 5.5 out of 6 (Where's his poetry? His letters? More Lovecraft, please!)
Next
Crichton attempts to resolve the multitude of plot lines into a single story at the end, but this attempt seems weak and half-hearted. He contrivedly manages to bring a few storylines together, but he also doesn’t bother with quite a few of them. That’s not to say that Next was altogether awful; in fact, it is remarkable simply because, as far as shoddy plots go, the different plotlines were pretty interesting (at least to someone who doesn’t know much about the subject matter). Maybe I would have liked it more if he hadn’t tried to unite the plotlines at all, in favor of just letting them stand as unique entities. Doing so would also help better integrate the two-dozen or so non-fiction articles that pepper the novel, ostensibly to ground the text in fact. But, again, I really don’t know enough about genetics to know how biased is his view, as suggested by other reviews I’ve read.
