I
mentioned the other day that I much admire the science fiction of
Charlie Stross, even though I have no sympathy for his personal views
on religion and politics (or probably much else, for that matter).
Another ink-stained wretch who falls into that same category, albeit
one of far greater renown, is the great master of horror H.P.
Lovecraft. As John Miller recently observed, in a review well
worth reading in full, Lovecraft's take on the world was a
profoundly sick one:
He was a thoroughgoing
materialist--a socialist in his politics and an atheist in his beliefs.
"Now all my tales are based on the fundamental premise that common
human laws and interests and emotions have no validity or significance
in the vast cosmos-at-large," he wrote upon successfully
resubmitting the original Cthulhu story. "One must forget that
such things as organic life, good and evil, love and hate, and all such
local attributes of a negligible and temporary race called mankind,
have any existence at all."
That's nihilism, of course, and we're free to reject it. But there's
nothing creepier or more terrifying than the possibility that our lives
are exercises in meaninglessness. "As flies to wanton boys are we
to the gods," says Gloucester in King Lear. "They kill us for
their sport." From Lovecraft's perspective, this gives us far too
much credit. In his grim milieu, we don't even rate as insect pests,
but we still manage to get ourselves
squished.
Hardly the sort of world view likely to
appeal to a good Catholic conservative lad like myself, of course. And,
if I paid attention to the good old Index Librorum Prohibitorum, I
should probably find myself in trouble.
But I dote on horror stories and, perhaps because his personal world
view was so yucky (to use a technical term of literary criticism),
nobody did it better than Lovecraft. To return to Miller's
take:
"The Call of Cthulhu" is
also strangely engrossing, and contains many elements that will be
familiar to fans of "The Da Vinci Code" by Dan Brown: The
main character is an Ivy League professor determined to investigate
ancient mysteries and their lingering effects on the present day.
Readers who become accustomed to Lovecraft's writing style may find
that it possesses a florid eloquence.
They will also appreciate his skill at producing a sense of mounting
dread. Lovecraft knew what to place onstage as well as what to leave
inside the haunted imaginations of his readers. "The oldest and
strongest emotion of mankind is fear," he once wrote, "and
the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." If
Lovecraft had been a film director, he might have come up with a movie
much like "The Blair Witch Project," only
scarier.
Indeed. It was a secret shared by another
favorite of mine, J.R.R. Tolkien. One of the many things that
distinguishes The Lord of the Rings from run-of-the-mill hack fantasy is
Tolkien's awareness that the really bad stuff (Sauron, in particular)
is scarier if kept off stage. Each individual reader will tailor
his/her mental image of Sauron to maximize its effectiveness, something
no writer could match. Likewise, Gandalf seems so powerful precisely
because we almost never see him do any real magic. His powers just sort
of loom in the background. Too many modern writers have completely lost
touch with this basic skill, which is one of many reasons so much
modern horror or fantasy sucks.
Anyway, Lovecraft's best work is now available in a lovely Library of America edition. Try it. You might like
it.
Update: Be sure to follow the trackback link to Mark Coffey's
Decision '08 blog.