'Fess up, now: truly creepy?

[dask]

Dask, that's a good point about the reader's liberty to take a break from the reading. It reminds me of the probability that, when I began to read HPL in my mid-teens, I read just that way -- not reading any of the longer stories from start to finish in one go. On the other hand, though, doesn't your comment assume that the reader, on his own, senses when and where in the reading to take such a break, with relatively minimal loss to the impact of the story?

Sometimes, I'm sure. But there's no guarantee the reader will sense the correct spot everytime. A whole host of reasons may trigger the need for a break. When my coffee cup runs dry, I break for refills without warning or regard for political correctness.

 

[dask]

Creepy? Decide for yourself: "...when from the pitch-black room we had left there burst the most appalling and daemoniac succession of cries that either of us had ever heard. Not more unutterable could have been the chaos of hellish sound if the pit itself had opened to release the agony of the damned..." Herbert West - Reanimator.

 

[Extollager]

Dask, you're asking me? Not creepy. It's over-written, worthy of Bulwer-Lytton (who gave us "It was a dark and stormy night"). But I think the "Herbert West" thing is often regarded as HPL at his worst.

 

[dask]

Actually I was asking anyone. Glad someone answered.

I didn't find the above passage particularly "overwritten". My dictionary defines the word as "to write in inflated or overly elaborate style." Lovecraft just appears to be writing with his customary precision. But it wasn't the alleged purple prose which creeped me out. It was the phrase "the agony of the damned." The very idea of actually hearing such a thing made me squirm in my comfy chair a Starbucks. It is a powerful image not overwritten in the slightest.

 

[j d worthington]

First: I will have to fall more on Extollager's side on this one: The entire "Herbert West" series is distinctly overwritten... and, apparently, from the correspondence, quite deliberately so; originally to go with Houtain's statement that "You can't make them too horrible" (that is, "more is better"), and later because HPL became so despairing of writing anything like this having any artistic integrity, he decided to simply make it self-parody. The passage quoted above is overcolored (at the least) because of the hammering home of extreme terms not prepared for by the text which has gone before; any term may be appropriate, if the use of that term is in conformity with the careful emotional modulation of the text as a whole. Here, it is not.

Second: On that particular phrase from Bulwer... as has been said many times (including by the person who started the "Bulwer awards" contest) there is absolutely nothing wrong with that phrase in itself; it is simply a descriptive passage, as a night can be dark or (relatively) light, depending on the moonlight, cloud cover, etc., and it can be calm or stormy... so the phrase itself is perfectly fine. It is what comes after that portion of the sentence... at which point the sentence begins to simply fall apart. It is in his novel Paul Clifford, first chapter, and the full passage is as follows:

It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents -- except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.

-- The Works of Edward Bulwer Lytton, vol. VIII, p. 235​

About the main point in favor of the sentence as a whole is that it is cyclical, returning to its beginning with the sense of darkness overwhelming the light, and storm as both a physical reality and a metaphor for what follows in the novel. Otherwise -- Bulwer was painfully awkward here.

Not, however, always. He could also be quite good (though he was most often uneven), and at his best, quite powerful (see, for example, certain passages in Zanoni, A Strange Story, or "The Haunted and the Haunters; or, the House and the Brain", the latter of which still remains perhaps his most famous and often-reprinted story (and is also recognized as one of the great haunted house tales in general). He was, as has also been pointed out, the recipient of praise from Dickens, Mary Shelley, and (alternating with villification) Poe... who rather hit the nail on the head with both his strengths and faults....

 

[Extollager]

You're right, JDW: I made a cheap shot at Bulwer. My apologies to his shade.

 

[j d worthington]

You're right, JDW: I made a cheap shot at Bulwer. My apologies to his shade.

Despite what I said above, it isn't as if he did not on occasion deserve such....

 

[dask]

"It was a dark and stormy night..." I always liked that sentence, maybe even better than "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." What do I know? "The agony of the damned" still creeps me out, prepared or not. Ah well, one man's barf is another man's beef.

 

[Fried Egg]

I actually found "Herbert West - Reanimator" very creepy indeed, even though it was often humourous as well. Indeed, I actually had a nightmare about this story the night after reading it; no small accolade as horror stories don't normally affect me in that way. I know there were problems with this story in terms of it's episodic structure but I'm suprised that anyone would regard it as one of his worst. I would place this above many of his other stories.

As for Lovecraft stories that I found truly creepy, I would add "Rats in the Walls", "The Shunned House", "At the Mountains of Madness" and "Shadows over Innsmouth".

Other stories affected me quite deeply but in other ways. "Nyarlathotep" for instance is probably one of the most effective pieces of cosmic horror I've ever read. It is so bleak and humbling.

 

[dask]

The particular phrase I am concerned with, "the agony of the damned", is neither overwritten nor overcolored. It is a concise, powerful statement which means what it says and says what it means, and does not meet the dictionary definition of "overwritten." And before anyone knocks the dictionary keep in mind: words without meaning are gibberish. (Innovators who like to make up their own definitions as the need demands please feel free to do so at home in the privacy of your room with the lights off and the shades pulled.)

The assertion all allusions and descriptions, even the extremely worded ones, need to be prepared earlier in the text is unwarranted and ill-advised. The well crafted story, to be sure, benefits when plot devices and such are arranged so characters don't go around pulling rabbits out of hats, but writers need flexibility and freedom to write the stories they want and the last thing they need is to be fettered to the dictates of people not involved in the actual writing of their story. Besides, a writer may decide to use a strongly worded phrase to "prepare" something yet to be revealed. Not everything can be prepared, not everything need be prepared, otherwise who prepares the preparation? Whoever watches the watcher? Freedom is not freedom if one is shackled. Let the writer decide what to write.

But as it happens, the phrase "the agony of the damned" is indeed prepared in the text. During an early attempt to reanimate a corpse, the narrator confides: "I, myself, still held some curious notions about the traditional 'soul' of man, and felt awe at the secrets that might be told by one returning from the dead. I wondered what sights this placid youth might have seen in inaccessible spheres, and what he could relate if fully restored to life. But my wonder was not overwhelming..." No, not overwhelming, but there nonetheless and this uncertainty prompted the narrator to use the phrase "the agony of the damned" to describe the sound uttered by the corpse upon returning to life.

There, I've had my say. Go ahead, tear me to shreds like some loathsome Lovecraftian monstrosity. I deserve it.

 

[Extollager]

Dask, my critical comment referred to the whole passage: "...when from the pitch-black room we had left there burst the most appalling and daemoniac succession of cries that either of us had ever heard. Not more unutterable could have been the chaos of hellish sound if the pit itself had opened to release the agony of the damned..."

I wasn't saying "the agony of the damned" was overwritten.

 

[j d worthington]

Dask, my critical comment referred to the whole passage: "...when from the pitch-black room we had left there burst the most appalling and daemoniac succession of cries that either of us had ever heard. Not more unutterable could have been the chaos of hellish sound if the pit itself had opened to release the agony of the damned..."

I wasn't saying "the agony of the damned" was overwritten.

Ditto. It isn't that phrase I object to in particular (though frankly I think it was, given Lovecraft's views, a comment on the gullibility of his narrator). It is, as Extollager notes, the entire passage, with its befogged phrasing which, ultimately, boils down to an extremely overwritten, even perfervid, example of Lovecraft at the worst of his "adjectivitis" (as it has been called). Mind you, he also used such wording very carefully and precisely (and effectively) as well. Just not here. "The agony of the damned" is, I grant, prepared for by certain other passages, and echoed later in his questioning the revived corpse about where "he" has been, etc. (adding to my feeling that this is a reflection of that narrator's being in denial, as it were, about still harboring much superstition).

And while I agree that a writer must have the freedom you mention, two things should be kept in mind here: A) what I cite is actually Lovecraft's own views, frequently reiterated, on the necessity for very careful preparation for such floridity in writing (in fact, for any emotional modulation in the language used); and B) this was not a story Lovecraft wanted to write. In fact, he hated the entire process, and kvetched about it for months. This was one written strictly for money and as a favor to a friend (his amateur colleague George Julian Houtain, whose semi-professional magazine, Home Brew -- a humor magazine, by the way -- this was). He had nothing good to say about it the entire time he was writing it (save for being tickled at his name being on a magainze actually being sold on newsstands; cf. Selected Letters I: 179), and was immensely relieved when the whole experience was over. He also tended to exclude this from his list of acknowledged tales.

A look at his own comments about the tale might not be out of place, and I shall post them shortly....

 

[j d worthington]

Here goes:

Another business opportunity recently appearing is that afforded by St. Julian's [HPL's nickname for Houtain] new magazine, Home Brew. He wants a series of six ghastly tales to order -- apparently unaware that art cannot be created to order. I doubt if any sroty from my pen could please the clientele of an essentially popular magazine, and have so informed the jovial publisher. However -- if he will be satisfied with some frankly artificial hackwork, in no way related to my normal output, I will do my best for him. He offers five bucks per story -- on publication. Rotten remuneration, but perhaps a better proposition than [David Van] Bush [HPL's most persistent -- and untalented -- revision client] work. Damn poverty!

-- SLI.152​

I am now a professional fiction writer -- albeit in a very limited sense. The vociferous George Julian Houtain has attempted to found a piquant professional monthly -- 25¢ per copy. $2.50 per year -- with the alluring title of Home Brew; and for this ambitious venture he has demanded of me a series of six gruesome tales, all with the same central character, at the munificent price of $5.00 each! At first I refused; for fiction written to order is not art, whilst any series involves forcing and repetition of the most unclassical sort. But upon the insistence of the jovial editor I have given in, and have embarked upon a most hideous succesion of yarns and narratives bearing the generic caption Herbert West -- Reanimator. Houtain said: "You can't make them too morbid," and I have taen him at his word! The two alreay finished are entitled respectively From the Dark and The Plague Daemon. Of the success of the magazine I have substantial doubts, but if it does succeed I shall have excellent opportunities for acquiring a reputation for sinister diabolism!

-- SLI.154-55​

Our mutual friend George Julian Houtain has just embarked on a professional magazine venture, founding a piquant monthly to be called Home Brew and to sell at 25¢ per copy. $2.50 per year. For this periodical he wishes me to write a series of gruesome tales at $5.00each -- a series of at least six, with the same central character running through. Now this is manifestly inartistic. To write to order, and to drag one figure through a series of artificial episodes, involves the violation of all that spontaneity and singleness of impression which should characterise short story work. It reduces the unhappy author from art to the commonplace level of mechanical and unimaginative hack-work. Nevertheless, when one needs the money one is not scrupulous -- so I have accepted the job! So far I have ground out two of the series, waiting to see whether the publication succeeds or fails before going on. I am calling the series Herbert West -- Reanimator, since it deals with a young medical student with a penchant for reviving the dead -- a sort of advanced "Dr. Whitlock", if I may allude to the work of a more distinguished author! West finds his specimens in the dark of the moon with spade and lantern, and has some rather interesting adventures. The first story is entitled From the Dark; the second, The Plague-Daemon. They are not even comparable to my usual spontaneous work.

-- SLI.158​

I yesterday receiv'd the first number of Home Brew, and am doing as well as can be expected. Misery loves company, and I have at least some sorry consolation in the companionship of yourself [Rheinhart Kleiner] and [James Ferdinand] Morton amidst the arid waste of ochreous commercialism. Like the painted punks in your dancing dactyls, the Muses have sold themselves for a golden guinea....

-- SLI.165​

I never try to write a story, but wait till a story has to be written. It was thus with Nyarlathotep and Randolph Carter, which I dreamed. When I set to work deliberately to fashion a tale, the result is cheap and flat. I think I told you of the series I am writing for Houtain's Home Brew. (All series are inartistic, since they involve tedious repetitions, and weak stretching out of the idea.) If you have received the opening number you will see what a miserable result I have achieved!

-- SLI.166​

I have lately completed the fourth of the West tales, entituled The Scream of the Dead, and form'd a synopsis of the fifth, to be call'd The Horror from the Shadows. I shall be glad when the burthen of this hack labour is removed from my back....

-- SLI.167​

Your sorrow at the completion of my sinister stories, is balanc'd by mine own delight in the same event. The burden was frightful, the pay a myth after the second cheque, and the results painfully wanting as authentick art. If I merit your encomium as a writer of tales, 'tis surely on less commercial roducts that you must have bas'd it. Hereafter Home Brew will reprint my older and better fables from the amateur press, obtaining without cost a much superior sort of writing[...]

-- SLI.188-89​

The enclosed published series, Herbert West -- Reanimator, represents my poorest work -- stuff done to order for a vulgar magazine, & written down to the herd's level.

-- SLI.201
​

On the subject of series -- lest someone bring up his Randolph Carter stories: these were never conceived of as a series of tales (save for the last, about which more in a moment), but rather individual tales written over about a 15-year period. The use of Carter in them (save for the exception noted above) was simply that that character a) seemed to fit the events; and b) was in part a stand-in for Lovecraft himself in various ways, either as an alter-ego for his dream-self in the first ("The Statement of Randolph Carter", which is almost a transcription of a true dream he had); a mouthpiece for his evolving aesthetic theories in the second ("The Unnamable"); a dreamer whose adventures in the dream-realm became symbolic of Lovecraft's own "spiritual autobiography" (The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath); and a genuine scion of New English stock who was also a writer who had gone through many of the same phases with both that career and his aesthetic growth as had Lovecraft himself ("The Silver Key").​

The one exception to this is the final tale, "Through the Gates of the Silver Key", which was conceived, by E. Hoffmann Price, as a direct sequel to "The Silver Key", and at which Lovecraft balked when approached for collaboration. He raised much the same objections as he had with "Herbert West" as to the artificiality of such a series, but finally gave in when Price simply went ahead and wrote his own sequel, "The Lord of Illusion", and sent it to Lovecraft. Faced with either offending a friend by coldly telling him "hands off!", having someone else butcher one of his own creations by a completely inept handling, or proceeding with a (very heavy) rewrite of what had been sent him, knowing that it could never be on a par with the original or even consistent with it, Lovecraft took the third option, albeit it with great reluctance and a (well-founded) certainty that it was full of flaws from its very inception. (Mind you, I have a strong fondness for the tale, and feel there is a great deal to like about it; but I agree with HPL's assessment nonetheless.)​