Thoughts on Lovecraft

I recently read a collection of H.P. Lovecraft’s short stories. My version was the Penguin Classics edition The Call of Cthulhu and Other Weird Stories. It was my introduction to Lovecraft, whom I had long heard of and had on my reading list but hadn’t gotten around to yet, even though he made my list of the Founding Fathers and Mothers of Horror Literature. I try to vary my reading quite a bit, which includes classics and staples and game-changers in my field, but I also try to keep up with current books succeeding in my genres as well as books of all styles, topics, and quality. In spite of the fact that I love modern fiction, literary fiction, and commercial fiction, old classics hold a special place in my heart and always will.

I still remember discovering Ray Bradbury. Like Lovecraft, Bradbury is an author I got to as an adult, and I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say he changed my life for the better. The quality and imagination and passion in his words flamed the fan of my own. Unlike Edgar Allan Poe, who I’ve loved since I was a little girl, I didn’t read Bradbury until I was well out of college. I mourned the years that I’d gone without Bradbury’s stories in my life. Think of how many times I could have read them – how many more I could have gotten to by now! But in a way, reading his work for the first time as an adult made it even more special. I was able to fully appreciate every layer and detail the first time through, and I instantly saw the influence in my beloved genres.

I wish I could say I had the same experience with Lovecraft, but I can’t. There are many factors here, so let me be clear: I very much enjoyed his stories. I adored his ideas and themes. I appreciate how original he was and acknowledge that he did indeed change the field. I was relieved to see that I was right in including him in my list of Founders of Horror. There were moments of brilliance. There were passages that made me pause in awe. There were stories that still stick with me several weeks later. And there were concepts that resonated deeply with some of my own work. I admire him. I do.

But I was still disappointed. Maybe it was the buildup. His short story “The Call of Cthulhu” is practically sacred among fans, and there have been so many Cthulhu mythos/Lovecraftian inspired anthologies I really don’t believe anyone could count them. Was “Cthulhu” good? Yes. Was it amazing? Maybe. Was it anywhere close to the mastery of Bradbury or Poe? Absolutely not.

When people talk about the masters of horror, they include Lovecraft, but the truth is that as incredibly original as his stories were for his time, they often lack drive and focus, the prose ranges from good to downright shoddy, and he repeats concepts to the point that they feel like over-chewed oatmeal. Even visionaries have their flaws, I suppose. But I see so many fewer flaws in Poe and Bradbury.

Maybe it’s not fair to compare them, but I can’t quite help it. I’m hard-pressed to find weak sentences in those two, much less entire passages, like in Lovecraft. And although Bradbury and Poe often repeat themes and messages, they rarely if ever repeat entire concepts the way Lovecraft does. And in spite of the fact that Poe comes from a time even earlier than Lovecraft (and was actually one of Lovecraft’s biggest literary influences), his stories never got quite so rambley and off-topic as Lovecraft’s do. Is originality and vision alone enough to warrant Lovecraft’s induction into the horror hall of fame?

Yeah, I guess it is. For those of you who haven’t read Lovecraft, I’ll do my best to give you an idea of his work. He mostly does science fictiony horror with a touch of supernatural. His outlook on humanity is bleak, and his fears focus on either an inescapable hereditary connection that will consume him eventually, or an inescapable cosmic terror coming for Earth… eventually. His fears, then, revolve around the past resurfacing to wipe him out or the future promising to wipe us all out. Put simply: evolution and aliens – often masterfully and sometimes clumsily combined into the same stories.

Untitled-2The predominate mood of his stories is dread. The main tone is despair. The fear is of the slow-build type, which is sometimes executed effectively and sometimes not. (He has a horrible habit of not just foreshadowing but blatantly stating where the story is going.) Most of his stories take place in a sort of backwoods, untouched New England. Main characters tend to be racist, classist, and of the scholarly perhaps even authorial type. There’s a recurring motif of cults with ancient, evil knowledge. Think cloaks and deformed people who don’t seem quite right. Lots of chanting. And an absolutely insane number of monoliths. I didn’t go back to check, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was at least one mention of monoliths in every one of the 18 stories I read. Did I mention that dude is obsessed with monoliths?

I don’t think “Cthulhu” is his best story. Personally, I found “The Colour Out of Space” to be his finest. It’s by far the most unique, interesting, and subtly chilling alien horror story I’ve ever read. It makes “Cthulhu” look like hackneyed pulp in comparison, but I suppose that’s all a matter of taste. Another great story is “The Rats in the Walls,” which has all of the scientific/evolutionary/ancestry undercurrents of Lovecraft plus the chilling madness of Poe. Why don’t more people talk about these two?

Not that “The Call of Cthulhu” is bad by any means. I think the cult’s chanted phrase, which translates to, “In his house at R’lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming,” is the most deliciously unsettling part of the story. I also liked the eerie statue, but when the actual monster appeared all of my tension and potential fear were gone. I’m not a big fan of giant alien monsters. Again, taste.

Perhaps my aversion to the repetitive concepts came because I read so many of his stories in a row. His early stories were frequently regurgitated and expanded upon in his later stories. For example, if you’ve read “Dagon” you pretty much know where “Cthulhu” is going. If you’ve read “The Festival” you don’t much need to read “Celephais,” etc. He also repeats many names of places and gods, such as Nyarlathotep and shoggoths. In fact, some characters and places are repeated so much that some people call the collected items the Cthulhu Mythos and claim that all of his works belong within one shared universe. I’m not convinced. To me they felt more like Easter eggs.

Perhaps if I’d read a smaller selection of Lovecraft before I became a writer I would have enjoyed his stories more. If I could have gotten over the mediocre prose and side-stepped the repetitive stories, I think I might have fallen in love. Although I’ve never been too into space horror, I adore evolutionary horror. Maybe a different set of circumstances could have had me revering Lovecraft as so much of the spec-fic fan world does, but as it is, I’m not in love. I came away with some new appreciation for my literary lineage, a healthy dose of respect, and an urge to crack open my old book of Poe.

Have you read Lovecraft? Did you love him, hate him, or something in between?

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Everything You Need to Know About the #Hashtag

Hi guys! This week I’m going to invite you to visit my latest Twitter column at Writer Unboxed: Everything You Need to Know About the #Hashtag. Whether you’re a Twitter newbie trying to figure out why you’re seeing pound signs everywhere or a veteran looking for etiquette and tips, I hope this post has a little something for everyone. Enjoy!

PS- Even if you’re not on Twitter this might be worth checking out, since hashtags are spreading to other sites like Facebook and Pinterest too!

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In Need of a Word

Photo by Mal B

Autumn is coming. Can you feel it? The temperature dropping is the most obvious sign, but there are others, if you’re looking as hard as I am. A steadily growing number of leaves waiting on my windshield every day. A seemingly unexplainable increase in lap cuddles with my suddenly fluffier cats. A near-silent flurry of activity outside my window – birds and squirrels and lizards shaking off the lethargy of summer and getting back to busy. As am I.

There’s an emotion that often visits me, and I don’t have a word for it.

Sometimes, I feel full near to bursting with it, but I don’t know what to call it. Part of it is a hyperawareness of my surroundings, and I’ll become doubly thankful for all I have and more in tune with nature without trying. Part of it is something akin to joy but less happy and more fierce. Part of it is a very poignant, bittersweet melancholy. A huge chunk of it is a type of longing that has no object. I don’t long for something; I just long.

At times like these, I feel as if I am the center of everything around me, but not in a selfish way. More in a physical way, almost. I feel like I’m deeply a part of things, and I’m acutely aware. There’s also an energy, an antsiness I can’t quite work out. Excitement and anticipation. Maybe I’m just way too into Halloween. Maybe the animal instinct in me knows it’s time to start readying for winter. Maybe it’s more than that.

I suppose that all of this makes me sound a little bit crazy, because how could all of these things possibly be a part of the same emotion? I don’t know. All I can tell you is that they are one and the same, and I don’t have a name for it. But I look for the name every autumn, in my own way.

I’ve described it before as a pressure expanding from within. A waiting on the brink of something unknown. A yearning, a tugging, a melting. But none of these quite capture it. Indeed, it’s this feeling that has moved me to create many of my works, from poetry to stories to entire novels. I’m beginning to wonder if that’s the reason I write about it: If I don’t have one word to encapsulate it, maybe many will do.

The truth is that I love this feeling. As an artist, it’s emotions so large I can’t ignore them that most often drive me to create. So this autumn, I hope to get lost in a swirl of beautiful but not quite perfect words, chasing the one that probably doesn’t exist. I may never find it, but I’ll find many others along the way. That’s not a bad way to spend a season. Or, come to think of it, a life.

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Country Born

When I have a poem published somewhere, I like to repost it here after the rights revert back to me so you guys can read it easily. That’s the case today. “Country Born” is a little free verse poem that Dos Gatos Press published in their 2013 Texas Poetry Calendar. I love this calendar; I buy one every year, regardless of whether or not I have a poem in it. It’s a by-the-week setup, so I’m guaranteed to read at least one new poem every week, which is just wonderful. This year my poem was next to March 24th. I hope you enjoy!

 

Country Born

I want my kids to grow up in the country,
barefoot and shirtless with twigs in their hair.

I want them to catch frogs in rain ponds by culverts –
to learn to let them go before they come back home.

I want them to feel the smooth cordage of a horse’s neck
stretching between fence wires for the eternally greener.

I want them to know that the bump and crunch of a gravel driveway
will always mean home.

I want my kids to grow up in the country,
where deeper roots mean taller trees.

 

© Annie Neugebauer, 2012
All rights reserved.

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5 Awesome Moments of Horror in Unexpected Places

Horror fans have one quality that is both an advantage and disadvantage over other readers and viewers: we want to be scared. This is good news when we’re watching something that’s supposed to frighten us, because we’re willing to go along for the ride. Often people who hate being scared are the same people to declare a movie “not scary,” and I think sometimes that has to do with choosing to laugh or ridicule rather than let the fear sink in. So I guess those people think of wanting to be scared as a disadvantage, but I think of it as an advantage. I receive great enjoyment out of getting the creeps.

That being said, there’s a huge difference between going into a book or movie wanting and even hoping to be scared and going into one with that farthest from our minds. When beautifully done moments of horror pop up in unexpected places, none of us has the opportunity to put up our guard. Often these scenes pack all the more punch for their surprise. No bracing, no mocking, no build-up… Today I’m going to discuss 5 scenes that scared the shit out of me when I was least expecting it. Just for funsies.

[Note: There are mild spoilers involved in all of these. You’ve been warned.]

1. The Tunnel Scene from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory

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I’ll start with a classic. In the 1971 movie version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory starring Gene Wilder, there’s a scene that’s been terrifying children for decades now: the tunnel scene. I think 80% of you just shuddered at the mention of it; I know I did.

This is a kid’s movie. They’re in a fantastical candy factory with an eccentric dude who plans to give one of them a lifetime supply of sweets. Nothing sinister going on here, right? Except if you know Roald Dahl, you know that there are always dark happenings under the surface. And boy do they get dark fast.

Now why the crap would a boat on a chocolate river go through a tunnel of terror depicting gruesome and grotesque images on the walls? (I remember centipedes crawling on a woman’s face, but I’m too scared to go back and check.) And why, dear God why, would Mr. Wonka be singing the creepiest song ever as everyone panics? Beats me. But I’m pretty sure that if I get an autopsy when I die and they dissect my brain, the small lobe labeled “scarred by childhood” will consist primarily of this scene playing endlessly on loop.

2. The Well Scene from The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

photo by Kanou Hiroki

Okay, let’s do a less-known one. A friend loaned me this novel by Haruki Murakami. It’s the epitome of literary surrealism, which has never been quite my cup of tea, but there was much to appreciate. And by far, my favorite scene was the scariest one in the book: the well. The dried up well on a neighboring property serves as a recurring setting for the main character, Toru Okada, an apathetic young Japanese man slowly losing grip on reality. Essentially because he’s cray-cray and fighting inner demons, he decides to go down there and sit in the dark.

Catch: he’s very afraid. He lowers a rope ladder tied firmly to a tree and descends, but he’s afraid to let go of the rope once he’s down. It’s his security net, almost literally, and the tension is palpable. He finally weans himself from it, but he has no light and the well is so deep none reaches from above ground, so every few minutes he goes back to feel for the rope, just to prove to himself that it’s still there. He stays in the well for days, hallucinating and checking the rope, and his only grasp on sanity is the half-circle of sky he can see when he looks up. And then one time… the rope’s not there.

Now if you didn’t just get a little ping of chills, I must not be telling it right, because trust me: it’s damn scary. But it gets worse. The strange, loveable yet morbid teenage girl across the street comes over and looks down the well, talking to Toru. She was the one to pull up the rope. She then proceeds to question him about fear and death, and when his answers aren’t satisfactory, she shuts the other half of the well cover and leaves. It was one of those magical moments when reading something gave my entire body live chills.

3. The Singing Lady in Earaserhead

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Some people would argue that Earaserhead is a horror movie, but I would disagree. Terrifying, yes. Intentional, no. I think it’s a surrealist art film about industrialism and passivity that uses strange and grotesque body imagery as a metaphor. That just happens to be some highly, highly disturbing stuff. Oh, and did I mention how disturbing this film is? It’s disturbing. The most deeply disturbing thing I’ve ever watched in my life. Like take a shower and scrub until your skin is raw disturbing – and not even in a good way.

There was one scene in this movie that actually made me scream. Like an out-loud, I’m-in-terror scream. There’s this creepy-ass deformed lady on a stage by herself who smiles sadly and sings Peter Ivers’s song “In Heaven.” Watching it makes my body react physically – like all of my instincts are telling me seriously to get away as fast as possible. And then, of course, it gets worse.

These things begin falling from the ceiling. Slimy, intestine-looking blobs. But creepy lady just keeps on smiling, and she looks so earnest and hopeful, like she’s giggling without sound, and she keeps looking at the camera like she wants your approval. And then – I can barely even bring myself to say it – she begins stomping on them. Happily. Yeah, I can’t even talk about this. I love you guys, but not enough to relive this horrific scene. If you’re just that twisted, you’ll have to watch for yourself (which I don’t recommend), because I’m out.

4. The Wolf in Lon Po Po

lonpopo2

This is much safer territory. Lon Po Po is an absolutely gorgeous picture book by Ed Young. It’s essentially a Chinese retelling of Little Red Riding Hood. While this one’s tame compared to Earaserhead, you have to remember that 1) it is quite literally for children, and 2) unlike Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark and such, it’s not marketed as horror. So if you can imagine a little kid sitting down to this story not knowing they’re about to have the poop scared out of them, it puts it into perspective.

In this one, the wolf does indeed dress up as these three children’s grandmother (whom their mother has gone to see). He tricks them into opening the door, and the first thing he does – and the scariest, in my mind – is blow out their single candle. Woowee that one got me every time.

Not to mention that the illustrations are breathtakingly creepy and sinister. Truly a classic; highly recommend.

5. The Final Scene of The Door in the Floor

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This one has the biggest spoiler. I debated as to whether or not to tell the end, and I think I’m going to choose not to, because this is a really fantastic movie and I want you all to see it. And since it really isn’t a horror movie, I think many of you would enjoy it. It’s a drama, I guess, but it’s also one of the darkest comedies I’ve ever seen.

Jeff Bridges does a superb job playing a children’s book author living with his troubled and heartbroken family. I won’t tell you any more than that besides the fact that in my mind, the final scene of the movie belongs on this list.

~*~

So there you have it. Five scenes that snuck up behind me when I thought I was safe. What’s your favorite moment of horror in an unexpected place?

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