Tag: H.P. Lovecraft

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. . . it does not do for people to know too much about these matters. Like the more famous remark from “The Call of Cthulhu” quoted by @TomMeyer in an earlier post, this remark from H. P. Lovecraft captures the unsettling idea that understanding could ruin you.  The truth, if you knew it, could […]

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In my undergraduate days I studied at Miskatonic University for a couple of years before I transferred to Dallas Baptist University, where I later got my B. A. For an English course at Miskatonic one semester I wrote a research paper distinguishing four ways of being undead in H. P. Lovecraft’s writings. There’s a lot […]

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ACF #4 — “Psycho”

 

Welcome to the fourth episode of the American Cinema Foundation movie podcast! Today, I am joined by my friend and Ricochet compeer @stsalieriericcook. Eric Cook is a history teacher in a charter school in North Carolina, an organist in a church, and a builder of pipe organs, actually. One of Ricochet’s eccentric scholar-gentlemen, with an all-American upbringing in the working classes of Western Pennsylvania and a sometimes nostalgic, sometimes angry respect for the dignity of work, which is not faring well in our times. He also scores silent films–this is his BluRay of the 1922 movie Timothy’s quest–and leads the Ivy Leaf Orchestra!

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Yahoo news is really on the cutting edge. They’re not just reporting who won last night, but who will win in 2016. Because you may think it was a good night for Republicans, but you’d be wrong. The real winner last night was Mrs. Bill…I mean Hillary R. Clinton. It all has to do with […]

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H. P. Lovecraft & The Darkest Horror

 

LovecraftIt being Halloween week, we’ve had some fun discussing horror writing and film, from Edgar Allan Poe‘s horror of death to the theological horror of The Exorcist. I enjoy both genres immensely, but I’ve come to a late appreciation for H.P. Lovecraft (1890 -1936), who did as much to shape the genre in the 20th Century as Poe did in the 19th.

Lovecraft lived most of his life in Southern New England, with a short stint in New York City during his brief and profoundly unhappy marriage. Born into relative privilege of a 19th Century sort, he never really earned a living, getting by on his inheritance and the pittance his writing brought in. Introverted and unwilling to promote himself, he died in obscurity of stomach cancer in 1936, his work having never gained any attention outside of pulp magazines.

Like most horror writers, Lovecraft is extraordinarily uneven: many of his stories are incredibly derivative, some of them are outright silly, and there’s strain of racism throughout his work that would be more offensive if it weren’t so transparent, gratuitous, and dated (besides the regular derogatory comments about blacks, Lovecraft can never resist the opportunity to take a jab at the Portuguese). Moreover, Lovecraft’s characterizations are generally very weak — it’s unusual for a character from his stories to make much of an impression — and the number of named women in his work could likely be counted on a single hand.