Averoigne I:23

Being Compline, the second day of November, Anno Domini One Thousand Two Hundred and Seventy-Five, outside the Cathedral of Saint-Azedarac…

“May I summarize your tale?”  Marcel rushes to catch up with Thibault as the sleet slaps the dirt around them.  “You say that some unholy force seems to occupy the cathedral, and might be involved in the deaths of at least one man, the husband of Madame le Mercier, by means as yet unknown.  This force seems to focus upon the Crypt of Saint-Azedarac in the cathedral crypt – a most inauspicious placement for such a malign spirit.  When last you visited at night, you encountered the spectral form of a woman in white robes who spoke in an unknown tongue and stopped at certain points in the floor.  Do I have the matter in hand?”

Thibault steps around a puddle.  “Yes, you have the gist of it.  Here are our friends.”

Julien and Richard stand in the presence of two disgruntled guards, who wave them in distractedly.

“I have prepared a small sketch for you,” Julien whispers to Marcel as they enter the vault.  He holds it up with one hand while pointing with the other.  “The vault is cruciform, with the tomb of Ste. Azedarac at the far end.  These three lines through the tomb are present in the original, though I know not what they signify.  And these two spots,” he taps it with his finger, “are the places where the ghost stopped.”

Marcel sighs.  “I cannot help with those three lines, but – wait!”  He takes the paper from Julien, stops, and kneels.  Withdrawing a quill and inkwell from his possessions, he begins to sketch.  “If we take the two points where the ghost stopped and compare them with the location of the tomb, we have an isosceles triangle with the largest angle on the tomb.  Or,” he thinks for a moment, then draws a circle around the tomb, “two points on a circle with the sarcophagus as its center.  By extrapolation, three other such points should exist on this circle.”  He sits back on his haunches, looking pleased with himself.

“A star-shaped pattern!” exclaims Richard.

“The star signifies the five wounds of Christ,” says Julien.  “I have often seen it in the cathedrals of Paris.”

“We cannot be assured, however, that its presence here is as innocuous,” answers Thibault.

“We should move quickly,” says Richard.  “The guards may yet regret the frequent visitor and group discounts that I squeezed from them.”

“Then let us proceed.  Maybe we can try to kill each other again,” says Julien.

“What’s that all about?” asks Marcel.

Thibault looks toward the vaulting.  “Oh, that’s right.  I forgot to tell you…”

–

Marcel feels a creeping terror as he descends the stairs, worn with the tread of countless pilgrims, into the low-ceilinged crypt.  The cracked slabs on the walls and floor bear the names of prelates and dukes, counts and clerics, the distinguished and the respected of Averoigne.  Now their names are chipped and the slabs pitted.  Small holes for rats or more disgusting things puncture the serene granite surfaces.  The place is damp, the air musty.  Small rivulets of moisture run down the walls.

“’Twas less dank on our last visit,” says Richard.  “Wait!  That light by the crypt!”

“I see it, too,” says Thibault.  “Forward, men, and cautiously…”

Walking cautiously into the area that must be beneath the altar, the men find the tomb of Ste. Azedarac, an ornate marble sepulcher topped with the full-length form of the former Bishop of Ximes.  His sharp features, showing a grizzled man with a crescent scar above his right eye, belie the smile of piety and kindliness upon his lips.  Around the tomb are the signs of his devotion – small coins, rotting bouquets of flowers, wax representations of a lame leg or crooked arm that it is hoped the saint will heal, and candles, some tiny, others over five feet high, all snuffed.

Above all this hangs a sickly vapor, its luminescence casting the area around it into stark relief.  This gaseous form has now taken on a mockery of human form, with an emaciated torso and vaguely clawed hands that drift out toward the group.  The worst of it, however, is the head, with sunken eye sockets and an elongated snout that hangs open, revealing a hint of razor-sharp teeth.  It sighs, an exhalation more felt than heard, and glides forward.

Marcel steels himself.  He holds out his crucifix.  “Back, servant of Satan!”

One of the misty arms points at Marcel.  He reels with dizziness, nearly dropping his crucifix.

Julien shouts an oath and leaps up to the thing, slashing at its misty substance with his blade.  He merely dissipates it for a moment, and is forced to step backward as the same disorientation that struck Marcel fills his head.

Thibault and Richard feel the same force on themselves, but they grab their two friends and drag them to the far end of the crypt.  On his way back, Thibault grabs a vial of holy water from Marcel’s pouch and throws it.  It shatters harmlessly against the tomb.

“I fear we must once again depart the crypt of Ste.-Azedarac,” says Richard, once they have reached the stairs and his friends have shaken off their disorientation.

Behind them, the glow intensifies, and a gravelly voice whispers in the language of the spectral woman.

Derleth Defender

Via the Grim Blogger comes this short post on Derleth’s posthumous additions to Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos, focusing on the infamous “war in heaven” concept.

For those who don’t remember, Lovecraft turned out tales of beings who are indifferent to humanity (save for Hypnos, Nodens, Nyarlathotep, the Hound… well, it works conceptually, right?).  His de facto literary executor August Derleth, through both his own fiction and his introductions to Lovecraft’s works, maintained that Lovecraft had believed in a battle between the good Elder Gods and the evil Great Old Ones before humanity had risen, which the Great Old Ones had lost and thereby were imprisoned for a time until the stars came right again.

For decades Lovecraft scholars and fans have debated that crucial question:  Would Lovecraft have received the recognition he has today if Derleth had killed his own grandfather using a time machine?   That would likely be a better question than the usual one on Derleth’s influence, because everyone would acknowledge how speculative it was and do something productive instead.

Nonetheless, I have to speak out on behalf of Derleth’s “war in heaven” theory, donning the mantle of Derleth Defender.   (I can’t really don the mantle, because Harris has it.   Really – Harris once went out as the Derleth Defender for Halloween or somesuch.  Ask him about it.)  There are quite good reasons that Derleth believed in the war in heaven.

The first was that a correspondent of Lovecraft’s, Howard Farnese, told Derleth that Lovecraft had said just that:

“You will, of course, realize that all my stories, unconnected as they may be, are based on one fundamental lore or legend: that this world was inhabited at one time by another race, who in practicing black magic, lost their foothold and were expelled, yet live on outside, ever ready to take possession of this earth again.” 

Farnese kept promising Derleth that he had the quote somewhere, but it never turned it.  It largely seems to have been a product of Farnese’s bad memory.  David Schultz has the complete rundown on the “black magic” quote here.

The other factor was the words of Lovecraft himself.  The first story to feature the Elder Gods, as far as we know, was Derleth’s collaboration with Mark Schorer, “The Lair of the Star-Spawn.”  Derleth sent the story, under the draft title “Eric Marsh”, to HPL in 1931, asking for his thoughts after Farnsworth Wright rejected it.  The contents of HPL’s unpublished letter would be a mystery today if some young whippersnapper hadn’t put up the relevant quote from the letter on alt.horror.cthulhu when he wasn’t supposed to. Lovecraft suggests the “Star-Spawn” title to Derleth, and then makes the following statement:

[The story] in general is a really notable piece of work with a genuine kick to it…  I shall undoubtedly use the Tcho-Tchos in some later story — let Wright say what he pleases!

It’s likely that this was the point that confirmed Derleth’s reading of HPL as a saga of a “war in heaven.”  Lovecraft never really mentions that Derleth was not following his vision, and in fact praises the tale considerably.  Perhaps he meant to send a subtle message by embracing the Tcho-Tcho instead of the more powerful good entities, but if so, it was likely too questionable for Derleth.

I’m still not sure where Derleth got his concept of a cosmic battle, but it’s clear that it was what he thought HPL truly believed about his fiction.

Cthulhu Mythos Encyclopedia Update

Yes, the third edition is well underway.  Thanks to everyone who’s passed on suggestions and comments.  (If you’re American, I should note that them forners are being very helpful, so you’d best step up to the plate for Eldritch God and Country.)

At this stage, I’m viewing this project as a return of the old school.  Despite having read a great deal of new Mythos fiction, I’m not finding too much to put into the book from those stories.  Whereas in the early days Lovecraft and Howard and Smith would freely borrow from each other, there’s not much cross-fertilization of beasties among the current crop of writers.  People are content to use the Old Masters and create their own characters, but there’s not the same sort of swapping going on among the current generation that there once was.  As I’ve instituted a “two author” rule for the book, that means a great deal of the new creations are missed.

Given that situation, I’m going back to put in more of the classic HPL material – the Terrible Old Man, the Unnamable, and the Shunned House, among others.  Plus, I’m trawling back to find more stories by classic Mythos writers like Walter DeBill and Duane Rimel (anyone got Etchings and Odysseys #9?).   And I have a huge amount of research to do on an entry for Robert E. Howard’s Acheron that needs to be done, when I feel up to it.  That won’t be for a while.

That doesn’t mean new authors are neglected.  I’m reading book after book of stories by many different authors.  My new favorites so far are Caitlin Kiernan and Don Webb, but there’s plenty more worth commenting upon.  I’ve also found a number of bad stories, which I’ll refrain from mentioning names upon to avoid hurt feelings.  I have to give the top prize to the story in which August Derleth fights off Cthulhu using mushroom soup.

No, I’m not kidding.

I’m always open to suggestions, so feel free to send them on.  And if you want a hardcover or signed trade paperback, you know what to do.

The King in Yellow – Mythos?

I noticed that the Grim Blogger, the keeper of the new Grim Reviews blog, stopped by in the comments.  This, of course, means that I must give him a hard time about something, which is difficult given how great his blog is.

I’ll pick his essay on the Robert W. Chambers King in Yellow Mythos.  For those who aren’t familiar with Chambers (1865-1933), he was an author and artist best known today for his short story collection The King in Yellow, the first pieces of which mention a play called The King in Yellow that features a character called – that’s right – “the King in Yellow.”  Chambers got a couple of his names from Bierce’s “The Inhabitant of Carcosa” and “Haita the Shepherd”, then created more characters and locations for his mythic play, alluding to them suggestively.  Lovecraft later appropriated a couple of Chambers’ creations for his fiction, making Chambers fair game for later Mythos writers.  He outlines quite a number of Chambers-inspired pieces, though he overlooks the peripheral but prodigious Darkover series of Marion Zimmer Bradley or works like John Tynes’ “The Road to Hali”.

The Grim One asks the following question:

The question must be asked: is Chambers’ creation forming a belated mythos, not unlike Lovecraftians’ vast Cthulhu mythos?

I’d actually say that Chambers forms part of that larger Mythos, in the same way that stories about Deep Ones and ghoul tales do.  This is the function of how classic horror reading functions.  Frankly, very few people get into authors like Chambers or Machen or Hodgson or Blackwood without reading HPL first, so they largely act as ancillaries to his work in terms of appeal.  That doesn’t mean that people don’t distinguish between them, but their reading – and writing – comes through the lenses of HPL. Those who write about the Hastur Mythos often tie it into the Cthulhu Mythos, and there’s not a huge separate audience for King in Yellow works separate from the HPL fans.

I’d also take exception to the following statement:

Thus, it may be years before Chambers’ great contribution to weird fiction is as acclaimed as Lovecraft’s.

What is Chambers’ great contribution to weird fiction?  It’s two stories from The King in Yellow – “The Repairer of Reputations” and “The Yellow Sign.”  “In the Court of the Dragon” and “The Mask” have their moments, but they’re uneven in quality.  “The Demoiselle d’Ys” is the same tale told by many different authors, some of whom did a better job than this.  And I’ll be really impressed if anyone can name the sixth King in Yellow story.  Other than that, most of his work is not weird, and the remaining weird material is dragged down by Victorian sentimentality.  If someone wants to challenge that, feel free to do so.

I think that’s enough hazing for the Grim Blogger.  Welcome to the fold!

Test: Do You Think Like Me?

Read the passage below from this Guardian story, and reflect upon it for one minute. Afterward, scroll down to see potential responses.

Joan of Arc has inspired an industry with more than 20,000 books published in France, around 50 films and, recently, video games. This year forensic scientists carried out tests on Joan’s “relics” – bones and linen fragments discovered in the attic of a Paris pharmacy in 1867. Analysis showed the bones belonged to someone who died between the 6th and 3rd centuries BC and had been mummified in a way typical of ancient Egypt.

D

O

N

T

L

O

O

K

Y

E

T

What was your first reaction?
A)  Of course, most such relics are later forgeries.  It’s ironic that this one wasn’t really a  “later” one.

B)  It’s a shame that so many of our legends must be dredged up and exploited by sensationalistic books.

C)  What video games?

D) Wow!  Joan of Arc was an Egyptian mummy!

As you’ve guessed, D) is correct.

If during the following minute, you came up with some silly TV series premise, such as the revivified Joan of Arc mummy teaming up with a wisecracking street-smart cop to clean up Detroit, you earn bonus points and the justifiable fear of all humanity.

We’ll be back to serious posts tomorrow.

The Future of Lovecraft

Our final solicited post comes from Zoltan’s question:

How about a post on the future? The Necronomicon, Lovecraftian fiction, the Mythos in the media, space travel etc, will the appeal of Lovecraftian fiction still hold in the future? Or will the Old Gods fade into obscurity to be replaced by cold hard technology?

I have no doubt that Lovecraft’s work will continue to appeal to people in the future, using much the same model as he does today. I don’t see him gaining widespread mainstream acceptance (too many of his attitudes are unacceptable today, and there are too many other authors competing for recognition) or disappearing entirely, but he’ll continue to be an influence on a small group of people.

When considering this issue, I think of Poe. Let’s face it – Poe is completely outside the literary tastes, and indeed the mental worlds, of most people today. By modern standards, his prose is atrocious, his characters are unrealistic, and his situations are ridiculous (does anyone actually think you can keep someone alive through hypnosis, and that they’ll decay instantaneously if they’re taken out of the trance?) If I wrote a story in Poe’s style and submitted it to a magazine, they’d laugh and toss it in the trash. Nonetheless, people acknowledge Poe as a master of horror and continue to seek out his work. His legend sustains his writing.

The same could be said for Lovecraft, who was what Vincent Starrett called “his most fantastic creation.”  Lovecraft fans everywhere are aware of his love of cats, his hatred of seafood, his unhappy marriage, his supreme efforts at letter-writing, his love of architecture, his poverty, his racism, his kindness, his blind spots, his fears, and his joys.  Perhaps most of all, people are impressed with how he encouraged young authors and allowed them to use his mythos – and they use it in turn for themselves.  Many of these stories aren’t worth anything in literary terms, of course, but some go on and find their own voices and add to our pantheon of writers due to the encouragement of a man they can never meet.

That doesn’t mean that HPL’s writing doesn’t matter.  Lovecraft was the first to admit it had its flaws, and popular taste will continue to spiral away from his mode of expression.  Nonetheless, within his writing lies one of the keenest insights into the Romantic inclination, what we might call the wellspring for today’s interests in magic and Satanism and paganism and imaginary worlds and terror and practically everything else that makes Papers so much fun to read and to write.  No matter how based we think we are in the Enlightenment traditions of rationality and modernity, we trend back in the other direction – not to say one or the other is dominant, but that different people have different proportions of the same.  What Lovecraft presents us with is the encounter between the Enlightenment and the Romantic, and the turmoil that results when we confront it.

Too much attention has been paid to Lovecraft’s “cosmic” attitude.  I’ve heard it said many times that after Roswell and meteors from Mars and other solar systems and Einstein and quantum theory and the Holocaust and the atomic bomb, Lovecraft’s vision no longer has the hold on us it once did.  That’s simply not true.  What Lovecraft does is to put us on the boundary between what is known and what is beyond us, and then ask how we feel about it.  It’s not the vast uncaring universe that matters, in the end; it’s our reaction to it.  As long as people keep feeling that, Lovecraft’s fiction will live.

… and even if it didn’t, that damn Necronomicon would still be in print, because that’s how magic works, folks.

Good night!

Averoigne I:22

Being Prime, the second day of November, Anno Domini One Thousand Two Hundred and Seventy-Five, in the chamber of the Widow Mercier…

The bishop looks at Thibault and Julien for a moment.  Then, his face reddens and he points his finger at them and shouts.

“Imbeciles!  I was well aware of this imposture, the villainy that has taken place between these two gentlemen!  It was my intention to draw them out so that their misdeeds might be readily apparent to all and condemn them easily!  Your untimely intervention has made this much more difficult, possibly jeopardizing their prosecution!  I shall see that you pay for this!”

Richard quickly steps forward.  “Milord, please be compassionate with these gentlemen.  They were unaware of your brilliant plan, and were purely motivated by zeal to preserve your reputation and that of your illustrious town.”

The bishop considers this.  “Very well, then.  I forgive you your mistake.”  He gives Julien a dirty look.  “Take these two into custody!  You, Richard le Courtois, and your companions will come with me!”

The assemblage moves out of the room and up the hill toward the bishop’s palace.

–

Being Vespers, the second day of November, in the nave of the Old Cathedral…

Marcel pushes his way through the throng that fills the low Romanesque hall of the old cathedral.  Beyond it he can view the arching Gothic vaults and ambulatory of the new structure.  Tarpaulins cover the gap between the old and new places.  Momentarily an irrational loathing seizes him, but as he can find no cause for it.  He locates Julien’s bulk propped up against a pillar, and soon rejoins the other companions.

“I have made some inquiries via post.  We shall see what develops from them,” he says.  He cranes his neck.  “Have they come to a decision yet?”

Thibault shakes his head as he shaves off a sliver of cheese from the hunk in his hand.  “No.  All of our statements have been taken and recorded.  They have been in chambers for some time.”

“It is a poor showing that the bishop himself is apparently the head of this canon court,” grumbles Julien.  “I doubt we will find a verdict to our liking here.”

“Still, I cannot fault their legal reasoning,” states Richard, shivering in the cold.  “Wait!  Here they come!”

A row of court officials comes in from the south transept, the bishop at their head.  They take their seats at the tables arranged near the center of the church.  Andre and Gustave, both looking disconsolate, enter in chains and are made to stand before the court.

A servant pours the bishop’s wine.  Philbert takes a cup, sips it, and speaks.

“The crime of which we have heard today is not merely an assault on the household of this good lady.   It is a crime against this very city and every holy work we are attempting to do herein.  It is an assault on the sacred body and blood of Christ, on the sanctity of the Virgin Mary, and adds to the sufferings of all the saints and martyrs down through the ages.  Only our piety and large donations to the cathedral fund will truly right these wrongs.

“Andre d’Erlette, the wound you have inflicted to me is deep indeed.  You were as a son to me, or as close as a man might be within the body of Christ.  You have betrayed my sacred trust and the vows you took from the lowest minor order to the ordination.  Not only have you consorted with a known heretic and protected him from justice, you have conspired with him to commit further blasphemies and indecencies upon the innocent.”  He licks his lips.  “Nonetheless, you have confessed fully to your transgressions.  We have no inquisitor on hand, so we will await a judgment when the newly appointed one arrives.  In the meantime, I order you to be defrocked and imprisoned.”

He turns to Gustave.  “Gustave de Toulouse, known as le Moitie-Brule, my judgment is clear.  As a heretic may not testify in a court of law, there is nothing you can possibly say in your defense.  Some have spoken for clemency, but I fear it is beyond my power.  Your recantation and your flagrant disregard for the forces of divine and mortal law have brought you a death at the stake by slow fire, perhaps the most hideous death imaginable.  Your anathematized soul will thence proceed to one of the lower circles of the infernal realm, where you will be tormented for all eternity, no doubt by terrible demons selected specially for the task by Satan himself.  As such, any sentence I could pronounce upon you would be superfluous.”  He gives a slight smile.  “I hope the secular branch that carries out the sentence will show you mercy.  You will be returned to Toulouse to meet your judgment.”

–

“A heavy weight is on my heart,” says Thibault as the crowd files out of the building.  “Is it possible we have accomplished nothing here?”

“On the contrary,” says Richard.  “’Twas likely that Gustave would have met some awful fate no matter what he has done.  Due to our intervention, one of his confederates who might have escaped has been delayed, and the honor and purse of the beleaguered house of le Mercier has been saved from another tragedy.  I think some doubt has been sown regarding the bishop’s sanctity on this matter, and for that I feel little guilt.”

“Still, it leaves a bad taste in one’s mouth,” answers Marcel, looking off where Gustave is being hauled away.

“Indeed,” says Julien.  “Perhaps something should be done.”

“Remember, though, this is the man who insulted our honor when we first met him,” reminds Thibault.

“’Tis true.”  Julien thinks this over.

“At any rate, we should make a decision,” says Richard.  “If we feel it is incumbent upon ourselves as gentlemen to pursue this matter of Gustave le Moitie-Brule further, then we should do so.  Otherwise, we still have the death of Eldgrim le Mercier, the mysterious happenings at the cathedral, and the monastery of Saint-Crapauld to investigate.”  He smiles at Marcel’s confused look.  “Fear not, good friar; we shall make all known to thee at the proper time.  Still, we must decide our next course of action.”

Darrick Dishaw vs. the Church of Satan, Part 3

We return once again to our story of Darrick Dishaw and the Church of Satan.   How would the Church of Satan react to this rising tide of ignorance?

As you guessed, they kicked him out.  Plus, they were much nicer about the whole thing than I would have been.  I’m not sure whether that’s a statement about the CoS or about me.

Darrick found himself bereft, left outside his old organization.  He reflected upon his actions, finding that he could not absolve himself of responsibility for the situation.  Though saddened by his defeat, he had learned something important about himself, his organization, and the world around him.  And he gained great wisdom thereby.

No, not really.

Hazaa! Congratulations are in order for I have been kicked out of the Church of Satan! Regardless of what they say, my dangerous ideas were a threat to them.

Hazaa?  I don’t think that’s…

I’m sure that no one gets excommunicated from a lazy and complacent secular group like the CoS for nothing. This just shows me that I’m getting somewhere. I have upset the “infernal empire” with my conviction to the Dark Forces. Apparently, I am too Satanic for this so-called Satanic institution.

Did he just say…

Yes, he did, and he confirmed it on rpg.net:

yeah, i was kicked out of the church of Satan because i was too Satanic. it’s all on my website.

That’s right.  Darrick was too Satanic for the Church of Satan!

I know what you’re saying.  “But Dan, Darrick was clearly kicked out for not knowing anything about Satanism!”  You have a valid point, but we must examine Darrick’s logic from within.  We thereby arrive at an important fact:  the less someone knows about Satanism, the more Satanic they must be.

For any Satanic readers out there – I’m sorry to break it to you like this, but we have to let you go.  As a public service, I offer this list of possibilities:  left-hand Tantra, Typhonian qlipothic delving, Lovecraftian chaos magick, underworld shamanism, darkside paganism, psychic vampirism, the more transgressive shades of Thelema, or something made up from your favorite movie.  Take your time to make the right choice, and don’t feel pressured – after all, black is always in.

As for the rest of you, you might be upset to realize that you are qualified to run Satanic organizations spanning entire solar systems.  For you, merely reading Papers has been of great assistance in moving you away from this status.  I fear, however, that all of you will still be more qualified to head your own blasphemous cult than Darrick is.

In conclusion, remember that ignorance isn’t bliss – it’s religious freedom.  Good night, everyone!

Inverted Kingdom, Part 4

This will be my final post on Inverted Kingdom, which we’ve been discussing in previous posts.  Pardon if they’re a little short – I haven’t had to write critiques of short stories for quite some time, so I feel rather rusty.

“Terror Rate” by Konaka Chiaki, translated by Usha Jayaraman – A shady former professor hires a young woman is hired to take part in an experiment.  All she needs to do is spend time in an empty house.  Konaka ratchets up the terror with a great number of creepy, suggestive happenings, leading up to the supreme horror.  The epilogue does leave something to be desired, as it did with “Inverted Kingdom.”  In both cases, the authors went for similar endings that might work fine cinematically but which should be chopped down considerably in a literary sense.  The Mythos comes up a few times in this one, but for the most part it’s only window dressing.

“Secrets of the Abyss” by Takana Fumio, translated by Yuko Enomoto and Bruce Rutledge – Our narrator is a doctor whose wife is slowly wasting away.  He finds a cave in an old quarry with an ancient fish living within – one that seems to possess the powers of rejuvenation.  It was difficult to get into this story; I like my narrators sympathetic or interesting, and the protagonist hovers somewhere between the two poles.  Still, it’s still a good read.

“A Night at Yuan-Su” by Nanjo Takenori, translated by Usha Jayaraman – We’ve had thousands of stories set in a pseudo-Lovecraftian New England or featuring mysterious monsters.  This is one of the few stories I’ve read that really gets to the essence of HPL – the reflections of someone with antique tastes forced to live in a rapidly-changing world, seeking beauty in the old and despising the new.  Sure, you can tell which of Lovecraft’s stories are pastiched herein, but you won’t care.

“Summoned by the Shadows” by Hirayama Yumeaki, translated by Sheryl Hogg – A family of three – an older taxi driver, his wife, and their young son – move into a new house with a grave plot in the backyard.  The wife slowly becomes obsessed by a spirit, mainifesting mysterious powers and behaving strangely. That’d be good enough, but then the author throws in tentacles and a living doll and mysterious taxi passengers and… it’s just too much.  A little more restraint on these elements would have made a more horrific story, but by the end I was just too baffled to really care.

Overall, this is a good book for people who want to read Japanese horror, and a decent-to-good book for horror readers in general.  There’s not much actual Mythos content, with terrifying situations and local colour taking precedence over tomes and familiar names.  You can decide which one you like more, and read accordingly.

I think I mentioned there were three other books in the series.  A great deal of Mythos fiction is blurring together right now in my head, so I won’t give a recommendation one way or another on them lest I remember something incorrectly.  I should add that the latest volume in the series, The Dreaming God, missed the CME inclusion deadline by a single day, but I’ll direct you to it nonetheless.

We do have one post left that I intend to get to – an examination of Lovecraft in the future.  In the meantime, it seems I’ve left something unfinished…

Darrick Dishaw vs. the Church of Satan, Part 2

When we last checked in, it was 2005, and Darrick Dishaw, a.k.a. Venger Satanis, of the Cult of Cthulhu, had announced that he wanted a position of leadership in the Church of Satan, which would become part of his brand new Internet cult.  What happened next?

Many different perspectives have appeared on the Church of Satan.  Only one matter is for certain here:  the Church of Satan does not want to join your lousy Internet cult.  In fact, their site features page after page after page about how much they don’t want to join, affiliate with, or have anything to do with your lousy stinkin’ Internet cult.  At least some of these were up at the time, but Darrick seems to have missed them entirely.

Well, that, along with another point of news:

We are currently phasing out Grottos, so no, your “Cult of Cthulhu” cannot be recognized as a Grotto.

As you can imagine, Darrick was able to respond in a calm and non-insulting manner:

however, i see the CoS slipping away into the darkness (perhaps i’m wrong). especially now that you’ve told me about the phasing out of the grotto system and considering the outrageous $200 membership fee. is the CoS proposing to shed itself of the magical philosophy that it was founded upon as well?

A quick note on Satanic history:  In 1975, many members of the Church of Satan left that organization, with some of them forming the Temple of Set.   (I’m vague about the numbers because neither group is really clear on them.)  The two organizations have differentiated themselves theologically with their approaches to the supernatural.  Roughly speaking, the Temple of Set embraced the view that magic can cause change in the world by the magician’s will altering the laws of the universe.  The Church of Satan views magic as efficacious psychodrama meant to work on emotions to effect change within a person.

As it turned out, Darrick subscribed to the Temple of Set view.

To make this all perfectly clear with an approximate mainstream analogy, Darrick walked into a cathedral, told everyone that they should also join his church while making him a bishop, and asked, “What are the funny little booths for, anyway?”

How’d it go?  You’ll find out.