31 May 2012
The Call of Cthulhu
Written by Howard Philip Lovecraft in 1926, this story tells of the ominous, foreboding & deeply harrowing arrival of the Great Old One; the malignant star spawn Cthulhu. Though a short, it forms the cornerstone of the entire Cthulhu Mythos explored by Lovecraft in his other writings. Some have nothing to do with the Mythos however this particular parable has always been a favourite of mine as it explores many of the themes perhaps staggered across other entries in one bleak tale. Lovecraft is widely considered to be the father of cosmic horror. In his writings he hints at the unnameable entities that are literally all around us; constantly and without yield, seeking to poisonously influence those with appropriately supple minds. Outside of our knowing periphery, coaxing & goading those particularly sensitive to their vile dream pulses; to perform as lifeless meat puppets or over zealous cultists. Cruelly subjugated by the Elder Gods to perform the arcane & vile rituals to bring about the birth, perhaps rebirth or awakening of the monstrous nameless deities that hold dominion over their frail & forthcoming human minds. The Call of Cthulhu captures all of these horrid essences beautifully. When reading the tale; You literally feel the dark gravity of what the protagonists must surmount or more so, endure to attempt to stop Cthulhus all too loyal followers from triggering the events that will birth the thing from his corpse city tomb at R'yleh. In spectacular & stomach deadening fashion said protagonists fail miserably. Lovecraft was not at the behest of the popular norm of the Hollywood happy ending. I revisited this story recently & was amazed at the palpable dread created by the words on paper. Having read an expanse of weird fiction over the course of many years, no other writer has come close in my opinion at creating pure and simple dread.What can be more unsettling than the concept that eons before man a great & foul mass simply chose to exist on our plane when it arrived here; clinging on the remnants of a broken star. Then through the boundless ages of dark & chaos Cthulhu merely chose to think of waking from his deathless sleep & that maddening thought was enough to trigger a cataclysmic earthquake which sets in motion the charnel events of the story. To read it, in a high back chair in a darkened room with minimal light, though bad for the eyes, will leave You breathless. Fear, dread, and pure horror. The hideous and painful truth that the human race or specific members of it are simple pawns in the most heart blackening fashion of bringing about their own brethren's downfall. What happened to Lovecraft to disjoint his mind so? He felt he actually believed much of what he wrote. Perhaps he was too sensitive to the dark pulses of his own demons. This is what draws me to this tale, what if that shudder on your shoulder as You scramble into bed is the repulsive exhalation of some dark & forgotten thing? A flight of unsettling fantasy? Absolutely & thankfully so. But still one to have You question all the madness You are assailed with every moment You glance at a paper, monitor or tv screen? This is how Lovecraft chose to purport what was wrong with his world. I'm grateful he chose to share so much. I happened upon Lovecraft quite by accident as a teenager browsing the fantasy department of Easons as a young teen. I think I may heard the name before but as a dreamy minded youngster always pondering the what ifs the cover of the chunky compendium spoke volumes to me. An artists depiction of Cthulhu bore the cover. All pulpy tentacled morass & greasily slick rudimentary wings. I brought it home & began to read in earnest. When growing up I was never sporty or particularly popular, always meek & a trifle bookish. A mummy's boy. Attributes which I found out I shared with Lovecraft himself. Thankfully I've outgrown those traits but still maintain a fondness for the inner machinations of Providences most peculiarly fraught mind.
Cthulhu: An Essay • Opuss № I