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Showing posts with label H. P. Lovecraft. Show all posts
Showing posts with label H. P. Lovecraft. Show all posts

Sunday, February 5, 2023

Don't part that veil

From "The Call of Cthulhu" (1928) by H. P. Lovecraft:


"We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far."


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From Conjure Wife (1943) by Fritz Leiber:


Oh, it was a wonderful day all right, one of those days when reality becomes a succession of such bright and sharp images that you are afraid that any moment you will poke a hole in the gorgeous screen and glimpse the illimitable, unknown blackness it films; when everything seems so friendly and right that you tremble lest a sudden searing flash of insight reveal to you the massed horror and hate and brutality and ignorance on which life rests.



How many more can you cite?

Jay
5 February 2023

Tuesday, November 1, 2022

Slime Dynamics: Generation, Mutation, and the Creep of Life (2012) by Ben Woodard

Slime Dynamics: Generation, Mutation, and the Creep of Life (2012) by Ben Woodard strikes me as a typical weird philosophy word-salad monograph from Zero Books.


It does, however, brush against some artists I have always found rewarding.



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Introduction: Slime Ascent


[....] As the guiding theme of this text, I propose an odd metaphysical construct opposed to emergence and that is at once a simultaneous resurrection and mutilation of vitalism. Traditionally vitalism does not seem too different from emergentism in that both suggest there is something more to life, something that drives and/or affects life that is not purely reducible to the classifiable components of life itself. The two have been grouped together by critics and proponents alike.

     The vitalism we will be pursuing here avoids this connect in that it is not a theory that asserts a vital substance or stuff that propels life forward, but that the vital force is time and its effect on space. This at first may seem not like a vitalism at all but the focus of this project is to prove the effects of the temporal-spatial construction of existence on life as not merely the force of, but a force acting upon life that provides a rigorously deanthropomoprhizing way of thinking. We will show that accounting for time and space does not undo vitalism but pushes it to its logical philosophical conclusion.


[....] vitalism cannot be a thing (since genes are what is passed on, not life itself) and it cannot be a force because it says nothing about life itself as a force, only that it develops but not how. What all the aforementioned critiques leave out is time as something beyond thought which is the force of vitalism (life emerges over time) and the substance of vitalism is not the germ plasm trumping heredity but space as it is filled by life. A spatialization of vitalism simply points to the fact that an organism attempts to extend itself across space through growth, mutation, and reproduction. A temporalization of vitalism likewise can be seen as the fact that life happens with time and that time means the birth as well as the death of all things.

     H.P. Lovecraft, whose fiction will occupy much of the third chapter, was also disdainful of vitalism, placing it somewhere between the mythical and the poetic.19 This was mostly due to the vital force being taken as essentially spiritual and not energetic, as a fundamentally non-scientific vitalism thereby opposing Lovecraft's own adamant espousal of mechanism and determinism.


[....] vitalism is a mental shadow of the progression of the universe, from the speculative moment before the Big Bang, as a highly condensed mass, to its extension into time and space and matter, to biological life, and finally to reflective thinking. The above mentioned ontological cascade moves (in philosophical terms) from the Real, to Materiality, to Sense, and finally to Extilligence. Or, put in terms of the levels of the reality it mirrors, from bare existence as only possibility, to the configurations of matter and energy, to the interaction of stimulus and sense, ending with the extension of ontic being via symbols, structures, technologies, et cetera. The degenerate take on vitalism and the Neo-Platonic One will be taken together as a dark vitalism. But what is it about this conceptualization of vitalism that makes it dark exactly?

     Part of the work of a dark vitalism is the sickening realization of an inhospitable universe, stating that the production of life as an accidental event in time which is then contorted and bent by the banality of space, of our particular (and just as accidental) universal geometry and then furtbher ravaged by accident, context, feedback and the degradation of wear and age.

     The dark of dark vitalism is thus three fold:

 1 – It is dark because it is obscured both by nature (who is to say that we can divine and comprehend the details of the universe from our limited brains) and by time (we are at a temporal disadvantage in trying to discern the creation of all things) since the cause of most of the nature we know has fallen back into the deep past. 2 – It is dark because it spells bad news for the human race in terms of our origin (we are just clever monkeys that emerged as a result of a series of biological and cosmological lucky breaks), our meaning (we are just meat puppets based on our construction), and our ultimate fate (Earth will die and we will probably perish if not with it then eventually with the universe). 3 – It is dark on an aesthetic and experiential level our psychological and phenomenological existence is darkened and less friendly to us, and to our perceptions, given the destructiveness of time and space.     It is the third claim which this text will work hardest to prove focusing primarily on biological sciences and biological examples within popular culture through a collection of lurid cultural artifacts.


*   *   *


1: The Nightmarish Microbial


[....] Given the competitive violence of life's productivity it seems ridiculous to assume that there would be any sort of deep down harmony between life forms (whether psychic or not) across the globe as all creatures are all battling for limited space and resources in their individual biospheres. The interconnectedness of various life forms on the earth is a tenuous intermeshing based on opportunity and luck and not due to any artificially imposed harmony. From the disrupted familiarity of mitochondria we move to the more externalized, (at least in terms of the biological boundaries of the human, of our normal functioning) yet still internal virus to explore the horror of the network and of internality, the virus being an object which pushes the nightmarish capacity of networked life to its limits.

     The virus, the viroid, the deadly bacterium, all crept into center stage prior to the turn of the twentieth to the twentieth first century. The vague swarming of the deadly microbial and the subsequent paranoia emerged alongside the rise of a globalized and interconnected world, where proximity and speed elevated the potency and spread of contagion. The political correlative to this is that the dissemination of nation states and rise of globalization exacerbated worries over security, of the permeability of one's borders. That is, while the microbial raises worries of internal biological damage, fears of the viral place human beings in a biological ecology full of unfriendly entities.

     Media episodes of epidemic outbreak point to the magnitude of viral voraciousness but often only indirectly as the real object in the spotlight is the capacities of governmental infrastructure, what is being done or not done, to respond to the biological threat. Thus the attention is shifted from the potential horror of viewing the collective biomass of the human race as only viral food, to the demands of our external capabilities found in technology government and reason. Endless speculative scenarios have paraded across various fictional stages exemplifying the apocalyptic capacities of infection: The Scarlet Plague, The Masque of the Red Death, The Andromeda Strain, 28 Days Later, Cabin Fever et cetera. Such mental exercises however do little justice to the realities of AIDS, Tuberculosis, Malaria, and Influenza to only name a few forms of viral life which consistently evade eradication.


[....] The difference between life (as a force, as a propensity towards the formation of organisms) and individual forms of life indexes the larger problems of life and being which, as Thacker suggests are related by negation.50 In other words the problem is what is non-being in relation to life, is there something in life that is living but is not yet classifiable?51 As Thacker sums up nicely, Life has been used conceptually yet the conception of life has no discernible definition.52


*   *   *

1.2 Fungoid Horror and The Creep of Life


[....] On the theme of inhalation and the senses, some fungi use a malodorous stench to attract insects. These fungi, in the family Phallaceae, can smell like dung or carrion to attract vectors of fungal spread (such as flies), again tying the specter of death to the germinal spread of life as well as binding the miasmic life-of-death to the demonic evidenced in the names of some fungus such as Devil's Snuff Box and Devil's Stink-pot.77 Furthermore, of the minority of fungus which attack warm blooded animals, the majority infiltrate through the inhalations of the lungs adding a realistic sense of wariness to the rotten smell of the fungus.

     The aforementioned dark (bio) vitalism of Ligotti's creeping nature is anticipated by some of the fungoid creatures of Lovecraft's pantheon as well as William Hope Hodgson's short tales "The Derelict" and especially his well known "The Voice in the Night."

     Hodgson's "The Voice in the Night" tells the story of a shipwrecked crew that becomes infected and slowly transmogrified by a gray fungus leaving them nodding lumps. Beyond the creeping horror of the fungus – it also fills the victims with an "inhuman desire" to consume the sweet tasting matter, to consume the long dead corpses of others that have been slowly grown over. Hodgson describes the miserable island of fungus thusly: "In places it rose into horrible, fantastic mounds, which seemed almost to quiver, as with a quiet life, when the wind blew across them. Here and there it took on the forms of vast fingers, and in others it just spread out flat and smooth and treacherous. Odd places, it appeared as grotesque stunted trees, seeming extraordinarily kinked and gnarled – the whole quaking vilely at times."78

     In "The Derelict" the encounter is far more rapid and terrifying. A ship of men aboard an abandoned vessel find themselves barely able to escape with their lives as a brown squelching fungus attempts to consume them. The active/passive divide of the fungoid horror is replicated in fictional fields as a form of trap and an assailant, a trap in its psychedelic spore launching form and an assailant in its aggressively consumptive modality.


[....] Historically, fungus played an important geophysical role as an early formation of slime corroded the dull rocky surface of the earth leading to the creation of soil. In popular culture fungus shows up as sprouting patches of mushrooms from the black earth alongside the bleakness of gravestones, catacombs, and within cracked arcane tunnels. Fungus is ancient and always in the orbit of death, decay, and dampness.


[....] Beyond the organic, fungus dissolves inorganic structures and is vilified for its damage to manmade ones in particular. As Rolfe and Rolfe show, stories such as Poe's "Fall of the House of Usher" are replete with descriptions of rot and fungi.58 This de-structuring of fungus can be spread to the faltering spatial dimension of ancient history in general, of the deterioration of old texts, of faded ruins, to the stretch of all civilized space which crumbles indefinitely in time.


[....] The fungoid, the fundamental creepiness of life, displays the unhinged spatiality of life as well as its rampant ungrounding, of the very surface which seems necessary in order to sustain it and all other life forms. Evident in the above epigraph, Thomas Ligotti's tales are replete with fungus as a simultaneous operative of gross life and perpetual decay. In the "Bungalow House" the narrator becomes obsessed with an odd local artist who describes an old bungalow house, with a "threadbare carpet" of "verminous bodies," and filled with "naturally revolting forms."60

     Furthermore, in Ligotti's "Severini" the narrator discusses the odd artist Severini and the works of his followers which are classified under the unofficial name "the nightmare of the organism"61 The most relevant title of these fictional works being "The Descent into the Fungal."62

     Severini himself lives in a small shack out in the jungle, described as a "tropical sewer"63 sitting amidst trees and vines where there were "giant flowers that smelled like rotting meat" in the fungus and muck.64 The followers of Severini dream of a temple amidst a fetid landscape with "the walls seeping with slime and soft with mold."65

     The sight of Severini's shack is unbearable to the narrator as he states that "I never looked directly into the pools of oozing life" and that, unlike the others, he did not "wish to exist as a fungus exists or as a form of multi-colored slime mold exists."66 Ligotti's narrator promptly burns the place to the ground. The characters of "Severini" dangerously short-circuit the generative slime of unbound growth and the slime as the morass of the decayed linked together as "that great black life from which we have all emerged and of which we are all made."67


[....] Stanley Weinbaum's protoplasmic monsters of an impossible Venus, located in tropical jungles in his stories "Parasite Planet" and "The Lotus Eaters" expand on the inherently disgusting nature of plant life and particularly of fungus. The atmosphere of Weinbaum's Venus is filled with "uncounted millions of the spores of those fierce Venusian molds" capable of sprouting "in furry and nauseating masses."68 The Venusian jungles contain a terrible scene as "avid and greedy life was emerging, wriggling mud grass and the bulbous fungi called "walking balls. And all around a million little slimy creatures slithered across the mud, eating each other rapaciously, being torn to bits, and each fragment re-forming to a complete creature."69 The oddest of Weinbaum's creatures is the doughpot which Weinbaum descibes as "a nauseous creature. It's a mass of white, dough-like protoplasm, ranging in size from a single cell to perhaps twenty tons of mushy filth. It has no fixed form; in fact, it's merely a mass of de Proust cells—in effect, a disembodied, crawling, hungry cancer."70 In the sequel Weinbaum's protagonist encounters the lotus eaters, strange veined and bulbous creatures which state that they do not need or desire to survive but only must reproduce with spores – growing tumor-like on one another. One of the lotus eaters says life has no meaning, life is not something to fight for.71

     Weinbaum's alien fungi are part of a larger tradition of fictional strangeness of fungal forms. Again following Rolfe and Rolfe, this strangeness is found in HG Wells' The First Men in the Moon72 and Jules Verne's The Journey to the Center of the Earth.73 In this vein, but also by pointing towards actually fungi, Weinbaum's extraterrestial extension of the sporaceous function of the fungal uncomfortably warps the internal in order to pollute the external.

     Spores allow fungal life, as an amorphous creep, to extend itself into the vertical and to survive unfavorable conditions as thick walled spheres or as more parasitic entities which germinate inside host creatures or spread from the infected host to further spread again either as an interiority or extended externality. Whereas flowering plants are considered higher life forms working in conjunction with nature, cryptogams (fungus) appear to feed on nature itself and are considered a lower or simpler form of organism.74

     As Negarestani puts it "The spore, or endo-bacterial dust, is a relic with untraceable zones of migration and traversal, a swarm-particle creeping off the radar screen; a speck of dust you never know whether you have inhaled or not."75


*   *   *


1.3 Extra-Galactic Terror


[....] The hybridization of the viroid and fungoid (creating a life that transmogrifies and creeps) can be tied to the theory of exogenesis. The theory of exogenesis holds that life has always already existed and that life on earth has come from elsewhere. At some point in the distance past a gaia spore, or object carrying early forms of, or the necessary ingredients for creating life, would have reached the early earth seeding it.

     Concepts of panspermia have been suggested for hundreds of years: the theoretical biologist Frederick Kielmeyer suggested such a concept in the 1800s.95 While romantic notions of cosmic ancestry can be taken from such a concept the more troubling suggestion is the possible age of certain forms of life and the rampancy of any particular form of extremophile, of a creature which can exist in seemingly impossible conditions. The fungal spores of last chapter and the viroids of the first being examples of such lifeforms.


[....] Anxiety about the bounds of a biological life and the fragility of any one form of species-being is unearthed by the extinct traces of animals and exacerbated by the science fictive particularly in terms of an array of insectoid superorganisms; a tradition begun by the endoparasitoidic (parasitic to the point of death) xenomorph of the Aliens series.

     The xenomorph has a distinctly Lovecraftian genealogy as the creature's design came from a work by the surrealist artist HR Giger titled Necromicon, named after the central fictional text of strange demonological lore by the invented mad Arab Abdul Alhazred which describes the Cthulu mythos, the grimoire of strange ancient monstrousities which populate the universe as well as dimensions outside of it, entities such as the Great Old Ones. The xenomorphs imitate hive-minded insects as they mindlessly follow the orders of their queen and act only to propagate their vile species. The Lovecraftian influence comes from the weird and amorphousness of alien life which he created; aliens with almost imperceptible forms and near god-like powers. The result of Lovecraft's mythos is the minimization of the human race, a depressive expansion of the Great Chain of Being where instead of an omnipotent god at one end with humans not far beneath, there is only an ever stretching stream of entities with humanity lost in its perilous contortion. Or, as Gould points out via Freud, each scientific advance means the further existential dethronement of homosapiens in the universe.96

     This lostness and dethronement is redoubled temporally following the natural history of Carl Friedrich Kielmeyer who through his focus on extinction events revealed a nature in which humanity's place is not only tenuous due to other possible organisms but due to the small span of time we have occupied.97 For Kielmeyer a species' ability to reproduce, to fill time, is what might guarantee its future survival.98

     As Michel Houellebecq writes in HP Lovecraft: Against the World, Against Life: "It is possible, in fact, that beyond the narrow range of our perception, other entities exist. Other creatures, other races, other concepts and other minds. Amongst these entities some are probably far superior to us in intelligence and in knowledge. But this is not necessarily good news."99

     Lovecraft contorts the very concept of a taxonomy to its temporal and spatial limits submitting to us that organic life itself barely gets in the way of the cosmic course of time (and space) when he writes "we imagine that the welfare of our race is the paramount consideration, when as a matter of fact the very existence of the race may be an obstacle to the predestined course of the aggregated universes of infinity!"100

     Under Lovecraft's indifferentism humans become just another form of matter in the universe, simply another form of entropic fodder in a mechanistic cosmos. Lovecraft's indifference is deeply connected, as ST Joshi has shown, to his commitment to the work of Ernst Haeckel.101 Haeckel was a zoologist in Germany at the turn of the 20th century known widely for his recapitulation theory which states that an organism in development went through the developments of the particular species on the whole. Haeckel, in at least partial agreement with Weissmann, states that individual life is generally sacrificial, as only a small fragment of life at large. Lovecraft's materialism, again following Joshi, becomes after some time, far more obscured than Haeckel's.102 Yet Haeckel's germ plasm maintains a Lovecraftian flavor in that life in general is a force that cannot be reduced to particular organisms with organisms only being an excrescence, a bud a sprout.103

     The important point of Lovecraft's bestiary is not he designated his creatures as not supernatural, but as supernormal, keeping nature in in all its monstrous capacity.104 Lovecraft speaks of the tension between the natural and the unnatural is his short story "The Unnameable." He writes: "[...] if the psychic emanations of human creatures be grotesque distortions, what coherent representation could express or portray so gibbous and infamous a nebulousity as the spectre of a malign, chaotic perversion, itself a morbid blasphemy against Nature?"105 Lovecraft explores exactly the tension outlined at the beginning of this chapter, between life and thought. At the end of his short tale Lovecraft compounds the problem as the unnameable is described as "a gelatin—a slime—yet it had shapes, a thousand shapes of horror beyond all memory."106


[....] Okenian biological existence then, is merely one of the results of this explosion of filth, as a generative mucus or Urschleim, a collection of slime points (a primordial form of life similar but not analogous to Freud's vesicle) which combine to form different constructions of life.188 Clark Ashton Smith, a sympathetic organism of H.P. Lovecraft, created a horrific manifestation of such slime being with his Ubbo-Sathla:

     "Ubbo-Sathla dwelt in the steaming fens of the newmade Earth: a mass without head or members, spawning the grey, formless efts of the prime and the grisly prototypes of terrene life . . . And all earthly life, it is told, shall go back at last through the great circle of time to Ubbo-Sathla."189

     Smith further ties this great mother slime to the evolutionary action of life on Earth:

     "There, in the grey beginning of Earth, the formless mass that was Ubbo-Sathla reposed amid the slime and the vapors. Headless, without organs or members, it sloughed from its oozy sides, in a slow, ceaseless wave, the amoebic forms that were the archetypes of earthly life. Horrible it was, if there had been aught to apprehend the horror; and loathsome, if there had been any to feel loathing."190 The aforementioned Frederich Kielmeyer suggested that there were five forces of the organism and that one increased as the others decreased – one of which was the secretive – one can imagine Clark's Ubbo-Sathla as a beast with its secretive power beyond all measure.191

     Here, against Henry's purely affective life, one can see life as a pool of feculence, as that which has been and will be without inherent feeling (without horror and loathing in Clark's quote). The question becomes does the base materialism of life relate to the problem of ethics – a concern which too often than not is the center of contemporary philosophy at the cost of analytical or speculative breadth and depth. An ethics which must take the productivity and product being of nature seriously.


[....] The film District 9 takes the alien, the outsider and the concept of disease thereby unifying two of our previously discussed adventures (the microbial and the supra organic) with the fungal remaining to feast on the remains. The film follows, in faux documentary style, an aspiring employee of a multinational corporation who leads an eviction of a shanty town of aliens in Johannesburg who, twenty years earlier, came to Earth in a barely functioning ship without any leadership hierarchy, starving and helpless. During the eviction the employee, Wikus, is exposed to a biological agent which slowly begins to transform his body but not before causing his teeth and fingernails to fall out, his skin to deform, and features to change and so on.

     These body horror or gross-out aspects of District 9 may be forgiven if the question of the biological itself is in question in relation to life, the question of how biological is our humanity? The ease at which the body is nullified by seen and unseen agents suggests that it is the gestures of living creatures which creates material difference – even if in a material sense the gestures are 'just rubbish' in a material sense. Wikus, after his transformation continues to make presents of rubbish, such as a metal flower, for his wife. Connecting back to the introduction, meaning is not inherent but retroactive, caused by the interconnectedness and effects of rubbish, of dumb biology. Scenes throughout the film which run becoming-the-xeno-subject and sickness together (when the deplorable protagonist Wikus pulls out his dead finger nails, dead teeth and so forth) tie the danger of a material based ethics to the tenuousness of the material itself due to death, disease rot and so on.

     Negarestani's already mentioned radical openness comes into play and, in particular, his depiction of it as being open to being butchered. As Negarestani writes: "The blade of radical openness thirsts to butcher economical openness or any openness constructed on the affordability of both the subject and its environment."193 Or put another way: "Openness emerges as radical butchery from within and without."194

     The treatment of Wikus' body by himself, by the alien infection and by others illustrates the butchering aspect of openness, and can be seen in particular in the amputation logic which often appears in horror films surrounding alien infection whether parasitic or viral. This amputation logic is in full effect in the film the Ruins where the part must be sacrificed for the whole. For quite some time in the film Wikus' body is a piece of future biotechnology, ready for scrapping and extraction and he himself contemplates ridding himself of his alien arm. Again, thinking back to our viroid chapter, we are reminded of the withering of the body by the alien life forms in Dead Space.


[....] We must remain open to the pathological and to life itself (to make possible a Cthuloid ethics). In the epigraph above Ligotti suggests, through negation, that we are subject to a nightmarish obscenity, namely, as I have argued, in that life is drawn and quartered by spatio-temporality. As Lovecraft was known for saying we are merely atoms drifting in a void but following Oken and Grant these formal points, these zeros, are not without their slime just as the human experience of nothingness is not without its slovenly matter, not without the accidental collision of matter that supplants meaning as its birthright.

     The material being of humans, and of all life is a slimy one. Slime is the smudge of reality, the remainder and reminder of the fact that things fall apart. The shining path of humanity is only ever the verminous-like trail of our own oozing across time and space – the trace and proof of our complete sliminess through and through. Human existence then is composed of the slime of being conjoined with the mindless and dysfunctional repetitions of pathology.

     Slime, in the end, is the proof of cohesion and the hint of its undoing, the evidence that something disgusting happened, some foul thing called life. Something that will fill space till the cosmos burns too low for anything to again cohere, ending only with an ocean of putrescence spilling over into the boundless void of extinction.


*   *   *


Jay

1 November 2022




Thursday, October 13, 2022

"The Dreams in the Witch House" (1932) by H. P. Lovecraft

Readers unfamiliar with "The Dreams in the Witch House" may prefer to read these notes only after reading the story.


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[....] Gilman could not have told what he expected to find there, but he knew he wanted to be in the building where some circumstance had more or less suddenly given a mediocre old woman of the seventeenth century an insight into mathematical depths perhaps beyond the utmost modern delvings of Planck, Heisenberg, Einstein, and de Sitter.


*   *   *




"The Dreams in the Witch House" (1932) still has the power to shock. Lovecraft clearly wasn't interested in letting his protagonist off the hook. There is no fleeing in terror out of town or collapsing into easeful insanity. Walter Gilman is the man who, four years after "The Call of Cthulhu" (1928), succeeded in the "piecing together of dissociated knowledge".  For his trouble he got the worst April of his life, and never saw May.


Before Walter Gilman arrived in Arkham, no renter in the rooming house reputed to be the former bolt-hole of 17th century witch and escaped fugitive Keziah Mason ever lived there by choice. But to Gilman the house looked like fertile ground for his research on points of interpenetration between witch's craft and Non-Euclidean calculus and quantum physics. 


"Possibly," comments the tale's omniscient narrative voice, "Gilman ought not to have studied so hard."


*   *   *


Slingshot


"The Dreams in the Witch House" had me thinking about M. R. James' 1904 story "The Ash Tree." Though there is little correspondence in plot action, its outline about a witch's familiar carrying out her vicious errands is apposite.


And both tales end with a final narrative slingshot as the last buried secrets of their witches are brought to light. Too late, alas, for either story's protagonist.


James:


[....] The lantern must have broken at the bottom, and the light in it caught upon dry leaves and rubbish that lay there for in a few minutes a dense smoke began to come up, and then flame; and, to be short, the tree was in a blaze.

     The bystanders made a ring at some yards' distance, and Sir William and the Bishop sent men to get what weapons and tools they could; for, clearly, whatever might be using the tree as its lair would be forced out by the fire.

     So it was. First, at the fork, they saw a round body covered with fire--the size of a man's head--appear very suddenly, then seem to collapse and fall back. This, five or six times; then a similar ball leapt into the air and fell on the grass, where after a moment it lay still. The Bishop went as near as he dared to it, and saw--what but the remains of an enormous spider, veinous and seared! And, as the fire burned lower down, more terrible bodies like this began to break out from the trunk, and it was seen that these were covered with greyish hair.

     All that day the ash burned, and until it fell to pieces the men stood about it, and from time to time killed the brutes as they darted out. At last there was a long interval when none appeared, and they cautiously closed in and examined the roots of the tree.

     'They found,' says the Bishop of Kilmore, 'below it a rounded hollow place in the earth, wherein were two or three bodies of these creatures that had plainly been smothered by the smoke; and, what is to me more curious, at the side of this den, against the wall, was crouching the anatomy or skeleton of a human being, with the skin dried upon the bones, having some remains of black hair, which was pronounced by those that examined it to be undoubtedly the body of a woman, and clearly dead for a period of fifty years.'


Lovecraft:


     In March, 1931 a gale wrecked the roof and great chimney of the vacant Witch House, so that a chaos of crumbling bricks, blackened, moss-grown shingles,and rotting planks and timbers crashed down into the loft and broke through the floor beneath. The whole attic story was choked with debris from above, but no one took the trouble to touch the mess before the inevitable razing of the decrepit structure. That ultimate step came in the following December, and it was when Gilman's old room was cleared out by reluctant, apprehensive workmen that the gossip began.

     Among the rubbish which had crashed through the ancient slanting ceiling were several things which made the workmen pause and call in the police. Later the police in turn called in the coroner and several professors from the university. There were bones—badly crushed and splintered, but clearly recognisable as human—whose manifestly modern date conflicted puzzlingly with the remote period at which their only possible lurking-place, the low, slant-floored loft overhead, had supposedly been sealed from all human access. The coroner's physician decided that some belonged to a small child, while certain others—found mixed with the shreds of rotten brownish cloth—belonged to a rather undersized, bent female of advanced years. Careful sifting of debris also disclosed many tiny bones of rats caught in the collapse, as well as older rat-bones gnawed by small fangs in a fashion now and then highly productive of controversy and reflection.     

    Other objects found included the mingled fragments of many books and papers, together with a yellowish dust left from the total disintegration of still older books and papers. All, without exception, appeared to deal with black magic in its most advanced and horrible forms; and the evidently recent date of certain items is still a mystery as unsolved as that of the modern human bones. An even greater mystery is the absolute homogeneity of the crabbed, archaic writing found on a wide range of papers whose conditions and watermarks suggest age differences of at least 150 to 200 years. To some, though, the greatest mystery of all is the variety of utterly inexplicable objects—objects whose shapes, materials, types of workmanship, and purposes baffle all conjecture—found scattered amidst the wreckage in evidently diverse states of injury. One of these things—which excited several Miskatonic professors profoundly—is a badly damaged monstrosity plainly resembling the strange image which Gilman gave to the college museum, save that it is larger, wrought of some peculiar bluish stone instead of metal, and possessed of a singularly angled pedestal with undecipherable hieroglyphics.     

    Archaeologists and anthropologists are still trying to explain the bizarre designs chased on a crushed bowl of light metal whose inner side bore ominous brownish stains when found. Foreigners and credulous grandmothers are equally garrulous about the modern nickel crucifix with broken chain mixed in the rubbish and shiveringly identified by Joe Mazurewicz as that which he had given poor Gilman many years before. Some believe this crucifix was dragged up to the sealed loft by rats, while others think it must have been on the floor in some corner of Gilman's old room all the time. Still others, including Joe himself, have theories too wild and fantastic for sober credence.     

    When the slanting wall of Gilman's room was torn out, the once sealed triangular space between that partition and the house's north wall was found to contain much less structural debris, even in proportion to its size, than the room itself; though it had a ghastly layer of older materials which paralysed the wreckers with horror. In brief, the floor was a veritable ossuary of the bones of small children—some fairly modern, but others extending back in infinite gradations to some period so remote that crumbling was almost complete. On this deep bony layer rested a knife of great size, obvious antiquity, and grotesque, ornate, and exotic design—above which the debris was piled.    

    In the midst of this debris, wedged between a fallen plank and a cluster of cemented bricks from the ruined chimney, was an object destined to cause more bafflement, veiled fright, and openly superstitious talk in Arkham than anything else discovered in the haunted and accursed building. This object was the partly crushed skeleton of a huge, diseased rat, whose abnormalities of form are still a topic of debate and source of singular reticence among the members of Miskatonic's department of comparative anatomy. Very little concerning this skeleton has leaked out, but the workmen who found it whisper in shocked tones about the long, brownish hairs with which it was associated. 

    The bones of the tiny paws, it is rumoured, imply prehensile characteristics more typical of a diminutive monkey than of a rat; while the small skull with its savage yellow fangs is of the utmost anomalousness, appearing from certain angles like a miniature, monstrously degraded parody of a human skull. The workmen crossed themselves in fright when they came upon this blasphemy, but later burned candles of gratitude in St. Stanislaus' Church because of the shrill, ghostly tittering they felt they would never hear again.


Both Sir Matthew Fell and Walter Gilman died without realizing how near they lived to the earthly remains of Mrs. Mothersole and Keziah Mason.


*   *   *



Vastation


"The Dreams in the Witch House '' suggests that every interior and exterior in Arkham, Massachusetts is of liminal character.


[....] Sometimes [Walter Gilman] would take walks through shadowy tangles of unpaved musty-smelling lanes where eldritch brown houses of unknown age leaned and tottered and leered mockingly through narrow, small-paned windows. Here he knew strange things had happened once, and there was a faint suggestion behind the surface that everything of that monstrous past might not—at least in the darkest, narrowest, and most intricately crooked alleys—have utterly perished. He also rowed out twice to the ill-regarded island in the river, and made a sketch of the singular angles described by the moss-grown rows of grey standing stones whose origin was so obscure and immemorial.


[....] Old Keziah, he reflected, might have had excellent reasons for living in a room with peculiar angles; for was it not through certain angles that she claimed to have gone outside the boundaries of the world of space we know? His interest gradually veered away from the unplumbed voids beyond the slanting surfaces, since it now appeared that the purpose of those surfaces concerned the side he was already on.


The Witch House itself was a true borderland: inside and outside, near and far, visible and occult. When each side of the border interpenetrated (what Arthur Machen termed a "perichoresis") it spelled death for Walter Gilman.


     It would be barbarous to do more than suggest what had killed Gilman. There had been virtually a tunnel through his body—something had eaten his heart out....


Lovecraft's tonal ostranenie regarding the fates of his protagonists is hard-boiled. But for all that, the reader feels the poignancy involved in the deaths of characters like the Nahum Gardner family, Charles Dexter Ward, and Walter Gilman. 


With the fates of his human characters, Lovecraft permits the reader to push beyond abstractions of "cosmic horror" and come to an "understanding of the malice of the world itself" in the words of John Clute. Clute terms this act of understanding vastation, the moment when protagonists  "find out too much about the world; more specifically, they find out, in a sense, that the world means its malice…." 


*   *   *


Jay

12 October 2022







Wednesday, May 11, 2022

The experience of class defeat: Notes on H. P. Lovecraft and At The Mountains of Madness




[....]Lovecraft's fiction is haunted by the spectre of cosmic fatalism: the idea that human beings can never possibly fathom the mysteries of the universe and that the universe, in turn, remains indifferent to humanity. To Lovecraft, human beings had as little chance of understanding the inner mechanisations of hyperspace as an ant does planet Earth. It's a viewpoint that chimes perfectly with the lumbering, misanthropic gait of Electric Wizard: the world cast as a pitiless void, life a cosmic accident.


--   Sword, H. (2022). Monolithic undertow: In search of sonic oblivion. White Rabbit.


[....] There they were—the three sledges missing from Lake's camp—shaken by a hard usage which must have included forcible dragging along great reaches of snowless masonry and debris, as well as much hand portage over utterly unnavigable places. They were carefully and intelligently packed and strapped, and contained things memorably familiar enough—the gasoline stove, fuel cans, instrument cases, provision tins, tarpaulins obviously bulging with books, and some bulging with less obvious contents—everything derived from Lake's equipment. After what we had found in that other room, we were in a measure prepared for this encounter. The really great shock came when we stepped over and undid one tarpaulin whose outlines had peculiarly disquieted us. It seems that others as well as Lake had been interested in collecting typical specimens....


-- end of chapter nine, Lovecraft, H. P. (2005). At the Mountains of Madness: The Definitive Edition. Modern Library.


*   *   *


[....]Lovecraft was notoriously not only an elitist and a reactionary, but a bilious lifelong racist. His idiot and disgraceful pronouncements on racial themes range from pompous pseudoscience—"The Negro is fundamentally the biologically inferior of all White and even Mongolian races"—to monstrous endorsements—"[Hitler's] vision is . . . romantic and immature . . . yet that cannot blind us to the honest rightness of the man's basic urge . . . I know he's a clown, but by God, I like the boy!"


-- excerpt from China Miรฉville's 2005 introduction to:   Lovecraft, H. P. (2005). At the Mountains of Madness: The Definitive Edition. Modern Library.

 





Several days ago I woke at 2 a.m. to find myself listening to the end of chapter nine of  HorrorBabble's audiobook of At the Mountains of Madness. An enchanting experience: akin to reading a page without being given the title, date, plot or author's name.


As a Marxist I'm passionate about context: dates of both production and reception are crucial. Production of what? Production of anything whose use-value is the product of human labor. 


Free of accreted layers of literary and historical context, listening to At the Mountains of Madness in this way was an uncanny and sublime experience.


*   *   *


At the Mountains of Madness (1936)


My first reading of ATMM was in one of the early-1980s Del Rey / Ballantine paperback reprints: At the Mountains of Madness and Other Tales of Terror. This was Christmas money well-spent by my sixteen year old self, and undoubtedly a peak instance of reception, as I read ATMM during the cold and snowy final week of December 1982.


To the first-time reader ATMM is a staunchly distanced story. Dramatized action does not begin until the halfway point; prior to that, we might be reading a report by one of J. G. Ballard's corporate or civil service psychiatrists. Only after reading another late Lovecraft novella are we able to deduce the first-person narrator's name: geologist William Dyer of Miskatonic U.


Such distancing, such absolute absence of conventional melodrama, makes for a beautifully concise piece of fiction. The later toing and froing of stories like "Who Goes There?" is absent: there is no genre veil between readers and protagonists as Dwyer and Danforth climb up through millenia of levels from an underground labyrinth toward daylight and salvation in the city of the Old Ones:


      So we glanced back—simultaneously, it would appear; though no doubt the incipient motion of one prompted the imitation of the other. As we did so we flashed both torches full strength at the momentarily thinned mist; either from sheer primitive anxiety to see all we could, or in a less primitive but equally unconscious effort to dazzle the entity before we dimmed our light and dodged among the penguins of the labyrinth-centre ahead. Unhappy act! Not Orpheus himself, or Lot's wife, paid much more dearly for a backward glance. And again came that shocking, wide-ranged piping— "Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li !"

     I might as well be frank—even if I cannot bear to be quite direct—in stating what we saw; though at the time we felt that it was not to be admitted even to each other. The words reaching the reader can never even suggest the awfulness of the sight itself. It crippled our consciousness so completely that I wonder we had the residual sense to dim our torches as planned, and to strike the right tunnel toward the dead city. Instinct alone must have carried us through—perhaps better than reason could have done; though if that was what saved us, we paid a high price. Of reason we certainly had little enough left. Danforth was totally unstrung, and the first thing I remember of the rest of the journey was hearing him light-headedly chant an hysterical formula in which I alone of mankind could have found anything but insane irrelevance. It reverberated in falsetto echoes among the squawks of the penguins; reverberated through the vaultings ahead, and—thank God—through the now empty vaultings behind. He could not have begun it at once—else we would not have been alive and blindly racing. I shudder to think of what a shade of difference in his nervous reactions might have brought.

     "South Station Under—Washington Under—Park Street Under—Kendall—Central—Harard. . . ." The poor fellow was chanting the familiar stations of the Boston-Cambridge tunnel that burrowed through our peaceful native soil thousands of miles away in New England, yet to me the ritual had neither irrelevance nor home-feeling. It had only horror, because I knew unerringly the monstrous, nefandous analogy that had suggested it....


All respect to Dwyer's conclusion, but I would also propose that Danforth's action in counting-off the subway stops presents a mind desperate for "home-feeling," fumbling at a last means to preserve sanity and keep running.



*   *   *


What Dwyer and Danforth found under the mountains of madness in the seemingly uninhabited city of the Old Ones was exotic, but not unknown in earth's history. Hydraulic and agricultural societies  built on slave labor have not been rare. Lovecraft's exoticism is in creating a civilization so ancient its artworks and preserved knowledge have withstood and depicted ice ages, warming ages, and physical ravages today understood as the action of plate tectonics.


The Old Ones, keepers of the flame, preservers of splendor and learning, lost the class war against slaves they themselves created. A few slaves apparently remain, inquisitive in their own way (or simply aping their rulers?), but the first contact between them and human explorers follows a familiar pattern to other encounters in history.


The "flight by night" out of the labyrinth as Dwyer and Danforth race to their aircraft recapitulates many similar night journeys in world literature. The two men are committed to warning the world. Many individuals over millenia were probably similarly motivated to halt the development of evident catastrophes. Certainly, we know they all failed in their efforts.


*   *   *


In his introduction to the Modern Library edition of At the Mountains of Madness: The Definitive Edition, UK petty bourgeois socialist China Miรฉville claims that for all H. P. Lovecraft's reactionary opinions, "he became a socialist, advocating some social programs and government control of the economy." (This smacks of Miรฉville trying to have his cake and eat it, too. JR)


No political opinions expressed by Lovecraft during his adulthood were unusual for a man or woman of his class. Many men and women left similar circumstances behind when they joined the labor movement and its revolutionary socialist vanguard. Alas, Lovecraft was not won to Bolshevism, or even by an electoral brand of social democracy. Instead, his tendency was toward a US version of National Socialism, a mystifying sop designed to preserve the dictatorship of capital.


Fear of social degeneration/decline was the pauperized Lovecraft's motivation. He apparently did not show any interest in joining Pelley's Silver Shirts or the Coughlin organization, but many with similar backgrounds and skills did.


Miรฉville correctly points out Lovecraft's adaptation to Spengler's geopolitical rationalizations. It strikes me that Lovecraft might have also been a passionate reader of pseudoscience books like Degeneration by Max Nordau, a best seller in the fin de siรจcle middle class milieu of Europe.

 

In his superb 2018 study Weird Fiction in Britain 1880–1939, James Machin writes:


[....]in Degeneration (1892), the German sociologist Max Nordau made explicit links between Decadent literature and actual social and biological decline, evoking pseudoscientific and garbled Darwinism in his use of the term 'degeneration' and propagating the specious sub-Lamarckian notion that moral recidivism and physical dissolution could be inherited and could fatally weaken a bloodline within generations.

     For Nordau , the fin de siรจcle and Decadence became pejorative synonyms for an amorality, morbidity, and incontinence that threatened not only the social fabric but the future of civilization itself. Atavism was evidenced by physical, cultural, and psychological symptoms, and manifestations of degeneracy were to be found in the 'stigmata' of misshapen physiognomy ('disproportionate growth of particular parts'), the 'inchoate liminal presentations' of degenerate contemporary art, and the 'mental imbalance' of the artist (Nordau 1895, 23, 1895, 61). According to Nordau , some figures, such as Paul Verlaine, had the dubious honour of exhibiting all these symptoms simultaneously (Nordau1895, 119–120). Over the course of nearly 600 pages, Nordau details a bewildering quantity and variety of symptoms of degeneration, including 'emotionalism', being 'tormented by doubts', the seeking after 'the basis of all phenomena', revolutionary and anarchist activity, political inclination, Buddhism, and pessimism. Even the tendency to 'associate in groups' is included on a charge sheet that seems to encompass the sum of all human activity, and Nordau identifies figures as disparate as Wagner, the children's illustrator Kate Greenaway, furniture-designer Rupert Carabin, and Oscar Wilde as all exhibiting the atavistic neurological disorders of the degenerate mind.

     The absurd reach of Nordau's thesis was certainly identified and criticized at the time, although typically with a concession to the ambition of Nordau's vision: Israel Zangwill described it as being 'as brilliant as it is wrong-headed' and the Review of Reviews called it a 'bad but interesting book' in which Nordau's 'idea' is 'pressed home unsparingly with manifold examples, and with a continuous vigour of writing' (Zangwill 1895, 160). George Bernard Shaw was moved to write a lengthy riposte for the American journal Liberty , and although he would later claim that with his rebuttal of Nordau the ' Degeneration boom was exhausted', Nordau's treatise still ran into seven editions in the year of its publication alone in Britain. Moreover, his perception that some contemporary cultural trends were predicated upon a 'contempt for traditional views of custom and morality' certainly resonated with more reactionary commentators (Shaw 1919, 12; Nordau1895, 5). The influence of Degeneration was also intensified by the concurrency of its popularity with the Wilde trial, the first British edition being published four days after 'the Marquess of Queensbury left his libellous card at the Albemarle' (Sรถder 2009, 63).


*   *   *



H. P. Lovecraft was never a socialist.


Many revolutionary socialists like myself don't demand Lovecraft and other 20th century writers pass a political purity test before we purchase and enjoy their work.


A mainstream writer who shared many of Lovecraft's political rationalizations and habits of petty bourgeois moralizing until his death in 2012, Gore Vidal is another example from my reading list. (John Buchan, Evelyn Waugh, Simone Weil, Flannery O'Connor, and Simon Raven: the list quickly grows.)


Lovecraft's class, the petty bourgeoisie, lost all remaining social and political independence in the 20th century. In the 1930s, the best and brightest were won to the working class movement. Sadly, at that time a growing bureaucratic caste internationally made a treacherous counterfeit of that movement; counterrevolutionary Stalinism led the working class world-wide into one defeat and bloodbath after another.


In response, many 1930s radicals turned to the right by 1949. Authors like Robert Heinlein were part of a sociological cohort that became the initial cadre of cold war publicists. James Burnham, a 1930s Trotskyist leader, would have found nothing objectionable in a novel like 1964's Farnham's Freehold.


*   *   *


The "mountains" in question in ATMM are a conscious symbol for disaster. They strike a chord similar to the blasted landscape of Nahum Gardner's farm in "The Colour Out of Space" (1927) and the subterranean Chesuncook, Maine section of "The Thing on the Doorstep" (1933).


Lovecraft's skill, his aesthetic of pleasing remoteness and formal distancing, becomes the objective correlative for what Joshi and others have called his "cosmic indifferentism."


[....]Throughout his life Lovecraft wavered between (validly) recommending tradition for himself and (invalidly) recommending it for everyone. In 1928 he had properly asserted the relativity of values (the only thing possible in a universe that has no governing deity): "Value is wholly relative, and the very idea of such a thing as meaning postulates a symmetrical relation to something else. No one thing, cosmically speaking, can be either good or evil, beautiful or unbeautiful; for entity is simply entity."[15] To Derleth in 1930 he wrote: "Each person lives in his own world of values, and can obviously (except for a few generalities based on essential similarities in human nature) speak only for himself when he calls this thing 'silly and irrelevant' and that thing 'vital and significant', as the case may be. We are all meaningless atoms adrift in the void."


Harold Bloom's summation of Ernest Hemingway's impact is useful to remember: "....he alone

in this American century has achieved the enduring status of myth."


Jay

10 May 2022