Hello avid followers of Whiskey Before Breakfast and other book lovers. It's so great to see you all back here again. I hope the holidays brought you all joy, laughter, and an excessive amount of eggnog and Christmas songs. Upon returning home from a draining semester at school I proceeded to pound my life back into something more recognizable and immediately devoured as many books as I could get my hands on. One of these was Ernest Hemingway's Pulitzer Prize winning novella, The Old Man and the Sea.
Because I was feeling somewhat pretentious (and lacking in my classics genre compared to Spence), I decided to begin a six hour endeavor on this work. In the end, I can truly say, I was very much rewarded. Let me be forthright, this is and was the first Hemingway book I had ever read. So, much like a babe in the woods, I had no idea what I was getting myself in to.
The Old Man and the Sea is a methodical and very much existential work that involves a strong-willed fisherman and an equally stubborn marlin. The two battle each other over the course of three days, testing both the endurance and will of the other. That's it. If one is looking for a book that includes pages upon pages of action, fighting, and suspense, then they will be sorely disappointed. Heck, if one is even looking for a book that includes chapters then I would suggest they keep moving. This work spends much of its time exploring the thoughts and actions of a fisherman and flows from beginning to end much like the sea itself.
Hemingway wastes no time in piercing the heart of the matter in his work. Throughout the novella, the fisherman refers to the marlin as his "brother" and elicits a profound and emotional connection with the fish. He even questions the fact of whether he should be killing such a nobel creature since the two are so intertwined in their professions. That's another thing Hemingway extracts from his story: the concept of destiny. The fisherman accepts his art and profession as something he was born to do and decides that the marlin had no choice in the matter either.
It often reminded me of the scene in Cormac McCarthy's No Country for Old Men, where Chigurh, the villain, demands that a gas station owner call a coin flip. He states that the coin had been traveling all these years in order to reach this one point and that the owner must call it. He has no other reason than that of destiny. In the same way, the fisherman and the marlin were connected like that of the coin and the gas station owner. The gods had spoken.
There are so many things that I loved about this novella that I'm finding it difficult to wrap it up in only 700 words. Yet, I'll leave you with one last thing to note. Hemingway beautifully portrays the mental battle raging in the fisherman's head. Often times I would read the fisherman's thoughts and then the next line discover his dialogue stating the exact opposite. I think this is very essential to a powerful book because humans themselves are not linear thinkers. We often times contradict ourselves on a daily basis, whether it be for better or worse. With that, I highly recommend this short, but compelling read.
"Imagine if each day a man must try to kill the moon, he thought. The moon runs away. But imagine if a man each day should have to try to kill the sun? We were born lucky, he thought."
-- Zach
Friday, December 28, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
The Long Walk
Hello beautiful people,
Okay, we're back. Here at Whiskey Before Breakfast, Zach and I took a brief hiatus from our weekly postings to acknowledge our final exams. Thank you for your patience. And your thunderous applause.
When Stephen King was a freshman at the University of Maine in 1966-67, he wrote his first novella, entitled The Long Walk. He published this story in 1979 under the pseudonym Richard Bachman (among several other stories, called the "Bachman Books").
The Long Walk takes place in the not-too-distant future (for all you dystopian lovers). The U.S. is now a totalitarian police state, and each year on May 1st, the government randomly selects one hundred teenage boys to participate in The Long Walk. The rules are simple: you must stay on the road and maintain a constant speed of four miles per hour. If you fall below that speed for thirty seconds, you receive a warning. If you exceed three warnings, you will be shot (the characters call it "getting your ticket"). The last man standing receives The Prize: anything and everything he wants for the rest of his life.
The narrative is told through the eyes of sixteen year-old Ray Garraty, Contestant Number 47. We know little of Ray's past except that his father was taken away (and presumably killed) by the government, and that he was raised by his mother. He has a girlfriend named Jan, about whom he daydreams and fantasizes. Ray does not know why he is a part of The Long Walk; he just knows that he didn't back out when he had the chance. With each step, he becomes more unsure of his sense of place and purpose.
I hardly know where to begin with this story. This isn't a thriller about clowns or monsters or Mockingjays. The Long Walk is raw and gritty and in-your-face from start to finish. We watch Ray's optimism in the beginning of the story spiral downward into the torturous, hellish experience of the final chapters. Stephen King brilliantly captures the Walkers' excruciating physical pain as well as their deep spiritual contemplation; as Ray becomes physically depleted and exhausted, his mind descends into insanity, and he questions the purpose of life and the value of human relationships. He befriends several of his fellow Walkers, and their camaraderie in the face of certain death is incredibly complex and powerful.
I think The Long Walk can be seen as a metaphor for the Vietnam War (or maybe any war): the lottery-type draft on TV, the horror of watching young friends die without dignity, and the sheer meaninglessness of "victory"--because even if you win, you lose everything.
As always, Stephen King tells the truth. I don't think there is any higher praise for a storyteller. The Long Walk will haunt you; it will strike a chord deep inside you, and you might hate it. That being said, this story will teach you what it is to be human, and what it means to be alive.
"But of course it had hurt. It had hurt before, in the worst, rupturing way, knowing that there would be no more you but the universe would roll on just the same, unharmed and unhampered."
--Spence
Okay, we're back. Here at Whiskey Before Breakfast, Zach and I took a brief hiatus from our weekly postings to acknowledge our final exams. Thank you for your patience. And your thunderous applause.
When Stephen King was a freshman at the University of Maine in 1966-67, he wrote his first novella, entitled The Long Walk. He published this story in 1979 under the pseudonym Richard Bachman (among several other stories, called the "Bachman Books").
The Long Walk takes place in the not-too-distant future (for all you dystopian lovers). The U.S. is now a totalitarian police state, and each year on May 1st, the government randomly selects one hundred teenage boys to participate in The Long Walk. The rules are simple: you must stay on the road and maintain a constant speed of four miles per hour. If you fall below that speed for thirty seconds, you receive a warning. If you exceed three warnings, you will be shot (the characters call it "getting your ticket"). The last man standing receives The Prize: anything and everything he wants for the rest of his life.
The narrative is told through the eyes of sixteen year-old Ray Garraty, Contestant Number 47. We know little of Ray's past except that his father was taken away (and presumably killed) by the government, and that he was raised by his mother. He has a girlfriend named Jan, about whom he daydreams and fantasizes. Ray does not know why he is a part of The Long Walk; he just knows that he didn't back out when he had the chance. With each step, he becomes more unsure of his sense of place and purpose.
I hardly know where to begin with this story. This isn't a thriller about clowns or monsters or Mockingjays. The Long Walk is raw and gritty and in-your-face from start to finish. We watch Ray's optimism in the beginning of the story spiral downward into the torturous, hellish experience of the final chapters. Stephen King brilliantly captures the Walkers' excruciating physical pain as well as their deep spiritual contemplation; as Ray becomes physically depleted and exhausted, his mind descends into insanity, and he questions the purpose of life and the value of human relationships. He befriends several of his fellow Walkers, and their camaraderie in the face of certain death is incredibly complex and powerful.
I think The Long Walk can be seen as a metaphor for the Vietnam War (or maybe any war): the lottery-type draft on TV, the horror of watching young friends die without dignity, and the sheer meaninglessness of "victory"--because even if you win, you lose everything.
As always, Stephen King tells the truth. I don't think there is any higher praise for a storyteller. The Long Walk will haunt you; it will strike a chord deep inside you, and you might hate it. That being said, this story will teach you what it is to be human, and what it means to be alive.
"But of course it had hurt. It had hurt before, in the worst, rupturing way, knowing that there would be no more you but the universe would roll on just the same, unharmed and unhampered."
--Spence
Sunday, December 2, 2012
The Road Virus Heads North
Events upon events have piled up over the last week so I can understand how all of you have been held in utter suspense, waiting for our next review to be posted. With a combination of both school work and a social life, I've been left with little to no time to read this past week. For those of you who are concerned, I'm still making my way through House of Leaves, but progress has been hindered to about snail's pace. And for those of you who aren't concerned, I went to the zoo yesterday. I think one of the more profound and enlightening animals I was able to see was the giraffe. To my understanding, they're the only mammals that sleep standing up. This must mean that their leg muscles are some of the strongest in the world (right?).
Anyways, all this is related to a short story that has been at the forefront of my mind ever since being exposed the master of modern horror himself, Stephen King (animals to horror - there's a connection there somewhere). It's hard to sum up all that King has done in his career, from snorting lines of cocaine, to writing in drunken stupors, to composing entire novels and not remembering a single event from the night before; naturally King is nothing short of a "mad-artist". In one of his earlier short story compilations, Everything's Eventual, he pens a story entitled "The Road Virus Heads North" about a man, Richard Kinnell, who purchases the bizarre painting of a malevolent-looking man who's driving a car similar to his own. The painting has an equally disturbing past, which captivates Kinnell, who's always a fan of the slightly horrific (much like King). When the tortured artist who created the painting died, he burned all his other works and left a cryptic message behind stating how he couldn't take what was happening to him.
As Kinnell continues his trip back home to Maine (a recurring setting in almost every King story), he notices the painting begins to change with each place he stops at. At one point, Kinnell attempts to ditch the painting at a rest stop, but finds to his horror, the sinister image has beat him to his own house and now displays a bloody massacre of a yard sale from whence he first purchased the painting. As the man in the car looms ever closer to Kinnell's house, Kinnell begins to frantically think of ways of how to change his impending death.
King has always been a fan of "moving pictures" stories and this is certainly an outgrowth of that love. The reader is immersed in a sense of dread and anxiety as Kinnell's painting gradually becomes more violent and warped. Along with being a solid stand-alone story, the rest of Everything's Eventual is equally macabre and enjoyable. While there can't be much drawn from the story in the way of changing mankind or one's soul (as Spence's novels seem to be about), this one is merely for entertainment and horror purposes only. Yet, that's not to say it's not worth reading, though.
-- Zach
Anyways, all this is related to a short story that has been at the forefront of my mind ever since being exposed the master of modern horror himself, Stephen King (animals to horror - there's a connection there somewhere). It's hard to sum up all that King has done in his career, from snorting lines of cocaine, to writing in drunken stupors, to composing entire novels and not remembering a single event from the night before; naturally King is nothing short of a "mad-artist". In one of his earlier short story compilations, Everything's Eventual, he pens a story entitled "The Road Virus Heads North" about a man, Richard Kinnell, who purchases the bizarre painting of a malevolent-looking man who's driving a car similar to his own. The painting has an equally disturbing past, which captivates Kinnell, who's always a fan of the slightly horrific (much like King). When the tortured artist who created the painting died, he burned all his other works and left a cryptic message behind stating how he couldn't take what was happening to him.
As Kinnell continues his trip back home to Maine (a recurring setting in almost every King story), he notices the painting begins to change with each place he stops at. At one point, Kinnell attempts to ditch the painting at a rest stop, but finds to his horror, the sinister image has beat him to his own house and now displays a bloody massacre of a yard sale from whence he first purchased the painting. As the man in the car looms ever closer to Kinnell's house, Kinnell begins to frantically think of ways of how to change his impending death.
King has always been a fan of "moving pictures" stories and this is certainly an outgrowth of that love. The reader is immersed in a sense of dread and anxiety as Kinnell's painting gradually becomes more violent and warped. Along with being a solid stand-alone story, the rest of Everything's Eventual is equally macabre and enjoyable. While there can't be much drawn from the story in the way of changing mankind or one's soul (as Spence's novels seem to be about), this one is merely for entertainment and horror purposes only. Yet, that's not to say it's not worth reading, though.
-- Zach
Saturday, November 24, 2012
The Road
Here at Whiskey Before Breakfast, Zach and I have one rule: We do not review books that have appeared in Oprah Winfrey's Book Club. Today, I am going to break that rule, and you're all going to like it.
Cormac McCarthy published The Road in 2006. It was made into a film in 2009, starring Aragorn and an Australian kid with two last names.
Anyway, The Road depicts a post-apocalyptic world (context indicates this to be North America, a number of years after a terrible war) through which an unnamed man and his young son travel on foot to reach "the sea." As they journey through the bleak landscape, they encounter horrific violence and depravity (cannibalism, murder, desecration of everything sacred). However, the brutality of the outside world is contrasted with the tender, loving relationship the man has with his son. The boy represents the last remaining bit of goodness left in the world; the father is determined to protect his son not only for his own sake, but also for the good of the human race. It's a very powerful image. Despite the horrors of the ravaged world, we can find hope in the end, because the boy's innocent goodness illuminates the sick world around him.
Side note: the image of light recurs throughout the novel. It's quite interesting. If I were to do it over again, I would read this book by candlelight. End note.
Cormac McCarthy's unique style strikes a balance between poetry and prose. Each sentence has a distinctive rhythm and mood; the story is painted in a cold, gray dullness that perfectly captures the bleakness of the landscape. McCarthy avoids most punctuation, which gives his writing a sense of raw simplicity. In this case, the style reflects the content. Everything about this story is cold and gray--the setting, the language, the tone--except for the relationship between the father and the young son. You'll shiver through the frigid narrative, but you'll feel comforted by the warmth of their bond, despite the grim circumstances.
You could say McCarthy's style is Hemingway-esque. It is expressive in its lack of expression.
The Road is unconcerned with the past or the future. We know practically nothing about our two protagonists (i.e. where they came from, where they're going, their names). We simply witness their present journey, and when we do, we begin to realize that we're walking right alongside them.
You have to carry the fire.
I don't know how to."
Yes, you do.
Is the fire real? The fire?
Yes it is.
Where is it? I don't know where it is.
Yes you do. It's inside you. It always was there. I can see it.
--Spence
Cormac McCarthy published The Road in 2006. It was made into a film in 2009, starring Aragorn and an Australian kid with two last names.
Anyway, The Road depicts a post-apocalyptic world (context indicates this to be North America, a number of years after a terrible war) through which an unnamed man and his young son travel on foot to reach "the sea." As they journey through the bleak landscape, they encounter horrific violence and depravity (cannibalism, murder, desecration of everything sacred). However, the brutality of the outside world is contrasted with the tender, loving relationship the man has with his son. The boy represents the last remaining bit of goodness left in the world; the father is determined to protect his son not only for his own sake, but also for the good of the human race. It's a very powerful image. Despite the horrors of the ravaged world, we can find hope in the end, because the boy's innocent goodness illuminates the sick world around him.
Side note: the image of light recurs throughout the novel. It's quite interesting. If I were to do it over again, I would read this book by candlelight. End note.
Cormac McCarthy's unique style strikes a balance between poetry and prose. Each sentence has a distinctive rhythm and mood; the story is painted in a cold, gray dullness that perfectly captures the bleakness of the landscape. McCarthy avoids most punctuation, which gives his writing a sense of raw simplicity. In this case, the style reflects the content. Everything about this story is cold and gray--the setting, the language, the tone--except for the relationship between the father and the young son. You'll shiver through the frigid narrative, but you'll feel comforted by the warmth of their bond, despite the grim circumstances.
You could say McCarthy's style is Hemingway-esque. It is expressive in its lack of expression.
The Road is unconcerned with the past or the future. We know practically nothing about our two protagonists (i.e. where they came from, where they're going, their names). We simply witness their present journey, and when we do, we begin to realize that we're walking right alongside them.
You have to carry the fire.
I don't know how to."
Yes, you do.
Is the fire real? The fire?
Yes it is.
Where is it? I don't know where it is.
Yes you do. It's inside you. It always was there. I can see it.
--Spence
Monday, November 19, 2012
When Zachary Beaver Came to Town
“Nothing ever happens in Antler, Texas. Nothing much at all.”
And so go the first two lines of a novel that I’ve shared both feelings of
endearing love and loathsome hate with. Let’s be honest, as children it was a
rare thing to find ourselves sitting down with a quality book and devoting any
significant amount of time to discovering what its words and theme could mean
for our own lives. No, we were more preoccupied with the thoughts of global
warming (sorry, climate change),
stripping naked for PETA posters, and “livin’
la vida loca”, as we were so often told to do by the always respected
artist, Ricky Martin. So, like any normal child of 12, I distanced myself from
things that weren't as beneficial as these. That’s why, when I first
encountered Kimberly Willis Holt’s novel, When
Zachary Beaver Came to Town, I absolutely despised it for reasons that are
two-fold.
First, the book title contained my name and was actually
spelled right. When we were forced to read this work for my seventh grade
English class, there was no shortage of obvious statements such as, “Hey Zach,
this book has your name on it!” To which
I always replied, “Hey [insert generic kid’s name], no s***!” pronouncing each asterisk
perfectly.
Secondly, it’s a National Book Award-winning children’s
novel, so that obviously means every child must
enjoy this book because it won an award, right? Well, I never finished it in
seventh grade and to be honest, it remained in a state of dormancy until this
past summer, when I decided to evict the spiders and cobwebs which had taken up residency on it and began reading it again. This was one of the best
decisions of my life.
It’s a coming of age story about a thirteen-year-old boy, Toby Wilson, who lives in Antler, Texas. It’s your archetypal western small town, where everyone knows everyone, and your best friend lives next to you, and there’s a crazy old man who sells you snow cones down the road. One day a traveling side-show attraction visits this insipid town and that’s when Toby and his best friend, Cal, discover the fattest boy in the world, Zachary Beaver. Enamored with the sheer size of the boy, the two friends continue to return and visit with him despite Zachary’s obvious distaste towards people and the cornucopia of lies he constructs about his world travels. When Toby discovers a Bible in Zachary’s trailer and notices that the baptism section isn't filled out, Toby forms a plan to do just that, baptize a 300+ pound boy.
This work is told from the first person point of view of
Toby, which lends itself to pull any emotional string it wants. In turn, that’s
what makes it such a captivating and warm book to read, despite moments of
complete loss and heartbreak. An example of this would be Toby’s own home life.
From the opening chapter we discover that Toby’s mom has left for Nashville,
Tennessee in order to peruse her dream of becoming a country music star. The
last memory Toby has of her was a fight between her and his dad in the kitchen,
ending with his dad storming out of the room. As the story progresses we learn
that this fissure in the family will never be repaired as his mom intends on
staying in Nashville for good, thus meaning a divorce is surely to come. What ensues
next is a strain between him and his dad as Toby attempts to distance himself
from his family while his dad tries to understand his son’s pain.
Making its home in both light-hearted humor and soul-wrenching
drama, When Zachary Beaver Came to Town
will journey its way through your emotions in eloquent style. It’s a relatively
quick read and I honestly recommend it for the upcoming holiday season being that
it makes one thankful for what they have, even if you live in a small town
where nothing ever happens.
-- Zach
Friday, November 16, 2012
Into the Wild
Mankind is terribly cruel. As a society, we demand unquestioned conformity from every individual. Those who march to the beat of their own drum are usually ostracized, rejected or worse.
Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer tells the true story of Christopher McCandless, a young man who wanted to live freely, exuberantly, and unreservedly. Chris idealistically refused to conform to the society in which he was born, and he sought to lead a meaningful, spontaneous life, focusing only on the essentials of living.
Chris McCandless graduated from Emory University in 1990 with high honors. Disillusioned by the shallow materialism around him, Chris abandoned his plans to attend Harvard Law School. He donated his $24,000 life savings to charity, packed his few possessions into the trunk of his car, and drove west. He recorded his nearly-unbelievable adventures in his journal and camera; after his car was damaged in a flash flood, Chris hitchhiked to South Dakota where he worked at a grain elevator for several months. He made his way south, and eventually canoed to Mexico on the Colorado River. He drifted through Arizona and California, and began making plans for his long-awaited adventure to Alaska. Chris hitchhiked north, and in April of 1992, he sent the following postcard to his friend Wayne:
“Greetings from Fairbanks! This is the last you shall hear from me, Wayne. Arrived here 2 days ago. It was very difficult to catch rides in the Yukon Territory. But I finally got here. Please return all mail I receive to the sender. It might be a very long time before I return South. If this adventure proves fatal and you don’t ever hear from me again, I want you to know you’re a great man. I now walk into the wild.”
Four months later, Chris was dead. A group of hunters discovered his emaciated body in the Alaskan wilderness; Chris had been living in an abandoned school bus (a temporary lodging for hunters), and he had been thriving until he accidentally consumed a poisonous plant and starved to death. Jon Krakauer wrote Into the Wild by compiling journal entries, letters, photographs, and interviews with Chris's family and friends.
Into the Wild has inspired me tremendously. Christopher McCandless understood something deep and powerful about life: in the words of Henry David Thoreau, "Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth." Chris saw that his society constructed meaningless formalities to avoid facing the truth. He put aside the notion that material success always equals greatness, and he blazed his own trail, enjoying the base necessities of life and discovering the limitless value of natural beauty and human relationships.
The story of Chris McCandless creates controversy because his untimely death seems to indicate that his life was a waste and his experiment was a failure. While I regard his death as a tremendous loss to the human race, I also believe that his experiences can teach an invaluable lesson. Chris lived a rich, beautiful life. He refused to be content with a numb, meaningless existence. Most people never take a moment to reflect inwardly on their own souls, but Chris spent his short life on a journey to discover himself and the truth.
Side note: Part of my fascination with Christopher McCandless stems from his exemplification of the American Adam motif. The American Adam recurs throughout the American literary tradition: the solitary individual who liberates himself from his past and journeys westward to conquer, to discover, and to be free. He gives new names to the things he sees, and he lives independently and innocently. (Think of Natty Bumpo, Nick Adams, Huckleberry Finn, even Hester Prynne). Chris McCandless is a real-life American Adam. End Note.
Please read Into the Wild at some point in your life. Even if you completely disagree with Chris's decisions, I think you stand to gain something from this book. Jon Krakauer beautifully portrays the life of Chris McCandless, and I finished this book feeling deeply connected to Chris, as if I knew him.
Also, the movie was excellent. You can watch it before or after you read the book, actually. (I rarely say that).
--Spence
Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer tells the true story of Christopher McCandless, a young man who wanted to live freely, exuberantly, and unreservedly. Chris idealistically refused to conform to the society in which he was born, and he sought to lead a meaningful, spontaneous life, focusing only on the essentials of living.
Chris McCandless graduated from Emory University in 1990 with high honors. Disillusioned by the shallow materialism around him, Chris abandoned his plans to attend Harvard Law School. He donated his $24,000 life savings to charity, packed his few possessions into the trunk of his car, and drove west. He recorded his nearly-unbelievable adventures in his journal and camera; after his car was damaged in a flash flood, Chris hitchhiked to South Dakota where he worked at a grain elevator for several months. He made his way south, and eventually canoed to Mexico on the Colorado River. He drifted through Arizona and California, and began making plans for his long-awaited adventure to Alaska. Chris hitchhiked north, and in April of 1992, he sent the following postcard to his friend Wayne:
“Greetings from Fairbanks! This is the last you shall hear from me, Wayne. Arrived here 2 days ago. It was very difficult to catch rides in the Yukon Territory. But I finally got here. Please return all mail I receive to the sender. It might be a very long time before I return South. If this adventure proves fatal and you don’t ever hear from me again, I want you to know you’re a great man. I now walk into the wild.”
Four months later, Chris was dead. A group of hunters discovered his emaciated body in the Alaskan wilderness; Chris had been living in an abandoned school bus (a temporary lodging for hunters), and he had been thriving until he accidentally consumed a poisonous plant and starved to death. Jon Krakauer wrote Into the Wild by compiling journal entries, letters, photographs, and interviews with Chris's family and friends.
Into the Wild has inspired me tremendously. Christopher McCandless understood something deep and powerful about life: in the words of Henry David Thoreau, "Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth." Chris saw that his society constructed meaningless formalities to avoid facing the truth. He put aside the notion that material success always equals greatness, and he blazed his own trail, enjoying the base necessities of life and discovering the limitless value of natural beauty and human relationships.
The story of Chris McCandless creates controversy because his untimely death seems to indicate that his life was a waste and his experiment was a failure. While I regard his death as a tremendous loss to the human race, I also believe that his experiences can teach an invaluable lesson. Chris lived a rich, beautiful life. He refused to be content with a numb, meaningless existence. Most people never take a moment to reflect inwardly on their own souls, but Chris spent his short life on a journey to discover himself and the truth.
Side note: Part of my fascination with Christopher McCandless stems from his exemplification of the American Adam motif. The American Adam recurs throughout the American literary tradition: the solitary individual who liberates himself from his past and journeys westward to conquer, to discover, and to be free. He gives new names to the things he sees, and he lives independently and innocently. (Think of Natty Bumpo, Nick Adams, Huckleberry Finn, even Hester Prynne). Chris McCandless is a real-life American Adam. End Note.
Please read Into the Wild at some point in your life. Even if you completely disagree with Chris's decisions, I think you stand to gain something from this book. Jon Krakauer beautifully portrays the life of Chris McCandless, and I finished this book feeling deeply connected to Chris, as if I knew him.
Also, the movie was excellent. You can watch it before or after you read the book, actually. (I rarely say that).
--Spence
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
H.P. Lovecraft and all that Cosmic Horror
You'll have to forgive me this week for not having a wonderful, thought-provoking book review. I have good reasons to which I'll layout for you right now. First, it takes a long time to read a book and consume all it has to offer. I can't exactly read War and Peace or The Brothers Karamazov in one week and then actually have enough brain cells left to write a review on said works (I've read neither of these by the way). Secondly, I've taken it upon myself to begin reading House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski, which is a 700+ page book that consists of footnotes within footnotes, long passages in Latin/German/Hebrew, and parts of chapters that can't be read unless held up to a mirror. It's an experience to say the least and am currently equating myself with that of Dante, taking upon himself the burden of discovering the horrors of Hell, so you'll forgive me for not having a review for this book yet.
Instead, I've decided to review a couple short stories written by one of the great horror masters of all time, H.P. Lovecraft. I've been a long time fan of Lovecraft and believe that you should familiarize yourself with at least some of his more famous works such as "The Call of Cthulhu" or "At the Mountains of Madness". Being an author of "weird horror", his readers must simultaneously suspend their rationale while expanding their imagination to enjoy his stories. He also writes in a similar style to that of Poe, with eloquent diction and long spanning sentences. With that said, as Samuel Taylor Coleridge once stated, we must be willing to suspend our disbelief and involve ourselves in the story and events taking place in order to appreciate what the author is trying to portray. Only then may we actually peer into the mind that is Lovecraft.
"The Beast in the Cave"
I decided not to review some of the more well-known Lovecraft stories for the sake of saving those for you to read. Instead, I chose a couple of my personal favorites that pioneered my love for his works. The first story that I ever read was "The Beast in the Cave", a short story that takes place in Mammoth Cave where a man loses his tour group and becomes utterly disoriented and lost. When the torch he's carrying finally extinguishes his imagination begins to take over as he succumbs to claustrophobia and a very real fear of death. When he starts to hear footsteps somewhere behind him, he all but falls into insanity. The ending to this story comes as a shock, leaving the reader with a slight chill creeping up their spine.
"The Tomb"
This short story stands as one of the more eerier ones that I've read in my musings of Lovecraft. It's about a self-proclaimed daydreamer, Jervas Dudley, who becomes enthralled with a mausoleum belonging to a family who died in a mansion fire years ago. From the very first lines of the story though, we find that Jervas claims to be an unreliable source for the tale he is about to tell, and that many others consider him insane. His story is one that revolves around his constant return to the tomb in order to sleep in an empty coffin labeled with the name, "Jervas" (or so he believes). As his obsession progresses he begins to develop a fear of thunder and fire (a parallel to how the mansion was burned down), as well as an almost tangible case of paranoia. As an eerily psychotic story, "The Tomb" is one of Lovecraft's finest.
Pick up a Lovecraft book tomorrow. Everyone deserves to discover the cosmic side of the horror-fantasy genre.
-- Zach
Instead, I've decided to review a couple short stories written by one of the great horror masters of all time, H.P. Lovecraft. I've been a long time fan of Lovecraft and believe that you should familiarize yourself with at least some of his more famous works such as "The Call of Cthulhu" or "At the Mountains of Madness". Being an author of "weird horror", his readers must simultaneously suspend their rationale while expanding their imagination to enjoy his stories. He also writes in a similar style to that of Poe, with eloquent diction and long spanning sentences. With that said, as Samuel Taylor Coleridge once stated, we must be willing to suspend our disbelief and involve ourselves in the story and events taking place in order to appreciate what the author is trying to portray. Only then may we actually peer into the mind that is Lovecraft.
"The Beast in the Cave"
I decided not to review some of the more well-known Lovecraft stories for the sake of saving those for you to read. Instead, I chose a couple of my personal favorites that pioneered my love for his works. The first story that I ever read was "The Beast in the Cave", a short story that takes place in Mammoth Cave where a man loses his tour group and becomes utterly disoriented and lost. When the torch he's carrying finally extinguishes his imagination begins to take over as he succumbs to claustrophobia and a very real fear of death. When he starts to hear footsteps somewhere behind him, he all but falls into insanity. The ending to this story comes as a shock, leaving the reader with a slight chill creeping up their spine.
"The Tomb"
This short story stands as one of the more eerier ones that I've read in my musings of Lovecraft. It's about a self-proclaimed daydreamer, Jervas Dudley, who becomes enthralled with a mausoleum belonging to a family who died in a mansion fire years ago. From the very first lines of the story though, we find that Jervas claims to be an unreliable source for the tale he is about to tell, and that many others consider him insane. His story is one that revolves around his constant return to the tomb in order to sleep in an empty coffin labeled with the name, "Jervas" (or so he believes). As his obsession progresses he begins to develop a fear of thunder and fire (a parallel to how the mansion was burned down), as well as an almost tangible case of paranoia. As an eerily psychotic story, "The Tomb" is one of Lovecraft's finest.
Pick up a Lovecraft book tomorrow. Everyone deserves to discover the cosmic side of the horror-fantasy genre.
-- Zach
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