At his worst, HP Lovecraft was a racist Anglophile who droned with an incessantly archaic and enigmatical prose that was shifted towards the purple. His characters could be bland and forgettable, and his plots often served no further purpose than presenting an unknowable horror to destroy the minds of these lifeless homuncular denizens of the Lovecraftian realm. I don’t read a lot of HP Lovecraft. But at his best, he can pull you into a dark and unpleasant reality, barely glimpsed beyond the horizon. A […]
I touched madness in my youth, and it has stayed with me
At the Mountains of Madness by H.P. Lovecraft