Still a free country (for NOW!/whoot!), so a bit ago I bought an HP Lovecraft compendium ("edited" by Pete Straub! ha!). When I was in high school, there was a certain coven of kids (koven of kids? coven of cids?) who all knew their Lovecraft books like they were Twilight novels. I never even picked one up, somehow. The Bride says when she worked at Barnes and Noble in high school that it was like a rite of passage and all the kids (barring her) read them all to pieces. This not having read any of this guy's stuff (until now) may be the first thing we've ever had in common!
But I digress! I have only read about six of these "tales," but I do indeed see why all the fuss. It's all fully suffused with amazing creepy dread, even though, this being before the tricked-out modernisms of a Stephen King (where a condom can turn into a pirahna without warning, etc), there tends to be a "walk right up to look the horror in the face but rely on euphemisms or generalities when you get there because these 1922 people just cannot deal with it" vibe. This may pass as I trudge on, chronologically.
But, God help me, when, in "Herbert West: Re-Animator," the cannibalistic brought-back-from-the-dead hated boss dude is captured and stuck in an asylum where he "bangs his head against a wall" for sixteen years...ugh, I really did pull the covers up closer to my wee chin.
Also happy that the nerdz have fully internet-embraced the zillions of possibilities for oeuvre-centric products and the like!:
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