eldritchhobbit

(Artwork is “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here” by theycallmedanyo.) For today I have an article/reading recommendation list to share by T. Marie Vandelly for Crime Reads: “Domestic Horror: A Primer.” And here are some atmospheric quotes from some of the novels that appear in the list: “It’s bad when the dead talk in dreams,” said Odessa. ― Michael McDowell, The Elementals (1981) “The origins of the bottle tree were African, Helen had once told her; it was a folk tradition brought to this country by slaves, who, working with whatever materials were at hand, devised a crude method of catching and trapping malevolent spirits, to prevent their passage through human doors.” ― Attica Locke, The Cutting Season (2012) “In folktales a vampire couldn’t enter your home unless you invited him in. Without your consent the beast could never cross your threshold. Well, what do you think your computer is? Your phone? You live inside those devices so those devices are your homes. But at least a home, a physical building, has a door you can shut, windows you can latch. Technology has no locked doors.” ― Victor LaValle, The Changeling (2017) View the full article

(Photo by Yours Truly. Poe by Dellamorteco.) On this day in 1849 – 171 years ago – Edgar Allan Poe died at the age of forty under mysterious circumstances. For more information, read “Mysterious for Evermore” by Matthew Pearl, an article on Poe’s death from The Telegraph. Pearl is the author of a fascinating novel about the subject, The Poe Shadow. (Photo by Yours Truly.) The following are some of my favorite links about Edgar Allan Poe: PoeStories.com: An Exploration of Short Stories by Edgar Allan Poe Poe-Land: The Hallowed Haunts of Edgar Allan Poe (I highly recommend this book by J.W. Ocker, and I suggest that you enter “Poe” into the Search feature at his Odd Things I’ve Seen site, as well, for many Poe-riffic posts!) The Poe Museum of Richmond The Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore Hocus Pocus Comics is Poe-centric to the max, and I invite you to visit the site! In addition, check out this beautiful time-lapse video of David Hartman drawing an exclusive Kickstarter cover for The Imaginary Voyages of Edgar Allan Poe – and subscribe to the Hocus Pocus Comics YouTube channel while you’re at it! The Caedmon recordings – that’s 5 hours of Edgar Allan Poe stories read by Vincent Price & Basil Rathbone – are now available on Spotify (download the software here). (Thanks, Jessica!) And now, here is one of my favorite readings of Poe: Gabriel Byrne’s narration of the pandemic-relevant and all-too-timely “The Masque of the Red Death.” The red death had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal – the madness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress, and termination of the disease, were incidents of half an hour. But Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his crenellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince’s own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress nor egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the “Red Death.” – from “The Masque of the Red Death” by Edgar Allan Poe (1842). Read the complete story here. View the full article

(Art is “The Innocent Abandoned” by ExDolore.) For today’s spooky reading recommendation list, check out “Five Haunted House Books Written By Women” by Lisa Kröger and Melanie R. Anderson for Tor.com. Here is an eerie snippet from one of the novels in the list, The Graveyard Apartment by Mariko Koike (U.S. edition 2016). It’s pretty close to perfect, Misao thought. What more could anyone want? Two LDK (real-estate shorthand for two bedrooms, living room, dining area, and kitchen); nearly a thousand square feet, including the balcony; a building that was only eight months old; full-time resident managers, right on the premises. For a family in search of a wholesome, peaceful life, it was really quite ideal. Not bothering with a tablecloth, Misao laid out two coffee cups on the bare dining table, along with Tamao’s mug, which was adorned with a picture of a cartoon bear. When she happened to glance toward the balcony, a fleeting wave of misgivings about the location washed over her. Shaking it off, she made a conscious effort to focus on the positives. Beyond the sliding-glass doors, the verdant-smelling March air was whipping around, and there were no buildings nearby to obstruct her field of vision. If only the sublime greenery belonged to a park, and not a graveyard … Misao gave her head a quick, purposeful toss, as if to banish such futile thoughts, then laughed out loud. There she went again, fretting about minor drawbacks and useless hypotheticals. As if she had time to waste on that kind of nonsense! Cut it out, she told herself sternly. The percolating coffee began to fill the room with a delicious aroma. Misao grabbed a frying pan that had just been unpacked a few moments earlier and gave it a quick rinse under the tap. She heated the pan on the stove and added a splash of cooking oil. When the oil began to sizzle, she dropped in three of the eggs she had brought from their previous place—painstakingly packed to make sure they wouldn’t get broken in transit. As she worked, Misao couldn’t keep her eyes from wandering to the living-room windows. The nearly perfect apartment was partially surrounded, from the south to the west side, by a vast graveyard that belonged to an ancient Buddhist temple. To the north were some uninhabited houses, long since fallen into ruin and engulfed in weeds, while on the east side there was a patch of vacant land. Beyond that empty field the smokestack of a crematorium was clearly visible, and from time to time the tall, cylindrical brick chimney would belch out a billow of thick black smoke. Depending on which way the wind was blowing, it wasn’t inconceivable that some of that mortal smoke might waft in through the apartment’s open windows from time to time. A longer excerpt is available online from Macmillan here. View the full article

One of the coolest new-to-me discoveries of this year is The Black Vampyre; A Legend of St. Domingo (1819), which Andrew Barger (in The Best Vampire Stories 1800-1849: A Classic Vampire Anthology) credits as quite possibly “the first black vampire story, the first comedic vampire story, the first story to include a mulatto vampire, the first vampire story by an American author, and perhaps the first anti-slavery short story.” Common-Place: The Journal of Early American Life has a “Just Teach One” page devoted to The Black Vampyre, including the complete text with introduction and notes prepared by Duncan Faherty (Queens College and the CUNY Graduate Center) and Ed White (Tulane University), and several illuminating essays written by teachers who have included this text in their classes. You can read or download The Black Vampyre and these additional resources for free here. Here is a spine-tinging excerpt from The Black Vampyre: When reason and sense returned, she [The Lady] found herself in the same place; and it was also the midnight hour. She was laying by the grave of Mr. PERSONNE, and her breast was stained with blood. A wide wound appeared to have been inflicted there, but was now cicatrized. Imagine if you can, her surprise; when, by a certain carniverous craving in her maw, and by putting this and that together, she found she was a—VAMPYRE!!! and gathered from her indistinct reminiscences, of the preceding night, that she had been then sucked; and that it was now her turn to eject the peaceful tenants of the grave! With this delightful prospect of immortality before her, she began to examine the graves, for subject to satisfy her furious appetite. When she had selected one to her mind, a new marvel arrested her attention. Her first husband got up out his coffin, and with all the grace so natural to his countrymen, made her a low bow in the last fashion, and opened his arms to receive her! View the full article

(Artwork is “Jack-o-lanterns” by NocturnalSea.) If you’re looking for more Halloween festivities, check out the Science Fiction Poetry Association’s 2020 Halloween Poetry Reading, which is already underway and will continue updating throughout the month. Images! Audio! Spooky poetry! And speaking of poetry… Oh, heard you that deep hollow sound, That seem’d to shake the troubled ground? And heard you that low rust’ling sweep, Which seem’d across the grass to creep? ’Tis hapless Henry’s restless shade, Which nightly walks the silent glade. Unhappy youth! a maid he lov’d Who false to his affections prov’d; The morn she promis’d him to wed, That morn she with another fled: ’Twas then that Henry, on his heath, His God forgot – and rush’d on death. Unhallow’d here, his body’s laid; O’er him no burial prayer was said; But on his grave the rank weeds grow, And o’er the place the loud winds blow; Whilst on the stake the rav’nous bird The long drear night is screaming heard…. - excerpt from “Henry’s Shade” by “Susan,” originally from October 1894, as published in Schabraco and Other Gothic Tales from The Lady’s Monthly Museum 1798-1828, edited by Jennie MacDonald (2020). View the full article

Here’s a Halloween-relevant article by Kim Taylor Blakemore at CrimeReads: “The New Gothic: Feminist and Unapologetic - Tracing the Evolution of Gothic Heroines from the Mid-20th Century to the Present Day Through 7 Novels.” On a related note, this is a timely reading list from Emily Wenstrom at Book Riot: “5 Modern Authors Upholding the Gothic Feminist Tradition in 2020.” One of the works recommended is one of the stellar “must read” novels of the season, Mexican Gothic by Sylvia Moreno-Garcia. Here, have a taste: Catalina slowly leaned closer to her, whispering in her ear. “It’s in the walls,” she said. “What is?” Noemí asked, and the question was a reflex, for she found it hard to think what to ask with her cousin’s blank eyes upon her, eyes that did not seem to see; it was like staring into a sleepwalker’s face. “The walls speak to me. They tell me secrets. Don’t listen to them, press your hands against your ears, Noemí. There are ghosts. They’re real. You’ll see them eventually.” - from Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia (2020) Chilling, no? A longer excerpt is available here: “Read an Excerpt from Mexican Gothic, Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s Haunted House Mystery.” View the full article

(Art is “Jack O Lantern” by TheArtistJW.) It seems like 2020 hasn’t just been a year, it’s been a decade! The next few weeks won’t be easy, either. But I won’t let 2020 rob me of my very favorite holiday ― or of the chance to celebrate it with my friends throughout the whole of October. This is the fifteenth year I’ll be counting down to Halloween with daily posts. I look forward to sharing quotes, images, links, book reviews, reading and viewing recommendation lists, and various creepy odds and ends with you. I hope you will consider every post a spooky moment of escape, a bite-sized treat (not a trick!) each day. (Source is “The Hooting Of The Owl” by Yesterdays-Paper.) Because 2020 marks the 100th birthday of Ray Bradbury, it seems fitting to start this countdown with the words of that great October Ambassador himself. So welcome to my October countdown… and welcome to the October country… “…that country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and mid-nights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain…” ― Ray Bradbury, The October Country (1955) Also… “For these beings, fall is ever the normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond. Where do they come from? The dust. Where do they go? The grave. Does blood stir their veins? No: the night wind. What ticks in their head? The worm. What speaks from their mouth? The toad. What sees from their eye? The snake. What hears with their ear? The abyss between the stars. They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. They frenzy forth….Such are the autumn people.” ― Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962) And… At the edge of the deep dark night ravine he pointed over the rim of the hills and the earth, away from the light of the moon, under the dim light of strange stars. The wind fluttered his black cloak and the hood that half shadowed and now half revealed his almost fleshless face. “There, do you see it, lads?” “What?” “The Undiscovered Country. Out there. Look long, look deep, make a feast. The Past, boys, the Past. Oh, it’s dark, yes, and full of nightmare. Everything that Halloween ever was lies buried there. Will you dig for bones, boys? Do you have the stuff?” He burned his gaze at them. “What is Halloween? How did it start? Where? Why? What for? Witches, cats, mummy dusts, haunts. It’s all there in that country from which no one returns. Will you dive into the dark ocean, boys? Will you fly in the dark sky?” ― Ray Bradbury, The Halloween Tree (1972) (Source is “Imps And Pumpkins” by Yesterdays-Paper.) And from one of my very favorites, “Usher II” (1950)… “Let me out, let me out!” There was one last brick to shove into place. The screaming was continuous. “Garrett?” called Stendahl softly. Garrett silenced himself. “Garrett,” said Stendahl, “do you know why I’ve done this to you? Because you burned Mr. Poe’s books without really reading them. You took other people’s advice that they needed burning. Otherwise you’d have realized what I was going to do to you when we came down here a moment ago. Ignorance is fatal, Mr. Garrett.” Garrett was silent. “I want this to be perfect,” said Stendahl, holding his lantern up so its light penetrated in upon the slumped figure. “Jingle your bells softly.” The bells rustled. “Now, if you’ll please say, ‘For the love of God, Montresor,’ I might let you free.” The man’s face came up in the light. There was a hesitation. Then grotesquely the man said, “For the love of God, Montresor.” “Ah,” said Stendahl, eyes closed. He shoved the last brick into place and mortared it tight. “Requiescat in pace, dear friend.” He hastened from the catacomb. ― Ray Bradbury, “Usher II” (1950) View the full article

Tomorrow is October! This will be the fifteenth year I count down to Halloween with daily “spooky posts.” I hope you’ll join me. Throughout October I will also be rereading one of my all-time favorite books, Roger Zelazny’s A Night in the Lonesome October (1994). It recounts (from the point of view of the dog Snuff) the story of a very eventful October and has 31 chapters, one for every day of the month. In recent years I’ve started treating it as an advent calendar of sorts for Halloween. It’s simply brilliant. Here are a few atmospheric quotes. “Such times are rare, such times are fleeting, but always bright when caught, measured, hung, and later regarded in times of adversity, there in the kinder halls of memory, against the flapping of the flames.” ― Roger Zelazny, A Night in the Lonesome October “I felt a strong desire to howl at the moon. It was such a howlable moon. But I restrained myself.” ― Roger Zelazny, A Night in the Lonesome October “I took Jack his slippers this evening and lay at his feet before a roaring fire while he smoked his pipe, sipped sherry, and read the newspaper. He read aloud everything involving killings, arsons, mutilations, grave robberies, church desecrations, and unusual thefts. It is very pleasant just being domestic sometimes.” ― Roger Zelazny, A Night in the Lonesome October And here’s one of my favorite passages. Snuff is describing Sherlock Holmes, disguised for his investigation as a woman, playing his violin with Romani travelers in their temporary camp: “He played and he played, and it grew wilder and wilder– “Abruptly, he halted and took a step, as if suddenly moving out of a dream. He bowed then and returned the instrument to its owner, his movements in that moment entirely masculine. I thought of all the controlled thinking, the masterfully developed deductions, which had served to bring him here, and then this ― this momentary slipping into the wildness he must keep carefully restrained ― and then seeing him come out of it, smiling, becoming the woman again. I saw in this the action of an enormous will, and suddenly I knew him much better than as the pursuing figure of many faces. Suddenly I knew that he had to be learning, as we were learning other aspects, of the scope of our enterprise, that he could well be right behind us at the end, that he was almost, in some way, a player – more a force, really ― in the Game, and I respected him as I have few beings of the many I have known.” ― Roger Zelazny, A Night in the Lonesome October View the full article

Today is the anniversary of the Long-Expected Party celebrating the eleventy-first birthday of Bilbo Baggins and the coming of age of Frodo Baggins in The Lord of the Rings. It was on this day that Bilbo gave his infamous birthday speech, saying “I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve,” before disappearing from the Shire forever. Also on this day, according to the Appendices of The Lord of the Rings, 99-year-old Samwise Gamgee rode out from Bag End for the final time. He was last seen in Middle-Earth by his daughter Elanor, to whom he presented the Red Book. According to tradition, he then went to the Grey Havens and passed over the Sea, last of the Ringbearers. And now, in honor of the Baggins Birthdays, the departure of Samwise, and Hobbits in general, here is the song of one of J.R.R. Tolkien’s (and, for that matter, world literature’s) greatest heroes, Samwise Gamgee, when in Cirith Ungol. In this very difficult times, I find myself returning to these verses in particular. They are the epitome of Hobbits and of hope. In western lands beneath the Sun the flowers may rise in Spring, the trees may bud, the waters run, the merry finches sing. Or there maybe ‘tis cloudless night and swaying beeches bear the Elven-stars as jewels white amid their branching hair. Though here at journey’s end I lie in darkness buried deep, beyond all towers strong and high, beyond all mountains steep, above all shadows rides the Sun and Stars for ever dwell: I will not say the Day is done, nor bid the Stars farewell. - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King View the full article

The First Scientific Utopia Still Matters 400 Years Later View the full article

dramyhsturgis: Happy birthday to Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (30 August, 1797 – 1 February, 1851)! “Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.” - Mary Shelley, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818) View the full article

Today is the centennial birthday of Ray Bradbury. Here is my recent talk on why we should read Fahrenheit 451 in 2020. View the full article

STAR WARS, HARRY POTTER, and More in the World of Academia It me! I was delighted to be interviewed about my undergraduate and graduate classes for this article in Nerdist. View the full article

In 1920, Native Women Sought the Vote. Here’s What They Seek Now. Native women were highly visible in early 20th-century suffrage activism. White suffragists, fascinated by Native matriarchal power, invited Native women to speak at conferences, join parades, and write for their publications. Native suffragists took advantage of these opportunities to speak about pressing issues in their communities — Native voting, land loss and treaty rights. But their stories have largely been forgotten. View the full article

“I think that there is no genre of horror fiction that so easily and intuitively speaks to our present day anxieties as the gaslit fantasies of our distant ancestors.” Terror and Power: Is Gothic Horror Poised for 21st Century Revival? View the full article

The power of literature in a time of plague View the full article

This is a real winner for me. One of my other favorites is Miskatonic University - so, yeah, I don't mind smelling like a Starbucks. Wet it's coffee, coffee, coffee with a buttery, semi-sweet note. Dry it's a pumpkin latte; the pumpkin and spices come to the fore to balance, but not overwhelm, the coffee. The vanilla - which I don't always like - is subtle and not oversweet. Overall this has great staying power, too, which is another plus. This is just about the ideal fall scent, as far as I'm concerned. I may have to get another bottle of this one. Yum.

I just adore this! Wet it smells like pumpkin pie, but dry it settles into the clove and nutmeg, with a warm pumpkin underneath - to me, it's not so much a "pie" smell as the smell of fall. It's not too sweet, and just ideal for autumn and winter. Definitely worthy of a big bottle.

This is my very favorite BPAL scent! There's just enough of the dark roast coffee to keep the irish cream from being too sweet. I love the staying power of this one. I feel like I'm carrying a little coffee shop - the kind attached to a used book store, with lots of fascinating old volumes on thick wooden shelves - around with me all day long!

Voluptuous and indulgent! A deep chocolate scent, with black cherry and orange blossom. Wow - I just got an imp of this yesterday, and now I'm going to grab a big bottle! It started out smelling like dark chocolate covered cherries, but as time went on, the orange emerged, as well. On the whole it is wonderfully dark and sweet. I'm hooked!

Thanks so much! That really helps. I hate to miss those scents, but that still leaves me lots to explore. I have tons of imps and bottles now that work so well for me. When I asked my allergist, he told me it's his rule to discourage wearing all scents anyway, so I should just go scent-free, and that would avoid any pine problems all together. Wow, that was an unacceptable answer. They can take my Shub-Niggurath when they can pry my cold, dead fingers off the bottle. LOL! Thanks again for your help.

This is a really ignorant question, but I'm going to ask anyway! I am allergic to various kinds of trees, and I take medications/injections during certain times of the year for this (pollen season, etc.). Does this mean I should avoid any scents that have these trees (say pine, for example) listed in the description? I don't know enough about oils to understand what they contain, and whether the same thing that makes me allergic to a tree would make me allergic to the scent. Thanks for your help!