The Church of Dead Girls

There is something magically to a reader about a book that opens with a great scene that sets the mood for the rest of the story to follow. On the other hand, there is something extremely frustrating about a story that doesn’t live up to that first scene. Sadly, The Church of Dead Girls by Stephen Dobyns falls into the latter category for me. Perhaps if I had started this book as a crime thriller I would be praising where it works well, but I found it disappointing.

The beginning chapter gives the reader a detailed tour of an attic where three dead girls are propped up and decorated in a deliciously creepy manner. The specifics of the scene hint at a psycho outside of the typical strangle/stab/shoot and dump the body sort of murder. Dobyns wets the audience’s appetite with this opening. I was itching to jump into this killer’s head and get to the juicy bits of crazy floating around in there. I was ready to tear into the book. However, I found the next chapters a letdown as the story pivoted away from being about a killer to the paranoia of a small dreary town where everyone knows everybody else’s business. It felt like being sold a ticket to an action movie and sitting through a historical drama that had a few battle scenes.

Dobyns builds the town of Aurelius believably. The cast of characters fill the range one would expect in every small town, from the trouble makers, to the political pot stirring outsider, to the tragic widower now a single parent, to the promiscuous woman that’s heated up the sheets of nearly every man in town. The issue I have with this approach is that the list of Aurelius’ inhabitants is long and annoying to read through. Everyone has history and people have complicated relationships with each other. It was difficult to connect deeply with any of the characters. I didn’t find any of them really likeable either, but I think part of that was the distance. These were people I was hearing about from afar rather than experiencing the story through them. I was peeping in their town, listening at the door and looking through windows. Dobyns may have put these characters at a distance to purposely give the reader the feel of spying on this little community and to provide a good chunk of suspects. However, this kept me from becoming invested in the characters and made much of this a chore to read.

The strange first person POV also kept me at a distance. The unnamed narrator is retelling the story much like someone gossiping at times. Other times, the narrator switches into a weirdly omniscient voice that is able to recount other character’s feelings and events that our first person narrator couldn’t possibly have any knowledge about. Not only is this an unreliable narrator, he’s an inconsistent and impossible one. I didn’t find the narrator any more likeable than the townsfolk, although I did empathize with him a smidgen more. He feels like an outsider in this community yet is roped into the town’s drama. Growning up in a small town myself that I didn’t fit well in, I can understand the narrator on that level. Beyond that, I felt as removed from him as I did with everyone else in Aurelius.

The slow deterioration of the town into chaos as the girls disappeared was well done. As I mentioned before, had I gone into this book from a thriller perspective I think I would have enjoyed it more. Watching the suspicions flare up the prejudices that lie just beneath the surface of the town was as chilling as the murders. In a way, the killer is almost an afterthought as the decent of the town consumes the majority of the plot. The group mentality here is unnerving; those considered outsiders are targeted first. The longtime residents can’t fathom that one of their own could possibly be responsible for the missing girls. The death of the new professor, who brought his Marxist viewpoints to the sleepy town, was a nice touch on showing the radical opposition to any ideas or beliefs that are not accepted by the community. Once the citizens turn on each other, violence and vandalism are rationalized as “doing the right thing” when in fact it is fear that is driving them. The case clearly made that no one can hide in a seemingly safe place from the evils of humanity.

The ending was handled with a heavy dose of symbolism. The killer is shot in the back, thereby betrayed, by his own brother, which mirrors how neighbor turned on neighbor throughout the ordeal. The cutting off of the left hand by the killer is his acceptance of his own sexual/dirty nature. The interesting twist at the end of the narrator stealing the killer’s hand and preserving it wrapped up the theme of the story perfectly – the brutal and sexual urges that plagued the killer can be found in everyone, so there is no one you can trust.

Overall, this is probably a better book than I’m giving it credit for here. I expected a story centered on a psychopathic murder, and when I didn’t get that story I was immediately discouraged. My disappointment colored my reading. Though the book is not without its faults, I will probably read it again the in the future as there were parts that interested me. So, if you’re looking for a book about a killer, look elsewhere. If you want a creepy glimpse into small town hysteria, this might be worth a read.  

American Psycho

Some books are meant for entertaining with a lighthearted message about friendship and love. Other books are more on the pessimistic side, meant to expose the darker places humanity resides. American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis is a decent into the very essence of evil in American society. Just to be clear, this novel cuts deep. No cushion for the blow, no redemption. And it’s absolutely brilliant.

I’m a fan of unreliable narrators. They keep the reader on their toes, looking for any clues as to exactly what is the truth of the matter. Ellis’ choice to use Bateman as the unreliable narrator works to preserve the themes of the story while challenging readers to discover their own thoughts on the story. Is Bateman actually going out and torturing/killing after his workout and drinks at the most expensive place in the city? Is he just fantasizing and confusing what he thought about as real events in a spiral towards madness? Is he perhaps engaging in some of what he claims, such as torturing animals, and imagining the more horrific scenes? There is no way to tell for sure. In any of the possibilities, the book is still terrifying. Even if Bateman is not a murderer, he is still walking around daydreaming of killing and slipping out of control. It makes you look at the person picking out apples beside you in the grocery store with a little unease.

One of the things I loved about this book was the use of recurring symbols and ideas to strengthen the theme of soulless extreme capitalism in American culture. Les Miserables is mentioned throughout the book in posters, on the sides of buses, people humming songs from in, and so on.  I thought this was a great way not only to boost the ‘80’s feel of the setting but to make a point about Bateman and his colleagues need to be on the peak of popular culture. The musical was the biggest thing in New York at the time, anyone who is anyone would have seen it. This is why it registers on Bateman’s radar. However, he seems to be unable to grasp the message or emotions of that musical. It is only important because it’s popular. I also felt it was a poke at Bateman and his associates, as if they are the miserable ones and simply don’t realize it.

The Patty Winter’s Show is a way for Ellis to show Bateman’s mental health decline. The content of the show becomes increasingly bizarre, with juggling Nazis and an interview with Bigfoot. This reinforces the unreliable narrator feel of uncertainty. Was this really on tv or is this what Bateman saw through his insanity? The fact that he has almost an obsession to the show to the point he misses work meetings to watch it is also very revealing. Obviously, what’s on television is more interesting than the real people he has to deal with day to day. This extends to his focus on video, or his need to return his videotapes. He even films several of the murders. The videos and the devices to make and view them on are more appealing to Bateman than forming any sort of emotional bond with others.  

The addiction to designer fashion- I have mixed feelings on how Ellis handled this. Bateman dissects each person’s outfit he comes across in detail. In fact, Bateman is more capable of picking out which designer items came from than the names of his colleagues. This reinforces the theme; to Bateman everything is an object to be measured by quality and expense. However, as a reader, this gets old quick. It didn’t take long before my mind is drifting over the numerous lists of what people are wearing. I won’t lie, I know zip about ‘80’s fashion (or fashion period), so to me this mostly just cluttering the narrative up.  They were in expensive clothes, got it.

The overall structure of the book is not really the typical beginning, middle, and end readers are accustomed to. This was written as if Ellis had cut out a certain number of months of Bateman’s life that include his decent into madness (and possible serial killing spree) and made that a book. Bateman is a psychopath from the beginning, and remains so in the end. One could argue that perhaps he has come to understand himself by the end, finally realizing this is just what he does, but I felt he knew that already. He calls himself a psycho or explicitly threatens/states horrible things to dozens of people who aren’t paying attention to him throughout the book. I liked the anti-climactic ending; I get to believe that Bateman lives on in his warped world, but I know that will likely be a negative for others.

Probably the biggest controversy surrounding this book is the graphic violence, especially sexual torture and death of women. Ellis doesn’t beat around the bush with his gore. It’s brutal, sharp, and intended to make the audience squirm (and if you don’t squirm, I’m keeping an extra close eye on you). The big question is, was the graphic violence necessary? For me, yes. Absolutely yes. Hear me out on this. Considering the piece is written in first person from the perspective of the psychotic killer (or man suffering hallucinations) to skim over the details of the murders would be a disservice. Bateman lives in a pretty boring world. His so called friends talk about fashion, who’s who in the business world, their idol Trump (ummm, yikes), women they would like to sleep with, and other mundane stuff that really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. They drink, take various drugs, and conduct various affairs to try to escape the fact they lack real emotional relationships and are bored. For Bateman, those sins aren’t enough. The power and rush he feels while torturing and killing are the pinnacle of his experience in everyday life. He would want to reveal in those moments more than listening to someone talk about how the Bahamas are for a vacation option at yet another overpriced restaurant. It would have been out of character for him to tone down the violence. As a woman, some of these scenes were rough to read through, but I felt that it wasn’t just pointless violence. Bateman enjoyed killing beautiful women because he saw them as purely objects for his own pleasure, even more so than his associates.

            Overall, I loved this book but it’s not a light, easy read. Be prepared to dig a little to fully digest and enjoy it. Hold onto something soft and comforting for the violent scenes, like a teddy bear or comfy husband.

Psycho

            

            If I were to mention the phrases Bates Motel, the Classic Psycho, or shower murder scene, the first thing that probably comes to mind is Alfred Hitchcock’s 1960 cult classic film. The screeching violins and the unnerving performance Anthony Perkins gave as Norman Bates have a permanent place in pop culture. As great as that film is, this post is going to examine the novel that inspired the film, Robert Bloch’s Psycho. After reading this book, I can see why Hitchcock jumped on this source material for a movie. Psycho is a tension filled read that gives reader’s a view into the mind of someone mentally disturbed.

            One of the things that catches the reader from the start is the way Bloch masterfully uses the dynamic of relationships to get deeper insight on the characters. This is especially true of Norman, whose conversations with his mother and internal rambling between the normal persona and little boy persona showcase his motivations and insecurities. For Mary, how she thinks and feels about her relationships with her sister, Lily, and her fiancé, Sam, gives the reader a solid impression of who she is as a person.

            This novel is filled with active yet sympathetic characters. Everyone takes action based on their own goals which causes consequences that moves the plot forward. For example, Mary hastily stole the money and, in her rush to evade any repercussions, ends up lost enough to stop at a random motel along the highway. She wasn’t some flat innocent woman that just happened to fall into Norman’s psychotic world. Bloch was careful to make her a sympathetic character instead of merely a ‘bad’ person who has committed a crime that seals her fate. The audience is able to understand her desperation and her impulsive theft.

Norman is the prize character of this piece, obviously. The desire to simultaneously reject and protect his mother is a trait that readers can empathize with in some way or another. Everyone has experienced some variety of teen rebellion or at least growing apart from parental figures as they started off into their own life. Norman is trapped by his overbearing mother to such a degree that even after her death she is a voice in his head. I would argue the scenes where Norman is engaging with his other personas are the most interesting in the book. Bloch is careful to treat Norman’s mother like a real character and constructs these scenes to where it’s not obvious Norman is actual alone and suffering from dissociative identity disorder.  However, one of the negatives of reading this novel after Hitchcock’s popular film is that Bloch’s twist has little impact. Readers know from page one there’s no mother outside of Norman. In way, this makes for an interesting read to see how Bloch built the story to provide that twist. On the other hand, I can’t say for sure if the twist was a successful surprise for me or not. I’m just going to assume it was since the story has become cult classic.

Towards the middle of the book, the plot starts to drag a bit. Once Sam and Lily get involved in the search for Mary, they spend a great deal of the book waiting and dreading. They wait for Arbogast, they wait on the sheriff, and they sit around and wonder and worry. I don’t think this is necessarily a flaw in the text. I’m guessing this slow pace is meant to build up tension in the reader for the big twist ending. Part of the problem with knowing the twist is that this doesn’t quite increase the tension the same way. Instead of the reader gripping the book desperate to find out if Lily and Sam will be able to uncover what happened to Mary and survive Norman’s psychotic mother, the audience feels as if this part of the plot has been drawn out. This may also a bit of presentism on my part; I wanted the plot to go a bit quicker in the way of more current works of fiction.

Something I found hit perfectly with the book was the ending. Both the external and internal conflicts were resolved, but Bloch was able to give them both a finish that was neither fully positive nor negative. Bates is caught and brought to justice (taken to psychiatric facility) for the resolution of the external conflict. Although Lily is sympathetic and finds the decision not to give Bates a prison sentence fair, it does leave a sour taste. Norman Bates has killed multiple people including his own mother. He even planned out the best way to dispose of the bodies and cover his tracks. Mary also commits a crime on a whim, only later to come to her senses and realize she was being a little crazy to think she could get away with the theft. It makes one ponder if all criminals have some level of insanity and, if that is so, how do we differentiate between ones that deserve a prison sentence and ones that deserve mental health? In Norman’s internal conflict, the mother persona wins over completely, however she pushes the guilt onto “the boy” and “the man” personas. In the end, Norman has escaped his mother’s tyranny by becoming her, but any remorse for his actions is erased in the process. Again, it’s a finish that leaves the reader feeling uncomfortable.

Overall, this is a classic and worth the brief time it will take to read. Reveal in the masterful way Bloch handles Bates’ internal struggles and the thought provoking ending.

30 Days of Night

       Graphic novels have made significant gains in popularity and acceptance in the last couple of

decades. The idea that panels of stylized drawings  were once the realm of comics for children only is dead. Now graphic novels can tread into R rated material with surprisingly wonderful results. I enjoy digging into a graphic novel on occasion. As much as I love traditional novels, sometimes you want a good story that is quick and visual. 30 Days of Night by Steve Niles and Ben Templesmith is one of the big ones to thrust horror graphic novels into the spotlight. In this case, the praise is well deserved. 30 Days of Night is a enjoyable read that feels classic and modern at the same time.

      The plot is a straightforward attack on the small Alaskan town of Barrow. As the arctic town experiences of a full month where the sun never rises, vampires decide to take the opportunity of the darkness to descend upon Barrow and feed at will.  It's a simple idea and brilliant at the same time. A small isolated populated area that is trapped in night for a month would easily top a vampire's vacation list. Then, this great idea is shattered by another equally simple idea: vampires need to remain hidden from the public view. After all, if people knew of them surely a mass effort to eliminate the creatures would assemble in no time. Vicente (the vampire elder) arrives to fix the mess of the town in order to keep the secret of the vampires safe. This was a great twist that in hindsight should have been obvious and yet was a surprise as the audience is still soaking in the brilliance of the vampires plan for the month long blood feast. The plot kept the momentum moving forward without adding anything unnecessary. Not a single character didn't have it's role to play nor a single scene that wasn't vital to the story.

       The visual part of the graphic novel I felt served the story well. A distinct atmosphere was created by the illustrations that made the story feel other-worldly and unique. The vampires and gore are displayed with a grotesque flair. This is what makes a graphic novel a different reading experience than a standard one. A traditional novel would have more room for character development and sub-plots and so on, however it's impossible to ensure readers see the story exactly as the writer imagines it. Each reader will fill in a traditional novel with their own imagination to some degree. In the graphic novel format, readers actually see what the writer intended with the style and atmospheres visually presented.

       The sub-plot with the Louisianian voodoo woman and her son I'm a bit on the fence about. The emails did give some foreshadowing and the son's arrival gave the reader a false hope of rescue for the remaining trapped people in Barrow. Could the story have done without them? No. Originally, this story was a movie pitch that wasn't picked up (funnily enough, it was made into a movie after the graphic novel did so well). I can see how the the Louisianian woman's attempt to get proof of the vampires would work in a film and it would be a way to leave the world open for a sequel. As the story has continued in graphic novel form, I'm sure this woman has popped up in future plots. So she has her place in the world and the story.

      As far as negatives go, there were some plot holes. How does our hero Eben manage to keep control of himself in vampire form? How do the survivors manage to live through an entire month in freezing temperatures without heat? Why does Vicente wait until the end of the month to try and stop the attack? Why does Eben transform so soon before the sun was to rise and the vampires were to leave? Honestly, these holes were easier for me to forgive than in many of the other works I've reviewed. I think this is in part due to the format. This was meant to be visually appealing and fun, so I read it with a little more lightness than a traditional novel. Characters were not as developed as they could have been, but again this comes down to format. The main focus here is on the quick story and the illustrations. Had this been a standard novel, I would have expected to get to know the characters far better.

      Overall, this is a great quick story that hits the classic monster vein while adding in a refreshingly modern appeal. Perfect if you are waiting in a doctors office or just feel that a concise creepy tale that you can finish in the span of drinking a cup of tea is right for the evening.

Relic

      I recall watching the movie Relic several years ago but was unaware the film was based on a novel. The film version was memorable for several reasons, however I wouldn't say it was something I would watch more than once. As so often happens, Relic by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child is superior to the movie adaptation. There were many elements of this book that hit the right marks for great storytelling, which help to smooth over its faults. This fun imaginative romp is a solid read that delivers to the crime drama/monster aficionado audiences.

      I haven't read too deeply into crime drama genre, but Relic blends the investigative plot structure of those stories with an impressive monster, the Mbwun. I will admit that for me personally, unraveling the mysteries behind the creature was the pull that kept me turning pages. Preston and Childs created a monster that mixed both superstitious origins with scientific explanation. Though I doubt the science side was realistic, I was able to suspend my disbelief enough to engage in the plot. The reveal of the history of the Mbwun wasn't a surprise, as I had seen the movie prior, but I can imagine that those unfamiliar with the story will enjoy the twists and turns throughout. I was also impressed by the empathy that is built for the Mbwun through the book. It is described at several points with a dose of sympathy. I felt this built a more complex creature than the purely evil monsters that often arise in fiction. The audience is able to see the Mbwun as more than just a murderous beast, if only a smidgen, which makes the end reveal of the creatures original form have even more emotional impact.

      The setting plays a big role in why I enjoyed this book so much. A museum is ripe with creepy atmospheres for a creature to lurk around in. It also created a sense of a world with in a world. The academic elitist arena where galas and new discoveries are displayed to achieve affluence and wealth. I felt Relic pokes at this thirst for notoriety and discovery throughout the plot. In a sense, one of the themes for this book is that it's possible to take the quest for knowledge and recognition too far. In fact, the catalyst for the plot is an anthropologist, Whittlesay exploring a lost tribe that is best left forgotten. The dangers of science without conscience has been explored in fiction before (look no further than Mary Shelly's Frankenstein for proof of that) however approaching that theme from the museum mentality is a refreshing twist.

      The pace of the book is wonderful in the first half, but it started to slow after the midpoint. The second half became cluttered with scenes that didn't drive the action forward or I felt were unnecessary. By the latter part of the book I expect us to be driving quicker to the climax and forgoing anything that might slow that momentum. At one point we are treated to a chapter that shows us the results of DNA sequencing (or genre recognition software, something like that) which dragged, when this information could have been condensed into a quick conversation rather than a whole chapter. However, this pacing may be more akin to how crime dramas build not horror.

      Another issue I had with the book was the long character list. I'm not saying a story should have a set limit on the amount of characters involved, but it did get overwhelming to a degree. There were times I forgot who was who or what their occupation was. This may also be on account of my inexperience with crime drama. I tend towards fiction that focuses on a smaller group of characters that I become intimately attached to. This book was more focused to the building mystery and the events as they unfolded. It is also possible that my quick read of this book made it more difficult to get into the characters since they were so numerous.

     I would probably be much more satisfied with the book if the epilogue had been taken out completely. I won't ruin this too much, but let me just say the epilogue seemed so implausible that it left a nasty taste after an otherwise delicious story. I understand the desire to have the horror live on, but Kawakita's drug ending went was over the little hint that most monster stories give that "it isn't really over, dun dun duuuuuunnnn."

     Overall, this is a good read. Fans of crime drama will be pleased with the monster element that makes the story fresh. Monster fans will find a wonderfully different take on a creature story. An entertaining read, just skip the epilogue.

The Blob (1988 version)

     

    The 1988 version of The Blob has undoubtedly become a cult classic monster flick. I remember watching this movie years ago and feeling rather indifferent to it, though I don't think I was really focused on the movie at the time. I hoped a revisit would sway my former opinion. Sadly, it did not. There was some great scenes in this film, no doubt about that, and yet by the end I felt rather underwhelmed. 

     Let's start with what the movie excelled at. The monstrous blob itself was a great creature. It has no remorse, can't be reasoned with, and is insatiable. The backstory provided explained enough without becoming dull and complicated. The deaths in this film were beautifully orchestrated. with what would seem like a rather simple way to dispatch its victims (by engulfing them and dissolving them) the kills were not repetitive. A failed date rape with the woman's shell housing the blob that strikes out once the would be assailant goes in for a grope. A man pulled down the drain of a sink while he is being dissolved. A woman trapped in a phone booth as the blob crushed the glass to rush in and absorb her. You get the idea. The visual effects were also top notch for the time. Some of the shots come off cheesy, but visual effects are bound to age.

     The setting of The Blob is the fictional town of Aborville, California. This little sleepy town praying for snow to bring economical prosperity reminded me of my little hometown of Big Bear Lake, California. I think for that reason the isolation of the film's location struck me personally. It gave the movie a nice claustrophobic feel to it. The characters are trapped in their little rut way of life when the blob descends upon them and the government quarantines them. There's nowhere to go.

     Now for the list of ways this movie failed. All the characters were stereotypes. You have your bad boy with a heart of gold, the cheerleader, the kooky bum, the evil government scientist, the crazy priest, the younger brother with his bad influence friend... and on and on. It was difficult to care about any of them as they were all shallow and typical sorts of people one would expect in a small town. They didn't feel like real people, just place holders. Although some seemingly innocent people die, there were a number of the '80's cliched immoral characters getting killed in horrible ways. The minute the camera lands on the two teens drinking and getting frisky in a parked car, you know there is going to be some gore following close behind. Much of the dialogue and plot was super cheesy and predictable.

     Plot holes were so abundant in this film you have to stumble your way through it. For example, the blob eats half of the bum in the hospital, then swallows up Meg's date whole, but leaves her unconscious right next to it. Also, she is the only one to respond to the screaming (the doctor and the staff apparently didn't feel the need to come running). Brian manages to flee a helicopter and a well trained government task force with great ease by merely jumping a broken bridge. Not a single bullet hits him. The blob is able to explode out the sewers, rupturing the street near the final confrontation and yet takes it sweet time breaking into the building or the windows of the snowmaker truck Brain is trapped in. I could go on. 

     The ending especially felt lack luster. After all the fabulous kills prior in the movie, the blob emerges to attack the gathered town as a huge wad of prechewed gum. It snatches some people as they run, makes a weak attempt at breaking into the building the rest have barricaded themselves in. I should care, The whole population is in peril, but honestly I'm not attached to any of the characters so I'm not really at the edge of my seat. Then the hero and heroine take turns saving each other while destroying the blob. He suddenly develops a case of caring about the community when he had previously been only interested in his own welfare. She magically becomes super bad-ass and goes on the offensive when she was previously running and screaming through the whole flick, relying on Brian. It was too quick a change in character that feel flat for me. Not to mention that these two teens somehow had the balls to confront this massive monster on their own after all the people they have witnessed it eating. It just stank of contrived to me. 

     Overall, I would recommend watching this to enjoy the death scenes and cheesiness. If you're looking for well-rounded characters or a plot that lacks oddles of holes, this one probably isn't for you.

Lovecraftian Goodness

The man himself, H.P. Lovecraft. Not the slightest bit creepy looking.

     As far as the horror genre is concerned, H. P. Lovecraft is widely considered one of the great writers that paved the way for the modern horror to flourish. Even if someone is unfamiliar with his name, his work is probably known to them in one form or another from Reanimator to the dreaded Cthulhu. For this entry, I'll be looking specifically at the short stories The Call of Cthulhu, The Outsider, and Pickman's Model from this highly revered author.

     In each of these stories, Lovecraft built a mythology for the frightening creatures. This focus on the lore of the monsters works as Lovecraft tactfully only gives glimpse of the whole, enough to stir fear while not so much that the sense of mystery is lost. Cthulhu and his cult are approached in a sequence of discoveries following the narrators trail through clues and events. By the end, the impending doom is palatable, and yet the full story of the Ancient Ones is denied. They are still frighteningly unfamiliar, which makes the story all the more terrifying. Likewise, the painted creatures described in Pickman's Model have a lore explained through the painting scenes that is both structured and yet vague. The creatures aren't even given a name, preserving that unnerving feeling of the unknown. The outsider travels through a dreamlike atmosphere before the revelation that it is unnatural is revealed. The audience is left with the impression that this is a deceased individual that has ascended back into the land of the living, but the exact details of the surreal depths remains a mystery, as does the specifics of who the individual was. Just a peek into the supernatural is shown, which keeps that unnerving suspense even after the story is over.

       Lovecraft utilizes the first person perspective beautifully in each of these stories. In The

Cover from R.J. Ivankovic's reimagining of The Call of Cthulhu. Isn't he cute?

Outsider, the narrator is revealed to be the monster in the end. However, seeing his journey through his perspective gives the audience some empathy for the character. We feel bad that this poor man is spending his 'childhood' in such deplorable surroundings and cheer for his accomplishments when he finally emerges into the moonlight. This made the realization of his undead state more frightful for the reader. Once they have made an emotional connection to the narrator, it is awful to know the character you have come to care for is the monster.

 

     Pickman's tale is revealed through his friend, who gives the account of what he witnessed. This perspective not only kept the details of Pickman's creatures secret but also allowed the reader to experience the fear the narrator felt through the plot. Pickman seemed to view the beasts he painted as kindred spirits, which would have been difficult for the reader to connect with had he told the tale. Also, the mystery of his disappearance would have had to be revealed. The narrator gave the audience a perspective the reader can empathize with, that of someone encountering the strange and delusional artist and what  depths he has descended for his art. 

      The Call of Cthulhu used first person to ground the story. With such a fantastical huge scale beast and mythology, it would have been easy for the author to accidentally make the premise seem fake. The narrator's initial skepticism and his retelling of the discoveries that lead to his eventual belief make the fantastical seem possible. This was an educated man uncovering the cult and creature through research, obviously he wouldn't be swayed to believe without substantial evidence. The evidence also provides several accounts of others encountering the Cthulhu mythology in some form, adding to the paranoia of secret cults and conspiracies. The first person point of view leaves the story open in the end. After all the information provided, there is no definite end resolved. Cthulhu lives on to haunt the dreams of the reader forever after.

      It is difficult for me to bring up any way these stories are lacking, as I've been a fan of Lovecraft since my teens. However, to be fair I must reluctantly point out some things. Lovecraft is a drawn out storyteller. These tales take some time to get rolling into full steam; don't expect to be hooked on the story from the first line. In the modern era where we expect instant gratification, this can disappoint readers. We are used to the quick paced stories that jump straight to main points. Lovecraft takes his time, simmering the plot. 

     Pickman's Model and The Call of Cthulhu are more of a factual look back to past events, which can drain some of the in the moment suspense and tension. The narrator is retelling the horror now that it's done with many sensory details left out, so the feeling of being there in the moment is dimmed. Even The Outsider, which is a more personal first person perspective, seems a bit removed from immersing the reader into the journey. The emotions of the narrator are not utilized as much as the stories come off more as documenting the events recalled rather than truly reliving them. For the record, I would like to point out that these negatives are more likely a product of the changing tastes of readers over the decades. These stories are close to a hundred years old. The audience at the time they were originally published likely didn't expect the fast, immersive story that we do today. 

      Overall, these are classic stories that I believe every horror fan should read. Love them or hate them, to analyze how Lovecraft struck fear into his readers is well worth the time. His influence can be seen in many modern horror writers' work. For those who delight in these tales, I would also recommend reading Dagon, Arthur Jermyn, and Herbert West - Reanimator (or really anything he wrote is enjoyable).