According to Lovecraft
An overview of Lovecraftian philosophy in Lovecraft's own words.
The Farnese Letter
From a September 22, 1932 letter from H.P. Lovecraft to Harold Farnese in response to a query from Farnese about black magic, which is believed to have been distorted into the infamous August Derleth "Black Magic Quote":
- In my own efforts to crystallise this spaceward outreaching, I try to utilise as many as possible of the elements which have, under earlier mental and emotional conditions, given man a symbolic feeling of the unreal, the ethereal, & the mystical - choosing those least attacked by the realistic mental and emotional conditions of the present. Darkness - sunset - dreams - mists - fever - madness - the tomb - the hills - the sea - the sky - the wind - all these, and many other things have seemed to me to retain a certain imaginative potency despite our actual scientific analyses of them. Accordingly I have tried to weave them into a kind of shadowy phantasmagoria which may have the same sort of vague coherence as a cycle of traditional myth or legend - with nebulous backgrounds of Elder Forces & transgalactic entities which lurk about this infinitesimal planet, (& of course about others as well), establishing outposts thereon, & occasionally brushing aside other accidental forces of life (like human beings) in order to take up full habitation... Having formed a cosmic pantheon, it remains for the fantaisiste to link this "outside" element to the earth in a suitably dramatic & convincing fashion. This, I have thought, is best done through glancing allusions to immemorially ancient cults & idols & documents attesting the recognition of the "outside" forces by men - or by those terrestrial entities which preceded man. The actual climaxes of tales based on such elements naturally have to do with sudden latter-day intrusions of forgotten elder forces on the placid surface of the known - either active intrusions, or revelations caused by the feverish & presumptuous probing of men into the unknown.
Notes on Writing Supernatural Fiction
Written by H.P. Lovecraft as early as 1933 and revised and published May–June 1937:
My reason for writing stories is to give myself the satisfaction of visualising more clearly and detailedly and stably the vague, elusive, fragmentary impressions of wonder, beauty, and adventurous expectancy which are conveyed to me by certain sights (scenic, architectural, atmospheric, etc.), ideas, occurrences, and images encountered in art and literature. I choose weird stories because they suit my inclination best—one of my strongest and most persistent wishes being to achieve, momentarily, the illusion of some strange suspension or violation of the galling limitations of time, space, and natural law which for ever imprison us and frustrate our curiosity about the infinite cosmic spaces beyond the radius of our sight and analysis. These stories frequently emphasise the element of horror because fear is our deepest and strongest emotion, and the one which best lends itself to the creation of nature-defying illusions. Horror and the unknown or the strange are always closely connected, so that it is hard to create a convincing picture of shattered natural law or cosmic alienage or "outsideness" without laying stress on the emotion of fear. The reason why time plays a great part in so many of my tales is that this element looms up in my mind as the most profoundly dramatic and grimly terrible thing in the universe. Conflict with time seems to me the most potent and fruitful theme in all human expression.
While my chosen form of story-writing is obviously a special and perhaps a narrow one, it is none the less a persistent and permanent type of expression, as old as literature itself. There will always be a small percentage of persons who feel a burning curiosity about unknown outer space, and a burning desire to escape from the prison-house of the known and the real into those enchanted lands of incredible adventure and infinite possibilities which dreams open up to us, and which things like deep woods, fantastic urban towers, and flaming sunsets momentarily suggest. These persons include great authors as well as insignificant amateurs like myself - Dunsany, Poe, Arthur Machen, M. R. James, Algernon Blackwood, and Walter de la Mare being typical masters in this field.
As to how I write a story - there is no one way. Each one of my tales has a different history. Once or twice I have literally written out a dream; but usually I start with a mood or idea or image which I wish to express, and revolve it in my mind until I can think of a good way of embodying it in some chain of dramatic occurrences capable of being recorded in concrete terms. I tend to run through a mental list of the basic conditions or situations best adapted to such a mood or idea or image, and then begin to speculate on logical and naturally motivated explanations of the given mood or idea or image in terms of the basic condition or situation chosen.
The actual process of writing is of course as varied as the choice of theme and initial conception; but if the history of all my tales were analysed, it is just possible that the following set of rules might be deduced from the average procedure:
- Prepare a synopsis or scenario of events in the order of their absolute occurrence - not the order of their narration. Describe with enough fulness to cover all vital points and motivate all incidents planned. Details, comments, and estimates of consequences are sometimes desirable in this temporary framework.
- Prepare a second synopsis or scenario of events - this one in order of narration (not actual occurrence), with ample fulness and detail, and with notes as to changing perspective, stresses, and climax. Change the original synopsis to fit if such a change will increase the dramatic force or general effectiveness of the story. Interpolate or delete incidents at will - never being bound by the original conception even if the ultimate result be a tale wholly different from that first planned. Let additions and alterations be made whenever suggested by anything in the formulating process.
- Write out the story - rapidly, fluently, and not too critically - following the second or narrative-order synopsis. Change incidents and plot whenever the developing process seems to suggest such change, never being bound by any previous design. If the development suddenly reveals new opportunities for dramatic effect or vivid storytelling, add whatever is thought advantageous - going back and reconciling the early parts to the new plan. Insert and delete whole sections if necessary or desirable, trying different beginnings and endings until the best arrangement is found. But be sure that all references throughout the story are thoroughly reconciled with the final design. Remove all possible superfluities - words, sentences, paragraphs, or whole episodes or elements - observing the usual precautions about the reconciling of all references.
- Revise the entire text, paying attention to vocabulary, syntax, rhythm of prose, proportioning of parts, niceties of tone, grace and convincingness or transitions (scene to scene, slow and detailed action to rapid and sketchy time-covering action and vice versa.... etc., etc., etc.), effectiveness of beginning, ending, climaxes, etc., dramatic suspense and interest, plausibility and atmosphere, and various other elements.
- Prepare a neatly typed copy - not hesitating to add final revisory touches where they seem in order.
The first of these stages is often purely a mental one - a set of conditions and happenings being worked out in my head, and never set down until I am ready to prepare a detailed synopsis of events in order of narration. Then, too, I sometimes begin even the actual writing before I know how I shall develop the idea - this beginning forming a problem to be motivated and exploited.
There are, I think, four distinct types of weird story; one expressing a mood or feeling, another expressing a pictorial conception, a third expressing a general situation, condition, legend, or intellectual conception, and a fourth explaining a definite tableau or specific dramatic situation or climax. In another way, weird tales may be grouped into two rough categories - those in which the marvel or horror concerns some condition or phenomenon, and those in which it concerns some action of persons in connexion with a bizarre condition or phenomenon.
Each weird story - to speak more particularly of the horror type—seems to involve five definite elements: (a) some basic, underlying horror or abnormality - condition, entity, etc. - , (b) the general effects or bearings of the horror, (c) the mode of manifestation - object embodying the horror and phenomena observed - , (d) the types of fear-reaction pertaining to the horror, and (e) the specific effects of the horror in relation to the given set of conditions.
In writing a weird story I always try very carefully to achieve the right mood and atmosphere, and place the emphasis where it belongs. One cannot, except in immature pulp charlatan–fiction, present an account of impossible, improbable, or inconceivable phenomena as a commonplace narrative of objective acts and conventional emotions. Inconceivable events and conditions have a special handicap to overcome, and this can be accomplished only through the maintenance of a careful realism in every phase of the story except that touching on the one given marvel. This marvel must be treated very impressively and deliberately - with a careful emotional "build-up" - else it will seem flat and unconvincing. Being the principal thing in the story, its mere existence should overshadow the characters and events. But the characters and events must be consistent and natural except where they touch the single marvel. In relation to the central wonder, the characters should shew the same overwhelming emotion which similar characters would shew toward such a wonder in real life. Never have a wonder taken for granted. Even when the characters are supposed to be accustomed to the wonder I try to weave an air of awe and impressiveness corresponding to what the reader should feel. A casual style ruins any serious fantasy.
Atmosphere, not action, is the great desideratum of weird fiction. Indeed, all that a wonder story can ever be is a vivid picture of a certain type of human mood. The moment it tries to be anything else it becomes cheap, puerile, and unconvincing. Prime emphasis should be given to subtle suggestion—imperceptible hints and touches of selective associative detail which express shadings of moods and build up a vague illusion of the strange reality of the unreal. Avoid bald catalogues of incredible happenings which can have no substance or meaning apart from a sustaining cloud of colour and symbolism.
These are the rules or standards which I have followed - consciously or unconsciously - ever since I first attempted the serious writing of fantasy. That my results are successful may well be disputed - but I feel at least sure that, had I ignored the considerations mentioned in the last few paragraphs, they would have been much worse than they are.
Stereotypically "Lovecraftian" narratives derived from non-Lovecraftian sources, presented here for the contrast to both the above, and to Lovecraft's own stories.
The Evil Book Narrative
The stereotypical "Lovecraftian" narrative that every unskilled pastiche turns to at least in part:
- A guy in a spooky New England town obtains a Creepy Old Book from a mysterious book-seller or secret room, studies the tome, while Weird Supernatural Things happen in the background. The guy becomes obsessed with the tome, perhaps joins a Robed and Hooded Chanting Cult and perhaps visits some mysterious ruins in the woods, and then reads the book out loud and accidentally-on-purpose summons a Tentacle Monster, which then tries to eat his face, while hilarity ensues....
For many casual fans with at least a passing familiarity with Lovecraftian pastiche over the original stories, this IS Lovecraft, and most - if not all - of these elements should be present in some form to tell a story in essentially that format for something to be considered "Lovecraftian". These elements are flexible; for example, you can substitute a wide variety of elements for that creepy old book, such as videotapes (Ringu (1998 franchise)), computer discs, record albums (The Gate (1987 franchise)), a machine (From Beyond (1986 film)), a puzzle-box (Hellraiser (1987 franchise)), etc. The spooky New England town could easily be substituted for a creepy house or cabin in the woods (Evil Dead (1981 franchise)) or even a space ship (Event Horizon (1997 film)), the standard tentacle monster is expected but can be substituted for "Deadite" zombies or evil little monsters ("Ghoulies (1984 franchise)").
The Black Magic Quote
August Derleth repeatedly misquoted Lovecraft, apparently based on the Farnese letter quoted above; an example of Derleth's version of the quote, which would appear in numerous Arkham House collections and other commentaries by Derleth on Lovecraft, is:
- The pattern of the Mythos is a pattern that is basic in the history of mankind, representing as it does the primal struggle between good and evil; in this, it is essentially similar to the Christian Mythos, especially relating to the expulsion of Satan from Eden and Satan’s lasting power of evil. "All my stories, unconnected as they may be," wrote Lovecraft, "are based on the fundamental lore or legend that this world was inhabited at one time by another race who, in practising black magic, lost their foothold and were expelled, yet live on outside ever ready to take possession of this earth again."
The Derleth Standard Narrative
A paraphrase of the Standard Narrative of Derleth's formulaic Lovecraft pastiche/forgeries, as identified and summarized in a blog entry by Arthur B.:
- Some guy, probably a sensitive and well-meaning all-American pulp writer, painter, historian (or presumably small-press publisher), - usually, but not always the narrator - inherits a creepy old house from a disreputable benefactor. The guy moves in, while superstitious locals grumble and whisper from a safe distance, and begins to spend more and more time in the house, figuratively sifting through the papers of the estate and uncovering spooky tomes and info-dumps on Derleth's idiosyncratic take on the Mythos, while vague manifestations of the supernatural begin to materialize in the background. Before long, through the power of suggestion, hypnosis, or supernatural possession, the guy graduates from half-baked student of his occult predecessor, to full-blown dazed puppet of the powers of the Cthulhu Mythos, abandoning his old life to carry on his predecessor's work as if it were his own....
(One might charitably characterize this as a self-justifying, autobiographical wish-fulfillment fantasy version of Derleth's own relationship to Lovecraft, in which Derleth sees his composition and publication of his "Posthumous Collaborations" as being guided by the undying supernatural hand of Lovecraft himself, to continue his work from beyond the grave as Lovecraft's chosen disciple....)