Bruh do you even Lovecraft? I feel like it would be a bit audacious of me to even think of comparing myself to the true father of cosmic horror. But also I would like to think of myself as not a raging racist, so I’m okay saying that no, I would not ever use H.P. Lovecraft as one of my comps.
But the first and foremost question that I might get scrutinized with is whether or not I have ever actually read the works of H.P. Lovecraft. The short answer is “yes!” The long answer is “as much as I could, really…” Despite apparently writing several books, I have never been particularly literary in my studies, nor have I ever been able to fully consume the media of different eras without having the little neurons in my head take a blissfully oblivious hike halfway through, leaving my eyes to read over the same sentence twenty times with nary a thought to grace my consciousness. I’m not good at reading those stories, but I certainly have tried. I absolutely read “Call of Cthulhu” so I could at least understand the Origin of Eldritch. I have perused “At the Mountains of Madness” and grazed through several of the other famous stories. But I cannot claim to be some masterful student of the craft who has diligently consumed all of his media. Read the SparkNotes, sure. Watched “Lovecraft Country” until it made me squirm. Read the classics… eh.
No, instead what I have done is read about the genre in order to gain a better understanding of the concept of what qualifies as Cosmic Horror, and then spent significant time unwittingly engaging with more modern takes on the concept. It means that my engagement with the concept of “Cosmic Horror” has been more with the theme of “reality is so much more mystical, daunting, and maddening than one can fathom.” It’s the type of story found in “The Matrix,” “The Invisibles,” and “The Lego Movie.” So rather than plot out my story to match the form and function of classic Lovecraftian work, with ancient monsters, cultists, and arctic expeditions, I instead focused on the generally accepted themes of “Cosmic Horror.”
“But you have scary space!”
Okay I’ll certainly admit that on the surface it seems like I took the concept of “cosmic horror” to mean literal horror of a celestial event. I even once had a beta reader mention that the “cosmic horror” was really just at the very end. If I’m being honest, I didn’t set out to write in this genre to begin with; it mostly just was somewhere I found myself after a long journey. And that is probably because I exist in some constant state of existential dread, and unspeakable awe of the fact that we are just energized balls of meat clinging to a rock hurtling through an unfathomably infinite void.
But my characters spend a lot of time reminiscing on the fact that space is so much bigger than them that they really cannot fathom the expanse. It’s damn near maddening to consider, and, in fact, at one point, does nearly drive them mad. So, sure, while I use a massive cosmic event, seemingly free of any form of intelligence, as my “horror,” I still abuse the hell out of my characters as they grapple with their newfound terrible understanding of reality. Of all the articles and think-pieces I have reviewed on Cosmic Horror, they all want to agree on the baseline of “The fear of the unknowable unknown.” As one article put it, “It’s not the tentacles, it’s the fear of insignificance” (link). The tentacles just make it more fun. But I made a big point, both in the first and the second book, to focus on how overwhelmingly powerless my characters are against the unpredictable whims of the universe. I might not have some massive eldritch being tossing them about like a plaything (or maybe I do?), but instead they are slowly gaining a terrifying understanding of the endless reach of reality. My characters certainly find themselves questioning everything they once thought to be true, even if the biggest villain is just a natural occurrence they never knew could possibly occur.
I’ll share a secret here for you all. I didn’t just obsess over science fiction when I was a kid. I loved it in theory, but the books that I devoured just as frequently as a kid also fell into two other categories: Matt Christopher baseball books (which have no place in this blog) and Young Kid Survivalist à la My Side of the Mountain and Julie of the Wolves. Stay tuned for my “Lesbian Sportsballers in Space” standalone, but for now, let’s ruminate on the fact that apparently I should have had a much bigger interest in Thoreau growing up. I went and wrote a book that, when examined, can be distilled down to its base layers of “the of the universe is an extension of nature that is vast and unforgiving, unknowable and daunting, and it doesn’t give a shit that you are in it.” Throw some disaster gays in there, and it’s apparently marketable.
So, while I wouldn’t ever claim any Lovecraft as a book comparison, I propose we run down the list of common Cosmic Horror tropes, and maybe I’ll let you decide if they exist in either Space Station X or Fractal Terminus.
- The unknowable and the unnamable
- Forbidden Quest for Knowledge
- Nihilism
- Feelings of detachment or Isolation
- Insanity
And if it’s not something that’s in there yet, well, I think I have more of this story to tell. I’ll just have to round up some more lesbians and space stations while I’m at it.
AZ ROZKILLIS 