I’m actually a fan of Lovecraft, but these thoughts on otherness and a proper fear of God are certainly worth pondering. As usual, art – in this case, literature – opens up reality to our eyes, allowing us to intimately absorb truth.
H.P. Lovecraft is the only writer who has ever truly and lastingly terrified me. Stephen King and Dean Koontz have given me the creeps and even a few thrills of pure terror, but it is Lovecraft who scares me. I’ve read a couple articles about him lately, and even though it has been more than 30 years since I’ve read anything by Lovecraft, the fear his stories inspired in me were easily awaken just by the names of the stories being mentioned in the articles. A collection of H.P. Lovecraft stories is the only book that I have willingly and eagerly parted with, though I wasn’t willing to throw it in the trash or give it to Goodwill. I burned it.
Lovecraft was mentioned in an episode of a show I watch and I thought that maybe, now that I’m much older, I could go back and perhaps enjoy his…
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