Will I have to turn in my nerd/geek credentials if I admit that H.P. Lovecraft did precisely nothing for me?
I worked my way up to Beyond This Wall of Sleep, and then skipped ahead to The Call of Cthulhu to see if it ever got any better, and concluded that he pretty much amounts to be the Ayn Rand of horror.
This is really scary. No, really, it is really, really scary! Look how scary it is! And slimy too! Boo! Scared you! Oh, and craziness abounds. It is CRAZY SCARY! Or SCARY CRAZY! Scaaary… Oh, look, that might be a monster!… Or it could be your imagination. Either way, it is really, REALLY scary and it is going to make you CRAAAZY!
Maybe it is a byproduct of growing up on too many books, television shows, movies, and other stories that can trace their roots, directly or circuitously, back to his demented universe, but I am just not seeing the attraction. I can certainly comprehend why he was as revolutionary and disturbing as he was in the time in which he wrote, and I suddenly have a much firmer grasp on the origination of the current “goth” movement, but when it comes to recreational reading… well, I would rather read Larry Correia‘s creations beating the snot out of Lovecraftian monsters, when you get right down to it.
Anywise, if you are interested in plumbing the insane depths of H.P.’s writings, they are available free online and for the Kindle, which, whether you like them or not, is pretty awesome (though more due to Lovecraft’s lack of foresight than generosity). And try not to let one philistine’s lack of appreciation deter you – the man was gifted, perhaps not for writing, but rather for creating universes.