I’ve fallen down a deep dark well, where the eldritch creatures dwell.
I’ve written elsewhere on this site about HP Lovecraft and his enduring but problematic legacy. While in many ways a mediocre writer, ol’ HPL’s visionary imagination and chilly nihilism – embodied by his pantheon of Great Old Ones – continues to resonate 80 years after his death. He is perhaps not quite a household name but his influence permeates pop culture like few others. Like some unnameable beast from beyond the stars, he’s got his tentacles everywhere. Continue reading “Books 30 to 35: Modern Lovecraft”
When I was young I wrote a lot of fiction. Embarrassingly amateurish, most of it – derivative, clunky juvenilia – but I’d like to think some of it showed a modicum of promise.
Throughout high school and university I had a good friend who also wrote stories and novellas. He was a dabbler, like me – we were writing for our own amusement and for each other mostly, and barely dared to hope that we’d one day be published authors.
Continue reading “Book 29: The Town by Shaun Prescott”
The book is named for her but Elena Rubik dies – run down by a Ford Falcon in suburban Perth after buying a service station pie – in the opening moments of Elizabeth Tan’s debut novel-as-short-story collection. Continue reading “Book 28: Rubik by Elizabeth Tan”