/lit/ - Literature

>For what shall it profit a man, if he be a Niggerman?
- Rene Guenon

Are all his books worth reading?

>spend dozens of chapters building up the greatest atmosphere of suspense & dread
>send chills down the spine of readers
>MC finally encounters the beast
>"bro its was totally scary, like trust me lol." "I'm definitely not being lazy or anything like lmao"
What the fuck was his problem?

What are his greatest works?

What’s his best piece of work after Dream Quest Of Unknown Kadath?

>>19690005
>inverted fivehead

>[...] we had never procured anatomical specimens ourselves. Whenever the morgue proved inadequate, two local negroes attended to this matter, and they were seldom questioned.

What did he mean by this?

I'm sick of this dickhead. If I have to hear some Reddit pseudo intellectual describe something as cosmic horror or lovecraftian one more time, I'm finally going to do it.

>hates minorities, Italians, celts and Irish
>only read by those same undesirables he hates
what went so wrong?

>>18991289
The face of a man who desperately wishes his last bowel movement wasn’t 9 days ago.

Lovecraft unironically.

Never made a single cent of profit, completely unproductive life despite being intelligent and capable because his mental illness and inability to cope or function like an adult man precluded him from university life. Intense self loathing. Left his hometown for only two years to go to New York and marry a damaged good Jewish chick who he couldn’t provide for and went back home because his marriage just sort of fizzled out and died slowly in one of the most agonising ways possible alone and in complete obscurity, always ashamed that he wrote for pulp fiction magazines and never once being a productive member of society. Every waking moment he was tormented by the fact that he wasn’t a success.

The only upside to Lovecraft’s life is that due to all of his letter writing and the friendships he made over correspondences net him a lot of friends and admirers who got together and made a serious effort to get his stuff published and which is why he’s a household name today. Very touching and makes one remember the importance of friendship.

WHAT'S THAT?

A GIANT OCTOPUS HEAD SORT OF ANCIENT BEING????

OH NO, I'M GOING INSANEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

SAVE ME, NIGGERMAN!!!!!

You have to write something in pastiche of the image of the author posted above your own. I think it would be a fun creative exercise, since I’m first I’ll post Blake’s imitation of Spenser

Golden Apollo, that thro' heaven wide
Scatter'st the rays of light, and truth's beams!
In lucent words my darkling verses dight,
And wash my earthy mind in thy clear streams,
That wisdom may descend in fairy dreams:
All while the jocund hours in thy train
Scatter their fancies at thy poet's feet;
And when thou yields to night thy wide domain,
Let rays of truth enlight his sleeping brain.

For brutish Pan in vain might thee assay
With tinkling sounds to dash thy nervous verse,
Sound without sense; yet in his rude affray,
(For ignorance is Folly's leesing nurse,
And love of Folly needs none other curse;)
Midas the praise hath gain'd of lengthen'd eares,
For which himself might deem him ne'er the worse
To sit in council with his modern peers,
And judge of tinkling rhimes, and elegances terse.

And thou, Mercurius, that with winged brow
Dost mount aloft into the yielding sky,
And thro' Heav'n's halls thy airy flight dost throw,
Entering with holy feet to where on high
Jove weighs the counsel of futurity;
Then, laden with eternal fate, dost go
Down, like a falling star, from autumn sky,
And o'er the surface of the silent deep dost fly.

If thou arrivest at the sandy shore,
Where nought but envious hissing adders dwell,
Thy golden rod, thrown on the dusty floor,
Can charm to harmony with potent spell;
Such is sweet Eloquence, that does dispel
Envy and Hate, that thirst for human gore:
And cause in sweet society to dwell
Vile savage minds that lurk in lonely cell.

O Mercury, assist my lab'ring sense,
That round the circle of the world wou'd fly!
As the wing'd eagle scorns the tow'ry fence
Of Alpine hills round his high aery,
And searches thro' the corners of the sky,
Sports in the clouds to hear the thunder's sound,
And see the winged lightnings as they fly,
Then, bosom'd in an amber cloud, around
Plumes his wide wings, and seeks Sol's palace high.

And thou, O warrior, maid invincible,
Arm'd with the terrors of Almighty Jove!
Pallas, Minerva, maiden terrible,
Lov'st thou to walk the peaceful solemn grove,
In solemn gloom of branches interwove?
Or bear'st thy Egis o'er the burning field,
Where, like the sea, the waves of battle move?
Or have thy soft piteous eyes beheld
The weary wanderer thro' the desert rove?
Or does th' afflicted man thy heav'nly bosom move?

What did his voice sound like?

>and my cat

I have haven’t read any form of cosmic horror or any of Lovecraft for that matter- where should I begin with him?