Valdis Damien van Dyne

Pierce Mostyn not only has Cthulhu to think about, he also has Valdis Damien van Dyne.

Sherlock Holmes had his Moriarty. Nero Wolfe had his Zeck. Nayland Smith had his Dr Fu Manchu. Hence, I think it only natural for Mostyn to have his van Dyne.

The Diabolical Mastermind trope has been around for a long time, and has served readers, moviegoers, and TV watchers quite well. The Diabolical Mastermind is the ultimate test for the hero.

A few readers have asked, “Why van Dyne, when you already have the ultimate evil in Cthulhu?” And that is a good question.

In part, I created van Dyne for a very human face to put on the evil in our world. I relish good cosmic horror. It is the ultimate expression of the objective meaninglessness of humanity. As such, cosmic horror shows us that our meaning and purpose is all inside. Who we are cannot be found out there. It can only be found within. We must discover who we are through introspection.

Nietzsche advises us to look to art for discovering who we are. What he meant was, just as the gods are all creators so are we humans creators. It is through the act of creating that we find ourselves and express who and what we are as individuals.

While cosmic horror pictures all of this for us, for many of us it is all too abstract. What does all that have to do with the day today evil I encounter?

The Diabolical Mastermind, in a way, puts a human face to the ultimate evil that causes the ultimate horror. It’s rather difficult to come to grips with Cthulhu or Azathoth. It’s much easier for us to understand a Moriarty, or a Fu Manchu, or a Valdis Damien van Dyne.

In Pierce Mostyn’s world, van Dyne is the human counterpart to Cthulhu. Both are evil. Both exert incredible and extensive influence in the affairs of the world. And both want to take over the world, caring little about the fate of the human inhabitants in the process.

If all goes well, Van Dyne’s Zuvembies will be published at the end of this month; when we will see another titanic struggle between the forces of good (Mostyn, Bardon, and the rest of the OUP gang), and the forces of evil — personified in Valdis Damien van Dyne. The fate of the world hangs in the balance!

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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Pierce Mostyn in The Medusa Ritual

Pierce Mostyn, that intrepid foe of the things that go bump in the night, last appeared in Van Dyne’s Vampires, published October of last year.

Next week he will appear in a new adventure, his fifth: The Medusa Ritual.

The germ of the idea for Mostyn’s latest adventure can be found in the Hazel Heald and Lovecraft collaboration “The Man of Stone”. Collaboration, though, is a generous term; for, according to ST Joshi, Heald seems to have contributed virtually no prose to the story — based on textual evidence.

Thus, Heald probably only provided a story idea for Lovecraft to run with. Which he did, and that story then provided me with the idea for The Medusa Ritual. So thank you Hazel for that original idea!

However, while “The Man of Stone” got the wheels turning for The Medusa Ritual, there is nothing of the earlier story in the later one other than people being turned to stone.

While Van Dyne’s Vampires focused on what is essentially a mad scientist and his monsters, in Mostyn’s new adventure we return to the world of cosmic horror. That world where the terror originates from the realization that in the big picture we are completely and totally insignificant. A realization that can easily drive us to despair, madness, or self-destruction.

Nietzsche’s answer to achieving this awareness and its accompanying despair, was for the person to become a creative individual. To become as a god, in other words, for gods create; and in creating, the individual can thereby bring meaning to his or her otherwise meaningless life.

Nietzsche’s answer was essentially an existential one. We are in command of our fate. Counter the meaninglessness of existence by creating your own meaning.

Lovecraft, on the other hand, retreated into antiquarianism, and racial and cultural identity. The old days are good. The old ways are known and comfortable. My own kind are known to me. The foreigner is unknown, a mystery, and therefore suspect.

In Lovecraft’s fiction we see his philosophy play out in his vision of our world having been invaded by alien monster beings who have no regard for us. In strange, swarthy, and dark foreigners who do the bidding of these monsters. And in the insignificance of us Westerners and our science in the face of these ancient beings and their magical rituals. HPL’s conclusion is that it’s best if we don’t know too much of what is really out there, or know any of it at all.

When I come away from reading Lovecraft, I have the feeling that ignorance is bliss. In being ignorant, I can live my life in the delusion that this is a world of meaning and purpose. That I have essential meaning and purpose.

In “The Shadow over Innsmouth”, the narrator comes face to face with the horror of the curtain being pulled aside to reveal what truly is. He has looked into the abyss. In the end, when he realizes that he too will eventually join those monstrous denizens of the deep, rather than end his life, he resigns himself to his fate. For Lovecraft, once we know the truth, we either surrender to it, or go mad, or destroy ourselves. There is no Nietzschian optimism in Lovecraft.

Pierce Mostyn, knowing the truth, doesn’t go mad or destroy himself, but he is weighed down by the understanding that in the end all of his actions are futile. He resorts to duty to keep on going. Much like the ancient Roman Stoics. Duty gives him purpose and meaning in what is an otherwise meaningless and chaotic universe.

Now all of the above is a heck of a lot of philosophy. But don’t worry. It’s all in the background. The Medusa Ritual is not a philosophical treatise. It’s a tale of cosmic horror with plenty of action, adventure, monsters, and daring do. Just what we want to read. Right?

And it will be available, Amazon willing, on July 29th for your reading pleasure.

Comments are always welcome; and, until next time, happy reading!

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Nietzsche, Lovecraft, and Cosmic Horror

Nietzsche and Lovecraft. Supposedly both were nihilists. But were they? Let’s take a brief look at both, in the light of cosmic horror.

Cosmic Horror

What do we mean by cosmic horror? Cosmic horror is the horror subgenre that focuses on the fear we feel when we are confronted by phenomena that is beyond our ability to comprehend.

Lovecraft wrote that the only thing saving us from death or insanity was our inability to correlate all known facts into a cohesive and understandable whole.

Nietzsche wrote about being nauseated by the truth after peering into the abyss.

Cosmic horror chills us, at least good cosmic horror does, when the story forces us to come to grips with our insignificance in the universe. Cosmic horror is the abyss which nauseates us with the truth. Cosmic horror is the bringing together of knowledge that should drive us insane.

Lovecraft

HP Lovecraft was 10 years old when Friedrich Nietzsche died at the age of 55, and as far as we know he did not read Nietzsche.

Lovecraft was not a philosopher, per se. Although he did spend much time thinking about realities, science, and religion. Through his fiction he worked out a philosophy of sorts, which is embodied in his creation of cosmic horror as presented in his Cthulhu Mythos.

For Lovecraft, the species homo sapiens is not at the apex of anything. In a very real sense, human beings are merely a form of advanced simian on a tiny planet, orbiting a pretty insignificant star in one of many thousands of galaxies in the vast universe.

Compared to the cosmos we are nothing.

Lovecraft would undoubtedly have agreed with Silenus’s answer to Midas’s question. What is the best thing for humankind? To not to be born. And once born, the best for us is to die soon.

For Lovecraft, at least as seen in his fiction, there is no real hope for us. We are, as it were, going into battle armed with pea shooters, when our enemy has machine guns and rocket launchers.

We are hopelessly outclassed by the universe. And the universe will ultimately win. I think that is the message of “The Call of Cthulhu” and “The Shadow Over Innsmouth”.

I think Lovecraft was essentially a nihilist. Life is meaningless and we have no intrinsic purpose.

Nietzsche

In The Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche lays the ground work of his philosophy, which all of his subsequent books build on and expand.

Nietzsche, by means of the myth of Midas and Silenus, posits the essential meaninglessness of the human species. He goes on to tell us that when we actually comprehend Silenus’s message, when we look into the abyss, have our dark night of the soul, we come away nauseated — nauseated because we’ve believed a lie and now know the truth.

However, he does not leave us in despair. He reminds us that we are creators and it is through art — our creativity — that we find meaning in life. We are our saviors. The god out there is dead. What is alive and well is the god within us. Or perhaps better stated, the god that we are — because gods are creators, and we are creators.

What we see in Nietzsche is proto-existentialism. Nietzsche was not a nihilist. His is not a philosophy of despair. It is a philosophy of hope and life for modern humans.

Conclusion

Cosmic horror would never have come from the pen of Friedrich Nietzsche. Because for him there was always hope.

The closest Lovecraft comes to a sense of hope is in the conclusion of “The Shadow Over Innsmouth” where the narrator embraces his future as one of the monstrous denizens of the deep.

For Lovecraft, our only hope is to join that which will destroy us. And that is true horror.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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The Facing of the Eagle

The insignia of the Office of Unidentified Phenomena

 

The other week someone asked me about the symbolism behind the emblem of the Office of Unidentified Phenomena (OUP). The fictional agency for which my paranormal investigator Pierce Mostyn works to save America and the world from those things that make big bumps in the night. It’s a good question, because the design wasn’t haphazard.

The creator of the design was none other than Crispian Thurlborn, who is no stranger to you if you are a reader of this blog. He’s a fabulous writer. In addition, he’s a superb book cover designer, and  trailer maker. He designed all of the promo materials I use for the Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigation books.

So what does all that stuff on the above emblem mean? Let’s take a look at the symbolism.

The red triangle on which the circle is placed represents the depth of the OUP. It is in the background of our daily lives and it’s reach is very deep. It is behind everything.

The shield covering the eagle’s body represents defense in the air (the stars), on the land (the mountain), and on the sea (the waves). There is also a Lovecraftian dimension to those three aspects in addition to the normal heraldic symbolism. The OUP protects us from all things deep under the sea (where Cthulhu sleeps), in space and beyond (where the Great Old Ones originated), and under the earth (where Tsathoggua sleeps).

The all-seeing eye in the pyramid on the shield symbolizes the ever vigilant nature of the OUP.

The eagle itself is a bird of prey, but has for a very long time symbolized nobility, strength, and bravery. The wings in the displayed position symbolize protection. And the rays, or rayonnee emanating from the eagle’s head symbolize intelligence and enlightenment.

The olive branch and the arrows show that all of the traits are present in both peace and war.

And now to the eagle’s head. Why is it facing to the eagle’s left? If you notice any symbolism which uses an eagle the head is usually turned to the eagle’s right. The right hand symbolizing honor and nobility. At least most of the time.

But what does it mean when the head faces to the left? That is an excellent question. Our word “sinister” comes from the Latin word for left. Hm. Gives one pause to think, doesn’t it?

Does the eagle’s head facing left mean the OUP is a sinister organization, one that actually doesn’t do good? Well, the eagle on the US President’s seal faced left until President Truman changed it to the right. More food for thought.

For the OUP, the left facing eagle symbolizes the fine line the agency walks in protecting us from that of which we aren’t aware. The all-seeing eye, the rays of enlightenment and intelligence, and the sinister facing eagle together imply the danger of the OUP’s mission and methodology and the wisdom needed to thread a very fine needle, or walk a very fine line.

It is a case of fighting fire with fire. Of fighting the forces of darkness with darkness. Of using the two-edged sword which can cut both ways. Fighting evil by frequently having to resort to using evil.

All of this is, of course, perfectly in line with the Lovecraftian base underlying the Pierce Mostyn stories.

The Great Old Ones, while appearing evil to us because they mean the end of the world as we know it, are not intrinsically evil. They simply exist as we exist. They appear evil to us because they are unlike us and appear to be at cross purposes with us. They are aliens, foreigners to our universe. And by nature we tend to feel uncomfortable with what we do not know or understand. But perhaps most damning from our perspective is that we are to them as ants are to us. Nothing. A mere nuisance.

If ants bug us, we exterminate them. The same with the Great Old Ones. To them we are pests.

For Lovecraft, human beings are not the apex of all creation. We are essentially nothing in the face of the great cosmos. We are a highly developed primate, having evolved on a tiny speck of rock and dirt, orbiting a star of no particular significance. Our position in the universe is so infinitesimally tiny, we are in essence insignificant.

Prior to Lovecraft, Nietzsche posited our essential meaninglessness.  He cites, in The Birth of Tragedy, the story of Midas and Silenus. Midas asks the god what is the best thing for us. And Silenus answers him by saying that the best thing for us humans is to never be born. Otherwise our best course is to die soon.

Nietzsche goes on to posit that when we gaze into the deep black abyss and come away knowing our insignificance, our meaninglessness, our essential lack of any objective purpose — it is then the words of Silenus come home to us.

However, Nietzsche didn’t leave us in the depths of despair and nihilism. It is why he advocated we must create our own purpose. We are the creators. We are the gods. Not the beings we fashioned in our own image. We must embrace our senses and emotions, we must resort to art to find our own meaning and purpose. If left to our rational nature alone, we will sink into despair. We will go insane.

The Great Old Ones are not rational by our standards, which is perhaps why so many go insane immediately upon seeing them.

Dr Rafe Bardon, the OUP’s director, and Pierce Mostyn have gazed into the abyss and survived. They realize that the eagle facing to the right will not save the planet from the roiling insane chaos (at least by our standards) threatening to over take it.

Only by facing the sinister is there any hope for survival.

Stop by this Friday for the fourth installment of The Medusa Ritual. Lovecraftian adventure coming your way, as Pierce Mostyn and the OUP battle a nemesis hellbent on opening the gate for the Great Old Ones. 

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

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HP Lovecraft and Pierce Mostyn – Part 2

Cosmic, or Lovecraftian, Horror

Cosmic horror is largely, if not solely, the creation of HP Lovecraft. Of whom Stephen King said he “has yet to be surpassed as the Twentieth Century’s greatest practitioner of the classic horror tale.”

There are certain themes that differentiate Lovecraft’s brand of horror from other horror subgenres. Let’s take a look at some of the key themes.

Humans Are Insignificant

It’s a big universe out there. And we don’t know even a fraction of it.  As Lovecraft commented often (and I’m paraphrasing), we are an insignificant species on a fly speck. And if there are in fact multiverses, then that fly speck just became innumerable times smaller.

Philosophically, Lovecraft was basically a mechanistic materialist. We exist, but that doesn’t mean we’re more important than anything else. In fact, the universe is indifferent to us. We aren’t objectively special. For Lovecraft, we definitely weren’t made in God’s image. There’s no God, for starters. Rather, he was inspired by the atheistic Epicureans and the theory of evolution.

Therefore, in the typical cosmic horror story there is little focus on characterization. The main character is usually the story’s narrator. We get to know something of him, although sometimes he’s an unreliable narrator.

The focus of the story is on the gradual revelation of that which is hiding behind the narrator’s (and our) illusion of reality. That which is greater than us and views us as we view ants on the sidewalk.

The Great Old Ones, at least for Lovecraft, didn’t actually exist. They were literary devices to convey our position in the vastness of the universe and that the universe doesn’t give a fig about us.

The Heroes Are Loners

The hero of the cosmic horror tale has affinities with the punk hero. He is socially isolated, and therefore frequently a loner. Occasionally an outcast. He is often reclusive, and possesses a scholarly bent.

This puts the cosmic horror hero in the unique position of being able to peel back the veneer of what we think is reality to see the real reality behind it. Often at the expense of his sanity.

Pessimism, or Indifference

Lovecraft insisted later in life that his philosophy was not pessimistic, but rather led one to indifference. A fine line there. Basically, though, there is nothing in the universe that cares about us or values us. We humans are alone on a tiny speck of dust. We are dwarfed by the vastness of space. The very vastnesses of which Whitman sang so positively and eloquently about. For Lovecraft, there is nothing positive about them.

In this, Lovecraft was very much in line with the ancient Greek Epicurean philosophy. The universe was simply chaos. It provides us nothing. We must focus on ourselves and find pleasure and happiness in intellectual pursuits away from the madding crowd.

The Great Old Ones of Lovecraft’s invention aren’t so much malignant or malevolent as that they just don’t give a fig about us. We are inconsequential to them.

However, to us their indifference might seem to be malevolent or evil. But in reality, like us, they just are. They’re doing their thing. If we suffer as a result, well, do we care about the ants we step on?

Therefore the hero in the cosmic horror tale is often incapable of doing much to thwart the cosmic forces ranged against him. The best he can do is warn us of the truth that is out there.

The Veneer of Reality

We live in a dream state, as it were. Lovecraft was fascinated by dream worlds. In The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath he postulates a parallel world only attainable by means of dreams.

Because we are in a dream, as it were, what we see and think to be reality isn’t in fact reality at all. It’s Dorothy in Oz. Only we see a nice old man until Toto pulls back the curtain and reveals the monster at the controls.

The real reality is too horrible for us to comprehend. In our dream state we believe we have value — when in reality we have no value at all. We have no significance in the universe. And by extension nothing else has any significance either.

That is the true terror of cosmic horror: the revelation and realization that we are living a lie. It is the literary portrayal of the Nietzschian coming to awareness of who and what we really are.

That realization is also the basis for the “leap of faith” to find meaning for our existence. Epicurus sought meaning in intellectual pleasure. Nietzsche sought meaning in the pursuit of art; that is, creativity. The Existentialists made that leap to whatever might have meaning for them as individuals. And argued that we do the same.

Not unlike the Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius’s statement that “life is opinion”. That is, life is what we think it is. Although, for the Roman emperor, the statement was more an affirmation of the contemporary saying, It’s all in your ‘tude. Because Stoicism is inherently a much more positive philosophy.

Fear Of The Other

We have an innate fear of that which is not like us. This goes back to the very beginnings of the human species when we existed in family units and tribes. Anything that was not us, was to be viewed with suspicion — if not outright fear.

Lovecraft is frequently criticized today for being xenophobic and racist. By today’s standards he was — but in his own era I’m not so sure he was any different than most of his peers. There is a danger in judging the past by other than it’s own standards.

Even today, Western views of what constitutes xenophobia and racism are not universally shared. Which means the question must be asked, what makes Western views any more valid than any other views? That, though, is another discussion.

One thing is for sure — the xenophobia and racism we see in Lovecraft’s stories feeds on our own innate and latent fear of those people and things that are different from us and of our fear of the unknown in general. They feed on our own tribal mentality. The primeval us-them dynamic. The dynamic that made us who we are today: too often judgmental, critical, and suspicious. We and our opinions are good. Everyone else and there opinions are bad.

Throughout most of our history as a species, the tribal mentality allowed us to survive. The problem being that as we developed civilization, many of those survival traits became a hindrance to our working together in a genteel environment. Hence the creation of religious moral codes and cultural mores and folkways to control those “undesirable” traits.

As Will Durant noted, “Every vice was once a virtue, and may become respectable again, as hatred becomes respectable in war. Brutality and greed where once necessary in the struggle for existence, and are now ridiculous atavisms; men’s sins are not the result of his fall; they are the relics of his rise.” Do note that every vice may become respectable again. Something to think about.

In Lovecraft’s worldview, the Other consists of all the impersonal cosmic forces that exist. In his fiction, he personified these impersonal forces as The Great Old Ones. Inter- or Other-dimensional beings who have moved into our territory.

Just as we give little thought to mosquitoes, or gnats, or ants, so The Great Old Ones give little, if any, thought to us. To repeat, they aren’t so much malevolent, as they are indifferent to our existence and survival. Just as we are indifferent to the survival of mosquitoes, gnats, or ants.

Lovecraft is simply positing that cosmically speaking — we aren’t necessarily at the top of the food chain. Something to think about as we venture into outer space. Which was cleverly addressed in The Twilight Zone episode “To Serve Man”.

In light of the above, the Pierce Mostyn adventures may not be pure examples of cosmic horror. But we’ll look at that next week.

Comments are always welcome! And until next week, happy reading!

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HP Lovecraft and Pierce Mostyn-Part 1

In a few weeks I’ll be launching a new paranormal series: the Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigations. The books were fun to write and I’ve gotten positive feedback from my beta readers. I’m totally psyched about Mostyn!

There were three major influences in the creation of Pierce Mostyn and the uber-secret Office of Unidentified Phenomena (OUP): The X-Files, Stranger Things, and HP Lovecraft.

The X-Files, influenced by the earlier Kolchak: The Night Stalker, takes us into a world of paranormal phenomena, aliens, and government cover-ups. The conspiracy nut within me loves that stuff.

Stranger Things, the exceedingly popular paranormal show from Netflix, riffs on Lovecraft’s premise behind the Cthulhu Mythos and secret government projects.

Then there’s HPL himself. His notion of the insignificance of human beings vis-a-vis the vastness of the universe is the foundation of the cosmic horror sub-genre, which he created. His stories often hint at cover-ups, usually government, to protect people from the truth. And just as often there is a whistle blower to let us know what is really going on.

Lovecraft modernized the old gothic tale by expanding the scene from an old haunted house to the entire universe. The Great Old Ones are about to wake. Their worshippers are keeping the light on for them. And us? Why we are inconsequential. We don’t matter.

The horror lies in our insignificance; not the grotesque insanity that is a shoggoth, or the obscene un-naturalness that is Cthulhu.

This is very much like Nietzsche. For he noted in The Birth of Tragedy that science can only bring us to the point where we see that we are nothing when compared to the vast universe. We have as much significance as does a grain of sand on the beach. And the result of our coming to this realization of our insignificance is a profound and sustained nausea.

The terror in cosmic horror is the simple realization that we have no meaning in the grand scheme of things. We just think we do.

Nietzsche made the leap to art to give us meaning. Art, the act of being creative, like the gods, is what gives us humans meaning.

Lovecraft, in an effort to find meaning in the meaningless, retreated into antiquarianism and racial and cultural identity.

Religion, rejected by both Nietzsche and Lovecraft, is nothing more than an attempt to give humans meaning by means of rituals to help insure entrance into a good afterlife, where there is meaning. But not meaning for us as us. Only meaning in relation to something greater than us. That which is called by us God.

Cosmic horror, however, has power because in spite of our belief in God or rituals, we so very often feel as though nothing makes any sense and that we truly have no meaning or purpose in this life. That is true terror: that we will die and everything we’ve done won’t have mattered, because in the end we don’t matter.

Lovecraft created the Great Old Ones to visualize the uncaring of the universe. They don’t care about the humans on this planet they’ve invaded. We are as significant to them as ants are to us.

These are the influences that played upon the creators of The X-Files and Stranger Things and also played upon me in the creation of Pierce Mostyn.

We see in The X-Files that there are things out there, the truth, that are bigger than us. We are living deluded lives, because the truth is being hidden from us.

In Stranger Things, a hole is ripped in the fabric of our dimension as a result of a secret government spy program. The rip allows an interface between our world and the beyond. And what becomes crystal clear very early is that we don’t matter to the other dimensional entity. We are simply another meal source. We are simply ants on the sidewalk.

In the Pierce Mostyn Paranormal Investigations, Mostyn’s (and the OUP’s) job is to get rid of testimonies to our insignificance — all to protect the good people of the USA and the world. Which makes Mostyn something of a superhero and a trickster god (like Loki, or Dionysus, or Kokopelli).

Next week we’ll take a closer look at the cosmic horror sub-genre. Which I think is more terrifying that some grisly hacker/slasher story.

Comments are always welcome, and, until next time, keep telling yourself you have meaning. Oh, and happy reading!

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