FROM THE GREAT LIBRARY OF DREAMS 147 - Dreams of Yith by Duane W. Rimel

A cycle of sonnets detailing weird dreams of a strange alien world of the Cthulhu Mythos,  written by Duane W. Rimel, with guidance from both H. P. Lovecraft and Clark Ashton Smith.

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FROM THE GREAT LIBRARY OF DREAMS 130 - Celephaïs by HP Lovecraft

For our first tale for the new year, we have a trip to a fantastic Dreamlands of HP Lovecraft, in the classic weird tale Celephaïs.

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FROM THE GREAT LIBRARY OF DREAMS 072 - Hypnos by HP Lovecraft

A reading of an early short tale by HP Lovecraft, Hypnos - a story of obsession, dreams, and cosmic horror.

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FOLKLORE ON FRIDAY - The Peddlar's Dream

In the county of Norfolk, between King's Lynn in the west and Norwich in the east lies the market town of Swaffham. However while the town and its market have  been a centre for agriculture since the 14th century, the town is perhaps better known as being home to an oft-told folk tale. It's a tale of a good man and good fortune, and frequently is mentioned when the subject of prophecies and dreams come up. It's a tale that has been told many times, and its earliest incarnation is found in an old tome entitled An Essay Towards a Topographical History of the County of Norfolk  by  Francis Blomefield  (William Miller, London, 1805-10). In Volume 11 of this truly compendious essay, we have a letter by Sir William Dugdale, dated 29 January 1652, and in it he relates the following tale:

That dreaming one night if he went to London he should certainly meet with a man upon London Bridge which would tell him good news; he was so perplext in his mind, that till he set upon his journey he could have no rest; to London therefore he hasts and walk’d upon the Bridge for some hours where being espyed by a Shopkeeper and asked what he wanted, he answered you may well ask me that question for truly (quoth he) I am come hither upon a very vain errand and so told the story of his dream which occasioned the journey.  Whereupon the Shopkeeper reply’d alas good friend! should I have heeded dreams, I might have proved myself as very a fool as thou hast; for ‘tis not long since that I dreamt, that at a place called Swaffham Market in Norfolk dwells one John Chapman a pedlar who hath a tree in his backside under which is buried a pot of money.  Now therefore, if I should have made a journey thither to dig for such hidden treasure, judge you whether I should not have been counted a fool. To whom the pedlar cunningly said “Yes verily, I will therefore return home and follow my business, not heeding such dreams henceforward.”  But when he came home (being satisfied that his dream was fulfilled) he took occasion to dig in the place and accordingly found a large pot full of money which he prudently conceal’d, putting the pot amongst the rest of his brass.  After a time it happen’d that one who came to his house and beholding the pot observed an inscription upon it which being in Latin, he interpreted it, that under that there was an other twice as good.  Of that inscription the Pedlar was before ignorant or at least minded it not, but when he heard the meaning of it he said, “‘tis very true, in the shop where I bought this pot stood another under it, which was twice as big”; but considering that it might tend to further his profit to dig deeper in the same place where he found that, he fell again to work and discover’d such a pot, as was intimated by the inscription, full of old coine: notwithstanding all which he so conceal’d his wealth, that the neighbours took no notice of it.  But not long after the inhabitants of Swaffham resolving to reedify their church, and having consulted with the workmen about the charge they made a levy wherein they taxed the Pedlar according to no other rate than what they had formerly done.  But he knowing his own ability came to the church and desired the workmen to shew him their model, and to tell him what they esteemed the charge of the North Isle would amount to, which when they told him he presently undertook to pay them for building it, and not only that but of a very tall and beautiful tower steeple.

Now this tale has become famous the world over, and is much celebrated in the town itself, lending its name to the Pedlar's Hall Cafe and inspiring the carved wooden village sign for the town as seen in the photo above. However curiously, Swaffham isn't the only place that has a tale like this. Indeed an almost identical tale is told of Upsall Castle in North Yorkshire. In The Vale of Mowbray: A Historical and Topographical Account of Thirsk and Its Neighbourhood by William Grainge (Simpkin, Marshall, and Co. 1859) we have a story he entitles "Crocks of Gold" - 

Many years ago there resided in the village of Upsall, a man who dreamed three nights successively that if he went to London, he would hear of something greatly to his advantage. He went, travelling the whole distance from Upsall to London on foot, arrived he took his station on the bridge where he waited until his patience was very nearly exhausted and the idea that he had acted a very foolish part began to rise in his mind. At length he was accosted by a Quaker, who kindly inquired what he was waiting there so long for. After some hesitation, he told his dreams. The Quaker laughed at his simplicity, and told him he had had that night a very curious dream himself, which was that if he went to dig under a certain bush in Upsall Castle in Yorkshire, he will find a pot of gold; but he did not know where Upsall was, and inquired of the Countryman if he knew, who seeing some advantage in secrecy pleading ignorance of the locality; and then thinking his business in London was completed, returned immediately home, dug beneath the bush, and there he found a pot filled with gold, and on the cover an inscriptions in a language he did not understand. The pot and cover were however reserved at the village inn; where one day, a bearded stranger like a Jew, made his appearance, saw the pot, and read the inscription, the plain English at which was -

 "Look lower where this stood

  Is another twice as good"

The man of Upsall hearing this, resumed his spade, returned to the bush, dug deeper, and found another pot filled with gold far more valuable than the first: encouraged by this, he dug deeper still, and found another yet more valuable.
This story has been related of other places, but Upsall appears to have as good a claim to this yielding of hidden treasures as the best of them. Here we have the constant tradition of the inhabitants, and the identical but yet remains beneath which the treasure was found; an Elder, near the north-west corner of the ruins.

Now you will notice that this text boldly mentions that the tale is told in other places, and indeed it is. For to travel further north in the United Kingdom, we find it retold yet again and at an earlier date. In The Popular Rhymes of Scotland by Robert Chambers (W. Hunter, 1826), we learn the history of Dundonald Castle - 

Donald, the builder, was originally a poor man, but had the faculty of dreaming lucky dreams. Upon one occasion he dreamed, thrice in one night, that if he were to go to London Bridge, he would become a wealthy man. He went accordingly, saw a man looking over the parapet of the bridge, whom he accosted courteously, and, after a little conversation, intrusted with the secret of the occasion of his visiting London Bridge. The stranger told him that he had made a very foolish errand, for he himself had once had a similar vision, which directed him to go to a certain spot in Ayrshire, in Scotland, where he would find a vast treasure, and, for his part, he had never once thought of obeying the injunction. From his description of the spot, the sly Scotsman at once perceived that the treasure in question must be concealed in no other place than his own humble kail-yard at home, to which he immediately repaired in full expectation of finding it. Nor was he disappointed; for, after destroying many good and promising cabbages, and completely cracking credit with his wife, who esteemed him mad, he found a large potful of gold coin, with the proceeds of which he built a stout castle for himself, and became the founder of a flourishing family.

Chambers, much like Grainge, goes on to remark "This absurd story is localised in almost every district of Scotland, always referring to London Bridge". And indeed not only does the tale recur in other Scottish tales, but it appears in various other places in England and Wales too. Furthermore if we hop over the Channel to Europe, we find it flourishing there too, although of course with some other national landmark standing in for dear old London Bridge. The most famous example perhaps is found in the collections of folk tales recorded by the Brothers Grimm - 

Some time ago a man dreamed that he should go to the bridge at Regensburg where he would become rich. He went there, and after spending some fourteen days there a wealthy merchant, who wondered why was spending so much time on the bridge, approached him and asked him what he was doing there.
The latter answered, "I dreamed that I was to go to the bridge at Regensburg, where I would become rich."
"What?" said the merchant, "You came here because of a dream? Dreams are fantasies and lies. Why I myself dreamed that there is a large pot of gold buried beneath that large tree over there." And he pointed to the tree. "But I paid no attention, for dreams are fantasies."
Then the visitor went and dug beneath the tree, where he found a great treasure that made him rich, and thus his dream was confirmed.

from Deutsche Sagen (1816/1818), Vol. 1, No. 212

However the trail does not end there. Even earlier and further south, we discover an identical tale in that famous anthology of ancient tales  A Thousand and One Nights (AKA Arabian Nights). The 14th tale is called The Ruined Man Who Became Rich Again Through a Dream and goes like this - 

Once there lived in Baghdad a wealthy man who lost all his means and was thus forced to earn his living by hard labor. One night a man came to him in a dream, saying, "Your fortune is in Cairo; go there and seek it." So he set out for Cairo. He arrived there after dark and took shelter for the night in a mosque. As Allah would have it, a band of thieves entered the mosque in order to break into an adjoining house. The noise awakened the owners, who called for help. The Chief of Police and his men came to their aid. The robbers escaped, but when the police entered the mosque they found the man from Baghdad asleep there. They laid hold of him and beat him with palm rods until he was nearly dead, then threw him into jail.

Three days later the Chief of Police sent for him and asked, "Where do you come from?"

"From Baghdad," he answered.

"And what brought you to Cairo?"

"A man came to me in a dream and told me to come to Cairo to find my fortune," answered the man from Baghdad "But when I came here, the promised fortune proved to be the palm rods you so generously gave to me."

"You fool," said the Chief of Police, laughing until his wisdom teeth showed. "A man has come to me three times in a dream and has described a house in Baghdad where a great sum of money is supposedly buried beneath a fountain in the garden. He told me to go there and take it, but I stayed here. You, however, have foolishly journeyed from place to place on the faith of a dream which was nothing more than a meaningless hallucination." He then gave him some money saying, "This will help you return to your own country."

The man took the money. He realized that the Chief of Police had just described his own house in Baghdad, so he forthwith returned home, where he discovered a great treasure beneath the fountain in his garden. Thus Allah gave him abundant fortune and brought the dream's prediction to fulfillment.

from 

Now we cannot be sure of the exact age of the many tales collected in this volume, for scholars believe the first versions of the collection appeared in Arabic in the early parts of the 8th century, with various additional tales being added over the next few centuries. However what we do know is that this particular story of a most fortunate dream appears in as part of a poem by the 13th century Persian poet,  Jalal al-Din Rumia, who is best known in the West as simply Rumi. In his epic collection The Masnavi, we have the poem In Baghdad, Dreaming of Cairo: In Cairo, Dreaming of Baghdad which you can read in its entirety here. 

So then here we have a tale retold in many places and at many times, indeed it is one of those small number of tales that seems to recur everywhere. And folklorists have a catalogue of such stories - this one is commonly referred to as 'The Treasure at Home', and under the Aarne-Thompson-Uther Classification of Folk Tales it is number ATU 1646. Now given that we have several important literary landmarks for the story, it is widely though that this very popular tale was spread throughout Europe thanks the massive popularity of A Thousand and One Nights, and was adapted to fit local geography and history as it was retold in different places. 

However the first European edition of A Thousand and One Nights was a French version translated by Antoine Galland that appeared 1704, and was first translated into English in 1706. We should also note at this point that the works of Rumi were not translated until considerably later, with the first English translations appearing in the late 19th century. However if you have been paying attention to the dates, we find that while the Arabian Nights theory could well account for the versions referenced by Grainge and Chambers, the oldest English version, comes from a letter written in the 1650s. Now while we cannot rule out this old Arabic tale been spread orally across Europe before its printed incarnations, it is certainly intriguing that the Swaffham version predates other European version by a good century or more. Furthermore Sir William makes clear that it was already an old tale when he set it down in his letter, and this is supported by the fact that the original Swaffham version has a sequel built in that many other version do not - the business of the inscription and a second pot of gold. For this kind of embroidery is typical of a tale been around for a good while, gaining additional details and extra subplots as it is retold by different generations.

Stranger still is the fact that our hero is actually given a name - John Chapman - something very unusual for a folk tale. But even more intriguingly, there is some historical evidence to back up the story, for John Botewrigh, the Rector of Swaffham between 1435 and 1474 made an inventory of building and repair work done to the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul. And this tome is now known as the Swaffham Black Book, and in it we discover that in the mid 15th century the North Aisle of the church was rebuilt. And what is more, this renovation work was paid for by a fellow named John Chapman. And as part of this building work, new pews were installed and two of them are of particular interest for us: for their carved ends show a pedlar and his dog. Furthermore local tradition suggests that a third which shows a lady, is a representation of the shopkeeper in the story.

Of course, none of that can displace the fact that a version of the tale was circulating in the East some centuries before, but certainly the pews and Chapman's name appearing in the Swaffham Black Book does suggest that the story of his good fortune may have been doing the rounds while the goodly gent was still alive. Obviously Chapman, who served as a churchwarden, was a wealthy man, for construction work never comes cheap, particular in earlier times when a major building project may take years to complete. And given that in the 15th century, Swaffham was home to a thriving market, one wonders whether the tale had found its way to rural Norfolk thanks to travelling merchants, the very kind of folks Chapman would have been trading with.

Furthermore, in history we have many examples of less than virtuous men who in later life decide to bankroll various projects for their local churches. And usually these generous and charitable projects are seemingly done as a kind of penance for their earlier sins and misdeeds. Therefore it is tempting to speculate that the tale of Chapman's fortune may well have been deliberately adopted to disguise the real origin of his wealth. And rather than repaying the good Lord for his luck by refurbishing his local church, as many versions of the tale suggest, he may well have been atoning for making a lot of money through less than virtuous means...

FOLKLORE ON FRIDAY - The Ringing of the Bluebells

Well it appears that often seemingly mythical beast, the British Summer is finally here! The temperature is up, the sun is shining, and it's the perfect time to pop out for a pleasant stroll in the countryside. Now one of the great attractions of the British countryside at this time of the year is to take a walk in some bluebell woods. And this seemingly mundane activity has been something of an unofficial annual ritual for a lot of folks for many generations. Such is the popularity of going to see such swathes of blue, that not so long ago special trains would be laid on to carry visitors to the woodlands, or meander passed vistas showcasing the vistas clad in blue. For example, a service of "bluebell trains" once used to run through the Chiltern Hills through the blooming woodlands, and this natural floral display helped earn the designation of "An Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty". While in East Sussex, one particular stretch of tracks is still known as the Bluebell Railway.  Many nature parks and stately homes still make a point of advertising when their woodland will be carpeted with a stunning sea of gently nodding little blue flowers, and the National Trust even has a page telling you where the nearest bluebell wood is to you.

It is thought that the humble bluebell - that the Hyacinthoides non-scripta taxonomy fans - first appeared in Britain not long after the last Ice Age, and indeed the presence of a carpet of bluebells is often a signifier that a forest is a surviving tract of ancient woodland. However the little nodding flowers have not only been admired for their beauty but have also long been revered for their useful properties. In the Bronze age, our ancestors attached flights of feathers to their arrows with a glue made from bluebells, while the Tudors used a starch extracted from crushed bluebell roots to stiffen their iconic ruff collars. And for several centuries bookbinders have used bluebell derived adhesives to make and repair tomes. 

In the modern era we have discovered that bluebells contain at least 15 biological active compounds that the plant utilises to repel insect and animal pests. And it would seem our forebears knew something of this, for general folklore has long asserted that bluebells are poisonous to eat, and one of the uses of bluebells recommended by herbalists, was treating spider bites. However folklore ascribes to them other more esoteric properties, such as being a good remedy for leprosy, and as a treatment for tuberculosis. However there is also a good deal of magic associated with the little flowers too, as demonstrated by the various folk names the flowers have garnered over the centuries such as witches thimbles and fairy flowers. 

Firstly, as they begin to bloom towards the end of April, they have been long associated with St. George as that saint's day falls on the 23rd of that month, while in the language of flowers created by the Victorians, bluebells symbolise constancy, humility and everlasting love. And these associations may well be derived from older folklore charms, for two well-known pieces of bluebell lore reflect these properties: it was said that if you wore a wreath of bluebells you would compel a person to tell the truth. And if you turn a bluebell flower inside out, you will win the heart of your true love.

More generally, bluebells were considered useful flowers in other ways too. For example, the Encyclopedia of Folkore and the Occult Sciences Vol 2 by Cora Linn Daniels and C. M. Stevans, published in 1852, tells us -   

If you see a bluebell, pick it and repeat the following words: "Bluebell, bluebell, bring me some luck before to-morrow night;" slip it into your shoe and you will get good luck

Folklore also seemingly draws on their repellent qualities as well, for it was said that bluebells may be used to prevent nightmares, Simply place some in or under your pillow, or just hang them near the bed and bad dreams will be kept at bay. Possibly this particular belief might be related to their long usage as an adhesive, but it is possible it may be derived from an older common strand of bluebell lore. For in many places, the little flowers have a strong association with the faeries, and as such it was dangerous to be messing about in bluebells woods. 

It has been said that faeries hang their spells on bluebells to dry and hence disturbing the bluebells may unleash wild magic upon you, or just bring down the wrath of the faeries. Less whimsically, it was thought that walking in bluebells may lead you to become 'pixy-led' - that is to say, dazed by enchantment and unable to find your way out of the woods. And darker still in some corners of the country,  it was said that a child who picks a bluebell will be snatched away by the faery folk, never to be seen again. Unsurprisingly many folks held it was foolish to pick bluebells or bring them into the house.

However folklore is often very contradictory, and hence in some areas it was said that planting bluebells in your garden was a useful thing to do. Not only would it curry favour with the hidden faerie powers, but it was said that the bluebells would ring if unwelcome visitors approached your door. However once again these whimsical bits of bluebell lore appear to have older, darker roots. For more commonly, it was held that the faeries would ring the bluebells to call their kin to gatherings and meetings. And it was very bad luck to hear a bluebell ring, and in many instances it is said that to hear the chime of the bluebells was an omen of your own death, hence in some places these lovely little flowers gained the sinister name 'dead men's bells'... 

THE CASTLE OF DREAMS by Clark Ashton Smith

The Castle of Dreams a poem by Clark Ashton Smith, read by Mr Jim Moon. First published in The Potion of Dreams - The Fugitive Poems of Clark Ashton Smith (1975).

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The Castle of Dreams
by Clark Ashton Smith

It lies beyond the farthest sea,
This castle where onto I flee
When life and time hang wearily.
Yet though so far, 'tis strangely nigh:
Within the breathing of a sigh
One gains the walls secure and high
Of the Castle of Dreams.

Divinely beautiful and great,
Of pearl each dome and tower, and gate,
It stands, a hold of kingly state.
There gyving Time and Space are not,
And cares of Life are all forgot.
No breath of restless change is brought
To the Castle of Dreams.

I walk each wondrous court and hall,
Their varied treasures mine at call,
For there I am the lord af all.
If gold and gems of land and sea,
And broad estates were offered me,
I would not take them for the key
Of the Castle of Dreams.

POLARIS by HP Lovecraft

While HYPNOBOBS may be a tad late returning to the shores of your hearing, in the mean time you can hear Mr Jim Moon read HP Lovecraft's classic weird tale Polaris over on the SFF Audio Podcast. Plus he joins the regulars for a discussion of this early HPL story afterwards!

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HYPNOBOBS 97 - The Room In The Tower

This week  Mr Jim Moon presents an introduction to a fine author of many a cracking weird tale, Mr EF Benson. And we sample his canon with a reading and discussion of his celebrated story of troubling dreams and nightmares, The Room in the Tower.

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HYPNOBOBS 38 - Two Tales from HP Lovecraft

By the cosy fireside in the Library of Dreams, Mr Jim Moon presents two early classics from HP Lovecraft - The Outsider and The White Ship...

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A TOUR OF YUGGOTH

The question of whether there is actually any form of continuity in HP Lovecraft’s sonnet cycle, Fungi From Yuggoth is a question that has perplexed both scholars and readers for many years. After the opening three sonnets which form a linked narrative, the cycle plunges from location to location, through different worlds and times, and crosses a plethora of genres. And as we saw in the first part of this article, while some have argued that there a thematic thread linking the poems, noted Lovecraft expert ST Joshi firmly believes there is not -

“thematic resonances within the cycle do not establish ‘continuity’ of plot or structure any more than the analogous resonances within Lovecraft’s stories make them one large novel”

If we were intended to interpret Fungi From Yuggoth as a poetic anthology, then this statement is perfectly logical. However Lovecraft had not previously assembled any of his poetry in a grab-bag manner; three poems written in 1918 ‘Oceanus’, ‘Clouds’ and ‘Mother Earth’ were entitled A Cycle of Verse. Similarly the only other collection of verse in his poetic career was Poemata Minora Vol II written in 1902, and was a collection on five poems about Roman times which, as the dedication makes clear, are intended to be read as a series. Therefore there is no reason to assume that Lovecraft was merely anthologising disparate verses with Fungi FromYuggoth; this approach is simply too slapdash for the Old Gentleman. If he united these thirty sonnets under a single banner then he most likely had some design for this arrangement.

And hence Mr Joshi’s assertion is somewhat flawed, for surely the repetition and consistent exploration of the same themes within a single work does constitute a continuity of sorts.

But the question remains – what form does this possible continuity take? A major stumbling block and what perplexes many readers and critics is the way the cycle shifts through different genres; sonnets like XII – The Howler recalls Lovecraft’s New England horror tales such as The Picture in the House and In The Vault, others like XVIII – The Gardens of Yin feel like his Dreamlands tales such as Celephais and The White Ship, while yet others clearly belong to the Cthulhu Mythos.

However, perhaps approaching the cycle in terms of the genres Lovecraft wrote in is the problem. Generally readers generally know Lovecraft through his stories first and then discover his other literary works such as his poetry and his letters, and therefore we come to Fungi From Yuggoth with categories based upon his fiction in mind.

Typically a new reader coming to the Lovecraft canon will be reading his Cthulhu Mythos tales first, and given the tantalising nature of this created mythology the novice will then be scouring all his works for further references and allusions. And as one progresses though his body of work or delves into the work of Lovecraft criticism, you soon begin to pick up the idea that different tales fit into different schools of stories. And once you are well versed in all things HPL, then one can play the time honoured game of ‘Mythos or not’ as there is much debate over which stories count as Cthulhuvian tales. For example, should you ever wanted to stir up a nest of Lovecraft scholars simply ask whether The Colour Out Of Space belongs to the Mythos.

However it should be noted that Lovecraft himself did not acknowledge any such distinctions. Although in hindsight we may discern evolving trends in his fiction career, for example the series of Dreamlands stories he wrote in the early ‘20s after he discovered the works of Lord Dunsany, reading his fiction chronologically one can track such influences come and go and see his own approach developing. Lovecraft himself was merely trying with each successive work to create the perfect weird tale, and the creation of what we now refer to as the Cthulhu Mythos was just one of the literary devices he employed to evoke the feelings of fear and cosmic awe he was striving for.

Therefore when we read Fungi From Yuggoth and begin slotting the sonnets into different categories, we are in fact creating artificial divisions; build critical walls that obscure whatever continuity may be there in the complete cycle. And if we dispense with these literary classifications and concentrate on the content, tone and atmosphere of the verses, Fungi From Yuggoth begins to appear far more coherent.

To begin, if we survey the placement of the different varieties of verse, although the content and style may seem to be randomly jumping around, there is a distinct flow. It is telling that the more philosophical vignettes cluster around the close of the cycle, seeming to serve as conclusions to the motifs explored. Similarly other themes are found nestling close to each other.

However after taking a fresh look at the cycle, I believe the arrangement goes further than Lovecraft merely orchestrating recurring themes. Examining closely each verse, they appear to pick up on a specific element from their immediate predecessor. While some sonnets echo their predecessors’ dominant concepts or continue a theme, but other transitions are almost cinematic with verses sharing a similar location or geography.

Now if you have not read the cycle yet – now would be the time to do so as I’m going to get up close and personal with the text in order to illustrate my findings. Find it here.

Before we begin, I should point out that the following interpretation is just a tentative theory and make no claims that the continuity I have found is the correct reading Lovecraft intended. And indeed there aren’t perfect links between all the sonnets, however I think the following detailed examination of the verses does show that Fungi From Yuggoth is far from being as utterly random as some believe it is. As stated my first article, I do subscribe to the notion that after the introductory verses, the cycle represents a series of visions and/or occult journeys to other times, places and dimensions.

So then after the first three verses, whose links are explicit, Sonnet IV can be read as continuing the narrative. Sonnet III – The Key refers to visions the narrator has had of “sunset spires and twilight woods that brood/beyond this earth’s precisions”, while Sonnet IV – Recognition is set in a “hollow of old oaks” on the grey world of Yuggoth. Now I don’t think it is too much of stretch to suggest that this first vision from the book is of the afore mentioned “twilight woods”, which The Key implies have been haunting the narrator for years. Also it is worth noting at this point that Sonnet XXXIV – Recapture could well be a sequel to Recognition – featuring as it does a similar strange wilderness and ancient ruins – certainly it would explain the closing lines of Recapture.

Sonnet V – Homecoming has the narrator, having been horrified by the trip to Yuggoth, ‘the daemon’ – a figure that arguably reappears later – whisks him away to another time and place. And the next scene is viewing the panorama of a fantastic city – the “sunset spires” alluded to in The Key. Again we may infer from The Key that Sonnets III and IV are the book and its daemon revealing to the narrator the origin of these twin visions that have been haunting him.

The losing lines of IV come from the daemon “ ‘here was your home’ he mocked ‘when you had sight’ ”. And fittingly the next three entries in the cycle are themed around vision and perplexing sights - VI – The Lamp closes with “vast shapes” seen in “a mad flash”, and these maddening glimpses are echoed by the insane sight the mailman experiences in IV – Zaman’s Hill. Finally this ‘sight’ trilogy concludes with VIII – The Port where the verse’s narrator is troubled by the sight of darkness swallowing the streets of Innsmouth.

And from the sinister gloom of Lovecraft’s infamous seaport, IX – The Courtyard also takes place in an “ancient, leprous” city by the sea, with the narrator wandering through the dark lanes and alleys. If we visualise the poems, you can easily see how from the hill top view of Innsmouth the camera could zoom in or dissolve to the location of The Courtyard. It concludes with him being surrounded by a strange ritual throng. Also is it possible that ‘the man’ the narrator is going to meet is in fact the earlier mentioned daemon?

X – The Pigeon-Flyers again takes place in a strange dark city, opening with the lines ‘They took me slumming’, and again, I don’t think we are stretching a narrative point to interpret this as the narrator being swept away to darker places by “the mad revels of the dragging dead” of the previous verse.

Now there is more of a leap of faith required to connect the next verse. The horrors of The Pigeon-Flyers concludes upon certain things being unearthed from alien crypts, whereas XI – The Well has New England farmers delving deep into the bowels of the earth and discovering madness and death. Yes, this link may be subtle to the point of tenuousness but there is a faint accord here. Incidentally the Thog mentioned in this verse is, one of the twin moons of Yuggoth according Lovecraft.

However the next poem fits more comfortably; XII – The Howler is another micro weird tale set New England. It is almost as if the guiding force behind the visions is saying ‘and further down the road from Seth Atwood’s farm…. this happened’. Many commentators identify “the four pawed thing with human face” as a precursor to Brown Jenkin in Dreams in the Witch-House which Lovecraft would write two years later. However it could well be a reference to the ghasts featured in Zealia Bishop’s The Mound which HPL *ahem* revised i.e. heavily rewrote in the same period as penning Fungi From Yuggoth. Alternatively, more likely in my opinion, this mystery beast is a call back to Pickman’s Model which features Lovecraft’s conception of the legendary ghoul (the model for these beings in many RPGs and video games, fact fans). And this tale explicitly states these bestial beings can evolve from humans and have strong ties to the old witch cults – “One canvas shewed a ring of them baying about a hanged witch on Gallows Hill, whose dead face held a close kinship to theirs”.

Moving on, The Howler takes places at sunset, and the next verse XIII – Hesperia follows this with a truly cosmic vision inspired by “the winter sunset, flaming beyond spires/and chimneys”. Again this another visual dissolve with one sunset bleeding into another. And Lovecraft continues with another imagery based link, for after sunset comes twilight and according to Sonnet XIV the star winds blow, breathing strange dreams across the land.

So then XV Antarktos is a verse concerning oneiric visions; it begins “Deep in my dream”. Incidentally Mythos fans might like to know that the vast ice entombed horror is one of the Great Old Ones, Gol-goroth. This particular demon was first created by Robert E Howard and in The Fishers From Outside Lin Carter links Howard’s stories with this sonnet, claiming that Gol-goroth is entombed in the Antarctic beneath Mount Antarktos (for further elder lore on this eldritch monstrosity see here).

However from horrors buried beneath centuries of glaciers, XVI – The Window brings us more benign visions. While the two poems may seem unconnected, I suspect what Lovecraft is doing here is sticking with the motifs of hidden secrets and revealing dreams but is presenting a contrast – after all not all dreams are nightmares. Antarktos deals with dream visions that blast the sanity, whereas the curious aperture in The Window reveals wonders; it is a portal to “all the wild worlds of which my dreams had told”.

Again perhaps stretching a point but again if we imagine the cycle in visual terms, as a movie if you will, the exotic landscape of Sonnet XVII – A Memory conceivably is one of the “wild worlds” we reach by travelling through the window. On more certain ground however is XVIII – The Gardens of Yin which “old dreams had flung open the gate to that stone lantern maze” and concludes this quartet of dream related verse.

However overlapping into the next sonnet, XIX – The Bells, is the theme of questing for revelations (as seen in XVII and XVIII) – the narrator in this verse scours his “dreams and memories for a clue” to the persistent phantom peals. However The Bells also begins a quartet that explore the Cthulhu Mythos – firstly we have Innsmouth and once again this benighted town leads to alien locations in the nether world, hinting of the undersea horrors Lovecraft would later detail in The Shadow Over Innsmouth.

Next we have XX – Night-Gaunts whose narrator is swept away by the titular beings to encounter other aquatic horrors. The location of the Peaks of Thok (sometimes spelled ‘Throk’) is somewhat obscure; in his early fantasy novel The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath Lovecraft locates these titanic mountains in the Underworld of his Dreamlands, however other sources and writers have identified Thok as one of the moons of Yuggoth.

Incidentally this particular verse was inspired by HPL’s childhood nightmares and previously the Night-Gaunts had appeared in Dream-Quest, one of his tales centring on his recurring hero Randolph Carter who in this work sets out to find a sunset city seen in his dreams…

…And the main adversary in that curious tome is the star of Sonnet XXI – Nyarlathotep. Also like its predecessor this verse is based on a nightmare Lovecraft had, which incidentally Lovecraft had previously attempted to turn this dream into a short story back in 1920. This vision of the apocalypse closes with the line “the idiot Chaos blew earth’s dust away” and the next verse details this entity, the daemon sultan Azathoth, who incidentally also appeared in Dream–Quest and the afore mentioned peaks of Thok are colloquially named ‘Azathoth’s Teeth’. As Mythos scholars will know, Nyarlathotep serves the Other Gods, of whom Azathoth is chief, and hence “the daemon” mentioned in XXII is indubitably the same entity, and I’d argue, is the same daemon we met earlier in V- Homecoming

The sonnet Azathoth states this being, bubbling in the centre of all infinity creates all worlds and dimensions in the cosmos, and appropriately the next two poems concern strange worlds in hidden dimensions. XXIII – Mirage concerns a lost realm “floating dimly on Time’s stream” and XXIV – The Canal features an evil place “somewhere, in dream”. Now this isn’t as much as a stretch as it first seems as in Lovecraft’s fiction dreams are often visits to other dimensions. With its tolling bells and uncertain placement in time and space, Mirage echoes both sonnets XIX and XVII. The world of The Canal appears to be a dark counter part of the realm detailed in XIII, but also recalls the grim dead cities of IX and X.

And in a similar shift between IX and X, the dark deserted streets of The Canal dissolve into “the mad lanes” “south of the river” where the great black spire of St Toad’s lurks in Sonnet XXV. As Lovecraft scholar Robert M. Price points out in his article on the mysterious St Toad, this sonnet possibly inspired one of the scenes in The Shadow Over Innsmouth where the protagonist Robert Olmstead stumbles across a not dissimilar church. Considering we have twice returned to this benighted town in the cycle, it is not difficult to believe that Innsmouth is the home to St Toad’s. Certainly it would appear we are back in our world, somewhere in Lovecraft’s haunted New England.

And both the geographical setting and the theme of blasphemous worship are continued in Sonnet XXVI – The Familiars. Another of the New England horrors, this verse tells the tale of an isolated farmer who becomes obsessed with hidden lore and after “he began those night howls” – presumably some form of ritual or worship – his neighbours who fear for his sanity discover him “talking to two crouching things that at their step flew off on great black wings” (note that possibly these beings could be the Night-Gaunts from XX). And this leads in neatly to XXVIII – The Elder Pharos, where another hermit, this time in Lovecraft’s mythical region Leng, talks “to chaos with the beat of drums”.

Incidentally Leng is frequently mentioned in Lovecraft’s fiction. However where exactly this mountain fastness is located is unclear – in some tales such as The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath it appears to be on the edges of Lovecraft’s dream world, but in others such as The Hound and The Call Of Cthulhu it would appear to be located somewhere in the Himalayas, an evil counterpart to other unmapped realms like Shambhala or Shangri-la. Seemingly like the Peaks of Thok in XX, Leng would appear to exist in both the waking world and the dimension of the Dreamlands.

However as well as communication with eldritch entities, The Elder Pharos also features a mysterious light that shines out from the fantastic vistas of Leng, whose origin many “in man’s first youth” have sought out but have never returned. And the next verse, XXVIII – Expectancy, echoes this theme of questing into mysteries that can never be unravelled. Again this is a contrasting pair – The Elder Pharos contains a sinister mystery that dooms all who seek to unravel it, whereas Expectancy is about rewarding yet never quite grasped transcendent hints some things inspire in us. Like Antarktos and The Window, this pair highlights the fact that awe and terror are two side of the same revelatory coin.

XXXIX – Nostalgia also addresses the questing theme, and in this case we have both a lost legendary location, echoing The Elder Pharos and the mysterious inner hints of Expectancy. Here the birds fly out looking for a city “in some land their inner memories know” but which is now vanished beneath the waves. And aside from continuing a theme, tonally this sonnet has the same air of what I would term ‘magical melancholy’ as the preceding verse.

And this feeling, evoking nostalgia is its truest sense, continues in the next sonnet which explores a similar bonding with landscape and architecture. However in XXX – Background the narrator of this verse has discovered the key to his own transcendent visions – the historic townscape of his youth. However not all such ancient buildings are offer such delightful reveries, as the next sonnet reveals.

XXXI – The Dweller is another micro tale, telling of an expedition to excavate some curious ruins that were “old when Babylon was new”. And rather than a treasure left “from times of cautious leaven”, these antediluvian ruins hold a frightening secret that has the archaeologists (a Miskatonic University party I’d wager) fleeing in terror. While providing a contrast to XXX, The Dweller also reintroduces the theme of strange revelations which is picked up in the next verse.

XXXII – Alienation deals with the price of gaining outré knowledge. Like Gulliver in Swift’s famous novel, the narrator here discovered that his mystic voyages have destroyed his connections to his family and his ordinary life - indeed the final two lines of this sonnet are an apt epigraph for the finale of Gulliver’s Travels. Incidentally the Ghooric Zone is a region located on Yuggoth’s moon, Thog which we heard about in X- The Pigeon-Flyers, and later Cthulhu Mythos tales have identified as the location of the “foul lake where the puffed shoggoths splash in doubtful sleep” in XX – Night-Gaunts. The “piping from the voids beyond” is a reference to XXII – evidently the dreamer in this verse unwittingly found his way to the centre of all infinity and beholding the blind nuclear madness of Azathoth “giving each frail cosmos it eternal law” has destroyed all perception of meaning in his life.

And the piping from the Daemon sultan’s court can be heard again in XXXIII – Harbour Whistles. Here combing notes form the ship’s whistles are “fused into one cosmic drone” that “echoes outer voids”. But also this naturally evolving sound recalls the transcendent hints contained in the “half-heard songs” of XXVIII and the occult keys to other realms the book itself contains.

And fittingly (if somewhat tenuously) XXXIV – Recapture appears to be almost a replay to the first vision from the book, IV- Recognition. As I remarked earlier, the imagery and setting is remarkably similar and the final lines would imply that the narrator has found himself once more in “that hollow of old oaks”. And if we interpret this sonnet as a return to that wooded altar on Yuggoth, then we could assume that this visit takes place before IV – note that the narrator claims he realises “what primal star and year” (my italics) has brought him back here. Combined with the title itself, Recapture, the implication appears to be that this is how the narrator ends up a “body spread on that dank stone”, an unclean feast for things that “were not men”.

And the cycle could have ended there, however two more sonnets remain. Throughout this series of verse, as we have seen Lovecraft has been alternately delivering poems that evoke terror and awe; for every dark benighted city where eldritch horrors dwell there is a fantastical place laden with beauty and inspiration. Hence XXXV is a bright reflection of Recapture – instead of the sinister dark woods and ruins, Evening Star has a rural meadow. And instead of some nameless fate in the hands of horrors from outside the stars, we have visions of the sunlit realms and magical landscapes evoked in earlier poems, such as the world beyond The Window, “the land where beauties meaning flowers” or The Gardens of Yin. And similar to its predecessor, this penultimate verse echoes an early vision from the book, V – Homecoming. However here we have the narrator himself experiencing the revelation rather than being informed by the mocking daemon, and reaching this inner knowledge provides an optimistic conclusion to all the other verses that detail well loved lands now lost and out of reach, and all curious vistas that have invoked dim impossible memories of previous visits.

The final sonnet, XXXVI, in the light of this article the somewhat ironically titled Continuity, is similarly conclusive; although exact nature of the secret hints, tantalising clues and hidden keys remain obscure here we find Lovecraft finding a balance and a purpose in these veiled signs. While other verses have been draped in melancholy and longing, Continuity sees the narrator finding that these mysterious impressions ultimately provide a connection to the cosmos, a sense of being part of “the fix’d mass whose sides the ages are”.

Perhaps very tellingly this verse strongly echoes Lovecraft’s own words on his writing which I shall quote again here –

“I’m simply casting about for better ways to crystallise and capture certain strong impressions (involving the elements of time, the unknown, cause and effect, fear, scenic and architectural beauty and other ill assorted things) which persist in clamouring for expression”

However Continuity gives us reasons why such impressions were so important to capture.

While some have brought madness and horror, others have revealed the wonders of the cosmos. And a handful are somewhat ambiguous - for example although his neighbours are horrified by what they discover John Whateley has summoned out of the nether world, is this rural occultist as terrified as them by his visitors? Similarly in The Window, the masons are horrified by the opening of the portal but the narrator is enraptured. And in The Bells, is the realisation that the phantom tolling is emanating from a sunken city beneath the waves a revelation of horror or wonder? If you are familiar with the goings-on in Innsmouth, then one may assume this is a dread realisation, but it is worth recalling how the end of The Shadow Over Innsmouth plays out…

As I hope I have demonstrated, once you strip away the artificial categories we use to classify his fiction, the arrangement of sonnets in Fungi From Yuggoth actually contains a lot more links and continuity than has been previously noticed. And while Lovecraft uses a variety of different methods to establish a subtle flow throughout the cycle, striving and yearning for revelation have been are the dominant recurrent themes.

And therefore sonnets such as XXIII Mirage and XXXIV Recapture are not as different as at first they may seem – they may be written in different modes, employing dissimilar imagery but both detail a transcendent experience. As a devotee of weird fiction, Lovecraft understood the pleasure one gains from reading a tale that evokes a frisson of fear, and that such states “cut the moment’s thongs” in a similar way that a beautiful landscape may induce reveries - both fear and awe may be keys to transcendence.

When before beginning this epic tour of the Fungi From Yuggoth we alluded to the fact that structurally the placement of the poems is telling. And now having seen how Lovecraft has distributed the various different kinds of verse, wee see that there is a definite progressive pursuit of themes through the cycle. Wonder and terror play off each other as we tumble through his universe; though some of those who seek to unravel the mysteries of the cosmos may well fall foul of the vast horrors that populate the myriad dimensions and worlds, others will discover marvels to behold.

Taken together these twin strands ultimately resolve into the conclusion of Continuity – indeed if one ventures too far one may be confronted with the final truth of all things, which in Lovecraft’s fictional universe is the dread horror that is Azathoth. However what distinguishes Lovecraft from the hordes of imitators and indeed many other horror writers, is the fact that the terror isn’t simply due to discovering there’s a monster behind everything. The real horror is that there is a ‘god’ that created our reality but he is mindless and indifferent, and humanity’s fortunes is left to whims of Nyarlathotep.

Reflecting Lovecraft’s own rational beliefs, his devotion to science leaving no room for a benevolent god, the nuclear chaos that is the daemon sultan Azathoth is a symbol of the horror of realising we are adrift in a godless universe and our lives are not only cosmically insignificant but totally meaningless.

However despite his rationality, Lovecraft also clearly felt the lure of spiritual – although he could not countenance a belief in a god, mythology, legend and arcane still called to him. And in literature, in history and in his dreams he found a spiritual transcendence of his own devising. It may have been more aesthetic than religious in nature but in his reading of Machen, Blackwood, Dunsany and Poe, and in his travels to visit antiquarian buildings and historical trips opened these personal inner doors.

The close of the cycle seems to suggest that Lovecraft is saying that it is the taste of the mysteries and not their resolutions that matter. When speaking of these intimations of infinitude in XXVIII – Expectancy he remarks that “none gains or guesses what it hints at giving”, and as the cycle shows pursuing these strange hints and impressions may bring one to confront the shattering truth of Azathoth. However in the final two sonnets, we have arrived at a balance; one may not ever be able to discover the origin of these mystical impressions that haunt us, the land of lost dreams may remain out of reach, but approached in the right manner that fact that they do move us may provide an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

The guiding laws that govern our world may the creation of Azathoth’s whims but we still may meaningfully connect with the cosmos – not all realms are wastelands of horror, there is the bright world of dreams and vision where beauty and wonder flower. They may not be any cosmic salvation in Lovecraft’s cosmology but there is personal redemption in that through poetry, fiction, music and beauty we may step outside of ourselves and see a wider world of wonders, if only fleetingly.

INK (2009)

What are dreams? And where do they come from? Such questions have always proved fertile ground for myth makers and story tellers down the ages and in the world of cinema, dreams have been have formed an integral part of many narratives, from the common device of the dream sequence to whole films built around the subject.

Considering that dreaming is one of the great mysteries of life, and one we all experience every night, it’s surprising that there aren’t more movies built around our nocturnal psychic excursions. But when one recalls the awful badly contrived weirdness for the sake of weirdness scenes that constitute the usual dream sequence (you know the kind of thing: hey look a dwarf and a penguin playing cricket in a room with a chess board floor ), or tired cliché of throwing in a shocking event that turns out to be just a dream, you begin to see the problems of exploring the realm of dreams on the screen.

But if a film maker actually bothers to try to get to capture the essence of real dreams; subtle strangeness and slight lapses in logical reality coupled with powerful emotional atmospheres rather than witless cod surrealism and a chance to use any old tat the props department has lying about, then
usually we get something very memorable, whether it’s an art house outing like Michel Gondry’s The Science of Sleep packed with low-fi stop motion reveries bristling with personal confusion, or something more populist like the original A Nightmare On Elm Street that accurate recreates dream dread on the silver screen.

And the latest properly equipped expedition into this mysterious territory, Jamim Winans’ Ink, is such a film. In lieu of any synopsis, here’s the first trailer…



Now I’m not going to go into any more detail about the plot, because I really feel the less you know about Ink before going in the better. And indeed as this is a somewhat under seen film at the time of writing, I’m going to hold off embarking on an in-depth discussion of the film until a lot more of you have had the chance to see it. And I heavily suspect you all are going to be hearing a lot more about Ink over the coming months…

You see, Ink is a low budget feature that the major distributors passed on and so was released the internet for download from all the usual places, rent it, or buy it on disc direct from Double Edge Films here. Of course it is widely available as a torrent which has resulted in the film finding an ever growing audience and sent rentals and sales through the roof. And believe me, should you see Ink for free – either legally on Hulu if you are in the US or *ahem* by ‘flying to America’ digitally, then there’s every chance you’ll be placing at order very soon after. Because Ink is a film you’ll want to see again, a film that repays repeated viewings, a film that you’ll want to own in the best possible quality. In short it’s a movie film that you’ll cherish having in your collection.

Because there really isn’t anything quite like Ink. Now I’m not making a ‘it re-invents the wheel’ Avatar style claim here, but it really is a unique piece of work. A good comparison would be Let The Right One In - that film is as close to Stand By Me as it is to Romero’s Martin but it nothing like a fusion of these two, and as a whole ends up defying all the usual categories and creates a piece of cinema that is stands alone.

WithInk there is a plethora of other works that may be wheeled out to give you some idea of what this film is like, but they are so diverse and numerous that any kind of accurate description rapidly becomes a nonsense. However that said, here goes… imagine the modern fables of Neil Gaiman blended with the dark weirdness of Doom Patrol era Grant Morrison, filtered through the imagination of Terry Gilliam, shot with the wild visual inventiveness of early Raimi, with lush cinematography via Tarsem Singh, mixed with the twisted fairy tale tones of City of Lost Children, the perception bending of The Matrix, the fresh imagination of Barker’s Hellraiser, encompassing the collision of reality, memories and dreams of Dennis Potter’s The Singing Detective, sprinkled with the magic of Labyrinth and the off-kilter personal journeys of Kaufman and Gondry…

Now I’m not saying any of these were direct inspirations, though undoubtedly some probably are, I merely offering this unwieldy description as a list of possible references points to encourage you to see it. The simple fact that in these days of rehashes and retreads Ink cannot be boiled down to a quick ‘like film X meets film Y’ formula is a testament to the powerful imagination of creator Jamim Winans.

It’s a stunning piece of work, packed with enough ideas and concepts to fuel at least ten Hollywood blockbusters. And they are beautifully executed within the film that is positively bursting with rich imagery, a gorgeous orchestra score, and a magical story that has real depth to it and works on many different levels. And what is really astonishing is the tiny budget it was created for.

Last year, we were all wowed by how Neil Blomkamp and Duncan Jones made budgets of only a few million look better than a lot of the hundred million plus summer movies. Now have a look at the Ink trailers (find ‘em here) and take a guess how much it cost…

Back? Ok then, ready for the answer - Ink was for $250,000 – that’s right, just a quarter of a million. And it’s not a case of all the most expensive money shots going into the trailers either. Simply astonishing – you really don’t expect to see such an ambitious and striking film for that kind of dosh.

Now I’ve probably rambled on enough for now – as my money is on this becoming the sleeper hit through internet buzz as Let The Right One In and Paranormal Activity I’m very wary of gushing on and on about the movie and creating an over-hype situation.

However, a quick word of warning - Ink is somewhat overwhelming to begin with and judging from the negative reviews on IMDB seems to lose some viewers with its seemingly disjointed nature and relentless imagery. But I assure you that everything does all come together - just go with the flow and all the pieces will start connecting. But if, for example, you hated the way Twelve Monkeys tells it’s tale or were bewildered by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, you’ll probably hate Ink too. This film does seem to polarise people – again looking at the IMDB write ups, most people seem to love it but a minority absolutely hate it. Now I know that kind of polarity is par for the course on IMDB but in this case it is very marked – either virtually full marks or nearly no stars at all.

And sadly, it seems the distributors were in the latter camp. Admittedly a film like Ink is unlikely to do mainstream blockbuster box office, but it is so well realised it surely deserved picking up for art house release if nothing else. Frankly it’s criminal that the mainstream Hollywood industry has so totally cold shouldered this movie.

If you are a lover of intelligent and creative cinema, you really need see Ink and judge for yourself. Grab yourself a copy and we’ll talk about it more later…