H.P. Lovecraft: Fear of a Black Language
I enjoy talking to you. Your mind appeals to me. It resembles my own mind except that you happen to be insane.
- George Orwell, 1984
One of the many remarkable, and troubling, aspects of the writings of HP Lovecraft is his tendency to follow words such as “nameless,” “indescribable,” or “singular” with a flood of some of the most sesquipedalian prose this side of Proust. The horrors of which he gives an account were, it would seem, ultimately impossible to describe with the (admittedly extensive) vocabulary Lovecraft possessed, though this did not discourage him from trying. But, if we believe Wittgenstein’s proposition, “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent,”1 then we must describe the world in words. How does this affect the way in which we create or run games dealing with horror, especially, but not limited to, cosmic horror? What sort of language is available and useful to us when describing the creatures and events in these games? It is the purpose of this essay to explore the options.
If we are not constrained by the same Victorian lexicon...as Lovecraft, we might find more potent and effective means to convey the terror and instability of cosmic horror.
That “mankind[’s]… oldest and strongest…fear is fear of the unknown”2 is debatable3, but it was certainly Lovecraft’s greatest fear. His demonstrable racism, an attitude rooted in ignorance, stemmed from this fear. The question of Lovecraft’s racism seems to have been all but answered, but the particular style of his prejudice is worth considering for the present purpose, since Lovecraft’s antiquated vocabulary was a function of his biases. What this means is that we, as game masters presumably not hobbled by the same predispositions as Lovecraft, have a broader set of descriptors at our disposal which we might employ in our games. That is, if we are not constrained by the same Victorian lexicon (and worldview) as Lovecraft, we might find more potent and effective means to convey the terror and instability of cosmic horror.
It is not the purpose of this essay to re-litigate Lovecraft’s racism, nor to delve
much more into its roots than is required. These topics have been covered more in-depth by many others. It will instead be confined to how his attitudes affected his writing, and what stylistic departures we might make as game masters to elicit the sense of cosmic horror he wrote about, but for a more modern audience.
In a cosmos without absolute values…there is only one anchor of fixity…and that anchor is tradition.4
Lovecraft’s racism was grounded in classism and anti-modernism. His fear of the foreign and the new produced a longing for an idealized past,5 and this is reflected in his vocabulary. In fact, among the most used words in his writings, according to The Arkham Archivist,6 are Antiqu(e/arian) , 128 instances; Immemorial, 25; and Antediluvian, 10. These are all, basically, old words for “old.” Also of note are words such as Blasphem(y/ous), 92; Cyclopean, 47; and Foetid, 22. These rarely used words of Greek and Latin origin smack of ecclesiastical and classical scholars (then and now) who co-opted the vibrant culture of the Ancient Mediterranean and transformed it into a subject dominated largely by white Northern Europeans.7 Lovecraft’s chauvinism is borne out in his word choices. Though his prose is grandiloquent, it is also circumscribed by his determined affection for a specific time, place, and world order.
Though this vocabulary can help root us in the age of Gothic horror and the birth of the grotesque, it is far from the only way, nor maybe even the most pertinent way, to represent horror to modern gamers and readers. Numerous 20th- and 21st-century authors and artists have approached horror, real and feigned, with a new frame of reference and a new set of tools for representing the monstrous, the unspeakable, and the “nameless.” This new toolset may aid GMs in more effectively creating a cosmic horror for our century.
As we have seen, the words we use when describing horror can have an impact beyond their dictionary definitions. In addition, how we use those words can enhance the effect. Let us then examine some of the different styles, and devices used by authors to frighten, disorient, or disturb the reader, then assess the utility of other art forms in enhancing these impressions. Further, let us not limit our scope to the genre typically termed horror,8 but any art form that invokes a horrific mood.
Our attempt, as game masters, to instill a sense of cosmic horror starts with the use of words and images that are disorienting, counter-intuitive, absurd, surreal, or contradictory. Lovecraft himself may have done this most effectively in The Color out of Space, in which he ascribes malevolence to the titular tint, a thing which "only by analogy [is] called…a color at all." Poet Henry Dumas takes this notion further in his poem Rite (see appendix A), in which personified colors seem to be part of an incantation, spoken with ritualistic rhythm.
Poetic language enables us, as writers or GMs, to add meaning beyond the words themselves. For the purpose of horror, poetry may serve to disconcert or confuse the listener. Poetic language allows for repetition, musicality, and structures that can convey mood. These tools might be used by a GM to instill a sense of ritual, of foreboding inevitability, or of something going on beyond the listener’s ability to comprehend immediately. In addition, most modern poetry, freed from the constraints of meter, allows one to organize words in the most dramatic or meaningful way.
An excellent example of this is Zong!, a 182 page poetry cycle composed entirely from the words of the case report, Gregson vs. Gilbert, related to the murder of Africans on board a slave ship at the end of the eighteenth century, conveying their “disorientation, confusion, and frustration.”9 Similarly, GMs
Codex, 2019. © Shinique Smith
may choose to present their material in a way that obfuscates, subverts, or otherwise alters it. Conversations may be overheard through a door, exposition may be placed in the mouth of a possessed NPC, or descriptions may be given in the form of allegory. In any case, there are myriad examples upon which we might draw for inspiration in lending a horrific mood to the words on the page of an adventure.
Another literary device that seems appropriate to cosmic horror is irony, since its goal is often to confound expectation. Let us focus on two styles of irony and how they could be effective in our games, starting with dramatic irony.
Dramatic irony occurs when a reader or viewer knows something that a character does not, for instance in Romeo and Juliet, when each of the title characters commits suicide, thinking that the other is dead. This sense of dread can be rare and difficult to achieve in an RPG since the characters are agents of the audience, i.e., the players.10 However, it is possible to elicit Hitchcock-style suspense if the player characters are not in a position to affect an impending calamity for some reason. For instance, paralyzed characters in D&D may be forced to watch a beloved NPC, or a even a member of their adventuring party, endure torture or death, unable to alter the situation. Or they may be keepers of a secret which could save someone’s life, but which would cause catastrophic results if divulged too soon.
Complementary to this device is situational irony, in which results of an action are contrary to its intention. This could be as simple as a satyr interpreting a wish literally, à la King Midas. But situational irony can be used in in our games in a more effective and rewarding way, with a little work and planning from a game master.
Suppose two members of an adventuring group are imprisoned. Assuming that they cannot communicate with their compatriots on the outside (and that none of the players meta-game), it is possible that the imprisoned characters plot and achieve an escape, becoming fugitives from the law, while the rest of the party simultaneously infiltrates the prison, attempting to break them out, and incurs the wrath of the prison guard. The suspense would not, in this
example, rely solely on the timing of each group’s actions, but would rest in all of the decisions made beforehand, since players would be aware of the possible snafu, but would feel compelled to act anyhow. The dread rests not just in uncertainty, but in the possibility that the “best” course of action could have the “worst” results. This type of precariousness is germane to cosmic horror.
Having examined just a few of the ways in which literary forms and devices, old and new, can supersede the vocabulary we use in our horror games, let us take a brief look at some ways in which the non-narrative arts, namely, visual art and music, can enhance our experience in these games.
Since this essay is no more a survey of modern art than it is a treatise on modern literature, let us focus on two movements in the visual arts that seem akin to cosmic horror and the weird: surrealism and abstract art. Surrealism deals with “the uncanny, the disregarded and the unconventional,”11 while abstract art “uses forms…which have no source at all in an external visual reality.”12 Both of these seem fitting ways to represent nameless horrors, to grant some understanding of a world that is senseless, uncaring, and at times, terrifying.
Practically speaking, a game master could use surreal or abstract imagery to depict a monstrosity of any sort, a vision, a dream, or even a concept such as The Color out of Space. With some buy-in from players, these works could even represent an inscrutable clue or a cryptic map whose significance is never fully grasped. Whether by juxtaposing incongruous images or forcing the viewer’s brain toward absurdity or non sequitur, Surrealist art (despite its stated claim of automatism)13 seems to affect the viewer much the way that cosmic horror does, by disconcerting the viewer. On the other hand, abstract art reduces images into forms both simple and insignificant on their own, again echoing the effects of cosmic horror. There seems to be a reason that many current Lovecraft illustrators have an affinity for these art styles.
And finally, if a game master wants to add sound to the gaming experience while avoiding the common tropes found in many horror films, there is a vast array of modern music which is devoid of familiar tones and tempos, from Schoenberg to Stockhausen. An excellent example of atonal and arrhythmic
Exculpatory Evidence, 2019. © James Little
music being used to great effect is György Ligeti’s Atmospheres, which is featured in the film 2001: A Space Odyssey as astronaut Dave Bowman encounters the stargate. The piece is detached from traditional musical structure and themes, instead relying on subtle changes to tone color and gradual crescendos and decrescendos, forming an aural tapestry that matches the unsettling imagery on screen. In fact, this extended scene, which proceeds from non-representational vistas to surrealist imagery over Ligeti’s score, is likely the finest representation of cosmic horror ever set to film. And just as in the textual and visual techniques described above, the efficacy of the music relies on presenting an audience with a familiar medium presented in an unfamiliar, unexpected, or surprising way.
The purpose of this essay is not to discourage completely the use of Lovecraft’s language in our games. It could certainly be fitting in an adventure set in the 19th century, or among well-to-do Londoners of the 1920s. But if an adventure is set in modern times (as is Sandy Petersen’s wont)14, or during the Harlem Renaissance, or in some indeterminate future, why wouldn’t we utilize all of the tools to which the 20th and 21st centuries have availed us as well? One could argue that much of the art and literature of the last hundred years has sprung from the need of artists and authors to find new expressions for describing and coping with the dread, the precariousness, and the otherness of human experience. These topics have become more prevalent since Lovecraft’s time, though he was certainly a trailblazer of their exploration in literature. These modes of expression were developed as a reaction, in part, to the othering of which Lovecraft and those of his ilk were guilty, but also to the inscrutability and alienation of life in the modern world, a notion with which Lovecraft himself grappled. The notable difference in method is that rather than seeking refuge in anti-modernism, as Lovecraft did, many authors of the last 100 years have chosen the path of post-modernism, or at least to have incorporated newer modes of communication into their arsenal.
As GMs, we have many of the same tools available to us. Rather than relying solely on tropes which are (deservedly) common and popularly understood in order to instill dread and horror into our games, why wouldn’t we also utilize techniques which were designed for the task by artists who had themselves, typically for different reasons than Lovecraft, experienced helplessness, alienation, and disorientation? The results could be horrifying.
Appendix A
Rite
By Henry Dumas
Vodu green clinching his waist,
obi purple ringing his neck,
Shango, God of the spirits,
whispering in his ear,
thunderlight stabbing the island
of blood rising from his skull.
Mojo bone in his fist
strikes the sun from his eye.
Iron claw makes his wrist.
He recalls the rites of strength
carved upon his chest.
Black flame, like tongues of glass,
ripples beneath a river of sweat.
Strike the island!
Strike the sun!
Strike the eye of evil!
Strike the guilty one!
No power can stay the mojo
when the obi is purple
and the vodu is green
and Shango is whispering,
Bathe me in blood.
I am not clean.
Wittgenstein, Ludwig, et al. Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus: German and English (International Library of Psychology, Philosophy, & Scientific Method). 1st ed., Routledge, 1981.
Lovecraft, Howard Phillips, and Everett Bleiler. Supernatural Horror in Literature. Dover Publications, Inc., 1973.
For instance, people’s fear of demystification is evidenced by widespread belief in the supernatural, the miraculous, and the conspiratorial, coupled with a distrust in the scientific process and a general lack of epistemic rigor. This fear seems more widespread and relevant, if not more profound, than our fear of the unknown, despite what Lovecraft claims “few psychologists…dispute.”
Selected Letters I: 1911–1924 by H. P. Lovecraft (1965–06-03). Arkham House, 1965.
Eil, Philip. “The Fantasy Author H.P. Lovecraft at 125: Genius, Cult Icon, Racist.” The Atlantic, 20 Aug. 2015, www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2015/08/hp-lovecraft-125/401471, et al.
https://arkhamarchivist.com/wordcount-lovecraft-favorite-words/
Poser, Rachel. “He Wants to Save Classics From Whiteness. Can the Field Survive?” The New York Times, 25 Apr. 2021, www.nytimes.com/2021/02/02/magazine/classics-greece-rome-whiteness.html.
Jensen, Kelly. “Mood Is The Most Underrated Literary Device — And The Most Valuable.” BOOK RIOT, 30 Nov. 2020, bookriot.com/mood-literary-device.
Windham, Savannah. “M. NourbeSe Philip’s Zong!” The Black Atlantic, 18 Feb. 2014, sites.duke.edu/blackatlantic/2014/02/11/m-nourbese-philips-zong-and-why-we-should-read-it.
Modern Mythos, Ep. 8 - Favorite Horror Media, https://youtu.be/5Cmt2FkrfNM?t=3110
https://www.tate.org.uk/art/art-terms/s/surrealism
https://www.tate.org.uk/art/art-terms/a/abstract-art
Breton, Andre, et al. Manifestoes of Surrealism (Ann Arbor Paperbacks). University of Michigan Press, 1969.
https://petersengames.com/why-doesnt-sandy-play-call-of-cthulhu-in-the-1920s-setting/
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Eco's Chamber
