In the realm of the supernatural, Thomas Ligotti is the master of stylish, eerie writing of the highest quality. This new edition brings together his collected short stories with 'Teatro Grottesco', a sequence of new stories not published before. Contents: The Frolic (1982) Les Fleurs (1981) Alice's Last Adventure (1985) Dream of a Mannikin (1982) The Chymist (1981) Drink to Me O In the realm of the supernatural, Thomas Ligotti is the master of stylish, eerie writing of the highest quality. This new edition brings together his collected short stories with 'Teatro Grottesco', a sequence of new stories not published before. Contents: The Frolic (1982) Les Fleurs (1981) Alice's Last Adventure (1985) Dream of a Mannikin (1982) The Chymist (1981) Drink to Me Only with Labyrinthine Eyes (1982) Eye of the Lynx (1983) The Christmas Eves of Aunt Elise (1996) The Lost Art of Twilight (1986) The Troubles of Dr. Thoss (1985) Masquerade of a Dead Sword (1986) Dr. Veech (1983) Dr.
Books by Thomas Ligotti Fiction Songs of a Dead Dreamer Grimscribe: His Lives and Works Noctuary The Nightmare Factory My Work Is Not Yet Done.
- I Am Not Dying In A Nightmare Dreams and Psychosis in the Works of Thomas Ligotti by D.W. Behrend A dream. In The Nightmare Factory, Carroll & Graf, 1996, New.
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Locrian's Asylum (1987) The Sect of the Idiot (1988) The Greater Festival of Masks (1985) The Music of the Moon (1987) The Journal of J. Drapeau (1987) Vastarien (1987) The Last Feast of Harlequin (1990) The Spectacles in the Drawer (1987) Flowers of the Abyss (1991) Nethescurial (1991) The Dreaming in Nortown (1991) The Mystics of Muelenburg (1987) In the Shadow of Another World (1991) The Cocoons (1991) The Night School (1991) The Glamour (1991) The Library of Byzantium (1991) Miss Plarr (1991) The Shadow at the Bottom of the World (1990) The Medusa (1991) Conversations in a Dead Language (1989) The Prodigy of Dreams (1986) Mrs. Rinaldi's Angel (1991) The Tsalal (1994) Mad Night of Atonement (1989) The Strange Design of Master Rignolo (1989) The Voice in the Bones (1989) Teatro Grottesco (1996) Severini (1996) Gas Station Carnivals (1996) The Bungalow House (1995) The Clown Puppet (1996) The Red Tower (1996). Στα συν: +Γράψιμο: Έτσι θα έγραφε ο Λάβκραφτ –αν ήξερε πώς να το κάνει. Ο χειρισμός της γλώσσας στην πένα του είναι πραγματικά απαράμιλλος.
Από την πρώτη παράγραφο έχεις τη βεβαιότητα ότι όχι απλώς ξέρει τι κάνει, αλλά έχει απόλυτη επίγνωση ότι το κάνει τόσο μα τόσο διαφορετικά από όλους τους άλλους. Δεν μπορώ να φανταστώ έλλογο αναγνωστικό ον που να μην θαυμάσει την απόλυτη έλλειψη ασυνέχειας στις λέξεις και στις έννοιες στα κείμενά του. Γράψιμο χωρίς την παραμικρή ραφή. Βαθιά υπόκλιση.
+Ατμόσφα Στα συν: +Γράψιμο: Έτσι θα έγραφε ο Λάβκραφτ –αν ήξερε πώς να το κάνει. Ο χειρισμός της γλώσσας στην πένα του είναι πραγματικά απαράμιλλος. Από την πρώτη παράγραφο έχεις τη βεβαιότητα ότι όχι απλώς ξέρει τι κάνει, αλλά έχει απόλυτη επίγνωση ότι το κάνει τόσο μα τόσο διαφορετικά από όλους τους άλλους. Δεν μπορώ να φανταστώ έλλογο αναγνωστικό ον που να μην θαυμάσει την απόλυτη έλλειψη ασυνέχειας στις λέξεις και στις έννοιες στα κείμενά του. Γράψιμο χωρίς την παραμικρή ραφή. Βαθιά υπόκλιση. +Ατμόσφαιρα: Ευστοχία 100%.
Θέλει αυτό, πετυχαίνει αυτό. Θέλει το άλλο, απλώνει το συγγραφικό χέρι του μέσα στο κεφάλι σου και ρυθμίζει το μυαλό σου καταπώς γουστάρει. Η ατμόσφαιρα είναι το δίχως άλλο ένα από τα αποτελεσματικότερα όπλα του.
Πολλά μπράβο. +Όνειρα: Σχεδόν πάντα βαριέμαι και ξενερώνω όταν διαβάζω περιγραφές ονείρων σε βιβλία, και προσπαθώ να τα ξεπετάξω όσο πιο γρήγορα μπορώ ακόμα κι αν γνωρίζω ότι έχουν ουσιώδη σημασία για τη συνέχεια. Στον Ligotti όμως, συνάντησα μερικά από τα πιο εντυπωσιακά και ατμοσφαιρικά όνειρα που έχω διαβάσει ποτέ. Πολύ δυνατές εικόνες, μεγάλο βάθος, εξαιρετικά έντονο μετείκασμα. Πολλά ευχαριστώ. Στα πλην: -Αυτό το υπέροχο γράψιμο είναι πηχτό και αδιαπέραστο σαν τσιμέντο έτοιμο να στερεοποιηθεί. Δεν προχωράει με τίποτα.
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Διαβάζω δυο παραγράφους και πέφτω τέζα –δεν μπορώ να βγάλω πάνω από δύο δεκασέλιδα διηγήματα την ημέρα. Ή μάλλον η έλλειψή τους. Μου έλειψαν πολύ οι διάλογοι, Thomas, με έσκασες χωρίς αυτούς. Με έκανες να συνειδητοποιήσω τον ρόλο τους ως οξυγόνο της ανάγνωσης όμως, και σ’ ευχαριστώ γι’ αυτό. (Και στον Λάβκραφτ λείπουν οι διάλογοι, μέχρι να πέσεις πάνω σε έναν ακόμα πιο κακογραμμένο από τον προηγούμενο και να θυμηθείς 'ευτυχώς που είναι τόσο λίγοι'.) -Θεματολογία: Οι ιστορίες της συλλογής “Songs of a dead dreamer”, μου φάνηκαν όλες σχεδόν ίδιες! Αυτή η αίσθηση ότι η πραγματικότητα δεν είναι πραγματική και ότι αντιπροσωπεύει μια άλλη είναι διάχυτη σε τόσα πολλά διηγήματα που ήρθε και προστέθηκε πολύ άχαρα στο πρόβλημα της αδιαπέραστης (από μένα τουλάχιστον) γραφής. Η (προφανώς συνειδητή και εννοείται σεβαστή) συγγραφική επιλογή της μη ανάπτυξης χαρακτήρων σ’ εμένα είχε το αποτέλεσμα να βλέπω τον εκάστοτε πρωταγωνιστή / αφηγητή μόνο ως μια κινούμενη κάμερα που σκοπό είχε να μου δείξει (με μεγάλη επιτυχία) αυτές τις τόσο ατμοσφαιρικές εικόνες και να μου περάσει (χωρίς μεγάλη επιτυχία) αυτά τα πένθιμα και σκοτεινά συναισθήματα.
Η τρομομεζούρα του Ligotti σ’ εμένα ίσα που ξεκόλλησε από το μηδέν σε μια σκηνή ονείρου, κι αυτό ήταν όλο. Και σίγουρα φταίει γι’ αυτό και η μηδενική ανάπτυξη χαρακτήρων που καθιστά την ταύτισή μου μαζί τους πρακτικά αδύνατη. Αποτέλεσμα: Εγκατέλειψα το βιβλίο, έχοντας διαβάσει περίπου το μισό και έχοντας δώσει στον Ligotti μεγαλύτερο περιθώριο απ’ ό,τι σε άλλους συγγραφείς που τους παρατάω στο ένα τρίτο ή και νωρίτερα.
Μπορώ να κατανοήσω απόλυτα όσους πίνουν νερό στ’ όνομά του, πολύ πιο δύσκολα όσους λένε ότι τρομάζουν με τις ιστορίες του, αλλά ο συγγραφέας αυτός δεν είναι σε καμία περίπτωση για τον συγκεκριμένο αναγνώστη. Πενθώ γι’ αυτό. I honestly don't even know where to begin in writing a review of Nightmare Factory. And I'm absolutely certain I can't be objective. I accidentally discovered this book - and, by extension, Mr. Ligotti - during an early morning at work last week.
Reading only the Washington Post's blurb at the bottom of the front cover ('The most startling and unexpected literary discovery since Clive Barker'), I set it aside and made up my mind to peruse it later. Little did I know then that I'd be ending my I honestly don't even know where to begin in writing a review of Nightmare Factory. And I'm absolutely certain I can't be objective.
I accidentally discovered this book - and, by extension, Mr. Ligotti - during an early morning at work last week. Reading only the Washington Post's blurb at the bottom of the front cover ('The most startling and unexpected literary discovery since Clive Barker'), I set it aside and made up my mind to peruse it later. Little did I know then that I'd be ending my day with a new favorite author. Thomas Ligotti has a way with words the likes of which I've never encountered. Each of the short stories in this collection (and many of them are indeed very short) is a grand and macabre production, opening with a dim spotlight fading in over an abstract stage.
And ending with a sudden downward flip of the houselights. He writes in riddles, philosophies and brush strokes. His work is insightful, poetic and completely out of its mind. He makes no sense and yet makes all the sense in the world. At once, he terrified, elated, amused and destroyed me. Some of my favorite stories from this particular book are Alice's Last Adventure, Drink to Me Only with Labyrinthine Eyes, Masquerade of a Dead Sword, Conversations in a Dead Language and the Prodigy of Dreams. His introduction ('The Consolations of Horror') is also incredible.
Even the foreward, written by Poppy Z. Brite, is an excellent read. All in all, Nightmare Factory is an exquisite example of the art and emotional depth so often deemed dormant in the horror genre. I daresay Ligotti gives Clive Barker a run for his money. I haven't read very much horror since going through a phase of reading everything Stephen King, Dean R. Koontz and James Herbert wrote as a kid. I dipped into it, reading Edgar Allan Poe, House of Leaves and Lost Souls by Poppy Z Brite, but I didn't really look into Horror to try and find the serious writing as I have with crime writing, science fiction and fantasy.
Whilst you often hear the likes of Georges Simenon, WIlliam Gibson or China Mieville being praised as writers worthy of bei Superb. I haven't read very much horror since going through a phase of reading everything Stephen King, Dean R.
Koontz and James Herbert wrote as a kid. I dipped into it, reading Edgar Allan Poe, House of Leaves and Lost Souls by Poppy Z Brite, but I didn't really look into Horror to try and find the serious writing as I have with crime writing, science fiction and fantasy. Whilst you often hear the likes of Georges Simenon, WIlliam Gibson or China Mieville being praised as writers worthy of being discovered by people who don't usually read genre writing, horror didn't seem to have any writers that prompted the same critical enthusiasm.
Ligotti is that writer. I have read some interviews with him and some appreciations of his work and he a unique and fascinating writer. He is compared to Edgar Allan Poe and HP Lovecraft by many, but he is also deeply influenced by writers such as Kafka, Borges, Nabokov and Bruno Schultz, as well as thinkers like Schopenhauer and EM Cioran. You can detect these influences in his work, but his style is absolutely unique.
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It's a shame his work is almost impossible to get ahold of without paying outrageous amounts of money through Amazon, but Jeff Vandermeer said in a recent blog that he's working on an introduction to a Penguin Classics edition of Thomas Ligotti's work, news of which gives you an idea of how good he his. Ligotti has, like his prose, slowly but without failure snuck up on me and resigned me to the basic truth that I'm probably never going to discover another writer who can make me feel such universal dread, but yet love it all. He's firmly made himself the main attraction of my reading schedule, and it's a shame that I'll have to re-read him to do that rather than expect new books, which he doesn't seem too intent on writing. Regardless, reading a story of his again always suggests something that Ligotti has, like his prose, slowly but without failure snuck up on me and resigned me to the basic truth that I'm probably never going to discover another writer who can make me feel such universal dread, but yet love it all. He's firmly made himself the main attraction of my reading schedule, and it's a shame that I'll have to re-read him to do that rather than expect new books, which he doesn't seem too intent on writing. Regardless, reading a story of his again always suggests something that didn't strike you on original reading.
No reader can claim to love every morsel of output of their given favourite author, and it's no different for me with Ligotti, but a vast portion of his work, even the pieces that are and will most likely remain a puzzle to me, still amaze me to the point of madness. There's a lyricism to his writing that I haven't loved since reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, although I make no suggestion that there's similarities. You really need Ligotti's situations and ideas to be 'your thing' to really appreciate his work, even if some of it leaves you confused. Stories with mannequins, innumerable shadows, unnamed towns, masks. These can be obscure things at times, but I love it all. As a general rule I try to only write reviews for indy authors because regular authors will always have lots and lots of people leaving comments.
I had to make an exception in this case (not the first time I've done so). I'm all about atmosphere. I want description to gently prod me to the edge, then, imagination full, I topple headfirst into the nightmare or fantasy, or whatever suits the genre. In the fashion of Lovecraft, who was a master of punishing readers with their own imagination (in a As a general rule I try to only write reviews for indy authors because regular authors will always have lots and lots of people leaving comments.
I had to make an exception in this case (not the first time I've done so). I'm all about atmosphere. I want description to gently prod me to the edge, then, imagination full, I topple headfirst into the nightmare or fantasy, or whatever suits the genre.
In the fashion of Lovecraft, who was a master of punishing readers with their own imagination (in a good way) Ligotti takes us on a chilling, rapid page turning thrill ride. Ligotti is just a freakin' genius-level writer of creepiness and weirdtasticalism. I do not recommend brewing up a big ol' pot of coffee and immersing yourself in this tome, as you may come out the other side all twisted and crumpled (and that just from the coffee!), or, and more likely, you will not come out at all.
Or at least who/what you went in as won't be what slinks out of the post-Ligotti darkness. I read this front-to-back because i am OCD and i don't know how to just stop a story Ligotti is just a freakin' genius-level writer of creepiness and weirdtasticalism. I do not recommend brewing up a big ol' pot of coffee and immersing yourself in this tome, as you may come out the other side all twisted and crumpled (and that just from the coffee!), or, and more likely, you will not come out at all.
Or at least who/what you went in as won't be what slinks out of the post-Ligotti darkness. I read this front-to-back because i am OCD and i don't know how to just stop a story collection and go back to it later. I like total immersion. This is a huge collection of pieces from Thomas Ligotti's previous collections of short stories: Songs of a Dead Dreamer, Grimscribe, Noctuary and Teatro Grottesco. Songs of a Dead Dreamer provides the bulk of the stories - 18 Ligotti stories!
As always with Ligotti, some are more obtuse than others. It is interesting to see Ligotti develop as a writer even within the Songs stories as his fiction evolves from the relatively simplistic horror stories of The Frolic and Les Fleurs to much more soph This is a huge collection of pieces from Thomas Ligotti's previous collections of short stories: Songs of a Dead Dreamer, Grimscribe, Noctuary and Teatro Grottesco. Songs of a Dead Dreamer provides the bulk of the stories - 18 Ligotti stories! As always with Ligotti, some are more obtuse than others. It is interesting to see Ligotti develop as a writer even within the Songs stories as his fiction evolves from the relatively simplistic horror stories of The Frolic and Les Fleurs to much more sophisticated fayre in The Greater Festival of Masks. Ligotti's style settles in the 13 stories featured from Grimscribe.
The Last Feast of Harlequin is his most Lovecraftian story and also one of his more accessible - contrast that with the much more obscure works like The Night School and The Shadow at the Bottom of the World (Ligotti's own favourite story) which require careful reading to even partially understand. Noctuary is a mixed bag, though it contains my favourite (Mrs Rinaldi's Angel) and least favourite (The Medusa) of the entire collection. Finally, there is Teatro Grottesco which features Ligotti at his most mature and capable as a writer. The final story - The Red Tower - perfectly captures Ligotti's peculiar brand of nihilistic horror and is a fitting finale to the collection. The stories chosen are chosen well.
The Nightmare Factory is a great book to see some of Ligotti's various different styles he used over the years. If you could only buy one Ligotti collection, The Nightmare Factory is probably the best one and certainly the most comprehensive. This is the most refined, rampant brain sickness I've ever come across, and it was disguised as a book. Words can't describe the impact of these stories.
If you are a fan of Lovecraft, you must read this author. Just keep in mind Ligotti's prose is even more nightmarish, vague and unsettling. It reminded me of an exhausted, fevered man, slowly drowning in quicksand made of leprous, rotting matter, struggling and screaming in vain. The landscape is desolate, swampy, forsaken. Every life born ther This is the most refined, rampant brain sickness I've ever come across, and it was disguised as a book. Words can't describe the impact of these stories. If you are a fan of Lovecraft, you must read this author.
Thomas Ligotti
Just keep in mind Ligotti's prose is even more nightmarish, vague and unsettling. It reminded me of an exhausted, fevered man, slowly drowning in quicksand made of leprous, rotting matter, struggling and screaming in vain. The landscape is desolate, swampy, forsaken. Every life born there is born flawed and sick, and serves only involution and degeneration. Each lungful of squirming dirt that man inhales takes root in him, killing him and claiming him, bringing ecstatic visions of death and the other side of Creation. It's the side that serves only the blind, ever-changing void of reason, the Darkness that birthed everything and humans masked it as a benevolent God to retain their sanity. Ligotti sees behind that mask, and brings back gifts meant only for the brave, and those ready to embrace that same void inside them.
Please DON'T read this book if you aren't a hardcore fan of Lovecraft ready to be taken several steps further into madness and decay. Here be dragons. End of transmission. Off to eat cake and hopefully restore a portion of my brain to a semblance of function.
Thomas Ligotti is a very talented but really frustrating writer. His concepts are way more developed than most horror writers. Also his writing is dense and difficult in a genre where most are content to write in a eazy to read schticky way, so in these ways he's refreshing. But more often than being refreshed, I was frustrated by his lack of followthrough. Much like Lovecraft, whom he clearly admires, his stories have strong beginnings and interesting ideas but when rarely any interesting endin Thomas Ligotti is a very talented but really frustrating writer. His concepts are way more developed than most horror writers.
Also his writing is dense and difficult in a genre where most are content to write in a eazy to read schticky way, so in these ways he's refreshing. But more often than being refreshed, I was frustrated by his lack of followthrough. Much like Lovecraft, whom he clearly admires, his stories have strong beginnings and interesting ideas but when rarely any interesting endings or answers for the reader. Which can be fine to a certain point, see the work of Robert Aickman, but while in Aickman's writing is often myterious and disturbing, it is always clear that at least Aickman has some kind of meaning beneath his confusing front. Many of the stories here have really great beginnings and concepts, I just wish they had led somewhere interesting. 'The last feast of the harlequinn' starts off with many intriguing ideas but then turns into the pulpiest horror conventions imaginable: a shrieking blond on an altar being menaced by monsters.
In fact, despite Ligotti's intellectual front, a great deal of the stories here are really just old school horror misogyny dressed up in yesterday's literary affectations. Anyway, I wish this was better. Thomas Ligotti is a contemporary American horror author and reclusive literary cult figure. His writings, while unique in style, have been noted as major continuations of several literary genres—most prominently Lovecraftian horror—and have overall been described as works of 'philosophical horror', often written as philosophical novels with a 'darker' undertone which is similar to gothic fiction.
Thomas Ligotti is a contemporary American horror author and reclusive literary cult figure. His writings, while unique in style, have been noted as major continuations of several literary genres—most prominently Lovecraftian horror—and have overall been described as works of 'philosophical horror', often written as philosophical novels with a 'darker' undertone which is similar to gothic fiction.
The Washington Post called him 'the best kept secret in contemporary horror fiction'; another critic declared 'It's a skilled writer indeed who can suggest a horror so shocking that one is grateful it was kept offstage.' “This, then, is the ultimate, that is only, consolation: simply that someone shares some of your own feelings and has made of these a work of art which you have the insight, sensitivity, and — like it or not — peculiar set of experiences to appreciate.
Amazing thing to say, the consolation of horror in art is that it actually intensifies our panic, loudens it on the sounding-board of our horror-hollowed hearts, turns terror up full blast, all the while reaching for that perfect and deafening amplitude at which we may dance to the bizarre music of our own misery.” —. “I know in a way I never knew before that there is nowhere for me to go, nothing for me to do, and no one for me to know.
The voice in my head keeps reciting these old principles of mine. The voice is his voice, and the voice is also my voice. And there are other voices, voices I have never heard before, voices that seem to be either dead or dying in a great moonlit darkness.
More than ever, some sort of new arrangement seems in order, some dramatic and unknown arrangement - anything to find release from this heartbreaking sadness I suffer every minute of the day (and night), this killing sadness that feels as if it will never leave me no matter where I go or what I do or whom I may ever know.” —.
But they were only open to God. Petra came to when the ambulance stopped on East 127th Street and Park Avenue. Alida flung herself again on her mother and wouldn't let go. I had to drag Alida away.
Petra was too broken to protest. I gave the ambulance driver a dollar and then took Alida up to Mrs. Romanita Morales' three-room cold-water flat where Alida would eat rice and beans until Bellevue made its decision about Petra. I felt drenched from the ambulance ride. I left Alida with Mrs. Morales and told her that Petra would probably be out of the hospital in a few days.
I didn't sleep for a week, even with his pills. ' 'My doctor arranged for it. ' 'Go,' I told Zeussa. 'The worst it can do is cost you money.
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' The telephone rang and Zeussa went to answer it as though I no longer existed. I got into the elevator with Mrs. She was ninety two years old and she still lived alone in a furnished room. She did her own shopping and cooking and her only con venience in life was the fact that she had a toilet in her room. Her face was deeply wrinkled but she stood straight and walked like a person who had not yet been crippled. She couldn't lie down with the past. The murdered father slept with her, she told me, the other fathers, all five, Jesus Christ love me, she said, why didn't I have one father, the baby drives me crazy, all day she's in the room, all day she wants to play, go out on the street, what can I do with her, the noises on the street drive me crazy.
I sent Petra to St. Luke's Hospital to discuss her disturbed sleep and she showed me two boxes of pills they had given her.
She couldn't stand the little girl in the room.