Friendship and The Chair Company

Friendship, with Tim Robinson, was great fun; if you enjoy the over-the-top characters and situations in his sketch comedy, you’ll find plenty of laughs in this tale of a misfit who can’t seem to act normally. The movie reminded me of The Cable Guy, the equally hilarious story of a man who wants so badly to be friends with a customer that he stalks him, committing crimes in the hopes of forging a connection.

This story was a bit more dramatic than that, as Robinson’s character, Craig, desperately craves the approval of his new neighbor, Austin (Paul Rudd), an incredibly cool dude and local weatherman who at first takes an interest in Craig, before finding out how unhinged he is. When Craig acts like a lunatic at Austin’s party, Austin politely suggests they go their separate ways. But Craig, who has no other friends, and seemingly no other hobbies aside from buying clothes and obsessing over them, feels totally betrayed by this rejection. He has bought a drum kit, lost his phone, and started acting like the carefree spirit he believes Austin to be, and won’t let this bromance die without a fight.

What follows is the relentless destruction of Craig’s life—he loses everything—his wife, his job, and what little dignity he once possessed, as he pursues his lost friend, only to find that Austin isn’t who he seems. At one point, in total despair, he screams at Austin “You all accepted me way too fast! You can’t do that! You made me feel too free! People need rules!”

These lines, delivered with Robinson’s trademark, bug-eyed wildness, had me dying with laughter and encapsulated this poor man’s dilemma. He’s an awkward psychopath who holds a good job, with nice clothes, a nice house and family, but he is emotionally stunted, living through his phone, spending his days wishing he could fit in and be a normal guy, something he enviously watches his colleagues and coworkers do with seemingly effortless ease. For work he creates an addictive app, when not making up ad campaigns for local politicians. His wife, who has recently beaten cancer, cannot stand him, nor can his teenage son.

If there was a flaw in the movie, I thought it was in this home life. It seemed beyond belief that Craig would have married so highly above himself and had such a good job. But then again, most sitcoms have this same exact setup: an oaf with a beautiful wife and family who barely tolerate him. And there are lots of weirdos walking among us, doing all sorts of crazy things under the veneer of normality. I really enjoyed this movie, even if I am more partial to Robinson’s more light spirited anarchic stuff.

Speaking of which, I found the first episodes of his new HBO show, The Chair Company, to be totally hilarious and loved everything about it. In this one, Robinson again plays a suffering everyman, this time seeking justice against an office furniture business after enduring a hysterically funny mishap in front of his entire workplace. Robinson is so good at these kinds of characters, barely holding his life together, trying to keep a lid on a brimming rage that bursts out over and over, through minor and major inconveniences. After his fall, he is determined to root out the villains who have embarrassed him, no matter the cost. The first two episodes moved him down this dark path in a painfully funny manner, and I can’t wait to see just how outrageous it gets over the course of the story.

Halloween Reading List

Starting Octber 1, I wrote short reviews and thoughts about 31 different Gothic tales that I have enjoyed through the years. I did this in no particular order, choosing a new one every day from my bookshelf. My reading is skewed heavily toward things published decades ago; the most recent one here is Roger Zelazny’s A Night in the Lonesome October, from 1993, with the oldest being Anne’s Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho from 1794. Thirteen of these were written before 1900. The breakdown, when I looked at it, went like this:

1700s: 1 1800s: 12 (1890s: 5, 1810s, 2, 1830s, 2 1840s 1 1860s 2) 1930s: 1 1940s: 1 1950s: 4

1960s: 2 1970s: 4 1980s: 5 1990s: 1

The entire list, with links, is below, for anyone interested. My reading habits in general skew this way, as well. For whatever reason I am not usually in the habit of reading contemporary things or bestsellers, with some exceptions, which you can see on the list. I recall many years ago a creative writing professor damning me with faint praise by saying my writing style was ‘old fashioned,’ which I took as a badge of honor.

This was a fun project, and I may do a more limited one of holiday tales in December.

  1. The October Country by Ray Bradbury, 1955
  2. Young Goodman Brown by Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1835
  3. The Sketch-book of Geoffrey Crayon by Washington Irving, 1819
  4. A Night in the Lonesome October by Roger Zelazny, 1993
  5. The Case Against Satan by Ray Russell, 1962
  6. The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty, 1971
  7. The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, 1959
  8. Fevre Dream by George RR Martin, 1982
  9. The Body by Stephen King, 1982
  10. I Am Legend by Richard Matheson, 1954
  11. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, 1818
  12. The Turn of the Screw by Henry James, 1898
  13. The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, 1892
  14. A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O’Connor, 1953
  15. Interview With the Vampire by Anne Rice, 1976
  16. In Dark New England Days by Sarah Orne Jewett, 1890
  17. Ma’ame Pelagie by Kate Chopin, 1894
  18. The Moonstone Mass by Harriet Prescott Spofford, 1868
  19. The Phantom Coach by Amelia Edwards, 1864
  20. The Refugee by Jane Rice, 1943
  21. Ghost Story by Peter Straub, 1979
  22. Mort by Terry Pratchett, 1987
  23. The Halloween Tree by Ray Bradbury, 1972
  24. Something Wicked This Way Comes, by Ray Bradbury, 1962
  25. The Witches of Eastwick by John Updike, 1984
  26. The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe, 1839
  27. The Cask of Amontillado by Poe, 1846
  28. Dracula by Bram Stoker, 1897
  29. The Mysteries of Udolpho by Anne Radcliffe, 1794
  30. The Stress of Her Regard by Tim Powers, 1989
  31. At the Mountains of Madness by H.P. Lovecraft, 1936

At the Mountains of Madness by H.P. Lovecraft (1936)

“It is absolutely necessary, for the peace and safety of mankind, that some of earth’s dark, dead corners and unplumbed depths be let alone; lest sleeping abnormalities wake to resurgent life, and blasphemously surviving nightmares squirm and splash out of their black lairs to newer and wider conquests.”

Lovecraft is another of those giants of horror who could fill this list all on his own, but I had to pick just one story, and this is one I really enjoy. A group of ill-fated scientists from Miskatonic University make the terrible mistake of going to Antarctica where they find evidence of a race of beings far older than anything known to humans before, beyond a range of mountains larger than any that have ever been recorded. They explore buildings left behind by this civilization, which have been devised through ‘non-Euclidean geometry,’ and find hieroglyphs that help them learn about Elder-things and shoggoths, monsters that populated the place and whom they have foolishly awakened. They escape, but not before losing several members of the party. The novella serves as a warning to others who might want to return to study the antarctic.

Lovecraft has of course been highly influential and much has been written about him and his work. “Who Goes There?”, John Campbell’s horror tale set in the arctic with a group of explorers, immediately comes to mind, as do the films based upon it, including the 1951 version “The Thing From Another World,” as well as John Carpenter’s excellent “The Thing” from 1982.

I think it’s best to learn about Lovecraft straight from the source. There are many entry points for his mythos, but I think this is a great place to start. You could also read the Call of Cthulhu, The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, Dagon, or any number of others. The Library of America has a wonderful collection of his tales that I highly recommend.

So there you have it. Thirty-one tales of gothic terror and wonder over the month of October. I think it’s a pretty good list of some of the gems I’ve read over the years; I chose them in no particular order as the month went by, but I stand by each of them as tales that are either unique, or influential, or just plain scary enough to keep you up at night. Perhaps I’ll choose another 31 next October. For now, I hope you’ve enjoyed perusing this list, and that you’ve been inspired to read something you haven’t before. If you have your own favorites, or if you like what you’ve read, be sure to let me know in the comments.

Happy Halloween!

The Stress of Her Regard by Tim Powers (1989)

“Crawford felt drops of sweat run down his ribs under his shirt as he slowly forced the muscles of his neck to tilt his head up; he saw the upper slope, bristling with trees that obstructed a view of the road, and then he saw the outer branches of the tree he was braced against, and finally he gathered his tattered courage and looked straight up.

And it took all of his self-control not to recoil or scream, and he was distantly resentful that he couldn’t just die in this instant.”

Tim Powers has had a long and illustrious career writing historical fantasy, and he ought to be a household name. You can read any of his books and be transported to a different world, but for this time of year I think Stress of Her Regard is a great place to begin. It’s a wonderful tale about Michael Crawford, who accidentally finds himself the object of a nephilim, a sort of succubi that he has unwittingly courted. His bride to be is found dead, and he’s the main suspect. He travels around Europe trying to rid himself of the creature, and meets up with Shelley, Byron, Keats, Dr. Polidori, and others, all of whom are trying to avoid these strange, dangerous creatures. It’s great fun to read and gets my highest recommendation-for those who love literary history and fantasy, it doesn’t get much better than this. I’d also recommend Powers’ other books, which are all terrific. I particularly enjoyed On Stranger Tides, a pirate story, and his Last Call series. He’s one of the best fantasy writers we have, and he’s still going, with his latest book due out this fall.

Something Wicked This Way Comes…

I was quiet the past few days due to a campout, which was a bracing seasonal treat. It was a gorgeous weekend, the foliage was on full display, we heard owls at night as we enjoyed the fire, saw turkeys and deer and other small critters. It’s great to reconnect with nature when you’re able.

Today I’ll offer three short reviews of seasonal stories, to keep this October project going.

The Halloween Tree by Ray Bradbury (1972)

“Tom Skelton shivered. Anyone could see that the wind was a special wind this night, and the darkness took on a special feel because it was All Hallows’ Eve. Everything seemed cut from soft black velvet or gold or orange velvet. Smoke panted up out of a thousand chimneys like the plumes of funeral parades. From kitchen windows drifted two pumpkin smells: gourds being cut, pies being baked.”

This is a wonderful treat, a book that can be savored and read aloud to kids as the date draws near. I love doing that with my own children, and it holds up so well to repeated readings. It’s the story of a group of friends who go out trick or treating only to find that one of their pals, Pipkin, is extremely ill. To save him, they must accompany the mysterious Mr. Moundshroud on a journey across the world and many different cultures, learning about various rituals of death and the spirit world. This really is the perfect Halloween book for tweens and dreamers of all ages. In 1993, it was made into an animated special starring the great Leonard Nimoy as Moundshroud.

Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury (1962)

“And if it’s around October twentieth and everything smoky-smelling and the sky orange and ash gray at twilight, it seems Halloween will never come in a fall of broomsticks and a soft flap of bedsheets around corners.”

Bradbury was so prolific and wrote so many fine tales that it is hard to narrow it down to his best. In fact, you could have a list of 31 Bradbury stories for the season. But this one is a personal favorite of mine, bringing together all of Bradbury’s great themes in one place, in an extremely satisfying story of two friends, Jim Nightshade and Will Holloway, and the strange carnival that comes to Green Town one Halloween. I’ve written essays on this book and have read it a number of times, and to me it just gets better as the years go by. I love this story, and I think anyone who enjoys this season will love it, too. Probably my favorite book on this list, and that is saying something. Bradbury was heavily involved with the feature film from 1983, which is also a lot of fun.

The Witches of Eastwick by John Updike (1984)

“Not until midlife did she truly believe that she had a right to exist, that the forces of nature had created her not as an afterthought and companion—a bent rib, as the infamous Malleus Maleficarum had it—but as the mainstay of the continuing Creation, as the daughter of a daughter and a woman whose daughters in turn would bear daughters.”

John Updike needs no introduction from me or anyone else. I was intrigued by the idea of this book about modern day witches living in Rhode Island, since I knew Updike from his Rabbit books, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I’ve yet to read a better saga about an American everyman in crisis, and find Updike’s prose to be really wonderful. This book is a total departure from that sort of novel, though his poetic command of language makes the book a joy to read. Told from the witches’ point of view, this is a fun, feminist update to these kinds of legends. If you are looking for a great literary read, this book’s for you. It was made into a successful film in 1987, with an all-star cast, directed by George Miller. Updike wrote a sequel in 2008 called The Widows of Eastwick.

Mort by Terry Pratchett, 1987

“There should be a word for that brief period just after waking when the mind is full of warm pink nothing. You lie there entirely empty of thought, except for a growing suspicion that heading towards you, like a sockful of damp sand in a nocturnal alleyway, are all the recollections you’d really rather do without, and which amount to the fact that the only mitigating factor in your horrible future is the certainty that it will be quite short.”

Today’s post is brief, as I’m heading out for the weekend, but I wanted to keep adding to my Halloween list of capsule reviews. I’ve been doing short reviews of some pretty heavy and disturbing horror fiction this month, and I thought I’d lighten things up and add the great Terry Pratchett to this reader’s guide to Halloween. There are a great many places you can start with the wonderful Discworld series, but Mort is as good as any of them. The fourth in the saga, published in 1987, this is the first in his ‘Death’ sequence. Mort is Death’s apprentice and he’s pretty unsuited for the job. He falls in love with death’s daughter, believe it or not, which leads to plenty of magic, slapstick and other hijinks as always in Ank-Morpork. If you like this kind of humor, it doesn’t get much better than Pratchett, and this book will give you lots of laughs, which we can all use right about now.

The Refugee by Jane Rice (1943)

Jane Rice wrote many science fiction and horror tales during the Golden Age of science fiction; The Refugee is one of them, first published in Unknown Worlds, a magazine edited by the legendary John Campbell, in October 1943.

Unknown Worlds, October 1943

This story has a real pulp feel to it—the heroine, Milli, is in some meager circumstances in wartime France, dreaming of better days, when a naked young man appears in her garden. She is intrigued by him, and befriends him when he reappears the next day, even after we learn that a mysterious and brutal murder of a neighbor has happened the night before. Sounds like a bad idea, but Milli is undeterred. The young man eyes her hungrily and Milli finds him quite appealing, leading to some sensual dialogue and imagery. Milli leads him inside and they have an encounter that is not what you might expect; the twist ending is comical and left me wanting to read more by Rice.

This is another one that I found in American Fantastic, the Library of America collection. Editor Peter Straub really outdid himself with this two volume set, it belongs in the library of every horror/fantasy reader. He brings together a real treasury of gothic tales, some quite well known, and others that deserve a wide audience.

The Moonstone Mass by Harriet Prescott Spofford (1868)

Harriet Prescott Spofford was a prolific writer of short stories—this gothic tale, The Moonstone Mass, predates HP Lovecraft’s tales of madness in the arctic by a good half century or more, but would feel right at home in one of his books. The narrator is told by his uncle that he will receive a large inheritance if he seeks the Northwest passage, and he decides to try, on a ship called the Albatross, a bad idea if I ever heard one. He must delay his marriage to Eleanor, his beloved, but apparently considers this worth the risk.

Once on his voyage, things start to get weird. After an uneventful summer, the ship becomes encased in ice, and eventually the narrator leaves it with a team of dogs to try and find some passage to the west where the stranded crew might escape to safety. Instead, he finds himself in a world of cosmic horrors. He loses all track of time, his dogs die of fear as they are surrounded by cold light. He seems to either hallucinate or have a strange otherworldly experience:

“These enormous days and nights, swinging in their arc six months long, were the pendulum that dealt time in another measure than that dealt by the sunlight of lower zones; they told the time of what interminable years, the years of what vast generations far beyond the span that covered the age of the primeval men of Scripture— they measured time on this gigantic and enduring scale for what wonderful and mighty beings, old as the everlasting hills, as destitute as they of mortal sympathy, cold and inscrutable, handling the two-edged javelins of frost and magnetism, and served by all the unknown polar agencies. I fancied that I saw their far-reaching cohorts, marshaling and maneuvering at times in the field of an horizon that was boundless, the glitter of their spears and casques, the sheen of their white banners; and again, sitting in fearful circle with their phantasmagoria they shut and hemmed me in and watched me writhe like a worm before them.”

Amidst this, he sees a brilliant moonstone, “a thing so real, so genuine, my breath became suspended; my heart ceased to beat; my brain, that had been a lump of ice, seemed to move in its skull.” He is on a moving ice floe and attempts to climb toward the mass but is caught in an avalanche. When he recovers, he is back in an arctic fishing village. The Albatross is never found. No one believes his story, least of all his uncle. Eleanor believes him, but wishes to hear nothing about it, yet the narrator ends his tale saying he will someday recover the precious stone.

This reminded me of Lovercraft in several ways, not least because it is set in the arctic, and the narrator is up against unknowable, ancient beings that seem to bend space and time. The narrator also seems intent on his own destruction even in the face of all this—he’s drawn by the lure of this talisman. This is an interesting tale since it predates Lovecraft, and polar exploration, by decades. It’s an excellent precursor to Lovecraft, who is much better known to horror readers, and a fine story.

I’d not encountered Spofford’s work before reading this tale, but I’ll be sure to fix that. It was included in the Library of America’s wonderful collection, American Fantastic Tales. I’ve taken a few stories on this list from that excellent two volume set, which I give my highest recommendation.

Ma’ame Pelagie by Kate Chopin (1894)

“Ma’ame Pelagie,” they called her, though she was unmarried, as was her sister Pauline, a child in Ma’ame Pelagie’s eyes; a child of thirty-five.

Kate Chopin is well known for her novel The Awakening, but she was also a prolific writer of short stories, including this gem, Ma’ame Pelagie. Pelagie and her sister live in Louisiana in a three-room cabin beside their formerly grand ancestral home. For decades, we learn, they have lived this way, hoping to save enough to restore the mansion ‘shaped like the Pantheon,’ but now fallen into ruin. The sisters are visited by a niece who comes to live with them—her father, their brother, will soon be joining her. But the young girl cannot stand the sadness of the place and wants to leave.

“It was not the first time she had stolen away to the ruin at night-time, when the whole plantation slept; but she never before had been there with a heart so nearly broken. She was going there for the last time to dream her dreams; to see the visions that hitherto had crowded her days and nights, and to bid farewell to them.” Pelagie recalls these past grand days in a dreamlike reverie, the grand parties held there, and her lover, who went off to fight in ‘le guerre,’ as did so many others. And now we have the central problem on which this tale rests—the war, which eventually comes to the plantation. It is the tragedy of her life, to see her dreams ruined along with the grand house.

A year later, her brother Leandre builds a new, beautiful brick house where the old one stood. The house bustles with activity and music and the laughter of young people, the friends of ‘La Petite,’ her niece. However, Pelagie’s “soul had stayed in the shadow of the ruin.”

This is a great short gothic tale that works very well not only in the tragedy of these two women who live in the ruins of a once grand life, but also in the shadow of the civil war. The stain of slavery and the shadow of war haunts everything in this story of the south. The writing is quite elegant, as is much of the best writing of this period, and does much to transport us to these bygone days.

To learn more about Kate Chopin and her life, you can view this excellent PBS documentary on her.

In Dark New England Days by Sarah Orne Jewett (1890)

Sarah Orne Jewett is a Maine writer known for tales like The Country of Pointed Firs, A White Heron, and numerous short stories and poems that bring the region to life. One of the really interesting things about reading her books is that not only do you get a sense of what Maine was like in the late 1800s, you also get to hear the way people spoke, the diction and accent that they had. If you’re traveling in Maine you will still hear an accent that differs from other regions of the country, and even other areas in New England and the northeast. As time goes on and people are more apt to move around, these kinds of accents are being lost, but you can still hear it when you travel off the beaten path.

“In Dark New England Days” is a gothic story with a deep sense of doom and foreboding from the beginning. We are introduced to the sad case of the three Knowles sisters, ‘Closed-mouth old maids’ who spent their lives taking care of their cruel old father who has now died of a stroke. Mercifully, from the sounds of the story, as one character declares: “The old Cap’n kept ’em child’n long as he lived, an’ then they was too old to l’arn different.” His body is on display in their home–quite macabre by today’s standards, but more commonplace when the story was written. Even so, it is enough to give you the creeps from the opening lines of the story.

On the evening he dies, the sisters, Betsy, Hannah, and Susan, pull out an old chest belonging to their dead father, who had been a seafaring man, and learn that he’d been hoarding gold his whole life, though they lived in abject poverty. They are ecstatic with their new wealth and for the first time in many years they seem to have hope. Yet even as they stare at their gold: “He stopped to listen, came nearer, stopped again, and then crept close to the old house. He stepped upon the banking, next the window with the warped shutter; there was a knot-hole in it high above the women’s heads, towards the top. As they leaned over the chest, an eager eye watched them.”

The next morning, the money is gone: “The sisters had been rich for one night; in the morning they waked to find themselves poor with a bitter pang of poverty of which they had never dreamed.” They blame a neighbor with whom their father had a feud: Enoch Holt, and take him to court. He escapes without a guilty verdict, but not before Hannah Knowles stands before the court and declares: “Curse your right hand, then!” cried Hannah Knowles, growing tall and thin like a white flame drawing upward. “Curse your right hand, yours and all your folks’ that follow you! May I live to see the day!”

It is a chilling scene, and an awful declaration. The misery with which the sisters lived under their tyrant of a father is only made worse by the cruelty of the theft. But as in any good gothic tale, there are some fates worse than death, some things worse even than a sad, lonely life of poverty. I don’t wish to give away the ending, so I highly recommend reading this story and some others by Jewett.

Today we are not without plenty of so-called horror movies, gore-fests and plenty of over-the-top films and television to give us superficial scares. In my view, stories like this one do the job in a much more convincing, chilling fashion. The tale sets you up and gets its hooks in and doesn’t let go.