It’s hard to talk about this novel’s characters and setting without mentioning how they represent fundamental forces of humanity, but I don’t really want to get into allegorical readings and academical analysis. Quite simply, this novel is about otherness and the misunderstanding of it.
The voice of the novel is of Merricat Blackwood’s, she narrates with playful wickedness. She lives in a mansion-like old house, completely separated from the nearby village, fenced off from anybody too curious. And curious they are, because a family tragedy struck the Blackwoods, and now they’re blaming the remaining family members. Continue reading “Comfort in Constants – Shirley Jackson: We Have Always Lived in the Castle”
“Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.”
The interesting thing about Aleister Crowley is that he really believed this. We don’t consider him a fiction writer (at least not primarily), but he went and did it for a while, because he could do whatever and whenever. So he wrote fiction, but only between 1908 and 1922, that’s merely fifteen years from his prolific and incredibly versatile mind. This was an era when he approached the literary world as a critic and writer, although at first quite reluctantly (“I had an instinctive feeling against prose; I had not appreciated its possibilities,” he wrote, later admitting that“the short story is one of the most delicate and powerful forms of expression”). He wasn’t only a writer, but he still made sure that his legacy includes a large collection of miscellaneous prose, now presented in a prestigious (and affordable) Wordsworth edition, titled The Drug and Other Stories.
In here, we can almost forget about his persona, despite the obvious fact that most of these stories are clearly written by an occultist ceremonial magician – but that’s not the point of this collection. His beliefs don’t interfere with his fiction, at least not in a way that it obscures his effort to present various stories, sometimes quite innocent, naive, humorous, other times obtusely esoteric, sure, and sometimes evocative and uncomfortable. Continue reading “The Short Fiction of Aleister Crowley”