Instant Cthulhu: Just Add Water

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been reading one of the many “Cthulhu-esque” short story anthologies that have been published over the last few years. I’m not going to say which one, partly because this isn’t a review, partly because I haven’t read all the stories in it yet, and partly because I don’t want to offend any of the writers who might follow Suvudu.
But so far? It’s bad. Really, really bad. And while I wish I could say I was surprised, I can’t, because most–not all, by any means, but most–similar anthologies are bad as well.
Lovecraft is incredibly popular, even if only with a segment of the fantasy/horror market; far more so today than he ever was in his lifetime. It’s only natural that writers try to incorporate his creations and his style into their own writing. It’s something that Lovecraft himself encouraged, and many other famous writers–from Robert Howard to Brian Lumley–have done so with fairly high degrees of success.
Unfortunately, those degrees of success don’t carry over to the vast majority of modern writers who make the attempt. And I think it’s because most writers mistake the trappings of Lovecraft for his heart.

A lot of writers–whether they’re writing novels, short stories, or role-playing game supplements–seem to feel that if they include Lovecraft’s aesthetics, they’ve captured the essence of what made his stories work. They use Deep Ones–fish men, basically–in place of vampires or orcs or aliens. They give the monster in the dark writhing tentacles instead of claws and teeth. They have evil cultists chant names like “Nyarlathotep” and “Yog-Sothoth” instead of “Lucifer.”
And they otherwise write stories that aren’t remotely Lovecraftian, yet they assume they’ve done what they set out to do, failing to realize that what made Lovecraft’s stories work were the theme and feel. Yes, the trappings are important, and yes, writers seeking to capture a Lovecraftian vibe should feel free to use them–but as embellishments, not as the whole point.
If you’re a Lovecraft fan, then you already know that what made his stories work was a combination of the unknown (and unknowable) and a sense of futility and smallness in the face of an uncaring reality. A story that features the unquestionable and unambiguous triumph of good over evil? Not Lovecraftian, no matter how many fish men you put in it. (Not saying the good guys can’t win, but it can’t be clear cut or straightforward.)
A story that completely and clearly details the precise nature of the “monsters”? Not Lovecraftian. While I’m not advocating overuse of the “So horrible it would destroy your mind, and therefore I can’t describe it” trick–something Lovecraft himself overused to the point of annoyance (and I say this as a fan)–there’s plenty of middle ground. For a Lovecraftian story to work, the reader must be left with an imperfect understanding of the forces/enemies the protagonist faced. Not confusion that’ll hamper their ability to enjoy the story itself–the plot itself needn’t be muddled (and normally shouldn’t be)–but regarding the nature of the “creatures” involved.
A story that throws in the name “Cthulhu” (or Azathoth, or any others) isn’t necessarily Lovecraftian. In fact, if you’re not careful, all it gets you is an eye-roll. If you’re going to use the entities of the Mythos, make sure there’s a reason. If you’re just swapping it out for the name of some other baddy, there’s no point. Either the content of the story, or it’s feel–or preferably both–need to already be Lovecraftian to make the use of the names valid.
Am I arguing against writers trying to create their own Lovecraftian stories? Not at all; some recent short stories–such as Paul Kemp’s “The Signal” and Lucien Soulban’s “The Signal” are perfect examples of what a good modern Lovecraftian homage looks like*, proving that they can be done, and done well. And of course, Neil Gaiman’s “A Study in Emerald” is a brilliant mix of both the Mythos and Sherlock Holmes.
I’ve attempted to do some Lovecraftian tales myself, in some of my Dungeons & Dragons writing. Both my Ravenloft short story “Before I Wake” and my D&D adventure “The Last Breaths of Ashenport” are very deliberate Lovecraft homages. And yes, they involve unknowable tentacled horrors and/or denizens of the deep–but I’d like to think that they also include that sense of the mysterious and ambiguity, the atmosphere and the uncertain ending, that make them more than superficially Lovecraftian. (And if not, then I deserve the same excoriation I’m directing at others here.)
*(Both these stories from Horrors Beyond 2, which, for the record, is not the anthology I referred to earlier.
Ultimately, Lovecraft and the Mythos are not something that you can just water a little and expect to grow appropriately. (Though I am tempted, now, to market little Mythos-shaped planters called Nyarlatho-pets.) Authors and editors both need to really make a point of reading and understanding Lovecraft if they’re going to have any chance of publishing stories that do justice to him and his work. So far, the batting average ain’t great–and honestly, I’d rather see such books become a lot more infrequent, but a lot better, than to keep seeing a constant churn of anthologies in which 95% or more of the stories just hammer us over the head with names and aesthetics while failing to produce what they claim they’re trying to.