I'm currently writing a novel that draws on the Cthulhu mythos as background material, so it made sense for me to read where others have gone before. James Turner, the editor, has done his job, too: each short story smoothly flows from one to the next; creating a narrative you can actually follow that makes it a pleasure to read the collection. Anyone who has read The Hastur Cycle knows that a good organizer is a rare thing amongst short story compilations, particularly H.P. Lovecraft's, where the ego of the editor often takes precedence over the purpose of the compilation.

H.P. Lovecraft stories hew to a particular formula. Each story begins with a quote, usually fictional, from a deceased protagonist hinting at something awful. Then the story begins in first person; perhaps as a dialogue between the author and the reader, sometimes in an imagined conversation and at other times in narrative format, be it a diary, collection of notes, newspaper clippings, etc. There are many adjectives applied to nouns that aren't normally used in everyday speech; rocks and walls and houses become blasphemous and corrupt. This is only appropriate, since ninety percent of the protagonists are failed horror authors, scoffing at the mundanity of vampires and werewolves. The author explains how he came upon the reality-shredding horrors, often scoffs at his naiveté, and then ultimately reveals a terrible truth at the end of the story. Sometimes the author himself reveals this mind blasting madness, at other times a short footnote indicates what happened to the author (if he died/disappeared as a result of the conclusion). And almost always, there is a statement in the conclusion, highlighted in italics, that reveals the OOGA-BOOGA moment. Some examples:

"...what nameless shapes may even now lurk in the dark places of the world?"

"...the revolting and bestial stone miniature of a hellish monstrosity walking on the winds above the earth!"

"What they really are is fingerprints!"

You get the idea.

Ironically, there's little evidence that Lovecraft himself wrote this way. In fact, the italicized declaration is nowhere in evidence in his own two contributions ("The Call of Cthulhu" and "The Haunter of the Dark"). Which is interesting, because one of the sanity-wrenching insights from this compilation is this: Lovecraft birthed his own style of horror by collaborating. Appending his name to the mythos is missing the point of the whole series.

The first story, The Call of Cthulhu, lays out Lovecraft's style and beliefs (including references to Theosophy). The encounter with Cthluhu is a bit anticlimactic (poor thing gets a boat rammed into his forehead), but certainly there's enough dread and action to make the story interesting. The Return of the Sorcerer, by Clark Ashton Smith, is by far the best of the lot. Smith conveys dread and terror on a very small stage (a house). This short story was also clearly the inspiration for Sam Raimi's Evil Dead, including a headless corpse with a saw and hands that move of their own volition. Ubbo-Sathla, on the other hand, is more of a historical piece that's not very interesting. The Black Stone, by Robert E. Howard (he of Conan fame) makes an admirable attempt at imitating Lovecraft but ultimately falls back on rote scare tactics: cultists sacrificing newborns.

The Hounds of Tindalos, by Frank Belknap Long, is a foray into time travel through drugs. Or a drug trip where someone thinks they're time traveling. Whatever the case, it introduces said Hounds and the concepts of extradimensional spaces. His take on the concept is interesting. Long also contributes The Space-Eaters, about weird tentacled beings that draw out people's brains through their skulls. While the story is fascinating, he seems to have completely missed the point of Lovecraft's uncaring, alien universe: The protagonists make the sign of the cross to ward off the alien monsters. Alien beings neither care nor even perceive human religions, and to prominently place Christianity as being "right" about the nature of the alien threat really saps the spirit of Lovecraft's isolation and madness.

The Dweller in Darkness and Beyond the Threshold, by August Derleth, are suitably creepy and a little wordy, burdened by Derleth's constant struggle to make the Cthulhu Mythos make sense. As usual, Derleth believes that every elemental being has a counterpart, and that by summoning one you defeat the other. All of which is a little too trite and neat for the unknowable horrors of a universe that conforms to no human logic.

Then we have the Robert Blake collection. Blake fawns incessantly over Lovecraft; if there's an overarching flaw amongst these short stories, it's his imitators' insistence that "Lovecraft was right." And not in a subtle way either. Such declarations are usually exclaimed with hysterical laughter, beating the reader over the head again and again that Lovecraft's work was real. To be fair, these authors were largely writing for each other, so what seems overbearing now undoubtedly appeared to be chummy to the authors. Thus, Robert Blake becomes a fictional character named Robert Bloch in the Shambler from the Stars. H.P. Lovecraft's The Haunter of the Dark invents and then kills Blake off; it's also one of the most frightening stories in the series. Imagine being obsessed with a terrible, dark place...and then find yourself sleepwalking there, awaking in the very place that haunts your dreams? Excellent stuff.

Unfortunately, Bloch has to go and mess the creepy narrative up with The Shadow from the Steeple. As a follow up to Lovecraft's story, Bloch unintentionally creates a science fiction spoof. Here, we have a villain who is deeply suntanned...because he invented the atomic bomb! A prophesy speaks of how the "dark One" of which "wild beasts followed him and licked his hands." Far be it for Bloch to use any sort of symbolism; instead, two panthers are released from zoos for the sole purpose of licking the antagonist's hands, just in case we're not sure who he is. This is bad science fiction drek on par with Plan Nine from Outer Space, but because it was a tribute to Lovecraft it's included in this section. Bloch redeems himself with Notebook Found in a Deserted House. Perhaps the inspiration for the original Blair Witch Project, this story is told from the point of view of a child, isolated in the woods with only a few adults. As one by one the adults go missing, a palpable dread comes over our poor narrator, who has nowhere to turn to. Of all the "this is my diary" type stories, this is the most disturbing and effective.

The Salem Horror by Henry Kuttner isn't particularly noteworthy, other than to mix witches with alien horrors, diminishing the horrific qualities of both. And again, the protagonist is another writer looking for the next great horror story. Don't any of these authors use their imaginations and come up with some other profession? The Terror from the Depths, by Fritz Leiber, drags and drags and drags. It's also guilty of the "and then he was dead!" appendix. Not great. Rising With Surtsey, by Brian Lumley, is actually interesting, involving the body swap of a horrible alien wizard and a human. It borders on parody at times (see the alien wizard in human form struggle to use these strange things called...HANDS!) but it's still evocative. Cold Print, by Ramsey Campbell, is barely a coherent story, involving Y'golonac, who feasts on the perverted. But our protagonist isn't practically strong-armed into the bad guy's hands (literally), which makes the story less scary.

The Return of the Lloigor, by Colin Wilson, is dreadfully slow. It involves ancient dragon-like beings that control the dark places of the Earth. It also suffers from the postscript syndrome. "For he was a good and sincere man, and is mourned by innumerable friends." My Boat, by Joanna Russ (the only female contribution to this volume), is wish-fulfillment fantasy, completely out of the context of an uncaring alien world, transforming the mythos into some sort of fairyland. Sticks, by Karl Edward Wagner, is supposedly the original inspiration for the Blair Witch Project (although I prefer Notebook Found in a Deserted House). The strange sticks, creepy house, and weird noises in the forest are all here, but it's written in a disjointed style that muddles the story.

A word about the postscript endings: The reason the ending to the Blair Witch Project worked so well is because the audience, even if for only a moment, believed the story was true. This is the only way to effectively pull off this kind of post-narrative horror. It's entirely possible that readers were more willing to suspend their disbelief when these stories were originally printed, but the very nature of the text printed in a collection of short stories ruins the mood. That's what made The Ring so neat; only at the end of the movie was the audience challenged with the possibility that if the film was actually a recording of true events, thereby implicating the audience in the horror by merely viewing it.

The Freshman, by Philip Jose Farmer, is the culmination of too much navel-gazing from the Lovecraft crowd. Now we have everyone at Miskatonic University involved in some sort of bizarre conspiracy, with a misplaced protagonist transplanted into a story for much younger folks. It didn't feel scary, just awkward. Jerusalem's Lot, by our very own Stephen King, is written in letter format. This quickly gets tiresome, interrupting the flow of the narrative. King closely hews to the Lovecraftian format, including the italicized scare and the postscript about the author. He's certainly written much better.

Finally, we have Richard A. Lupoff's Discovery of the Ghooric Zone. Taking The Freshman's fawning over Lovecraft to a new level, this disjointed story follows Lovecraft's universe well into the future. Unfortunately, it doesn't dwell enough on the characters or the premise, instead throwing in tidbits like the rise of the Deep Ones and other crazy stuff. While it might make for a really interesting setting for a role-playing game, it's not a cohesive short story.

Overall, it becomes very clear that Lovecraft wrote better horror than many of his imitators. The best of this collection find horror in the little things: a house, a child's terror, and the dark steeple of a church. In paying homage to Lovecraft, there was a fine line between paying tribute to his work and unintentionally parodying it. The authors that understood the difference wrote the most interesting stories.