Spoiler alert: The ending is revealed in this blog post.

I’m a horror reader. I spent my teens and twenties devouring horror books like a dragon devours little men with tiny swords. I couldn’t get enough of Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Clive Barker, Brian Lumley, et al. But one glaring hole in my horror reading is the lack of Lovecraft on my shelf. I don’t know why, but I just never got around to reading the “classics” of horror. So when I found out we would be reading Lovecraft for my Horror Genre Reading class, I was excited.

Our first Lovecraft short story is “Pickman’s Model.” It’s a framed story in that the first person narrator is telling the story to the audience (really to a person named Eliot). He’s explaining why he stopped visiting with a particularly gifted artist prior to the artist’s disappearance. Though the artist was gifted, he had a habit of painting increasingly disturbing canvases featuring dark subjects such as demons and changelings.

In his last interaction with the artist, the narrator is led to a dark part of town and down into a basement which Pickman is using for his alternate studio. In this studio, he paints even more grotesque and frightening paintings. And eventually our narrator, after being scared out of his wits there, returns home to discover that Pickman’s most recent painting – of a huge, frightening demon gnawing on the head of a human – which he saw at the studio wasn’t developed from Pickman’s imagination, but was a real thing, a real model. This is the twist ending (obviously Lovecraft does it much better).

Modern audience are jaded. After all, we’re used to twist endings, a surprise plot twist that we’d never expect. So for a modern reader, the ending is a bit anti-climactic and I imagine some will find it disappointing. After all, so many stories end in this manner. But what the modern reader has to remember is that this story was written in 1926. This was before the “I see dead people” and “Who is Kaiser Soze?” stories of today. Now people expect a twist and are sometimes disappointed if there isn’t one.

So is there nothing for the modern audience? The ending isn’t entirely unexpected, but the vividness of the tale itself is something worth experiencing, as well. The framed story concept makes this even more interesting, because it seems as if we, the readers, are in a conversation with the narrator. He even addresses Eliot as if answering questions within the conversation itself, though we never see Eliot’s inquiries. We are Eliot.

This style leads to an atmosphere of excited dread. The narrator is conveying all of these terrible things he’s seen with specific details but also with the horrified enthusiasm of someone who has been fully and truly freaked out. A reader can’t help but keep reading faster in an effort to rush to the end to see what happens. I think this is a brilliant example of how to build tension in a first person narrative.

Of course, Lovecraft is renowned for his graphic descriptions of all manner of beastie. And “Pickman’s Model” is no slouch in this area either. But what I found is that Lovecraft is very sneaky. As the narrator is being shown the paintings in the personal gallery on the way down to the studio, the descriptions of the scenes are vivid and very detailed. Each room he goes through has more and more disturbing images and Lovecraft describes one or two pieces from each as we go along with the narrator. And they are very graphic. Yet when we get to the final room, the studio, and the final, horrible painting . . . there’s not much detail. It is a giant thing with red eyes, bony, scaly claws, a dog face, flat nose and curling lips. Oh and the body is caked with mold and the feet are half-hooved. And it’s gnawing on a human body, head first. But the description is almost skirted in favor of a ranting about the part that made it most gruesome – the painter’s technique. So the most horrible parts, the things that make it truly terrifying to the reader are left to the reader’s imagination. I find that brilliant, as well.

We have, I think, one or two more Lovecraft works to read later in the term. I’m looking forward to seeing how they compare to “Pickman’s Model” particularly stylistically.

I think humans have a number of fears which are universal. Some are the biggies: war, famine, pestilence. They’re global issues, community issues, and they’ve been around forever. We’ve heard stories, both real and fictional, about these things for millennia. Diary of Anne Frank, Saving Private Ryan, Red Badge of Courage, Angela’s Ashes, Outbreak, Andromeda Strain. They touch on our fears of destruction, of pain, of suffering. Those are deep-seated fears. But they’re also the ones that feel furthest away for most of us.

People in the United States, up until 2001, had never feared war on their soil. Most modern day people living in industrialized countries have little fear of famine or pestilence. So the movies and books which touch on these fears are still seen as entertainment. They’re far enough removed from our everyday lives that they’re not immediate. They’re almost not real.

The stories which hit closer to home are the ones that really scare us, because we have universal fears which are held very close to our souls. Abandonment, death, being alone, rejection, loss of independence (financial and personal), loss of family members, the unknown, failure. Weaving these fears into a story brings about a stronger reaction in the reader (or viewer). Why? Because they’re more real on a day to day basis.

Trusting in people could lead to abandonment, which would lead to being alone. Submitting a manuscript could lead to rejection (and, in reality, probably will at least for awhile). Random acts could lead to death, or failure, or a palpable loss. Stories about these things resonate with people because they’re even more universal than the biggies. These are things we deal with every single day as humans.

Zeroing in on these fears, as a writer, can be done with a sledgehammer or with a feather. Some of the creepiest stories seem inconsequential on their surface, but we walk away from them with their characters populating our thoughts and their circumstances weighing on our minds. What if that had been me? How would I have dealt with it? Would I have survived?

Good fear-raising stories make us question our own abilities to overcome our fears. They make us imagine how we might have come through the situation, if at all. But beyond that, a good story like that also often makes us see that our fears can be overcome. Can we overcome death? Not in real life. But we can keep our fear of it from controlling us – at least long enough to get away from the axe/chainsaw/sword/needle-wielding murderer.

Horror writing is, arguably, one of the more emotional types of writing. Because horror is the art of fear. A writer’s ability to reach out to the reader and draw out some of the basest fears is the art, like a dance. It isn’t about the blood and the gore. It’s about the deeper, emotional reaction to a metaphorical monster that frightens all of us.

Okay, maybe you don’t yet, but you will. I’m taking some classes toward my MFA in Writing  Popular Fiction at Seton Hill University (yes, I already have a MA from them. It’s a long story, don’t ask). One of the classes, Readings in the Horror Genre, requires that I post thoughts and observations on our readings on my blog. So if you see a bunch of (brilliant) posts on scary books or horror-ish topics, you’ll know why.

I’ll still be posting the remaining Trip Logs from Europe, it’s just going to take me awhile to finish them. We’ve still got one more post on the Netherlands, then probably three on London. Lots of pics too! So stay tuned :)

So I’m actually home now and have been for about a week. I’ve been trying to get caught up on things, which is why this has been so long in the making. But let’s have a look at Amsterdam, shall we?

We only made it into Amsterdam for one day, due to family events, weather, traffic and illness. (Yes, I was sick the entire time I was in Europe – lovely!). I really wanted to go to the Anne Frank House. I’d been there in the past and it’s a most amazing experience. When I was last there, they were building an annex onto the side of the building that was to have more information, exhibits, etc. So I wanted to see how that ended up. I’ve always been fascinated by the Anne Frank story – about all survivors’ stories, really. So I was quite disappointed when we rounded the corner on this bitterly cold day to see a line completely around the building. The metal and glass building you see in the photo is the new part they were building when I was there. So, still being sick, I didn’t want to stand out in the cold. Instead, we went to a little tea house which was actually just a regular cafe. We split an apple turnover and had Earl Grey tea.

We wandered around the city for a little while, then headed over to the Amsterdams Historisch Museum. This museum chronicles Amsterdam's growth from a tiny, swampy village to the modern city it is today, housing over 750,000 people. All of the information displays were in both Dutch and English, which was very helpful for me and probably stress-relieving for my husband. ;) There were paintings and artwork, as well as sociological exhibits, including a lot of information on the charitable organizations which helped the poor especially during the 1700s and 1800s.

I especially found the archeological displays interesting. In some cases, they’d found leather shoes from the 1200s! And it’s always interesting to look at artifacts that people hundreds of years ago used in their daily lives. It always jump-starts my imagination to consider what they might have been doing when they were wearing those shoes.

After, we wandered around a little more, taking photos and chilling out. We had dinner at a Mexican restaurant because I wanted to see what Dutch Mexican would be like. The food was good, but it’s the first time I’ve ever had to eat tacos with a knife and fork from the beginning! After the tacos are put together, they put cheese over the hard shell and then put it in the oven. Considering that all the Dutch folks I know use a knife and fork for everything (including French fries and pizza!), I really wasn’t that surprised. But it tasted good and that’s all that really matters!

Ahhh, but then… then I finally got to go to a brown cafe! My husband was born and raised in Amsterdam and he’s been to brown cafes before, but they’re not his thing. But ever since my first visit, I wanted to at least go into one and have that experience. He’d never go with me :p So finally I told him this trip that if he wanted to stand on the street and wait for me, that was fine, but I was going to go in. He went in with me.

It was tiny, with lots of green, red and gold alongside the Bob Marley posters. The upstairs seating area had seven tables crammed into about a twelve by twelve room. Sparkly holiday ornaments hung from the ceiling in – you guessed it – Jamaican colors. The walls were mirrored and the haze in the tiny room was like someone had lit a signal fire in the corner. On the menu, you could order actual drinks (coffee, tea, espresso, etc) along with weed or hash or a mix, loose in a bag. There was also the option of buying a joint: either weed or a mix of weed and hash. And did I buy anything? Well, I did buy something… but I’m not telling what! :)

Some photos of Amsterdam for your enjoyment:

So we only spent a few more days in Valles, but we were there for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, as well, which was very nice. It snowed again the night before Christmas Eve and then it was snowy and rainy on Christmas Day. Though it was breathtaking to see some of the vistas, it was very, very cold. And since I’d been sick since the day we arrived in Italy (and am still sick, writing this in London!), I’d been trying very hard not to go out for long periods of time. But the photo ops were irresistible!

And now, something funny. I believe I mentioned that people in that area speak both Italian and German. Now, in high school I took Latin and Spanish. In college I took French and about seven years ago I took a few Italian classes. So all my foreign language skills are in the Romance Languages. I’m not fluent in any of them, but my mouth, throat and voice box understand how to make the sounds required, including the rolling “r” and the lilting accent at the ends of words. But German… that’s a language that’s always eluded me. Truth be told, I never had much interest in learning it. But because my in-laws are all Dutch and the two languages are relatively close in sounds, they all speak German (rather than Italian). At any rate, I was trying my hand – or, rather, mouth – at German now and again. So I went to order some hot tea, which is what I was drinking for almost my entire stay there. And in German, hot tea is “heisse thee” which is pronounced very, very similarly to the English “iced tea.” I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this. So I (thought I) ordered heisse thee in German. I was pretty proud of myself for getting over my fear of looking stupid because I couldn’t speak German. I’m sure you can imagine my chagrin when what came to me was a small glass with cold, cold tea. I resolved to have learned Italian semi-fluently by the time I return. No more German for me!

So we did presents for the kids on Christmas Eve night and on Christmas Eve day everyone tried to take advantage of the last full day we’d be there, by getting out on the slopes. It was cold and rainy all day, though, so by lunchtime everyone was in the warm hotel bar. While we were ordering lunch, we noticed a helicopter in the parking lot across the little street. Over the next hour or so, we saw emergency vehicles bring volunteers from all around. There’d been an avalanche on the backside of the mountain. We didn’t learn details til later, but watched the helicopter disappear to the other side with rescue workers and return at least half a dozen times. At least two trips included dogs. It was really amazing to watch everyone mobilize in order to search and rescue, if necessary. We recognized that many of the emergency vehicles that arrived were from neighboring villages. The way the communities bind together in order to deal with an emergency is awe-inspiring.

Later, we spoke to one of the ski instructors who was part of the rescue effort and he told us that initially, there had been a set of ski poles found near the site of the avalanche, so everyone mobilized as if there were people trapped, though they found out relatively quickly that the poles had just been accidentally left behind and that no one had been in danger. I was very relieved to have heard this, because I couldn’t imagine how terrible it would have been to have learned that a loved one or friend had been trapped in that avalanche on Christmas Day.

The next morning, Carlita and Anita (half of the family team that runs the hotel) made sure we had a good breakfast as well as sandwiches for lunch on the road, then saw us off with hugs and kisses. Everyone at the hotel was so welcoming and friendly. Anita and one of the waitresses, Sabina, had a little bit of English and I helped them learn a little more while they encouraged me with German (not that it did much good, obviously! ;) ). I really felt as if I were visiting family, not just staying at some hotel in the mountains.

I’d love to organize a writing retreat up there during summertime. Anyone want to go to the Italian Alps and write?

On our way back, we passed some pretty sites. A few photos:

We found this little church down a pathway from a small parking area (a rest stop without facilities) on the side of the highway. It’s a functioning church, with services and events like any other church.

Happy New Year! Wishing all my readers (all five of you!) a wonderfully prosperous 2010!

So I’m at least ten days behind on my trip log. My excuse is that I’ve been sick and haven’t been in a very writing frame of mind. Right now we’re at Schipol Airport in Amsterdam waiting for our flight to London Heathrow. We’ve spent about a week in Amsterdam, some days shuttling among family and some days on our own. This trip to London is our long-awaited honeymoon (married May 2002!), so we’re on our own! But, backing up to the Italian leg:

The day before Christmas Eve, we drove about fifteen minutes to get to the small village of Brixon/Bressalone. It’s got a beautiful little shopping area, plus they were having their Christmas Market. The roads were okay on the way there. We’d had a lot of snow the previous days but they really know how to take care of the roads up in the mountains, so we didn’t have any problems getting to Brixon. It was dark when we left though, so things were a bit slippery and slick.

If you’d imagine a little Italian shopping village in the mountains, you would probably be pretty close to imagining Brixon, with the homes and businesses built along the rise of the mountain. The narrow streets are a little stressful from an American perspective (everyone’s glad I wasn’t the one driving!), but the drivers are overall very accommodating and, I think, much more friendly than the average American driver. There were a number of tour busses in the village when we were there and I was amazed at how well the drivers managed the curves and hills!

As I mentioned, Brixon has a nice shopping district with cobblestone streets and ivy covered walls. It’s very hard not to imagine being in a postcard while walking past the shops. The whole town was lit up for the holidays and it had a magical quality.

As far as shopping, I was looking for a nice pair of Italian boots. I expected they wouldn’t be cheap and I found a range of 140 to 250 Euros. Still, very expensive, but what really kept me from getting a pair was the fact that apparently Italian women have very small feet! I couldn’t find any boots I liked to fit my size 9.5US feet! So the Italian boots were a bust, much to the relief of my wallet!

At the heart of the shopping district, Brixon was having its Christmas Market. Many wooden stalls were built there, many housing hand-made Christmas trinkets. Some had generic China-made tourist souvenirs, as well, of course. And at each corner was a stall selling espresso, tea and other warm drinks. Coffee, particularly espresso, is an absolute staple in Europe. I really have no idea how it can be an after dinner drink, because it would keep me up half the night! Anyway, though we didn’t buy anything at the Christmas Market, it was really fun to stroll through. Some of the hand-made work was truly beautiful! Check out a few photos:

We only spent a few more days in Italy, so one more post on that, then we move on to Amsterdam!

One quick update on current events: We did make it to London and I have to say, I’m really impressed with the Underground here. It’s incredibly easy to get around! I really wish Atlanta had a system like this.