Weiser Book of Horror and the Occult Read online

  While his occult tales and horror stories have become favorites of lovers of the mysterious and macabre, Lytton's most publicly beloved and familiar works remain his post-biblical epic, The Last Days of Pompeii (1834), which has over the years captured the imagination of filmmakers; and his dramatic historical fiction, Rienzi (1835), which Richard Wagner turned into an enduring opera. His popularity with the general public notwithstanding, Lord Lytton deserves serious recognition as one of the primary godfathers of horror. This enduring admiration attests to his skill with words, but even more impressive are his impeccable credentials among serious occultists.

  Although empirical evidence is absent, Lytton is said to have been an initiate of one or more of the mysterious continental magical secret societies that obliquely claimed they were of ancient Rosicrucian origins. He was almost certainly the friend and confidant of the great French magician, Alphonse Louis Constant (Eliphas Levi, 1810-1875), the father of modern ceremonial magic.

  As a young member of the Rosicrucian Order AMORC, I was instructed by my elder adepts (in no uncertain terms) that I was to read and study the works of Lord Lytton, especially his occult story Zanoni.7 Written in 1842 (a full generation before the founding of Madam Blavatsky's Theosophical Society or the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn), the opening words of Zanoni can be interpreted as a Rosicrucian confession from Lord Lytton himself:

  It so chanced that some years ago, in my younger days, whether of authorship of life, I felt the desire to make myself acquainted with the true origins and tenets of the singular sect known by the name of Rosicrucians.

  The plot of Zanoni is a darkly appealing love story that inaugurates all the genteel devices of classic horror-love that we will (a few years later) recognize in the works of Edgar Allan Poe, Robert W. Chambers, and others. But the text of Zanoni also reveals (to the trained eye) the language of a fellow occultist. In fact, it is clear that Zanoni could not possibly have been written by anyone other than a bona fide initiate of the mysteries. The story even makes indirect references to a magic book—a book that is undoubtedly the very real tome known to scholars today as The Book of Abra-Melin.8 This landmark occult grimoire (c. 1378) would remain untranslated and unknown to the English-speaking world (or indeed anyone but the most knowledgeable and serious student of the occult) until 1888 when Golden Dawn adept S.L. MacGreggor Mathers translated fragments of the text, which he found in the Bibliotheque de l'Arsenal in Paris.

  The Book of Abra-Melin is considered by many to be the Rosetta Stone of Western Magick, elevating the misunderstood superstitions of the mediaeval sorcerers to a spiritual science as sacred and viable as the self-transformational traditions of Eastern mysticism. As it would seem, His Lordship, Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton—dandy, diplomat, and novelist—was rubbing elbows on a regular basis with very same mystics and magicians who not only knew of the book's existence but were intimately familiar with its contents and significance.

  It is clear to me that where secret occult mysteries and practices are concerned it was not a case of Lord Lytton gleaning his occult knowledge from nineteenth-century English Rosicrucian pretenders, but one of nineteenth-century “Rosicrucians” getting their occult knowledge from him!

  While we heap praise on Lytton for being a founding father of horror, we must also credit him for helping introduce the world to the genre of science fiction. His 1871 novel The Coming Race would prove to be a breathtaking and disturbing look into the future. Unfortunately, early in the twentieth century the imaginative ideas put forth in The Coming Race would be seized and distorted into a monstrous vision by the madmen of Germany's Third Reich, and employed like some malevolent conjuration to invoke a great demon upon the earth in the form of the genocidal terrors of the Second World War. No horror fiction story can possibly compare to such unimaginable evil—such incalculable pain and death suffered by millions upon millions of our fellow human beings.

  Of course, I am not suggesting that we blame Lord Edward Bulwer-Lytton for the genocidal horror of the Holocaust. However, we would all do well to be mindful of Lytton's own words, “The pen is mightier than the sword,” and be aware of the awesome power the written word has to effect changes in human consciousness—for good or for ill.

  Robert W. Chambers (1865–1933)

  If H.P. Lovecraft is the Christ of horror, then most assuredly Robert W. Chambers was his John the Baptist.

  Recently it was my privilege to introduce and curate the series of short stories first published in 1895 under the collective title The King in Yellow by Robert W. Chambers.9 To avoid paraphrasing myself, I append a portion of my introduction below. While I refer specifically to The King in Yellow, my observations of Chambers' style, technique, and imagination apply also to this book's Chambers selection, “The Messenger.”

  Perhaps you have heard of The King in Yellow? No? Neither had I until a few years ago, when a filmmaker contacted me and informed me he was making a film of The King in Yellow and asked if I would be interested in appearing in a cameo role in the production. Before I gave him my answer (the project was later abandoned), I did a bit of digging and discovered a most remarkable treasure—a terrifying work of American horror that predates by a quarter century the first short story by H.P. Lovecraft. Indeed, The King in Yellow by Robert W. Chambers is arguably the archetypal inspiration for what would become an entire genre of horror fiction for which the immortal Lovecraft is ultimately credited.

  Robert W. Chambers (1865-1933) is not exactly a household name, but that has not always been the case. Late in his career his romantic novels and historical fictions were wildly popular, his books bestsellers, his magazine installments eagerly awaited. For a time he was considered the most successful American literary figure of the day. Yet his later and lighter offerings, while bringing him fame and modest fortune, are forgettable bonbons when compared to the strong meat and innovative brilliance of his horror fiction. The most notable of all his work is The King in Yellow, a collection of short stories whose plots are loosely connected to an infamous imaginary book and play of the same title banned universally because of its ominous tendency to drive mad those who read it or came in contact with it. Indeed, the terror begins immediately, with the reader unsure whether or not madness and suicide will be the price he or she will pay for turning the page.

  I was a bit disoriented when I began reading The King in Yellow's opening story—a dizzying effect that I'm sure Chambers intended to induce in the minds of his “gay-nineties” readers. The tale, called “The Repairer of Reputations,” takes place in the science fiction “future” of a 1920s New York City, a metropolis of street names, parks, and landmarks familiar to us still today, which Chambers meticulously paints from his rich palette of images (he was, after all, a classically trained and skilled artist and designer). However, there is something disturbingly tweaked with the entire milieu of the story. It all takes place in a utopian and prosperous post-Civil War America—a blend of aristocratic republic and military dictatorship that could have easily evolved from the strange bed-fellows of the Gilded Age's contending movements: nationalistic laissez-faire capitalism and the liberal yet pragmatic ideals of social progressivism. From the opening lines, we are instantly plunged into an alternate reality where the comfortable and familiar past has been slightly altered and we are forced to confront the infinite “what ifs” of history—and in doing so calling into question the objective reality of the present.

  Nestled within this surreal environment, we are introduced to a well-spoken narrator who at first seems to be a faithful servant of the truth, but who will soon give us reason to doubt both his sanity and our own. But I won't spoil that for you.

  Like Lovecraft would do decades later, Chambers allows the reader's own imagination to do the heavy lifting of terror. Cassilda's Song, which serves as the epigram for the entire work, is supposedly clipped from Act I, Scene 2 of the play, The King in Yellow, and without burdening the reader's imagination with concrete certitudes, conjures images o
f strange locales and vistas not of this earth, indeed, not of this universe, and only hints of characters of unspeakable power and horror.

  Along the shore the cloud waves break,

  The twin suns sink beneath the lake,

  The shadows lengthen

  In Carcosa.

  Strange is the night where black stars rise,

  And strange moons circle through the skies

  But stranger still is

  Lost Carcosa.

  Songs that the Hyades shall sing,

  Where flap the tatters of the King,

  Must die unheard in

  Dim Carcosa.

  Song of my soul, my voice is dead,

  Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed

  Shall dry and die in

  Lost Carcosa.

  Like all great works of horror, the story becomes disturbing, dark, and terrifying in direct proportion to the degree to which our own hearts and minds are disturbed, dark, and frightened.

  Aleister Crowley (1875–1947)

  Unlike Lord Lytton and Robert Chambers, Aleister Crowley is not remembered primarily for his works of fiction. Admittedly, he was a prolific poet, and in this capacity, even in his early twenties, he received a measure of critical praise and encouragement. His two novels, Moonchild (1917), and Diary of a Drug Fiend (1922), also received a modicum of critical recognition and over the years have indirectly inspired a handful of film efforts. His short stories,10 plays, and essays (most privately published and now treasures coveted by collectors) were obviously written for an elite audience of highly educated eso-tericists and close associates capable of appreciating his elaborate in-jokes, pornographic allusions, and obscure references. As much as he lamented his rejection by the public, it appears he went to great lengths to openly court his own vilification.

  For the reader who is completely unfamiliar with the person of Aleister Crowley I highly recommend his own Confessions11 and the recent biography Perdurabo—The Life of Aleister Crowley.12 I has been my pleasure and challenge to write a handful of books concerning the life and work of this remarkable man. The following brief excerpt is from my book, Understanding Aleister Crowley's Thoth Tarot.13

  Paradoxes seem to define the life and career of Edward Alexander (Aleister) Crowley.14 Yes, in many ways he was a scoundrel. There is no doubt that he wallowed shamelessly in his carefully cultivated persona as England's literary and spiritual bad-boy. At the same time he took life and himself very seriously. Among other distinctions, he was a world-class mountaineer,15 chess master, painter, poet, sportsman, novelist, critic, and theatrical producer. He introduced America to astrology,16 Isadora Duncan to the I Ching, Aldous Huxley to mescaline, and the poet Victor Neuberg to hiking and high magick. As an agent provocateur, writing for an English-language German propaganda newspaper in New York, he penned the outrageous and inflammatory editorials that provoked a reluctant United States Congress to enter the First World War on England's side.17

  During the Second World War, at the request of friend and Naval Intelligence officer Ian Fleming,18 Crowley provided Winston Churchill with valuable insights into the superstitions and magical mindset of the leaders of the Third Reich. He also suggested to the Prime Minister, if reports can be believed, that he exploit the enemy's magical paranoia by being photographed as much as possible giving the two-fingered “V for Victory” gesture. This sign is the manual version of the magical sign of Apophis-Typhon, a powerful symbol of destruction and annihilation, that, according to magical tradition, is capable of defeating the solar energies represented by the swastika.

  Astonishingly, Crowley's adventures and achievements, more than any dozen men of ambition and genius could realistically hope to garner in a lifetime, seem almost to be distractions when weighed against his monumental exploits of self-discovery. His visionary writings and his efforts to synthesize and integrate esoteric spiritual systems of East and West19 make him one of the most fascinating cultural and religious figures of the twentieth century.

  Even though Crowley did not, like Edward Bulwer-Lytton, invent the genre that would define the format and atmosphere of classic horror; even though he wasn't responsible for transforming horror into the morbid-sweet love-song of a tormented soul like Edgar Allan Poe; even though he didn't smash the dimensional boundaries of space-time to plumb new depths of psychological hell like Robert Chambers and H.P. Lovecraft; he did something none of them did. He actually lived the terrifying and ecstatic events of the real life horror-love story-adventure of his own amazing life.

  Crowley is not important to us for the horror stories he wrote, but for the magnificent horror story he was.

  He didn't just write about demons, and devils, and angels, vampires—he invoked them, evoked them, conjured them, battled them, conquered them; he didn't just write about the wonders and terrors of other dimensions, he willfully penetrated them, navigated them, transcended them—then he wrote about them in exacting detail.

  Nearly seventy years after his death, the man who the tabloids called the “most dangerous man on earth,” the man they called the “wickedest man in the world,” the man who in all seriousness called himself the “Beast 666,” is now receiving the academic and philosophical attention and recognition that eluded him in life.

  Crowley's influence today on the literary art form of horror is incalculable. There isn't a modern writer of horror, science fiction or fantasy who has not in some fundamental way been directly or indirectly influenced by Crowley.

  Crowley's dead. But his “horror” reaches from beyond the grave. Robert Chambers wrote of an accursed book and play called The King in Yellow. Supposedly, everyone who read The King in Yellow went hideously insane. I think of that and smile when I encounter people today who still fearfully hold the person of Aleister Crowley in superstitious awe.

  “Is it dangerous to study Aleister Crowley?” I am still asked. Aleister Crowley was by no means perfect. He was not good with people, and often alienated those who loved him dearest. His bold explorations of human sexuality and drugs (always meticulously recorded and analyzed) are fascinating to study, but were never intended to be casually emulated. I have never encountered anyone who knew him that did not disapprove of some aspect of his character or behavior.

  But he is dead. For us, only his works remain as a measure of the man, and they are currently more accessible to the general public than at any time during his life. His influence on the modern world of art, literature, religion, and philosophy is now widely acknowledged even by his most vehement critics.

  But is it dangerous for some people to study Aleister Crowley? I guess I have to say “Yes.” For those whose belief in a God of goodness hinges upon the reality of Devil who is equally evil—for the superstitious, the ignorant, the lazy, the immature, the unbalanced, the mentally ill, the paranoid, the faint-hearted; for anyone who for any reason cannot or will not take responsibility for their own actions, their own lives, their own souls; for these people Aleister Crowley is still a very dangerous man.20

  And now, dear reader, I will leave you to enjoy the works of these three masters of horror and the choir of other luminaries of the genre. I sincerely hope you enjoy your time with them and will treasure this beautifully produced book. Perhaps when you have finished reading it you'll want to put it in your family library—near the dictionary and encyclopedia. Who knows—perhaps someday some bored young man or woman will discover it on a hot summer morning.

  For the time being . . . I bid you goodnight.

  LON MILO DUQUETTE

  1 I sincerely apologize to Nebraskans, past and present, who might be offended by my words, and ask the reader to please be mindful that my comments here about Nebraska and Nebraskans are merely giving voice to the private, personal, subjective, and immature observations of the high-strung and unhappy nine-year-old Lon Milo DuQuette. They do not necessarily reflect my current objective opinions of the Great State of Nebraska or her remarkable and resilient citizens. I sincerely apologize to Nebraskan
s, past and present, who might be offended by my words.

  2 Of course I wasn't actually “kidnapped.” Again, my flair for the overly dramatic is getting the best of me. (That happens, especially when writing about overly dramatic subjects like horror stories.) My family moved from Southern California to Nebraska so that my father could start a new business. I was nonetheless traumatized by the move and resisted every phase of the process.

  3 Spencer Press, 1936. He must have had the books since before he married Mom.

  4 The Tell-Tale Heart, directed by Ted Parmelee, narrated by James Mason, screenplay by Bill Scott and Fred Grable. (1953; Columbia Pictures).

  5 I had to read Poe so deliberately that I felt as though I was reading aloud. In my soul, Poe's voice carried the gentlest lilt of a fine Southern gentleman and the tortured desperation of my favorite actor, Vincent Price.

  6 The offerings in this anthology date from 1851 to 1922.

  7 Read my notes on Zanoni by purchasing an electronic copy of Zanoni, Books One, Two, and Three, published as digital books as part of the Magical Antiquarian Curiosity Shoppe (A Weiser Books collection!).

  8 Abraham Von Worms, The Book of Abramelin, ed. Georg Dehn, trans. Steven Guth, foreword by Lon Milo DuQuette (Lake Worth, FL: Nicholas Hays, Inc., 2006).

  9 Robert W. Chambers, Yellow Sign, An Excerpt from the King in Yellow: The King In Yellow series, Magical Antiquarian Curiosity Shoppe, A Weiser Books Collection, Introduction by Lon Milo DuQuette (San Francisco, CA: Weiser Books, 2012).

  10 Including The Testament of Magdalen Blair, which appears in this anthology.

  11 Aleister Crowley, The Confessions of Aleister Crowley (1929), ed. John Symonds and Kenneth Grant (1969; repr., London and New York: Arkana, 1989).