In 432 C.E., a young British priest suffering from Stockholm Syndrome returned to the land of his captors, Ireland.  He forgave them for his kidnapping, believing the people of Éire had called out to him in a vision, "I imagined in that moment that I heard the voice of those very people... and they cried out, as with one voice:  'We appeal to you, holy servant boy, to come and walk among us.'"  With this delusion of grandeur in mind, he spent his time driving snakes off the isle, presumably drowning in the ocean, and missing the point about clover leaves (for every ten thousand three leafed clovers there is only one four leafed) in order to over simplify a complex theological concept.  But this must have all resonated with the Irish on some level because over time he became the patron saint of the emerald isle... an odd thing considering his British origins.  However, the genesis of a holiday often has little to do with how it's celebrated.  Just look at Christmas:  originally a hedonistic celebration, at one time considered so debaucherous it was banned in parts of
the United States, Giftmas is now a quiet occasion to bribe love and affection from family and friends.  And
similar could be said of St. Patrick's Day.

Though typically associated with drinking, St. Patrick's Day was originally a solemn religious affair. Marked as a holy day of obligation, taverns would be closed to respect the occasion honoring the death of Patrick. Of course, this didn't mean that drinking wouldn't occur in the home.  Liquor had long ago been discovered as a cure for riastrad.  Loosely translated as "warp spasm",riastrad is what we would nowadays call ADD.  The desire to have the warp spastic calm led to the common practice of alcohol being present on St. Patrick's Day.  Children who grew up in the tradition associated alcohol so much with the day that it became commonplace to imbibe a bit of the craythurcome March 17th.  Over time the real reason for liquor's presence disappeared as generations grew up drinking without thinking about it.  As such the catatonic consequences of consuming vast quantities of booze is considered a negative outcome rather than the intention.  
 
Despite losing the reason behind the drinking, at least the consumption remains as part of a part of tradition.  Unfortunately, the same can't be said for blue.  Yes, once upon time the traditional color worn on St. Patrick's Day was not green.  The sovereignty of Ireland, Flaitheas Eireann, used to be represented by a woman clad in blue.  However, in the 17th century a case of color blindness led to a transition from blue to green.  For a long time the Irish coat of arms displayed the menacing golden harp against an azure background.  But in 1642 an exiled soldier by the name of Eoghan Ruadh O'Neill, returned to Ireland to fight in the Irish Confederate Wars.  The ship he arrived on flew a flag featuring the harp only now it stood out against a green background.  Reasons for this transition are sketchy at best, and most historians prefer not to accuse a folk hero of what might have been color blindness, but the fact remains that from then on out the green flag became an Irish symbol (e.g. it was carried by the Irish Brigade fighting for the Union Army during the American Civil War and St. Patrick's Battalion fighting with the Mexican Army during the Mexican-American War).  The point here is that identity is colloquial not necessarily cultural.  To this day the Irish government still uses blue for a background, though the national flag itself has no blue.  For the average person the use of green in relation to the Irish is so common it becomes a tautology:  the Irish are green; and one wonders what purpose is really served demonstrating
that a St. Patrick's Blue even exists?

The meaning of things is expressed through its symbols.  However, the way in which those symbols are interpreted can change, rather easily and without much explanation, over time.  Blue used to be a mark of Irish cultural identity, but now green is the predominant hue.  It just goes to show that a holiday is more about what it is than what it was.
 
Nowadays St. Patrick's is, for many, just another excuse to get wasted.  The closest semblance it has to its previous religious aspect is the shamanistic state of delirium most people drink themselves into.  Yet, though few ever stop to think what the occasion might mean, outside of a reason to get pissed, maybe this year someone might stop before a predictable pint of Guinness and/or shot of Jameson to consider:  St. Patrick's Day transmuted over time from the somber remembrance of a departed patron saint to an annual celebration of all that makes the Irish Irish, which itself has even faded into the background as March 17th becomes a time for friends to gather and enjoy each other's company during a time some set aside as one more of few chances during the year to revel in life's brighter side.  So, perhaps, it's not such a bad thing when holidays change their meaning.

Maddening Denial:
a brief examination of insanity as an escape mechanism in the work of H.P. Lovecraft

There is a certain haunted nostalgia that pervades the recollections of those familiar with Howard Philip Lovecraft.  He is the first step into a world where all dreams hold some nightmare, and ignorance is often the desire of the tragically well informed.  Yet, it is the mad who are the most blessed, as they have taken the emergency exit.  In the Lovecraftian reality, the truth of this world is no longer their burden to bear. 

In The Music of Erich Zann, a young man rents rooms in a strange tenement on the Rue d‘Auseil.  Here he encounters an aged musician, Erich Zann, whom plays a music unlike any the young man has ever heard.  Not only is it hypnotic, but it hints of more than mere musical notes.  One night the young man secretly observes Zann as the old musician plays at a window.  Outside the world vanishes into “blackness illimitable; unimaginable space alive with motion and music, and having no semblance to anything on earth (Library of America, p. 22).”  Whatever doorway the musician unlocked by playing frightens the young man out of the building and despite his best efforts, he can never find the place again. 

However, what at first glance seems to be the story of a young man’s encounter with a strange musician may in fact be misleading.  The narrator in this account is incidental, more a device to recount the story than the focus of the story itself.  The actual focal point of this tale is Erich Zann.  Our only information about the young man is that he is a student of metaphysics and that his impoverished status forced him to seek cheap housing (Library of America, p.15).  His only character development comes at the beginning of the story, already stating the impending outcome.  “That my memory is broken, I do not wonder; for my health, physical and mental, was gravely disturbed throughout the period of my residence in the Rue d’Auseil.” (Library of America, p. 15) 

From the onset the reader is informed that some mentally fracturing event is about to ensue, but what it is and how it will come about are left to future pages.  While in a strict sense the protagonist seems to be the narrator, as he takes the reader through this account, he is more so a witness to the reality of Erich Zann.  By stating the effect Zann will have on the student, Lovecraft takes the focus away from the storyteller and places it primarily on the elements of the story itself.  This allows more of the reader's focus to dwell on the strange music heard from the peaked garret at night.  “I was haunted by the weirdness of his music.  Knowing little of the art myself, I was certain that none of his harmonies had any relation to music I had heard before.  (Library of America, p. 16)”

The story crescendos with the young man surreptitiously entering Zann’s apartment late one night while the wild, weird notes fly off Zann's viol.  “His blue eyes were bulging, glassy, and sightless, and the frantic playing had become a blind, mechanical, unrecognizable orgy that no pen could ever suggest (Library of America, p. 21).”  It is the details of Zann’s mad playing and that of its effect on reality which the reader is left solely to encounter.  The development of our narrator’s storyline has already been detailed from the beginning, save for the ABCs of how he arrived in such a state, as well as the obligatory rush of sentences recounting his flight from the tenement. 

It might be possible, with skillful manipulation, to rewrite the text so that it only relates the behavior and music of Erich Zann.  Unfortunately, this would alter the point of the story.  In Lovecraftian literature there is always a consequence for discovery.  Here, a student of metaphysics sees an aspect of reality utterly inconceivable to him.  While this makes him more fully conscious of dimensions outside perceived reality, the cost of his education is a nervous breakdown.  Additionally, it is only in the first snap of this nervous shattering that the boy is able to flee from the swirling strangeness outside Zann’s window.  Following from this notion, the look and behavior of the musician seems to imply that a delirium has over taken the titular man, through which he is able to manipulate the world outside his window. 

“He was a victim of physical and nervous suffering¼ As the weeks passed, the playing grew wilder, whilst the old musician acquired an increasing haggardness¼ pitiful to behold (Library of America, p. 19.” 

Between these two characters there is the demonstration that reality can only be manipulated through an escape from the accepted modes of reason, and that if such realizations prove too much for one to handle, the only recourse is to fly from them, finding denial in delirium.  Furthermore, by manipulating the protagonist into a witness Lovecraft changes events from an experience to something experienced.  By becoming past tense the matter takes on an inevitable quality.  Madness, in some degree, is the only result stemming from exposure to the music of Erich Zann

In his own study of weird fiction, Supernatural Horror in Literature, Lovecraft opens with, “the oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown (Supernatural Horror, p. 12).”  While this is present in The Music of Erich Zann it is better represented in other works.  It is the desire of many of Lovecraft’s narrator’s to alleviate fear of the unknown which leads them down an inevitable road to mental obliteration.  Often these pursuits begin innocently enough. 

The Rats in the Wall follows the inheritor of a family estate as he investigates his own family history as well as an odd sound coming from the walls.  His endeavors lead him down a dehumanizing process in which he literally devolves into an atavistic cannibal (Tales of H.P. Lovecraft, p. 14 - 29).  Yet, the course of this inquiry sounds almost delightful to the narrator, who only realizes the full extremity of his education at the end.

"A few of the tales were exceedingly picturesque, and made me wish I had learnt more of comparative mythology in my youth.  There was, for instance, the belief that a legion of bat-winged devils kept Witches’ Sabbath each night at the priory  (Tales of H.P. Lovecraft, p. 18).”

“When they found me in the blackness after three hours; found me crouching in the blackness over the plump, half-eaten body of Capt. Norrys¼ They accuse me of me a hideous thing, but they must know that I did not do it (Tales of H.P. Lovecraft, p. 29).”

This tale, despite its ghoulish conclusion, follows more like a person caught up in the rush of a river.  The placidity of the narrator carries throughout as even the darkest stories of his family seem only like folklore to be catalogued and recounted for the sake of history.  It is only the furious rush of insanity that protects him from the reality of where these open floodgates he calls family have deposited him.  “They must know it was the rats¼ the daemon rats that race behind the padding in this room¼ the rats they can never hear (Library of America, p. 96).” 

It would be remise to write about Lovecraft without mentioning the Cthulhu Mythos.  This is essentially a catch all term for the invented legends and anti-mythology in many of Lovecraft’s works.  Joyce Carol Oates provides the most succinct definition when she writes,

“In the Cthulhu Mythos there are no ‘gods’ but only displaced extraterrestrial beings, the Great Old Ones, who journeyed to Earth many millions of years ago¼ Deluded human beings mistake the Great Old Ones and their descendants for gods, worshipping them out of ignorance  (King of Weird, p. 7).”

The Mythos itself is present in a wide array of stories by H.P. Lovecraft, the most famous being The Call of Cthulhu.  Other noteworthy stories include At the Mountains of Madness, The Shadow Over Innsmouth, The Shadow Out of Time, and the infamous Necronomicon, a purely Lovecraft invention he attributes to the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred. 

There are few tales in Lovecraft’s reality that do not in some manner or another involve elements of the Mythos.  The most tangential tend to only mention the Necronomicon; it being the source book and key reference material for all things regarding the Great Old Ones, their servants, slaves, and ilk.  Although any one of these stories proves the cerebrally fractious nature of exposure to Lovecraft’s norms, they essentially follow the same formula as the aforementioned stories.  The only significant difference is that a grand new vision of the world, albeit terrifying and unsettling, is revealed.

What I have sought in this paper is to steer clear of the overly examined Cthulhu Mythos and zero in on two stories which demonstrate the consequence of revelation and its emergency exit in the Lovecraft universe which also do not rely on somewhat gimmicky plot devices.  While engrossing reads and frightening for their historiographical qualities, Mythos tales have the subtlety of a hammer to the forehead.  The narrator, embarking on some course of discovery with innocent intentions, unwittingly stumbles upon the existence of the Great Old Ones.  This encounter invariably leads to some kind of unhinging of the narrator or narrator’s colleague’s nerves.  The simplicity of their formula, when stated on paper, undercuts their effectiveness outside of reading the material itself.  Save for The Call of Cthulhu.

This story is, for many, the first encounter with the strange world of H. P. Lovecraft, and no other tale so fully encapsulates the reality into which the writer has tried to manipulate the reader.

“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind   to correlate all of its contents.  We live on a placid island of ignorance in the       midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.  (Tales of H.P. Lovecraft, p. 52.”

This opening paragraph sets the reader up, not to experience the blissful ignorance which s/he should be hoping for, but the coming onslaught of what revelation will do to one’s own consciousness.  The plot is straight forward, but it is the subtle movement of each gear that makes this story tick.  The mysterious death of a renown professor, Angwell, sends his nephew into the old man’s notes.  He recounts for the reader the discoveries of his grand-uncle as well as what he himself has pieced together regarding the strange being known as Cthulhu.  What both men first believed to be nothing more than some strange folk creature, a mythical figure in proto-religions, is revealed to be a slumbering monstrosity.  Housed in a Cyclopean city deep beneath the Pacific Ocean, Cthulhu sleeps, awaiting his time to awake the Great Old Ones.  It is in the closing that the reader discovers that Cthulhu is not even the thing to fear.  He is merely the herald of a dark time fast approaching.  (Tales of H.P. Lovecraft, p. 52 - 76) 

Again we follow the aforementioned devices.  “As my grand-uncle’s heir and executor,¼ I was expected to go over his papers with some thoroughness; and for that purpose moved his entire set of files and boxes to my quarters in Boston (Tales of H.P. Lovecraft, p. 53).”  The narrator has entered into a quest for the truth, this time concerning his grand-uncle’s death, which leads to answers he will wish to have never discovered.  Even when he comes to the realization that “ my uncle’s death was far from natural (Tales of H.P. Lovecraft, p. 67,” perhaps murdered by the Cthulhu Cult, he continues in the pursuit of truth.  Though by now the innocence is lost.  The narrator now wants to unveil the mystery in the hope it brings him fortune and glory.  “I felt sure that I was on the track of a very real, very secret, and very ancient religion whose discovery would make me an anthropologist of note (Tales of H.P. Lovecraft, p. 67).”  Yet, the fact remains that truth is not perceived as a threat to the one who pursues it, while any revelation to the contrary cannot not be arrived at till after danger is looming.

 “I think Professor Angell died because he knew too much, or because he was likely to learn too much.  Whether I shall go as he did remains to be seen, for I have learned much now (Tales of H.P. Lovecraft, p. 67).” 

The story goes on to recount the experiences of the Vigilant, a ship and its crew who encounter Cthulhu.  Only two members escape the creature with their lives, and only then by ramming the beast with their ship in order to wound it (Tales of H.P. Lovecraft, p. 71 - 75).  However, the two are irrevocably shattered by the experience.  One dies in fits of delirium, while the other never fully regains his senses.  The latter eventually dies under circumstances eerily similar to the narrator’s grand-uncle.  (Tales of H.P. Lovecraft, p. 71, 74 - 75). 

It is only in this final exposure that the narrator feels the full gravity of what he has discovered.  More than mere folklore, Cthulhu is a real entity, slumbering beneath the waves of the Pacific, waiting for his time to summon the Great Old Ones.  “Loathsomeness waits and dreams in the deep, and decay spreads over the tottering cities of men.  A time will come -- but I must not and cannot think (Tales of H.P. Lovecraft, p. 76)!”  Denial is the only refuge left for him.  As the story opened, the only sources of comfort from the full revelation of what this world is lies in a retreat to ignorance or the emergency exit that is insanity.  The Vigilant’s survivors attest to the latter, while the narrator demonstrates the former.  Although, how long can such knowledge be kept at a distance when it is already in one‘s own mind?

The recurrence of madness as a central aspect in the works of H. P. Lovecraft can readily be attributed to the fact both of his parents died in mental institutions (S. T. Joshi).  This understanding, however, takes away from the fundamental meaning one can derive from the author’s stories, particularly those mentioned here.  In The Music of Erich Zann a nervous breakdown allows the narrator to keep the full recollection of what transpired on the Rue d’Auseil from affecting him further.  The storyteller from The Rats in the Wall finds frenzied denial, a self imposed ignorance, despite the obviousness of his padded cell, to prolong his disassociation from the horrible act he committed.  Finally, The Call of Cthulhu offers, not only a presentation of this thinking, but two fine examples of it in action.  The sailors aboard the Vigilant escape from the horror of dread Cthulhu only when their minds unhinge, while the narrator chooses to bury the truth in his own mind and away from the world.  From these perspectives, there is only self imposed ignorance or madness in the face of unbearable truth.  Yet, denial may fail without intention, through accidental recollection or unintentional exposure to a reminder.  Only the mad ever truly escape from reality.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

Joshi, S.T.  H.P. Lovecraft: A Life.  Necronomicon Press, 1996.

Library of America.  Lovecraft: Tales.  New York: Literary Classics of the United States, 2005.

Lovecraft, H. P.  Supernatural Horror in Literature.  New York: Dover Publications, Inc, 1973.

Oates, Joyces Carol.  “The King of Weird.”  The New York Review of Books 43.17 (1996): pages unknown, printed from online archives.

Oates, Joyce Carol, editor.  Tales of H.P. Lovecraft.  New York: Harper Collins, 2000.

It recently occurred to me there is no symbol for ‘like.’   Given the vast history of mindless inventions (i.e. the Scream Silencer, the plow and gun combo, and the fork alarm) it just seems that someone would have conceived a symbol for Like by now.   Granted, most people might think there is no need for such a sign.  However, in that same vein there is no real need for a heart in place of love.  Yes, using a symbol saves space and adds a sliver of creativity to one’s interactions -- “Oh my god!  You put a heart instead of the word.  You’re so clever!”  But the real issue at hand is the gradual change of the written word. 

The evolution of language is a slow process.  It’s tempting to call it geologic in terms of how long language takes to shape.  While most people are regularly aware of dialectic shifts and slang changes, language itself rarely takes on a new dimension.  The other side of that coin is the reality that consistency is a necessity for communication.       

With that in mind, the written side of language tends to be more fluid.  Nowhere is this more apparent than the acronyms and shorthand used on the internet and in texting (http://www.netlingo.com/acronyms.php).  Yet, people don’t realize this has an effect on day to day communication.  I recently witnessed a teenager react to a joke by remarking “LOL” with sincerity instead of laughing; I frequently get emails which look written by lobotomized cavemen; on occasion it takes me three minutes to decipher what people have sent me in texts (i.e. BHIMBGO, BOCTAAE, FEAR, ne1er).  And there is no end in sight to this influence on the written word.  As such, I’ve decided to take a more proactive approach instead of killing myself.

Rather than standing in the river trying to hold back the flood, I feel the best course is to take this new reality in hand and guide it along.  To that end I am recommending the tilde (~) to be used in place of Like.  I ~ U.  On occasions where it might be warranted, those penning their feelings can use this handy symbol to imply their inclination.  Rising and dipping, the tilde carries the suggestion of not being totally in favor or against something.  In essence, one likes a particular situation or person. 

There may be better symbols of which I am unaware.  Directing the world along a trivial course means that one is subject to a variety of alternatives such as simply using the word like.  However, until the dawning of such an ironic resistance to shorthand, we as a people should take the evolution of our language more seriously.  It belongs to us; we us it on a regular basis; why not manipulate the way we communicate?  After all, the conscious evolution of language makes it manageable as well as comprehensible.  Otherwise people might craft their own personal words creating unintelligible nonsense which confounds those around them.  I’m not here to refudiate the natural process by which words develop organically.  But the truth is that no aspect of language is incidental.  Every term that human beings use is the result of intentional development.  Even the simian grunts that would form the first protolanguage required a deliberate attachment to whatever concept they were meant to describe.  This being the case it makes sense to seize the reigns in order to ensure a tolerable tomorrow.  I’m doing my part, and I hope you ~ what I’ve devised.

It’s a cold night, but the book fires will keep us warm. Thank Christ this nation has good, honest men stoking the pyre, keeping it blazing to rid us of contemptible works. Into the inferno, our own manifestation of Hell, with these goddamn Potter books, and the Stephen King filth. But don’t stop! We’ve got the collected works of William Shakespeare, and the cherry on top, that satanic wordsmith Tolkien. Burn it all. Burn it away. We’ll paint ourselves with the ashes and howl to the heavens, "We’ve done the Lord’s work! What’s next?"

I suppose it sounds like a ridiculous scenario. Perhaps the ashes are a bit much at the end, but how could someone really take it seriously? Well, that’s part of the problem. In Alamogordo, New Mexico back in 2001 a similar scene took place. Led by Pastor Jack Brock a crowd gathered outside Christ Community Church to burn books they’d deemed offensive and a threat to the moral well being of the public and the youth. The youth. In a way, children have always been the greatest chink in any society’s arm. Use them as an excuse, and no individual can stand against the rising tide. Just ask Socrates.

Every year challenges are made, sometimes successfully, regarding the availability of books in libraries. And in order to combat this censorship, the American Libraries Association makes sure to have a commemorative week at the end of every September called Banned Books Week. This is a time to contemplate the fact that books are banned all over the country, to rally against censorship, and make sure that people know the A.L.A., and hopefully other America’s, don’t like hearing about banned literature and book bonfires. As the A.L.A. boldly states in its own Library Bill of Rights, Article 3, "Libraries should challenge censorship in the fulfillment of their responsibility to provide information and enlightenment." Should. A bolder word there is not.

The A.L.A.’s objection to censorship goes even farther by helping individuals understand what might constitute challenging a book by providing quick access to this easy to fill out form:

http://www.ala.org/ala/issuesadvocacy/banned/challengeslibrarymaterials/challengereporting/
onlinechallengeform/index.cfm

as well as a list of the most commonly banned and challenged works, along with the reasons for said bans and challenges. Like when St. Edmund Campion Secondary School, in Brampton Ontario, Canada banned to Kill a Mockingbird because the novel used the word "nigger;" 1984 getting challenged for being "pro-communist" and containing "sexually explicit matter;" Of Mice and Men containing too much profanity and a dim view of the mentally disabled; Brave New World has too many references to sex and drug use as well as a blatant suicide; James Baldwin’s Go Tell It On the Mountain is "rife with profanity and explicit sex;" over and over again any use of profane language (A Clockwork Orange), sexual content (Sophie’s Choice),drug use (The Color Purple – which also garnered complaints about homosexuality, rape, "social explicitness," and incest), and anything concerning what can be considered contrary religious ideology: Lord of the Flies, As I Lay Dying (which questions the very existence of our bearded Lord), and anything that admits abortion occurs, are all works that find themselves up for challenge and potential banning.

Now, it would be the height of fascism to tell any one group what to think, which is why a democratic process exists whereby a particular work or group of works (i.e. the satanic Lord of the Rings) can be brought forth to be judged; and of course, not all instances of a book being challenged necessarily result in a novel being banned from a local library. If they were there would be no need for book burnings. As such, with the understanding that most complaints are raised by well meaning parents, like Parents Against Bad Books in Schools (visit them on the web at http://www.pabbis.com/), the A.L.A. wants it to be understood that they freely support the free exchange and expression of ideas in so far as local opinion has not overwhelmed their ability to provide access to said ideas. In other words, the A.L.A.’s stance is that libraries are for the free exchange of ideas, but since libraries are public institutions the A.L.A. is essentially powerless to stop any majority movement from banning a novel. As they say in their handy pre-fab answer sheet, for when challenges arise, "every library has its own policies, which are approved by its board. Our library has adopted the Library Bill of Rights. We also have a mission statement that says our goal is to serve a broad range of community needs." So if the board, which would typically be comprised of locals, decides that a "broad range of community needs" involved keeping Catcher in the Rye off an optional reading list (well played Issaquah, WA) then the library will submit to the community’s will. Like the Library Bill of Rights says, they should challenge censorship.

All in all this sounds like a backdoor to never taking a stance. The A.L.A. claims to support the free exchange of ideas while only readying themselves to combat blatant censorship, when the reality is that most censorship is a subtle manipulative thing. Perhaps they would know this better if a copy of 1984 were on hand. That being said, don’t be that guy who says these things are past tense, they don’t happen around here, "I went to my local library, and I found a copy of X, Y, or Z." The issue may not be in your immediate area, but it is one that affects the whole country.

Censorship has always been a form of social manipulation. Its purpose is typically to stop people from considering concepts that threaten the puppet strings. Under the guise of protecting moral well being and providing political stability centuries have passed in the malignant presence of censorship. Ignorance is the path to subjugation. Since the A.L.A. can’t or won’t – the A.L.A.’s own knowledge of their Milquetoast approach to book banning is evident in the fact their aforementioned answer sheet expressly recommends using the term "freedom of choice" rather than referencing any A.L.A. policy including the Library Bill of Rights – take a hardline stance against book banning, make sure to keep your ears and eyes open. Always remember no one can take away what you’re willing to hold onto... unless they throw you in the fire along with it. The only hope is that it doesn’t get that insane. But don’t worry, that will have been the community’s decision, not the A.L.A.’s.