(no code today; I mean, come on)

H.P.’s still in Providence, where I think he’ll stay put (I’ve almost finished the book). And he’s talking about what a bad writer he is.

I’m starting to feel some sympathy for him. Basically, he seems scared of everybody, so that might explain his earlier rants about the great unwashed. He says he’s a bad writer because he’s never done or seen anything interesting.

I don’t want to beat him up any more than he’s already done himself, but I think it’s kind of a tragedy that he didn’t recognize the lousy things that happened to him and his ex-wife in New York — all the dishonest employers who used them very, very badly. The equally tragic writers that he knew well, like Hart Crane.

He wrote all these self-flagellatory letters at a time when he was getting a lot of rejection letters. I guess what attracts me to Lovecraft’s story, which I think S.T. Joshi has crated quite well in epistolary form, is that he suffers a lot of setbacks, but he doesn’t bounce back right away like they do in bad books and movies. He agonizes, he lacerates himself, and then, like Samuel Beckett, he says, “I can’t go on. I’ll go on.”

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