“So, what exactly is a Lovecraftian Scholar?”
The question was put to me by a friend from another department during a postgraduate networking event. You know – those gatherings we had before the world went to bits. I’d forgive you if you’d forgotten about them already. The query was quickly followed by a sly grin and a quippy: “Your title sounds a tad too grandiose for my liking.”
I could already see where this was going.
“And weren’t you a Classicist at some point? I swear you studied Ancient History for a while.”
Indeed, I had - before fleeing higher education to work on the other side of the world. In Japan.
“You’re all over the place!”
I assure you, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I wasn’t having a mid-twenties crisis.
Now admittedly, the connection between my academic background and current research is a little tricky to map out. However, everything I’ve done up until this point has, in some way, linked to the study of popular culture.
Before starting my degree in Classics & Ancient History at Exeter, I hadn’t quite realised the extent to which being a Classicist relied on becoming somewhat of a ‘Jack-of-All-Trades’. It sits at the intersection of so many other fields that it requires a vast base of knowledge to thoroughly appraise the available evidence.
What if, for instance, we decided to look at the Pre-Socratics and their influence on Western thought? At the very least, such an inquiry would involve the study of Philosophy, Sociology, and Linguistics.
How about an investigation of the Parthenon Marbles’ cultural significance and the debate surrounding museum ownership? Immediately, we’re engaged with Modern Politics, Law, and Architecture.
What subjects might be necessary for a paper on the physician Asclepiades and his contribution to our contemporary understanding of immunology? In that case, we’d need to consult Medicine, Anthropology, and Osteoarchaeology.
Classics is an inherently interdisciplinary subject whose versatility and scope appeals to my bibliophilic nature. It was only during my participation in two particular modules, titled ‘The Reception of Greek Culture’ and ‘Impact of Greek Culture’, that I realised exactly how many ways we consume the Classics in our everyday life without even realising.
We’ve all heard Classical analogies weaved into recent political rhetoric, witnessed the resurgence in popularity of Greek and Roman mythology through works such as the Percy Jackson series and Stephen Fry’s hit ‘Mythos’, or even sent the occasional ‘THIS IS SPARTA’ gif whenever a remotely appropriate moment arises.
I really hope that last one isn’t just me.
Along with an enthusiasm for Classical Reception studies that would go on to shape my future choices in academia, I also discovered a passion for teaching. Desiring to gain experience in education whilst taking the opportunity to see more of the world, I travelled to Japan where I secured my first teaching job at a high school in Kanagawa.
The Land of the Rising Sun had always held great intrigue and mystique for me. Its isolation from Western society had only come to an end in the 1850s, and being so far removed from the Western world, Japanese society had evolved in a distinctly separate way to our own.
Curiously, it was during my travels that I gained further insight into the breadth and diffusion of Western culture. Aspects of Western history, mythology, and philosophy had found their way into Japanese art, media, and entertainment. Japan had taught me, amongst other things, to consider the reception of the Classical from alternative angles to our conventionally Eurocentric perspectives.
A sad personal event upon my return to the UK provoked certain trains of existential thought that led me back to consulting one of my teenage delights – weird fiction. More specifically, the works of Howard Phillips Lovecraft, an author whose dread tales highlight humanity’s profound insignificance in an uncaring universe. His short stories were filled with talk of Eldritch horrors, the mere sightings of which would drive his protagonists incurably insane.
Lovecraft’s self-professed fascination with the Graeco-Roman world enabled him to construct an “artificial mythology” of existentialist narratives within the early small press culture (‘Selected Letters’ III.421). These Classical references were often harnessed to deliver controversial socio-political commentaries on race and early twentieth-century American politics.
After examining the limited base of scholarship on the matter, I determined that a project to address their shortcomings was long overdue. I was offered a place at the University of Birmingham to undertake a PhD on the role of the Classical within Lovecraft’s xenophobic expressions and alt-right ideology.
“Wait, so your entire thesis is based on the study of this one obscure, racist author?”
I clearly hadn’t explained myself properly.
Aside from being a pioneer of early twentieth-century weird fiction, so great was Lovecraft’s literary impact that an entire subgenre was named after his approach: Lovecraftian Horror, also known as Cosmic Horror. His works inspired countless future authors, including Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, and Alan Moore to name but a few. He was one of the most silently influential figures of American horror, and Lovecraft’s stamp can be found in more places than we realise.
‘Stranger Things’, for instance, takes place on a New England backdrop in the 80s; a time period familiar enough to feel a sense of nostalgia, yet distant enough to create a unique feeling of alienation. The creature designs are likewise Lovecraftian, sporting signature tentacles and disturbing anatomies synonymous with the iconic likes of Cthulhu or Azathoth. The franchise also draws inspiration from ‘Dungeons & Dragons’ whose creator, Gary Gygax, was heavily influenced by Lovecraft’s fiction.
Or how about Batman? Everyone knows Batman, but not so much the fact that the distinct neo-Victorian architecture of Gotham and its infamous Arkham Asylum was directly inspired by Lovecraft’s setting of the same name – the town of Arkham, home to the strange and blasphemous.
Rather than denigrate the achievements of authors such as Lovecraft due to their contentious readings, we can instead use this insight to formulate a more nuanced understanding of their creations. By doing so, we can move towards constructing a more progressive discourse on race and identity; a discourse that only becomes increasingly more relevant as time rolls by.
The moral of the story? We believe that popular culture can, and should, be accessed by everyone through all manner of unexpected ways.
Especially if others think you’re going through a mid-twenties crisis.
Written by Rhys James Jenkins