“From the Manuscript, discovered in 1877 by Messrs Tonnison and Berreggnog, in the Ruins that lie to the South of the Village of Kraighten, in the West of Ireland. Set out here, with Notes…”It is closing in on a hundred years since this classic work of eerie fiction was first published, and even a century removed I’m still not quite sure what to think of it. The House on the Borderland is one of those titles which comes up naturally in the course of one’s education in horror; the book is mentioned often, always with a tantalizingly vague description, by several sources. The reader has the nagging sense that she ought to track it down and read it some day, just to see what everyone is talking about, especially as Hodgson’s name always arises as a notable author who never quite seems to get his due.“The book almost certainly influenced Olaf Stapledon’s The Star Maker,” one critic will say. And then H.P. Lovecraft chimes in: “Perhaps the greatest of all Mr. Hodgson’s works…”It was with some pleasure, then, that I discovered this old and oft-rebound book in the data base of the Vancouver Public Library System’s electronic catalog. It took only a few keystrokes to have it spirited to my local branch from its obscure corner of the city’s widely dispersed stacks. “And the M.S. itself—You must picture me, when first it was given into my care, turning it over, curiously, and making a swift, jerky examination. A small book it is; but thick, and all, save the last few pages, filled with a quaint but legible hand-writing, and writ very close. I have the queer, faint, pit-water smell of it in my nostrils now as I write, and my fingers have subconscious memories of the soft, ‘cloggy’ feel of the long-damp pages.”Having now read the book from cover to cover, I find myself somewhat bewildered; whatever I expected from this book, I most certainly didn’t get it. The House on the Borderland, despite its great antiquity, is one of the weirdest books that I have ever read.Structurally, this is a nested narrative; the center rests within two consecutive framing devices. This “Chinese box” motif is one that I often see in older gothic fiction, and it gives me some pleasure to see it done well. Antique stories are not unlike antique furniture, in some ways; the craftsmen of former ages had their own way of building a functional object, and it is pleasant sometimes to run my hands over the fine old things they made, and marvel at the cunning way things were fitted together.Hodgson (the author), poses as the editor of this work in his introduction, claiming that he has produced the published work that you hold in your hands by transcribing what was written by others. This is the outer frame of the story.The inner frame is a tale of two outdoorsy young men on a fishing trip in Ireland, vacationing in an untouched region where the people still speak nothing but Gaelic and the villages and rivers cannot be found on any map. While exploring these two men come upon the ruin of an old house, strangely perched on the lip of a huge crater; among the tumbled stones they come across an old journal, and the contents of this journal make up the main body of the book.And here is where the bewilderment sets in. The main narrative of House on the Borderland is extremely bizarre. The writer of this journal is a nameless old curmudgeon, who bought the strange old house in the woods when it was still intact. The place had a bad reputation with the locals, but it was quite cheap, and offered him all he could want in the way of isolation and quiet. So he lived in the massive, rambling manse with no family and no servants except for his elderly sister and a faithful old dog.All of this is sketched in within a few pages; Hodgson takes no time to establish an ordinary routine or explore the characters in ordinary circumstances. He simply shakes the reader’s hand and then pounces, leaping out of the ordinary into the fabulous without hesitation. Literally, by the ninth paragraph, we are yanked feet-first into a realm beyond the boundaries of ordinary consciousness and space-time, clinging to the shirt-tails of the hapless narrator as he finds himself dragged bodily into an eerie dreamscape which reminded me inevitably of Carlos Castaneda.With him we float disembodied over a vast silent plain, then drift into a range of dark mountains, and are brought at last to a huge natural amphitheater where the brooding peaks form circular walls. There the towering death gods of countless religious traditions stand frozen, looming over this place like undead statues for all eternity. And in the center of it all, an eerily huge copy of his own house in Ireland stands, built of green jade but otherwise similar in every respect to the building he calls home. Does it get stranger from here? Most definitely it does, but I have no interest in spoiling it for those who haven’t read the book already. Suffice it to say that the narrator does return to the ordinary waking world within a chapter or two, and tries to get on with his alarmingly believable “real” life. But the way this strange and largely unwilling visit to another realm begins to creep into his mortal affairs is genuinely horrifying.This isn’t a book that merely creeps up on you, tickling the back of your neck with a cold feather. There are times when the old man is engaged in a genuinely desperate struggle for his life and his sanity, against enemies that tear and claw and leave corruption in the wounds they make. You forget entirely, as you read, that he had to have survived these battles in order to write about them; Hodgson has you by the throat during those passages, and his grip is strong.But there are also long, minutely described chapters which recount the old man’s visions and experiences in realms far, far beyond the waking world. Strange silver seas, from which rise the spirits of our beloved dead. Dreadful eternities blinking by in seconds, until our sun is a cold cinder and the gases of our planet’s atmosphere have frozen and fallen to earth as snow, leaving the sky airless and black for the rest of time.All in all, The House on the Borderland has the feel of “addict fiction”, the kind of works which can sometimes be written by authors who experiment heavily with mind-altering drugs. Samuel Taylor Coleridge sometimes has this kind of eerie power, and Byron touched upon it once with his poem “Darkness”. William S. Bourroughs can show this kind of imaginative abandon at times, as well, and I have seen it often in art created by men and women who took frequent “trips” on LSD, peyote, or psychoactive mushrooms.Please understand that I do not presume to guess at Hodgson’s personal habits in this regard. I haven’t read his biography, if one has been written, and there are obviously some writers, like Lovecraft, who achieve these states of mind without any chemical assistance whatsoever. I merely point out that regular doses of a powerful alkaloid can send an artist in this direction; Hodgson’s book is “trippy” in the extreme—and it’s a very bad trip at that.I can certainly see a heavy influence on the weirdest of the weird fiction written by men like Stapledon and Lovecraft. I can even see a dim connection between some passages of this book and the eerie extended sequence at the end of Stanley Kubrick's classic film 2001; there is the same sense of scope, of willingness to grapple head-on with the infinite.I would definitely recommend this book to anyone who fancies himself a scholar of weird fiction, especially those who think that Lovecraft’s “Dreamlands” stories are his best work. It’s also worthwhile for those who can appreciate finely made antiques, or very deep, very bad acid trips. An object lesson for those who want to know what the word “original” really means, when applied to a work of fiction: after nearly a century, I assure you, The House on the Borderland still stands alone.
William Hope Hodgson's first published novel, "The Boats of the Glen Carrig" (1907), is a tale of survival after a foundering at sea, replete with carnivorous trees, crab monsters, bipedal slugmen and giant octopi. In his now-classic second novel, "The House on the Borderland," which was released the following year, Hodgson, remarkably, upped the ante, and the result is one of the first instances of "cosmic horror" in literature, and a stunning amalgam of sci-fi and macabre fantasy. An inspiration for no less a practitioner than H.P. Lovecraft, the book really is a parcel of malign wonders. Once read, it will not be easily forgotten. I myself read the book for the first time some 20-odd years ago, and it has stayed with me ever since; a recent repeat reading has served to remind me of just why."House" takes the form of a found manuscript that had been written by "an old man" (we never learn his name, although he is one of the spunkiest, toughest, bravest old men imaginable) living in a very mysterious house in a desolate area of western Ireland. A recluse, living only with his elderly sister and his dog, Pepper (an animal who proves to be one of the gutsiest, loyalist pets you've ever encountered), he writes of the increasingly outre experiences he has recently undergone in this strange abode. We learn of his bizarre vision of a larger but identical house on some distant planet, watched over by the hideous gods and goddesses of Earth's past. In the manuscript's most exciting section, he tells of his battle with the "Swine Things" that besieged his home, and of his subsequent exploration of the great Pit from which they had emerged. In a segment that takes up almost half of his history, the recluse tells of his incredible voyage through time, space and dimensions, a journey that almost makes me wish that I had read this book in college, while under the influence of some psychotropic substance. This mind-expanding section boasts a sequence in which time superaccelerates, and Hodgson's descriptions here will surely bring to mind (and manage to outdo) the forward-traveling segment of the 1960 film "The Time Machine," with its rapid-fire sun/moon transitions. Hodgson's description of the last days of our planet and solar system, with a dead sun hanging ponderously in the sky over a frozen Earth, are almost as effective as H.G. Wells' in his "Time Machine" novel of 1895, with that author's dead, oily sea and (come to think of it) some crab monsters of his own. The recluse's cosmic journey after Earth's demise, and his visit to the Green Star and the "celestial orbs" (Hodgson's conception of heaven and hell?), are as mind-blowing, surely, as the "star gate" sequence in 1968's "2001: A Space Odyssey," and perhaps more meaningful. And any book that manages to rival Wells' and top George Pal and Stanley Kubrick in the cosmic spectacle department can't be all bad, right?I used the expression "perhaps more meaningful" just now, and that "perhaps" might represent, for many readers, a significant drawback of "The House on the Borderland." For, although we are shown glimpses of many mystifying wonders in the recluse's tale, Hodgson does not deign to explain one of them. The origin of the Swine Things, the meaning of the counterpart House on another planet, the cause of the hermit's cosmic journey, the reason for the destruction of the House and many other conundrums remain mysteries by the book's end; not just open to interpretation, but practically demanding some sort of explication on the part of the reader. I'm not usually a fan of such open-ended stories (for example, the writers on the hit TV series "Lost" had better tie up every last loose end or I am going to be mighty P.O.'ed!), but here, it works somehow, only adding an aura of cosmic inscrutability to an already awe-inspiring affair. Hodgson writes simply in this novel, forgoing the pseudo-archaic 18th century English of "Boats" and the hyperadjectival, baroque language of 1912's "The Night Land," but still seemingly can't resist the urge to play with the language a bit. For example, I've never read a book with so many unnecessary commas, as in this sentence: "For, a time, I mused, absently." But again, this affectation works, only increasing the strangeness quotient of the book. Not for nothing was "The House on the Borderland" chosen for inclusion in Newman & Jones' excellent overview volume "Horror: 100 Best Books." Read it today for the awe and the shudders, and then tell me in the year 2030 how well YOU remember it....
Do You like book The House On The Borderland (2007)?
In an isolated area of Western Ireland, far from big towns or roads, and crowds, there was a huge unwanted house, that the local people from the nearby, little village of Kraighten. Said was haunted, the time, before the dawn of the Twentieth Century, apparently more than a score of years. Two strangers come to the seldom visited territory. Since the natives don't speak English, and the the outsiders can't communicate in Gaelic, there is a little problem. But it doesn't matter, the two have plenty of food and equipment for their fishing vacation. Finding a small river and the fish are biting, all is good. Sleeping in their tent, nothing to worry about, just wait for their driver to come back, in a couple of weeks. Fun in the sun, relax, get away from the hectic life of the big city. How wrong can you get! One day following the stream down, for a change, in the direction of the sea, it vanishes before them. The men look around, puzzled, finally see a mist, thick, hiding the surroundings, with many rainbows, caused by the Sun's rays, and come to a massive pit. Strange rumbling noises are heard, something's wailing below, the men have found the river, as it flows to the bottom of the chasm, a hundred feet underneath. Going further around, they arrive at an immense, gloomy, desolate, and now dead garden, of fruit trees. A short distance away, the deserted ancient, creepy house, that has almost fallen into the pit, the two brave young men go inside to investigate, everything's a wreck, dust, debris scattered everywhere, in the rooms, in what's left of the mansion, that hasn't descended to the bottomless, gigantic hole. Digging with their bare hands, the outsiders soon discover, under all that dirty garbage, a large manuscript, that is mostly intact. Reading the pages, by candlelight, after going back to camp, across the cursed woods, in their small, cramped tent , the fishermen stay up all night, the two, can't help it. The tale is that of an unnamed old man, and his sister Mary. He has bought the strange house, very cheaply. He doesn't ask many questions and stays away from the locals , they think him mad. His food is brought monthly to his home, the lonely man has his faithful dog, Pepper, to keep him company. Quiet Mary, is the elderly housekeeper and the years slowly go by, without trouble, until unwisely but understandable. The old man takes a look inside the pit, weird sounds had come from the bottom. With his rifle and dog along, in the dark, endless tunnel, Pepper is badly bitten by a hideous swine thing , that walks on his hind legs. After many adventures in the pit, the old man runs for his life , as a bunch of these creatures, from deep under the surface, attack him, if only he can get back home, spotting his sister, he yells at her, to go to the house, she complies very quickly. Frightening, bizarre dreams, visions, of a dying Earth, follow, real or unreal ? The old man will not leave, he is the bravest man in the world...
—Henry Avila
I discovered William Hope Hodgson initially as the author of one of the better stories in Cuddon's Penguin Book of Horror Stories, 'The Derelict', an atmospheric tale of sea-going monstrosity. He is also the author of the pulp series, 'Carnacki the Ghost Finder'.Hodgson is an oddity and this is an odd story. He falls somewhere between the pulp author and the classic, not quite making the ranks of the latter but with ideas that can often take him over the line into at least the second rank of the literature of the uncanny.A couple of Edwardian young gentleman go on a fishing and camping trip to the far West of Ireland which might as well be Tibet or Transylvania for all its connection with the 'modern world'. They discover a sinister ruin and a manuscript seemingly written by a madman which proceeds to tell of 'eldritch' horrors (Lovecraft's oft-repeated term is well used here since he seems to have considered the book a 'classic of the first water'). Since we are not into spoilers we will not tell more of the narrative but the reader should be warned that a good proportion of the book is taken up with a description of other dimensions and space-time that can only be understood as an attempt to translate Edwardian spiritual and theological concepts into the new science of astronomy. First published in 1908. it sits, in this respect, somewhere between the severe scientific 'truth' of H. G. Wells' 'Time Machine' (a far superior book) of 1895 and the exceptionally dramatic but not at all religious space opera of Olaf Stapledon, the 'Star Maker' of 1937. Unfortunately, after reading Wells, Hodgson's approach already seems very old-fashioned, with hints perhaps of a debt to Swedenborg and imagery that is on the edge of reproducing the spectacular canvases of Martin rather than presenting something that is a credible horror based on science. This is a story of the old dark house and of received visions of heaven and hell, pits and all. It is the literary equivalent of standard Hollywood creep-outs.The book should perhaps best be seen as a step not towards science fiction but towards Lovecraft, the master of terror, whose own world will manage to remove all the supernatural and spiritual elements implicit in the nineteenth century tradition and replace them with the idea of a universe that is meaningless, loveless and perfectly comprehensible, albeit not always by mere humans.Recently re-issued as part of a series of minor and not-so-minor horror classics by Penguin in the UK, 'The House on the Borderland' is one for the library and for reading as part of one's general education in the history of the Anglo-Saxon horror genre but I suspect that most readers will find it clumsy in places and over-elaborate. The horror is also mitigated a great deal by our being unable to get into the mind-set of the Christian believer, who might have a literal fear of hell and hope of heaven, of just over a century ago, while the love aspect now strikes us as merely sentimental. However, if you do believe in traditional Christian theology and have some knowledge of astronomy, then this might, just might, give you a sleepless night.
—Tim Pendry
Originally published on my blog, jonathanjanz.com (http://jonathanjanz.com/2012/01/16/wi...)William Hope Hodgson’s The House on the BorderlandI don’t have a man cave. Yeah, we finished part of our basement a couple years ago, and I love it and spend a ton of time down here (especially with my kids), but it isn’t even remotely a man cave.Or is it? Actually, I’m not even sure what makes a man cave a man cave. Does one need vines growing on the walls or colorful explosions of sports memorabilia? If those are the requirements, I’m cooked because thefinished part of our basement is painted a tasteful beige and boasts color-coordinated sea foam blue and chocolate brown throw pillows.As you might have guessed, my wife was the decorator.So why am I boring you with details about the room in which I’m sitting?Because it’s cozy.The vents blow straight down on me—I’m a guy who likes a warm room—and the lowish ceilings create the illusion I’m in some sort of posh military bunker. When I’m sitting here in my incongruous, stained Lazy-Boy recliner (my wife’s one reluctant concession to my complete lack of taste), I feel sheltered, hidden, and able to write or read or think with utter abandon.In fact, I think I’ll dub this The Beige Womb.And the feeling I get sitting down here is very similar to the feeling I got when reading William Hope Hodgson‘s The House on the Borderland, a novel that will cause many hardcore aficionados of the horror or dark fantasy genres to threaten you with bodily harm if you refuse to read it. I think there’s even a William Hope Hodgson society somewhere, and if there is, I want you all to know that I have read the book. Slowly, thoroughly, and completely. I did read the book and there’s no reason at all to get angry, and there’s especially no reason to don your pig-like beast costumes for a mid-day raid of my basement.The House on the Borderland (1908) is one of my favorite pre-1950s thrillers (and yes, I use the word thriller intentionally—I’ll get to that later). Along with an outstanding book called The Dark Chamber, this novel is one of the best things I’ve discovered from that era in the last several years of my reading life. I suspect that members of Hodgson’s society, as well as many science fiction and fantasy fans will cite the “cosmic” moments in the latter stages of the book as their favorites. And while I appreciated and respected those, here are the things that really made the novel special for me…1. The Writing: “Well, duh,” some of you might say, and if you did, I don’t blame you (I mean, I won’t like you anymore, but I won’t blame you). Hodgson’s use of language is as lyrical as it is precise. This, as much as the author’s incredible imagination, makes the book a joy to read.2. The Atmosphere: The endless preamble above already touched upon this, but I’ll say it here again. The House on the Borderland is a story of uncanny intimacy. It places you in the main character’s shoes and allows you to live in his world. It’s the perfect book for a desolate winter’s day or a starry summer night. Whenever you read it, it’ll transport you.3. The Villains: If I write about the creatures here, I fear I’ll demystify them and therefore make you less likely to read Hodgson’s book. What I will say is that they shouldn’t work and that they wouldn’t work for an author with less skill. But with WHH, baby, they really frighten.4. Pepper: It’s an old screenwriting trick to give a guy a dog if you want the audience to identify with him. I find this trick cheap and tawdry and I’m above such—oh, who the heck am I kidding? There’s a dog in the book I’m almost done editing, a novel called Loving Demons. I don’t think I put my dog—Petey, a name that will carry a lot of meaning for you horror fans—in the novel to endear my characters to the audience, but I guess it doesn’t hurt.In the case of The Recluse (the protagonist of Hodgson’s novel), it helps. A lot.We worry as much about poor Pepper as we do the protagonist, and that makes what takes place in the novel all the more nerve-wracking. Which brings me to the final thing I enjoyed about this book:5. The Thrills: The biggest and most wonderful surprise I experienced while reading The House on the Borderland was how scary it really was. Sure, it was imaginative—I’d heard about it for years, after all, and I expected it to gaze into the nether regions of eldritch worlds populated by ancient gods and cosmic horror and blah, blah, blah, but what I wasn’t prepared for was how dang frightened I was while reading it. The tale really is gripping, especially when The Recluse is battling the evil or venturing into The Pit.So read this book already. It’s short, creepy, and a classic.
—Jonathan Janz
