Fungi From Yuggoth by H.P. Lovecraft

Book Details

Two stories and the sonnet cycle about The Necronomicon, Lovecraft’s fictional book of hidden occult knowledge.

History of the Necronomicon was written in 1927 but not published until 1938, after Lovecraft’s death. It describes the origins of the fictional book of the same name: the occult grimoire Necronomicon. The Necronomicon is a piece of pseudobiblia which plays a large role in much of Lovecraft’s work.

The Book is an unfinished short story that was written in 1933. It was first published in the journal Leaves, in 1938, after Lovecraft’s death.

Fungi from Yuggoth is a sonnet cycle of 36 sonnets by H. P. Lovecraft. Most of the sonnets were written in the nine day span between December 27, 1929 and January 4, 1930; thereafter individual sonnets appeared in various magazines such as Weird Tales.

The cycle begins with the discovery and theft of an ancient book of esoteric knowledge (The Necronomicon, though it is never actually named) that seems to allow one to travel to parallel realities or strange parts of the universe. The poems that follow, though disparate in themselves, detail a succession of visions that a reading of the book reveals.

Howard Phillips Lovecraft (1890-1937) is probably the most influential horror writer of all time. A large number of horror writers, both his contemporaries and modern writers acknowledge his fundamental influence.

Fungi From Yuggoth contains 2 illustrations.

Files:

1. HPLovecraft-FungiFromYuggoth.epub

Excerpt: Fungi From Yuggoth

I. The Book

The place was dark and dusty and half-lost
In tangles of old alleys near the quays,
Reeking of strange things brought in from the seas,
And with queer curls of fog that west winds tossed.
Small lozenge panes, obscured by smoke and frost,
Just shewed the books, in piles like twisted trees,
Rotting from floor to roof—congeries
Of crumbling elder lore at little cost.

I entered, charmed, and from a cobwebbed heap
Took up the nearest tome and thumbed it through,
Trembling at curious words that seemed to keep
Some secret, monstrous if one only knew.
Then, looking for some seller old in craft,
I could find nothing but a voice that laughed.

II. Pursuit

I held the book beneath my coat, at pains
To hide the thing from sight in such a place;
Hurrying through the ancient harbor lanes
With often-turning head and nervous pace.
Dull, furtive windows in old tottering brick
Peered at me oddly as I hastened by,
And thinking what they sheltered, I grew sick
For a redeeming glimpse of clean blue sky.

No one had seen me take the thing—but still
A blank laugh echoed in my whirling head,
And I could guess what nighted worlds of ill
Lurked in that volume I had coveted.
The way grew strange—the walls alike and madding—
And far behind me, unseen feet were padding.

Excerpt From: H.P. Lovecraft. “Fungi From Yuggoth.”