“What the howling depths below keep concealed
Should never, to living mortals be revealed.”
– “Der Taucher” (Friedrich Schiller, 1797)
David B. Gosselin Translation (2018)
Fear of the unknown is deeply imbued into the human condition. Some of the best horror comes from stories with vague evils and mysterious entities; this is what allows movies like Bird Box to become so popular. Not all horror is like this, certainly not! We tend to be drawn to horror due to fear surrounding something we don’t understand: aliens, murderous zombies, demons, so on and so forth; however, in those stories, the evil is definite. We see the xenomorphs in Alien. Jason and Freddy Krueger are shown on screen. We see the possessed doll in Annabelle… yet we never see what plagues those in Bird Box. A part of us wants to see what it is, because at least then, we know what to fear.
What if we don’t know what to fear? What if some terror originates from our insignificance to the cosmos? Or, worse, what if what we’re supposed to fear is so beyond our imaging that it makes us go mad from knowledge?
This kind of horror tends to be known as “cosmic horror;” however, it is often used interchangeably with “Lovecraftian horror.”
H.P. Lovecraft liked to make monsters and deities. My favorite work of his is At The Mountains of Madness, and, though the terror is somewhat known, the story is still deeply intriguing and simultaneously off-putting. It’s truly enjoyable, and I would recommend giving it a read if you haven’t already. To me, though, Lovecraft’s insistence on putting even a vague face on his horror separates his brand of cosmic horror into his own subgenre of Lovecraftian horror.
To reuse an old mantra: All Lovecraftian horror is cosmic horror, but not all cosmic horror is Lovecraftian. Unfortunately, genre separation isn’t that simple, and one Google search of “cosmic horror” will lead you to the Wikipedia article for Lovecraftian horror as its first result.
To me, cosmic horror is simply horror that stems simultaneously from something unknowable and the growing realization of the insignificance of our individuality and entire species in the greater scheme of things. Religion in general doesn’t necessarily have to be part of the “something unknowable,” though the way Lovecraft’s pantheon has stuck with us for nearly a century shows the power of using our concept of deities against us; however, he certainly wasn’t the first to do this.
“Der Tacuher,” the poem quoted at the beginning of this post, was written in 1797 and is about a squire who jumps into the churning ocean to retrieve the king’s goblet. The ocean comes alive as its own terrifying entity, “It whirls and bubbles and foams and blends / As when water with fire collides” and “Gapes wide open, and then makes it hellish foray / To the cold depths of the infernal waters.” When the squire jumps into the ocean, its “gaping mouth closes over the swimmer.”
As a person who can’t swim, the ocean is scary. The ocean is scary even in concept, since, even in modern day, we are still discovering new flora and fauna that call the ocean home. Even on our own planet, the ocean may as well be as vast and misunderstood as the cosmos – and the squire in this poem only survives diving to the depths for his king’s goblet from a miracle from his God. In his victory speech, he describes this, and then also says:
“‘Let man never tempt the Godly might,
Never longing, and never hoping to see
What Gods veil with fright and terror graciously.'”
Creepy! He even describes nearly being killed by something only described as, “Limbs of every sort coming into motion”—an interesting parallel to some of Lovecraft’s deities. Even though this limbed thing is not described as any sort of god, religion is still paramount to the narrative since the squire is saved due to his God intervening. Unfortunately, when he is asked to dive into the water again, he is lost to sea.
I’m sure there is an interesting and lengthy analysis that could be made here; however, when it comes to the discussion of cosmic horror and Lovecraftian horror, it’s important to understand that this genre has existed prior to Lovecraft. His work has just popularized it, thus why the terms are often used interchangeably. I definitely think there is a difference between the two, but works like Stephen King’s From A Buick 8 and Mark Danielewski’s House of Leaves do complicate the line that could exist between the genres.
Cosmic horror is a fear of the unknowable coupled with existential dread. In “Der Taucher,” the sea is a frightening and unknowable entity of endless depths, but something that we have to confront to move forward while also understanding that it swallows us whole – even the most charitable and kind of people. Over a century later, At The Mountains of Madness showcases a horrifying creature unearthed from the depths, and an indescribable abandoned place that makes one question not only their own sanity, but their place in the universe. And, nearly a century later, House of Leaves echoes the ideas written in “The Garden of Forking Paths” by Jorge Luis Borges in 1941 while also drawing from Lovecraftian influences to create a truly mystifying and terrifying experience for the reader.
Fear of the unknowable and our insignificance is deeply set into the human condition. Stories about it are complicated and vague purposefully, in order to bring out that horror and dread in us… and then we pet our cats, play with our dogs, have a cup of tea, and we forget about it. At least until we remember, and then we have to confront what that media has told us, or comfort ourselves into ignoring it all over again.
Fascinating stuff.
I’ll have some more detailed posts about Lovecraftian horror, cosmic horror, the bridge between the two, and, not discussed necessarily here, New Weird fiction; however, for now, here are some recommendations I have for those who are interested in the overarching “cosmic horror” genre!
All the books, stories, and poems I mentioned specifically in this post are definitely recommended – go check them out!
The Ballad of Black Tom by Victor LaValle is a fantastic retelling of one of Lovecraft’s most racist works.
“The Nature of Bees” by Priya Sharma is a wonderful example of cosmic horror that uses humans and nature as the Creeping Thing.
The Fisherman by John Langan makes the Adirondacks and the act of fishing feel like the most terrifying things on the planet.
Night Sky on Amazon Prime is existential, moving, and also creepy; however, it has not been renewed for a second season, so tread lightly if you wish to watch it.
Dark on Netflix is somewhat similar to Night Sky, and is actually finished, so it’s definitely worth your time. The show is in German, and I normally watch shows in their original language with English subtitles, but you need to watch the dub in your native language to catch all the details in this one.
Revelator by Daryl Gregory is a recommendation from my mother, since I haven’t read it yet, but she said it was delightful – I can confirm her enjoyment of it since she could not put it down! This one is quite Lovecraftian and takes place in historical Appalachia, so it definitely piqued my interest and has my mom’s approval.
“Funnyway” by Serge Brussolo fits the cosmic horror mold in a different way than some of the other examples, and is truly unsettling to read through.
That’s all for now!
Take it easy,
– Siren 🐟
The Appalachian Wolf 
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