The Inmost Light, by Arthur Machen (1892)

 The Inmost Light (1892) is notable for a few reasons.  First, it is the first appearance of Dyson, Machen’s “occult investigator”, man of science, historian of London’s underbelly, and all around fact-finder for some of the weird happenings that occur within Machen’s early weird tales.  Second, it is arguably a slightly different version or retelling of Machen’s most famous tale, The Great God Pan (written in 1890), following a very similar plot from a different perspective, or at least with a slightly different outcome and point of focus.

Dyson, who puts the pieces of the mystery within the tale together, doesn’t largely figure into the actual narrative, and calling him an occult detective or anything similar (or, at least anything similar to the likes of Quinn’s De Grandin or Hodgson’s Carnacki) would be a disservice to readers looking for something within that genre.  He frames the tale, like many of Machen’s works told in an episodic, found clues fashion, but doesn’t have any lasting impact on the proceedings beyond being incredibly lucky (or unlucky) at being at the right place at the right time.

The tale itself, in brief, follows two old friends meeting up and discussing a weird occurrence, which they between them manage to unravel.  This time around the focus is on a doctor in a small London suburb who becomes embroiled in some mischief when his wife disappears, and later is found dead.  An examining doctor does an autopsy and discovers the woman’s brain is something wholly unlike a human’s or an animal’s, and tells Dyson later on that she seemed like some sort of devil and even her corpse frightened him.  Dyson, who previously saw the woman’s monstrous face (though she’s also described as beautiful) in a second story window, manages to piece things together through luck and circumstance, eventually finding a small wooden box owned by the doctor.  Within the box are a brilliant opal and a small book detailing what became of the wife.  Like the doctor at the start of The Great God Pan, there was some sort of occult influence on the doctor as he performed some sort of vaguely defined procedure on his willing partner, somehow inviting an outside force into her body and trapping her soul within the gem.  Startled by this and the unholy light emanating from the jewel he shatters the thing and the story ends.

Again, very similar to Pan in that a young woman is made a willing vessel to something from beyond our understanding, eventually leading to her corruption and the deaths of others, though in this case on a much smaller scale and with far less reason given to the reader for the occult practices.  That said, the way in which the woman’s possession is written and the seeming aftereffects of it are far more impactful than they are in the more frankly depicted ones in Machen’s more famous work.

Nobody wrote the corruption of the innocent (both in the spiritual and physical sense) like Machen and, despite being less fleshed out, the destruction of the young woman here really shines, not because of what we’re told happens to her, but because of the coercion of the doctor and the sad willingness of his wife to be utterly ruined by something no human can understand.  Her fear, sadness, guilt, and shame is written so perfectly within a few short paragraphs (within the found notes of the doctor) that it will stick with the reader even where the more gaudy Pan doesn’t.

Why, we have to ask ourselves, do the victims in these stories so willingly go along with the practices of predatory men?  In this case, unlike in Pan, the victim seems to be told entirely what will happen, and even goes so far as to ask the doctor to kill her should the procedure succeed.  She allows the thing to happen, knowing it will kill her body and damn her soul, but why? 

Machen seems to suggest there is something sexual in the ritual, and earlier within the tale a satyr is again mentioned (another theme throughout Machen’s weird tales), while the woman’s “shame” is mentioned as well – are we to suspect another rape via an otherworldly force?  Is this the reason she welcomes the corruption, and moreover why Machen goes out of his way to describe the woman as beautiful earlier in the tale?  The reader is given just enough to ponder these questions while Dyson and the reader are, unfortunately, left in the dark.

Pundits will surely point out that Machen’s tales seem to focus on female sexuality or liberation (via penetration?) and give one the point of view of a man afraid of a woman embracing her sexuality, and while that certainly can be gleaned from the tale, I feel like it’s a short-sighted take on things and ultimately robs the reader of what truly shines within Machen’s tales.

Unlike Lovecraft’s (who was very obviously influenced by this tale in both the use of the gem and the penetrative invasion by an outside influence on humanity) external corruption, the smaller scale, internal corruption here is perfectly done and really should be read and enjoyed by any fan of weird fiction. 

Note - Despite my take on the final pages of this tale, I will say that ultimately The Great God Pan is the better story, but the victim’s destruction in this story is better written.  While they both tread similar ground, both tales are more than worth reading on their own or as considered parts of a whole.

The Plant-Thing, by RG MacReady (1925)

 “The Plant-Thing” by R.G. MacReady appears in the July 1925 issue of Weird Tales.  It is MacReady’s only story to be seen in The Unique Magazine, and despite having a wonderful title (as always, “Thing” in a title always grabs my attention), is a rather humdrum weird tale that doesn’t really explore much new ground.  It has an interesting antagonist, which is unfortunately spoiled by editor Farnsworth Wright on the contents page, but that’s hardly enough to save the story from being more or less unmemorable, and quite possibly the reason that MacReady wasn’t seen again.

The story occupies a scant four pages and details a reporter who is tasked with checking in on a local doctor who has been accused of vivisection by local farmers who’ve been sending far too much livestock his way.  Turned away from the compound by the typically foreign manservants, the reporter slips over the fence and encounters the titular monster.  He passes out and awakes to discover the beautiful daughter of the mad scientist watching over him.  They bond, falling in love almost instantly, and the reporter is kept around – though not to be murdered.

They hang about the plantation for a short while as the existence of the beast is explained – an experiment to bridge the gap between animal and plant – and to see the carnivorous thing attack it’s former master.  Then the tale ends.

The various pulp tropes one would expect from such a thing are all on display here.  The plant thing is monstrous, the servants are all Asians, the daughter is beautiful, the reporter daring, and the scientist…surprisingly bland.  Hardly the mad scientist we’d expect (which might have made the tale better) with hardly a reason for keeping our reporter “hostage” (laid up while his broken rib mends).  It seems MacReady may have needed to flesh out his narrative a little more, particularly when the shock of what the beast is is revealed in the middle of the tale.

Not exactly worth a read, but not offensively bad either.  “The Plant-Thing” lacks much in the way of punch or originality, but it does hold one bit of trivia for Weird Tales – the author was deaf, though he never makes any mention of such things in the tale.  There seems little else available regarding his life, and I can’t find any other mention of his tales (if he even dabbled beyond this one), but for a fan of weird tales (as he must have been), it truly must have been an honor to appear in the July 1925 issue alongside Lovecraft, a debuting Robert E Howard, E Hoffman Price, and Seabury Quinn.

A Night in King's College Chapel, by M.R. James (1892)

 The Idler After Dark’s Chronological Examination of the Works of M.R. James Part 1

 

Quite possibly the first ghost (or at least supernaturally inclined) story James ever tried his hand at (speculated to be dated around 1892), “A Night in King's College Chapel” is a fragment of a tale, written seemingly to coincide with an article on stained glass James also wrote for “The Cambridge Review”.  It is also far more in the vein of humor than horror and quite obviously doesn’t take itself very seriously, making it quite a departure from the tales James is better known for.

The story is short and simple.  A man falls asleep in his chapel while writing an article on the stained glass windows in the place.  When he awakens the door is locked and night has fallen, but worse than all that he hears voices – the voices of the various saints, animals, and assorted characters depicted in the windows as they interact with each other and caper about within the confines of the various windows.

There is no sense of terror from the man, and he recounts what he sees and hears (or dreams he sees and hears) quite calmly, making small jokes and puns at the expense of the Biblical characters depicted.  Other than being startled by the door closing and locking nothing is taken as much out of place (despite the oddness of the encounter) and there is no real threat from the people depicted – whether or not they actually exist, and whether or not they are aware of the living in their midst.

Overall an odd tale with a lot of jokes and puns that will likely fall flat for those not well-versed in Biblical lore and the stories of some of the minor characters that make up the Bible.  There is also a bit of oddness in the writing that doesn’t quite seem like James (mostly in the dialogue of Reuben), though research seems to point to him having written this and the Review article that is mentioned at nearly the same time.

Honestly there isn’t much to recommend any fan of weird fiction reading this on beyond the curiosity of seeing what may well have been the master’s first foray into the supernatural.  The tale itself is short and largely uninteresting, featuring nothing of what one expects from M.R. James, but it may well be what inspired him to write the finest ghost stories in the English (or any other) language, so its importance there can’t be overstated.