Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Page 39, Paragraphs 9 and 10; Page 40, Paragraph 1; Note

I just finished reading this chapter last night. The ending is twisted. Alan Moore is a sick fuck. A genius sick fuck, but still a sick fuck.


Later: I'm now about 20 pages into "The Cremation Fields" (a.k.a. Chapter Two) and am really enjoying it - the prose is really gorgeous. As much of an interesting challenge as "Hob's Hog" was, it's nice to be in a section of the book where it doesn't take a whole day to get through four pages. I'm also gonna try to read VOTF exclusively now until I get all the way through it and will change the little widget where I have my current reading/listening/etc. listed accordingly. I will continue to post my "translations" of "Hob's Hog" as often as I can, though they will probably continue to be somewhat infrequent as I am currently trying to pick up as much overtime as I can at work.


Page 39, Paragraph 9:

My clothes make a little hut. She wants to see my penis, and she pulls my clothes back off from it, the way a man will pull the skin off an animal that he's caught and run to the ground. My penis is standing in the cold air of this open circle of trees, dark and hot, and now she wraps her fingers around it, and her fingers are even colder, but this is good. Her hand goes up and then down, and inside of it my foreskin goes the same way, and oh, it rubs so softly, and her fingers now become warm.

Paragraph 10:

Now I put my hand beneath her clothes so that I can put my finger up her vagina, but shuts her legs hard and catches my hand between them, all soft and strong and wet with heat. "No," she says. "If you don't take your hand off my vagina, I'm not going to rub you anymore."

Page 40, Paragraph 1 (first full paragraph):

I do as she says, but now I say, "Can I suck your breasts?" She replies, "No. No man can put a hand on me. Just lie back in the roses while I keep doing what I'm doing to your penis." I lie back, so that the roses are up high like some strange bright trees around my head as I'm looking at them from below. I lift my head, so I can see what the girl is doing.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Page 39, Paragraphs 5 - 8

Page 39, Paragraph 5:

A noise. I'm frightened. I run back quickly and oh! Many petals from the roses fly up like a bunch of butterflies, and the girl sits up from where she was hidden among them and laughs at me.

Paragraph 6:

I walk through the flowers to where she sits, still laughing with her hand on her mouth and her belly shaking. It's really good to see her, but I'm upset, and was frightened that I wouldn't see her. I say, "It's not nice of you to hide and to make me run. Do you want me to look like a baby?" and so forth. The more I talk, the more upset I become, so much so that I spit as I'm talking.

Paragraph 7:

Now she puts her hand on my penis, through the fur of my clothing, and holds the fur all around my erection, which is where I stop talking.

Paragraph 8:

"Sit down," she says, and pulls on my penis so that I sit down by her in the roses. My legs are shaking, because the bones have gone from them into my penis. It's as if my thoughts go down from my belly and are now all held between her fingers there.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Page 39, Paragraphs 1 - 4

Page 39, Paragraph 1:

I see a ray of sunlight in front of me, where the smell and singing are coming from, and I run this way. By the earthworm's hill and the river's knee...

Paragraph 2:

There's an opening in the trees, all bright with sunlight, from which comes her voice and her flower-smell; I figure she's not far behind. And there they lie, he and she...

Paragraph 3:

I walk out quickly through the dark, high woods, and come to a blockage in the opening, where there are trees standing in a circle. I'm breathing hard and loud, but everything else gets quiet. The girl isn't here, but the flower-scent is, and I don't understand how she...

Paragraph 4:

I look down. All around my feet and across the open circle are flowers; many red roses, bright below my knees, as if I'm walking in blood. There's no noise. There's no girl. She changed completely into flowers.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Page 38, Paragraphs 2 - 5; Note

Page 38, Paragraph 2:

I smell flowers now, through the trees in front of me; I walk softly in the direction of the smell, and I come to a fallen, rotten tree, and I can't smell flowers anymore. But... ah. The wind makes the scent come over here, stronger, all along the path to the west of me. I have yet to put either foot on this path before I hear her singing, as if from a long ways off.

Oh, how may I find a mate,
The journey-boy says...*

Paragraph 3:

The smell becomes stronger as I'm running, quickly, on the path, with my feet landing loudly on the dry leaves beneath them. Above this I hear her song float softly from the top of the woods.

Up the valley's edge, the shadow of the tree,
By the earthworm's hill and all...

Paragraph 4:

I come by the briar bush, where I turn to follow the smell. It's like hunting for food, and the thought of this is strange and good in my belly; my blood flows through me quickly. The leaves fly all around my footfalls like many dried-up birds.

And lie with her before
I'm put to dirt all grey...

Paragraph 5:

Now the smell of flowers is everywhere, and my penis becomes erect, so that it rubs roughly on my clothes. The sound of her song is louder, like she's not far away. Up the valley's edge, in the shadow of the tree...

*This is, of course, the same song the girl was singing back on page 26.


Nine pages left.

(Semi-)Off-Topic: Happy Birthday, Alan!

Since I'm too lazy to come up with something clever to say myself, I'll just post Neil Gaiman's tweet:

And Happy Birthday to Alan Moore, Grand Wizard of Englandshire, famed ballroom dancer and classic beauty. He only twitters with his brain.

Have a good one, Affable Al. We love ya.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Page 37, Paragraphs 6 - 8; Page 38, Paragraph 1

Page 37, Paragraph 6:

Now she says, "If Hob kills the boy in the other world, why, he'll still be alive in this one. And if Hob kills the boy in this world, he'll be alive in the other one, where you saw him and Hob by the light of the moon, like you told me."

Paragraph 7:

This is the hardest thing to understand that I've ever heard. I don't say anything; I just look a long ways off, to where the village stands by the river. The settlers are doing a lot of different things, by the look of them. They're hanging up bright skins on their huts; and people are quickly walking around many smoking fires, this way and that. I think it's a good time for them, but I don't know how.

Paragraph 8:

The girl gets up off the stump now and walks slowly, idly, in little circles, kicking at dry leaves with her foot so that they fly everywhere. Her little circles get bigger and bigger and she goes farther and farther away from me, until she comes to the edge of the woods that rises up behind us. I think she's going to turn back toward me, but oh! Oh, she walks beneath a big dark tree where I can't see her! I'm all alone, with tree stumps all around me, below the frightening open sky.

Page 38, Paragraph 1 (first full paragraph):

I stand up quickly and run for the trees, the way I saw the girl go. I yell, "Come back here! Where'd you go?" and so forth, but she says nothing, and I come into the high, dark woods and stop to look all around. There are trees everywhere, and more trees behind them, and many dark paths go through here. I try to hear the noise of her soft step on the leaves, but it's all quiet - she doesn't make any noise.


Ten pages left.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Page 37, Paragraphs 2 - 5

Page 37, Paragraph 2:

"Why, how's this?" I say. "How can a story as strange as this become even stranger?" The girl looks at me and doesn't smile. Her face is expressionless. She looks in my direction, but it's like she's seeing something a long ways off.

Paragraph 3:

She says, "The settlers were going to make Hob put his son to the axe - if he didn't, Hob and his son would be cast out, and die. But Hob didn't want to kill his son. He thought and thought about this, and realized there was only one thing he could do."

Paragraph 4:

I say, "What's that?"

Paragraph 5:

She says, "This is the strange part. Hob put the boy to the axe, so he's dead. But no one knows if he was killed in this world or killed in the other world. No one but Hob knows which one it was," she says, "this world or the other. This is something I didn't know." I look at her and say nothing.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Page 36, Paragraphs 6 - 8; Page 37, Paragraph 1

Page 36, Paragraph 6:

I say, "I saw Hob and his son, by the light of the moon."

Paragraph 7:

She turns to me quickly, looks at me hard, and speaks in a whisper. "How's that?" she says.

Paragraph 8:

I tell her all that I saw; she doesn't reply. I say, "It's like those strange times when I see the shagfoal and see my mother. I see them at night when I shut my eyes." At this she nods to tell me that what I'm saying is right.

Page 37, Paragraph 1 (first full paragraph):

She says, "At night, when we shut our eyes, we go to another world, where the shagfoal is, and where dead people are, and many strange things like that." She says, "It's this other world that makes more strangeness still in the talk of Hob and his son."

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Off-Topic: H.P. Lovecraft's Favorite Weird Tales

I just started a new book called H.P. Lovecraft's Favorite Weird Tales. Here's the info from Locus magazine's website. (BTW - why is it always so fuckin' hard to find tables of contents for these fiction anthologies on the commercial websites? I mean, I don't really want to buy an anthology if I don't know what's in it - do you?)


H.P. Lovecraft’s Favorite Weird Tales ed. Douglas A. Anderson (Cold Spring Press 1-59360-056-9, Oct 2005, $14.00, 391pp, tp, cover by Daniel Govar); Anthology of 18 stories listed by HPL as his favorite literary and popular weird tales. Edited and with an introduction by Douglas A. Anderson. Authors include Arthur Machen, Ambrose Bierce, and A. Merritt.
7 · Introduction · Douglas A. Anderson · in
12 · The Fall of the House of Usher · Edgar Allan Poe · ss Burton’s Gentlemen’s Magazine Sep, 1839
30 · The Suitable Surroundings · Ambrose Bierce · ss San Francisco Examiner Jul 14, 1889
38 · The Death of Halpin Frayser · Ambrose Bierce · ss The Wave Dec 19, 1891
52 · The Novel of the Black Seal · Arthur Machen · nv The Three Impostors, John Lane, 1895
87 · The Novel of the White Powder · Arthur Machen · ss The Three Impostors, John Lane, 1895
102 · The Yellow Sign · Robert W. Chambers · nv The King in Yellow, New York & Chicago: F. Tennyson Neely, 1895
119 · Count Magnus · M. R. James · ss Ghost Stories of an Antiquary, Edward Arnold, 1904
131 · The White People · Arthur Machen · nv Horlick’s Magazine Jan ’04
165 · The Willows · Algernon Blackwood · na The Listener and Other Stories, London: Eveleigh Nash, 1907
209 · The House of Sounds · M. P. Shiel · nv The Pale Ape and Other Pulses, London: T. Werner Laurie, 1911
235 · The Moon Pool [Walter Goodwin] · A. Merritt · na All-Story Weekly Jun 22 ’18
279 · Seaton’s Aunt · Walter de la Mare · nv The London Mercury Apr ’22
308 · Beyond the Door · Paul Suter · ss Weird Tales Apr ’23
324 · The Floor Above · M. L. Humphreys · ss Weird Tales May ’23
336 · The Night Wire · H. F. Arnold · ss Weird Tales Sep ’26
343 · The Canal · Everil Worrell · ss Weird Tales Dec ’27
362 · Bells of Oceana · Arthur J. Burks · ss Weird Tales Dec ’27
374 · In Amundsen’s Tent · John Martin Leahy · ss Weird Tales Jan ’28

Page 36, Paragraphs 2 - 5

Page 36, Paragraph 2:

We go up farther and look and see that we're above the hill with the building on it; we then go up more still. In the building all the aurochs and pigs are lying down (the pigs, by the dirt wall) to hide from the wind. I follow the girl and say nothing because it's hard to catch my breath and the wind takes everything we say aways off from us. We walk up and up, toward the treeline, which rises up all black above us there by the valley's edge. The girl walks in front of me, and the wind rubs her flower smell in my face.

Paragraph 3:

We stop by the treeline and sit down on a stump, and for a long time we're so out of breath we can't speak. I look at the building below us on the hill there, where the herd-keeper, all little, comes from the middle of the building's inside circle. He walks between the aurochs, across the circle, and comes through the gate by the circular pen where there are pigs and chickens. In his hands he holds a container which is full of ground wheat, which he throws to the chickens for them to eat. Now he goes back by the wooden hut and we don't see him anymore.

Paragraph 4:

I turn to the girl as I sit by her on the stump. "How old is Hob?" I say.

Paragraph 5:

She looks at me, and now looks aways off to pull at the aurochs hide around her wind-blown hair. She says, "Hob is older than me and you and someone the same age as you [put together]. He's older than any man I've ever heard of. " I reply, "It's strange. It's not good that a man can be alive for such a long time." I say this with a dark inflection, so she knows I don't like Hob. I want her to come to dislike Hob, so she'll like me more. Yet she only smiles, and looks across the valley, and says nothing.


Thanks to my wife Michele for her assistance with this post.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Off-Topic: Weird Tales Review

As promised, a link to my review of 100 Wild Little Weird Tales at Amazon (I know you're excited).

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Page 35, Paragraphs 7 - 9; Page 36, Paragraph 1

Page 35, Paragraph 7:

"Today we're going up to the valley's edge," she says, "above the animal pen up on the hill. From there we can see the river valley and many other things."

Paragraph 8:

I put my penis back in my clothes. "Yes," I say, "this is good," and so forth, but I feel myself blush. She stands up to walk by the gate. The wind pulls at her long, bright hair, so that she has to pull the band of aurochs hide around it down tighter. It looks good, flying in the wind. "Come now," she says. "Come up to the valley's edge."

Paragraph 9:

[We go] between the reeds and through the thicket of trees, and now down in the wet mud, where the stumps are all black with rot. The girl follows a path in front of me, so that she doesn't step into the mud holes (neither do I, as I'm following her), and by this route we come up a big hill that runs up the valley's edge. Around us are stumps, and the open sky is above us. To the west is the hill with the building on it, where I can smell ox and pig and hear the noises they make, because the wind is coming from there toward me.

Page 36, Paragraph 1 (first full paragraph):

As the girl and I are walking up the hill, the wind makes many dried leaves run at us, all across the grass. End over end they come, very quickly, like many little animals running before a forest fire.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Page 35, Paragraphs 3 - 6; Note

Okay - time to stop playing with the widgets and start blogging again.


Page 35, Paragraph 3 (first paragraph after the break):

My feet and hands are cold now. I try to open my eyes but they're held shut with eye-snot*, which I now scratch off so I can open them better. Daylight has come, but it's a grey day. There are so many sky-beasts that they make one beast so big that it hangs across the whole sky. The old wind blows hard, and it howls here above the pigpen.

Paragraph 4:

Now I smell cooked fish. Now, apples. I smell flowers.

Paragraph 5:

"Come," she says, "here's some food. Where do you want to go today?"

Paragraph 6:

I eat the apples and the fish while she kneels quietly beside me. I stand up to take a piss. The old wind is so strong it carries the smell of my piss far away, so I can piss on the pigpen wall without being afraid that Hob will find me. My penis is big, but it gets smaller as the water comes out of it. I turn and see that the girl is looking at my penis and smiling.

*And what do you actually call that stuff, pray tell?