Life is a hideous thing, and from the background behind what we know of it peer daemoniacal hints of truth which make it sometimes a thousandfold more hideous. Science, already oppresive with its shocking revelations, will perhaps be the ultimate exterminator of our human species -if separate species we be- for its reserve of unguessed horrors could never be borne by mortal brains if loosed upon the world. If we knew what we are, we should do as Sir Arthur Jermyn did; and Arthur Jermyn soaked himself in oil and set fire to his clothing one night. No one placed the charred fragments in an urn or set a memorial to him who had been; for certain papers and a certain boxed objetc were found, which made men wish to forget. Some who knew him do not admit that he ever existed.
(Lovecraft: p. 15)
Far from the serious thirst of knowledge that characterized previous generations (something that was usually illustrated with the mythical figure of Prometheus stealing the light from the gods), we have now a far more pessimistic approach to human nature that is more attuned with our own times, perhaps. Could that be the reason why Lovecraft feels like a contemporary writer? To some extent, Lovecraft can be viewed as some sort of postmodern writer, not only due to his themes but also to the fact that he never quite bothered to undertake what is generally considered the greatest ambition of any writer: a novel. Quite to the contrary, he always seemed to prefer the fragment, the short story.
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