Images of a deer like creature or an incredibly tall, gaunt-faced famished man with skin stretched tight over the body are what come to mind for most when the name Wendigo is mentioned, but Blackwood's approach to the story focuses on a group of campers in the north of North America, and one man's frighteningly weird case of possession after a Wendigo encounter. Blackwood's The Wendigo centers on the demonic creature and myth of Native American, the Wendigo, which is a spirit or creature which, without giving too much away, has to do with cold places, cannibalism, and some kinda madness.
His narration is so pleasant and naked, but it doesn't feel like hand holding or coddling- it feels like a partnership- like you're riding horses with your fat buddy who laughs a lot on a sunny day, and he happens to tell you ghost stories, with a rare knack for details and honesty. There's just something so charming and intimate about his writing- like, when you read him, you feel like you're being caressed while someone is shampooing your hair, all while you're sitting down to a succulent slice of veal and mashed potatoes, smothered in a rich homemade gravy. You read his shit and you'd never guess it was written a century ago. There's something about the way the man writes.
What I found was that, not only is Algernon Blackwood's Wendigo story fantastic, but almost everything of his I've read is f****** adoreable. I ordered a collection of Blackwood's, hoping to better understand my own childhood trauma gained from that filthily scary Stephen King story. My PTSD from watching the excessively horrifying (and needlessly upsetting) Pet Sematary at a young age is what eventually led me to discover The Wendigo.
0 kommentar(er)
