By: William Hope Hodgson Publisher: Hard Press Average Rating: Binding: Paperback Label: Hard Press Number of Pages: 340 Publication Date: November 03, 2006 Release Date: November 03, 2006
Product Description: Now, after that destruction which had come upon the Ten-thousand, and the fresh assurance that was upon us of the terror of the Night Land, it may be known that there could be no more thought to succour. Though, in truth, those Youths that went now upon the Road Where The Silent Ones Walk were far beyond our aid.
DON'T LET THE LANGUAGE SCARE YOU AWAY!!! William Hope Hodgson's epic novel "The Night Land" was chosen for inclusion in Cawthorn & Moorcock's "Fantasy: The 100 Best Books," and yet in this overview volume's sister collection, "Horror: 100 Best Books," Jones & Newman surprisingly declare the novel to be "unreadable." No less a critic than H.P. Lovecraft pronounced "The Night Land" to be "one of the most potent pieces of macabre imagination ever written," and yet still insists that "the last quarter of the book drags woefully." With critics seemingly split down the middle regarding this novel, I manfully plunged into this book's 400+-page story, having greatly enjoyed four previous Hodgson titles: "The Boats of the Glen Carrig" (1907), "The House on the Borderland" (1908), "The Ghost Pirates" (1909) and the short-story collection "Carnacki The Ghost-Finder" (1913). Although "The Night Land" was initially published in 1912, it may very well have been Hodgson's first novel, if we can believe Sam Gafford's scholarly Internet essay entitled "Writing Backwards: The Novels of William Hope Hodgson." Be it the author's first novel or last, however, the book is extraordinary in many ways, and depicts a milieu not easily forgotten.
Our nameless narrator, who apparently lives in the 18th century, tells us of his visions of the very far distant future. His reincarnated self, he reveals, lives in a time when the Earth's sun has burnt itself out, and the remnants of humanity reside in a seven-mile-high, 1,320-story pyramid, The Last Redoubt, around 150 miles below the planet's frozen surface. Our narrator, using a pseudo-archaic form of English that doubles as the language of the far future, goes on to tell of the epic journey he takes through the uncharted bowels of the Earth in search of a woman named Naani, who he is in telepathic communication with and who also seems to be the reincarnation of our narrator's 18th century wife. The travails that our young hero undergoes to find his lost love and bring her safely back to the Redoubt are certainly no less insurmountable than those that Homer's hero experienced in his classical odyssey. This young man is forced to encounter monstrous beastmen, enormous slugs and spiders, giants, feral hounds, volcanoes and other menaces during his months-long journey, and his plight is only made more worrisome when he ultimately does find Naani and has to turn around and bring her home. But a mere plot summary can in no way convey the atmosphere of eeriness that Hodgson manages to sustain for the entire duration of his book. The Night Land is indeed a world of dark wonders, most of which go unexplained. The angelic powers of good that repeatedly come to our hero's salvation, the dreadful Watchers, the inhabitants of the House of Silence, the Laugher of the East, the invisible Evil Powers...all these mysterious inhabitants of the underground realm are fleetingly referred to, leaving the reader hoping to learn more. Despite the novel's length, "The Night Land" could easily have served as a mere introduction to an epic fantasy series. Sadly, with Hodgson's death in World War I action in April 1918, that continuing series was never to be, leaving us with this tantalizing glimpse of Earth's future.
I mentioned that archaic language before, the major stumbling block, seemingly, for most readers; the one responsible for the charge of the book being "unreadable." Here are some examples of this supposedly "unreadable" language: "And presently, when eighteen hours did have passed since that my sudden awakening to the peril of the Grey Men, I did search about for a place to slumber." "But I to know how that she did be like to be all gone of her strength thiswise...." "And there to be yet one thing upon which, mayhap, I not to have thought sufficient...." Although this diction is initially offputting, I found that I quickly adapted to the book's unusual grammar, syntax and punctuation (Hodgson's other works, especially "Glen Carrig," were a good prep for this), and soon felt that the narrator's manner of speech is almost charming. The book is far from unreadable; indeed, I think it is actually quite gripping. The final quarter that Lovecraft complained about is, for me, anything but a drag. Yes, the action does slow down a bit, as Hodgson details the "Taming of the Shrew"-like relationship that develops between our hero and his Naani; but this only sets us up for a final 50 pages or so that are really very thrilling. The relationship referred to, by the way, is quite a sweet one. Has a couple in all of fantasy literature ever been more manifestly in love than this couple here? Have you ever seen two people so enamored of each other that they actually kiss each other's food? Though some modern feminists might have a problem with our narrator's pet name for Naani ("Baby Slave"), the two are as perfect a couple as one could hope to find, and the reader's sympathies are wholly with them during their harrowing journey. Indeed, the more sentimental reader may find him/herself getting quite a bit misty-eyed by the book's conclusion. In any event, the bottom line is that this novel is some kind of brilliant work, and one that should greatly appeal to all fantasy, sci-fi and horror fans. It is well worth seeking out.
An early work of fantasy It is not clear from the reviews above that this epic fantasy novel was one of the first in the genre, first published in 1912.
Hodgson conjures up a unique vision of the far future, where Earth is near its heat death, and all is darkness. At times his prose is brilliant, hinting at how humans are a minute remnant, scurrying between the toes of titanic forces they only dimly understand. In this he evokes a Lovecraftian sense of our vulnerablity. However, his prose goes beyond purple well into the ultraviolet. It is not written in what one might call modern English, nor even turn of the century English. He is trying to evoke a mythic tone by writing with a more archaic mode. It is full of enough "Lo!"'s and "Behold!"'s to choke a bard. If you can get past that, the novel is worth while for the mood it evokes.
Rich, enigmatic, profound This book defies the categories that are given to it. Science Ficiton, Fantasy, Horror. It really is none of these things. I am not going to tell you that if you like Machen or Lovecraft, then you will love this book. I very much dislike Machen and Lovecraft, and that particular genre as well. Hodgson is weird, but he does not go out of his way to convince or to push off his beliefs on the reader. He speaks of his own experience, so to share with the reader of the amazing, and he does this very well. He actually has sever places in this book where he states these facts, and you see the credible nature of his narrative, and you are not forced to see his point of view to enjoy the story. This fact is one of the main reasons that I enjoyed this work immensely.
Then, of course, there is the aspect of the language employed, a romantic english that verges past Victorian all the way to middle english. This makes the book hard to read, but it is in the way I have always looked for in the fantasies that I read. If forces you to read the book in intervals. Sometimes, minutely, sometimes daily, even yearly. It took me four and a half years to read this book, and although I admit that it was hard to read, (not a child's first book), it was this aspect that made me cherish this work more. I always wanted a book that I could savor, and not read all the way through in two days. Like Vonngegut, for instance.
I like Vonnecgut, but you have to work hard to remember the scenery and plot, whereas with a more challenging read such as "The Night Land", the imagery is something that will stick with you for the rest of your life.
Like Hodgson does with his writing, I will not try to convince you to read this book by telling you the story, and try to pass off the story on the merit of the story. All I can say is that it is not a book someone should read who does not understand grammar, such as a High School student. However, If you appreciate eternal imagery with a quality of the strange, then you will be glad you read this book all the way through.
I can finish this review by telling you that I will never read this book a second time. I had to work very hard to finish this book, and I will always reamember (especially the island) the subtle breaks of non-continuity that made my resuming the book after a time, and the moments I decided I would put it down to read my other book. More books should be as ambitious as Hodgson's premeire work. Even though I will not read it again (if you can finish it, you don't need to), I will read "The Dream of X" which is a condensed version of the story, and remember all of the deleted scenes as if they actually happened. I look forward to reading "The Dream of X". If you read the book, you will too.
Lovecraft isn't wrong HP Lovecraft called this book a masterpiece. It is, and it isn't. It's full of the late Victorian crap about endless love, and the word Love is always capitalized. Our hero's treatment of the woman he loves is also suspect. I doubt very seriously whether women's libbers would like this book. (Do women's libbers read, though?) Still, the depiction of the Night Land is incredibly chilling and the obvious and unalterable end of humanity is also chilling. We've finally bitten off more than we can chew, and the very universe itself is out to get us, and it WILL win, whether through the Pneumovores, or the Watchers or some other dark denizen of the Night Land. This is difficult reading, both because of the prose style Hodgson chose and for the dark depressing subject matter, but it is well worth reading. Also, please look for Andy Robertson's more modern book in the Night Land here on Amazon. You need to have read this book before you tackle the Robertson, but both are wonderful reads.
The Human Thing after the end of time. This novel could be called " The Resolute Acceptance of Death" and it could also be called "The Resolute Denial of Death". For some reason Hodgson believes all of those debased faery tales. He believes romantic love conquers even death when, of course, considering how many people die every day, romantic love does no such thing. The landscapes and the devil-deities depicted in this nightmare- world of the far future creep down into the nerves and light up all kinds of disturbing non-human lightnings. We are not merely talking about the destruction of the human race. We are not also talking about phantoms dredged up from the bottom of the human soul to spook us in the daylight. Jung and the approved psychologists have no place here. Something more grave is at stake - the confrontation of a bedraggled humanity with non-human forces that seek humanity's final destruction. I have no sympathy for reviewers and readers who dislike the language - the style of prose Hodgson uses to tell the story. The language is the utterance of a subtle form of madness - the particular insanity of the Hero who tells the tale and lives it. And the Hero is insane! It took me half of the way through the book for me to realize this. Everything about the Hero fulfills the dread shape of the male protagonist beloved to the old pulps and adventure stories in the early part of the century that has passed. He is occasionally brutal towards the woman he loved; that, combined with an extravagance of manly tenderness towards her tells me that the screws are a bit loose in his head - or too tight. This book describes more of the human condition ( if I may drag that ponderous entity into this little review) than do a hundred thousand essays and novels and plays written by writers who adhere to the strict and ruthelessly exclusive artistic codes of "realism". The reason it does so is because Hodgson is something of a deranged mystic who ignores the rationlist strictures so many other writers of the day obeyed like slaves. I highly recommend this book to any reader yearning to repaint the landscape of her (or his) dreams. The colors will be vivid and aweful, but at least they will both provoke and endure.
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