u/DeadAuthorSociety

I finished Outer Dark last week and my mind keeps returning back to it. This was my 4th McCarthy novel (I’ve read The Road, Blood Meridian, and The Orchard Keeper).

I was enthralled in the themes, especially the biblical themes portrayed in this novel. The landscape and how it’s described, especially in Culla’s wanderings, to me at least is very reminiscent of a purgatory.

Initially I interpreted the 3 antagonists as a distortion of the holy trinity, but I’ve seen other analyses interpreting them as depictions of divine fate. Which in Greek mythology the Fates are depicted as 3 sisters.

It makes sense to me that they’re symbolic for fate and retribution as they follow Culla until the end of the book.

I’d love to hear how others on here interpreted Outer Dark.

The children have been sneaking out at night.

They leave hand in hand, cross the front yard and into the lane, and to the edge of the wood. The neighboring children follow in suit. Emerging out of the vastness of night to their designated meeting spot.

They unite their hands, swaying and skipping around. The rays of the midnight moon only illuminate their miniscule bodies in the face of the vast, encompassing darkness of the forest.

The next morning, I asked Jack and Mary what they were doing outside with their friends last night.

“Please don’t tell mom and dad please, we weren’t doing anything wrong. Billy just wanted to play his music for us.” Mary pleaded with me.

“Who’s Billy?” I demanded as none of the neighbors had the name of Billy or even William.

“He lives out in the woods, but he says we can’t go in yet. He plays his music and talks to us from one of the big trees.” Mary responded.

“Why have I never seen him then? I’ve been back home for almost two months now; I only seen you both playing with the Smith and McCaigen kids.” I inquired.

“He only lets his friends hear his music and see him.”

This sounded like a textbook imaginary friend the children had made up.

“Aren’t you a little old for imaginary friends?” I asked.

“He is not imaginary!” Jack and Mary insisted.

“Alright, alright. You can play with Billy if you’d like, but I don’t want to see you outside at night again without mom or dad knowing.”

They both gave each other a sidelong glance before giving me a nod of acquiescence.

A week passed in quietude. On a clear Saturday morning, nothing to do, I chanced upon the decision to satisfy the void left by my absence from university studies by paying a visit to the local art and historical society in town. There they display local art and historical artifacts from the town’s long history.

Most of the displays were what you’d expect to find from a small colonial town: some portraits of long dead town magistrates and councilmen, uniforms and weapons donned by those who had fought in skirmishes, battles, and wars on behalf of town and country. And a large quantity of predominantly woodland landscape paintings.

As these unremarkable pieces continued with seemingly little variation, I quickened my pace giving each piece a quick skim and glance. That was, until I came upon something that greatly caught my eye for its uniqueness and dark themes. During the witchcraft panic of the 17^(th) century in which the infamous Salem witch trials occurred, there was a lesser-known witchcraft trial that happened in this colonial town in which I reside.

The story goes (according to the local legend), that a young man by the name of William Kramer was put on trial for selling his soul to the devil in return to become the best fiddler there was. It initially came from an anonymous accusation. In the ensuing hysteria of hearing such an accusation against one of their own; many publicly came forward to being witness to William Kramer meeting the devil himself, horned, hooved, and all in the woods beneath the great elm in the woods.

The verdict in the court of public opinion was thus sealed; by means of witchcraft, William Kramer was believed to have been granted the extraordinary gift for fiddling.

However, the court gave him two options: plead guilty to witchcraft and recant but leave town never to return or risk a trial. A guilty verdict was punishable by death. Kramer, in his youthful defiance, chose a trial, refusing to recant for something he claimed not to have committed.

The court brought in eight witnesses who testified to seeing Kramer meet and sell his soul to the devil.

The verdict: Guilty

The punishment: Death by Hanging

In order to perform penance for William Kramer’s alleged crimes, they hung him from the great elm in which his accusers claimed to have witnessed him with the devil.

Every child in our town at some point learns of this tale. The legend has it that you can still hear William playing with his fiddle near that tree which still stands today, looming large over the surrounding woods.

In this painting that I heretofore had never gazed upon, let alone knew of its existence depicting the hanging of William Kramer. They placed a burlap sack over his head, a wooden crucifix around his neck, his fiddle dashed to pieces at the base of the tree. But upon closer inspection of the painting, something dark peers out at the viewer from behind the tree trunk on the branch in which William Kramer hangs lifelessly. It is a mere silhouette, but it’s pair of blazing yellow eyes pierced what felt like directly into my soul. One can only imagine that this is some sort of devil or demon relishing in this new soul bound to hell and the devil himself for all eternity.

But being a student of history I decided to look upon this event from more of an academic and analytical perspective. Upon exiting the art and historical society center, I made my way to the town library. In the local history section, which is surprisingly large since our town has such a long and rich history dating back to the very first British settlers. After much perusing, I found a handful of diaries and histories from around that time period.

Admittedly, some of the accounts fully lean into the devil story, while others of a more rational voice name some more rational explanations that led to the trial and execution of William Kramer. Namely that Kramer had several alleged enemies of whom he had knowingly or unknowingly got on the bad side of. One such man and possibly the most influential was a man of the name John Crusoe, a wealthy businessman and member of the town council whose wife had an affinity for Kramer’s musical talent to the point of rumors of an alleged affair between the two. Additionally, Kramer was well known for playing music to local children, many of whom had developed a deep fondness for Kramer and him of them. To many of the parents this was quite alarming in some ways due to his character being more of a flamboyant and sociable personality rather than the stoic and austere puritan ideal.

My conclusion was that this was yet another case of panic, hysteria, and religious psychosis that has been characteristic of so many witch hunts and acts of violence rooted in superstition throughout history.

After numbing my brain from so many journal and diary entries from the 17^(th) century, I had had enough of local legend and made my way home. On my walk home I saw Mary, Jack, and some of the neighbors sitting out in a circle in the field beyond our houses. Not wanting to interrupt whatever game they were playing, I went on inside.

After cooking myself up a quick supper, I went to the sofa to rest my eyes.

When I awoke it was pitch dark. Checking the clock, it read ten minutes till three in the morning. I sat up, rubbing my eyes for a moment. As I was getting up from the sofa to clamber into my bed, I heard the faint sound of a musical tune in the distance, it was a calming yet melancholic tune. Not thinking too much of it, I entered into the hallway, glancing into the first bedroom which belonged Jack, the opened door revealed the bed to be empty. Hastening to Mary’s room, I found her bed empty the same. Her window wide open with the screen knocked out. I made my way to the window and was first met with the chill breeze of the night. Peeking my head out the window, and into the surrounding land beyond my house. There I saw, in the illuminating light of a moon on a clear night a vast emptiness in the field. However, the music was somewhat clearer now, yet still far in the distance. It originated from the woods. Exiting through the window, I followed the noise up to the tree line, upon first glance the canopy was too thick to let any moonlight in, but I gazed upon a dim light in the distance; firelight.

The firelight led to a clearing I was well familiar with, tracing the light to its source near the base of the great elm. There the children danced around the fire in a circle to the tune of fiddle. The instrument was played by a figure hanging from the tree, a noose around tight around the neck. Above the fiddling fiddler I witnessed that which no man ever need to gaze upon. It was a wretched fiend of a faun, clad in fur from head to hoof, with great obsidian horns protruding from its skull. There upon the thick branch above the hanged man, it danced in reverie to the music, the children following suit with the same energy. Slowing its movements, the creature’s eyes fell upon me, those very same piercing, yellow eyes I had dwelt upon earlier.

The children have been sneaking out at night.

They leave hand in hand, cross the front yard and into the lane, and to the edge of the wood. The neighboring children follow in suit. Emerging out of the vastness of night to their designated meeting spot.

They unite their hands, swaying and skipping around. The rays of the midnight moon only illuminate their miniscule bodies in the face of the vast, encompassing darkness of the forest.

The next morning, I asked Jack and Mary what they were doing outside with their friends last night.

“Please don’t tell mom and dad please, we weren’t doing anything wrong. Billy just wanted to play his music for us.” Mary pleaded with me.

“Who’s Billy?” I demanded as none of the neighbors had the name of Billy or even William.

“He lives out in the woods, but he says we can’t go in yet. He plays his music and talks to us from one of the big trees.” Mary responded.

“Why have I never seen him then? I’ve been back home for almost two months now; I only seen you both playing with the Smith and McCaigen kids.” I inquired.

“He only lets his friends hear his music and see him.”

This sounded like a textbook imaginary friend the children had made up.

“Aren’t you a little old for imaginary friends?” I asked.

“He is not imaginary!” Jack and Mary insisted.

“Alright, alright. You can play with Billy if you’d like, but I don’t want to see you outside at night again without mom or dad knowing.”

They both gave each other a sidelong glance before giving me a nod of acquiescence.

A week passed in quietude. On a clear Saturday morning, nothing to do, I chanced upon the decision to satisfy the void left by my absence from university studies by paying a visit to the local art and historical society in town. There they display local art and historical artifacts from the town’s long history.

Most of the displays were what you’d expect to find from a small colonial town: some portraits of long dead town magistrates and councilmen, uniforms and weapons donned by those who had fought in skirmishes, battles, and wars on behalf of town and country. And a large quantity of predominantly woodland landscape paintings.

As these unremarkable pieces continued with seemingly little variation, I quickened my pace giving each piece a quick skim and glance. That was, until I came upon something that greatly caught my eye for its uniqueness and dark themes. During the witchcraft panic of the 17^(th) century in which the infamous Salem witch trials occurred, there was a lesser-known witchcraft trial that happened in this colonial town in which I reside.

The story goes (according to the local legend), that a young man by the name of William Kramer was put on trial for selling his soul to the devil in return to become the best fiddler there was. It initially came from an anonymous accusation. In the ensuing hysteria of hearing such an accusation against one of their own; many publicly came forward to being witness to William Kramer meeting the devil himself, horned, hooved, and all in the woods beneath the great elm in the woods.

The verdict in the court of public opinion was thus sealed; by means of witchcraft, William Kramer was believed to have been granted the extraordinary gift for fiddling.

However, the court gave him two options: plead guilty to witchcraft and recant but leave town never to return or risk a trial. A guilty verdict was punishable by death. Kramer, in his youthful defiance, chose a trial, refusing to recant for something he claimed not to have committed.

The court brought in eight witnesses who testified to seeing Kramer meet and sell his soul to the devil.

The verdict: Guilty

The punishment: Death by Hanging

In order to perform penance for William Kramer’s alleged crimes, they hung him from the great elm in which his accusers claimed to have witnessed him with the devil.

Every child in our town at some point learns of this tale. The legend has it that you can still hear William playing with his fiddle near that tree which still stands today, looming large over the surrounding woods.

In this painting that I heretofore had never gazed upon, let alone knew of its existence depicting the hanging of William Kramer. They placed a burlap sack over his head, a wooden crucifix around his neck, his fiddle dashed to pieces at the base of the tree. But upon closer inspection of the painting, something dark peers out at the viewer from behind the tree trunk on the branch in which William Kramer hangs lifelessly. It is a mere silhouette, but it’s pair of blazing yellow eyes pierced what felt like directly into my soul. One can only imagine that this is some sort of devil or demon relishing in this new soul bound to hell and the devil himself for all eternity.

But being a student of history I decided to look upon this event from more of an academic and analytical perspective. Upon exiting the art and historical society center, I made my way to the town library. In the local history section, which is surprisingly large since our town has such a long and rich history dating back to the very first British settlers. After much perusing, I found a handful of diaries and histories from around that time period.

Admittedly, some of the accounts fully lean into the devil story, while others of a more rational voice name some more rational explanations that led to the trial and execution of William Kramer. Namely that Kramer had several alleged enemies of whom he had knowingly or unknowingly got on the bad side of. One such man and possibly the most influential was a man of the name John Crusoe, a wealthy businessman and member of the town council whose wife had an affinity for Kramer’s musical talent to the point of rumors of an alleged affair between the two. Additionally, Kramer was well known for playing music to local children, many of whom had developed a deep fondness for Kramer and him of them. To many of the parents this was quite alarming in some ways due to his character being more of a flamboyant and sociable personality rather than the stoic and austere puritan ideal.

My conclusion was that this was yet another case of panic, hysteria, and religious psychosis that has been characteristic of so many witch hunts and acts of violence rooted in superstition throughout history.

After numbing my brain from so many journal and diary entries from the 17^(th) century, I had had enough of local legend and made my way home. On my walk home I saw Mary, Jack, and some of the neighbors sitting out in a circle in the field beyond our houses. Not wanting to interrupt whatever game they were playing, I went on inside.

After cooking myself up a quick supper, I went to the sofa to rest my eyes.

When I awoke it was pitch dark. Checking the clock, it read ten minutes till three in the morning. I sat up, rubbing my eyes for a moment. As I was getting up from the sofa to clamber into my bed, I heard the faint sound of a musical tune in the distance, it was a calming yet melancholic tune. Not thinking too much of it, I entered into the hallway, glancing into the first bedroom which belonged Jack, the opened door revealed the bed to be empty. Hastening to Mary’s room, I found her bed empty the same. Her window wide open with the screen knocked out. I made my way to the window and was first met with the chill breeze of the night. Peeking my head out the window, and into the surrounding land beyond my house. There I saw, in the illuminating light of a moon on a clear night a vast emptiness in the field. However, the music was somewhat clearer now, yet still far in the distance. It originated from the woods. Exiting through the window, I followed the noise up to the tree line, upon first glance the canopy was too thick to let any moonlight in, but I gazed upon a dim light in the distance; firelight.

The firelight led to a clearing I was well familiar with, tracing the light to its source near the base of the great elm. There the children danced around the fire in a circle to the tune of fiddle. The instrument was played by a figure hanging from the tree, a noose around tight around the neck. Above the fiddling fiddler I witnessed that which no man ever need to gaze upon. It was a wretched fiend of a faun, clad in fur from head to hoof, with great obsidian horns protruding from its skull. There upon the thick branch above the hanged man, it danced in reverie to the music, the children following suit with the same energy. Slowing its movements, the creature’s eyes fell upon me, those very same piercing, yellow eyes I had dwelt upon earlier.