r/Ligotti

First, I’ll make a few general remarks about the whole. In Teatro Ligotti produces a writing style distinct from his earlier works: less flowery but somehow no less enchanting, leaning quite heavily into repetition, unusual phrasing, and humor as literary tools (a trend I first noticed in his earlier work, My Work is Not Yet Done).

Thematically, Teatro Grottesco can be very broadly divided into two: (1) the ‘work horror’ pieces that offer societal mirrors and which hit hard as beautifully articulated existential critiques, such as “Town Manager,” “Our Temporary Supervisor,” and “My Case for Retributive Action.” And (2) the rest, which all function, to varying degrees, as narrative conduits relaying Ligotti’s bleak worldview. And I specifically use the word ‘bleak’ here instead of ‘dark’ because this is a noticeable shift in the undertone of this collection compared to Ligotti’s earlier stuff. In his earlier works such as “Dr. Voke and Mr. Veech,” “Dr. Locrian’s Asylum,” or “The Mystics of Muelenburg,” the universe is dark, almost brilliantly, fascinatingly dark, and we crescendo together with his protagonists into a dazzling void. The stories most similar to these is in this collection are “The Clown Puppet” and “Gas Station Carnivals,” whereas in many others here, such as the three abovementioned ‘work horror’ tales in addition to “In a Foreign Town, In a Foreign Land” and “Sideshow, and Other Stories” we get these stories without a ‘dark crescendo’ in Ligotti’s earlier style, but which instead fizzle out in utter bleakness upon endless bleakness (still with his same worldview; it’s only the articulation that has changed). This is no less powerful and I enjoyed it just as much, but it is something noticeably different in Ligotti’s 50-year-old style that we see here (compared to his 30-year-old style in Songs, for instance).

Again, just like in Grimscribe, there are stories that are almost completely (i.e., even more than the rest) philosophical overtures, for which particularly “The Shadow, The Darkness” but also “Severini” come to mind. Additionally, a relatively new thematic angle for Ligotti that emerges quite powerfully in this volume is that of art horror merged into identity horror. Particularly “Teatro Grottesco,” “Gas Station Carnivals,” and “The Bungalow House” play around with this theme in really chilling ways. And as I said, each and every story here contains a sense of humor (to varying degrees); that uniquely Ligottian jet-black humor that I have come to really enjoy and which I found to be noticeably elevated in this collection. I’ll now go over the stories in order.

 

The collection opens with the story “Purity” which is a fascinating concept, that of obsession, taken to obscene heights (cf. Lovecraft’s Herbert West). Not bad, but for me the real highlights of the volume were just around the corner. “The Town Manager” hits like freight train. It instantly draws you in with its beautiful prose – now less purple and more simple; more directly mesmerizing. Here Ligotti conjures an electrifying, eerie mirror of the world so masterfully well, only to then rend it away, layer by layer, until we reach an archetypical Ligottian finale. A beautifully articulated, poignant societal critique and an incredible feat of existential horror. Even if you read nothing else, read this story.

Immediately following this we have “Sideshow, and Other Stories” which is a collection of five existential horror vignettes that are loosely nested in an identity horror meta-narrative. It is really well written, really electrifyingly so, and I absolutely loved how Ligotti’s grim worldview is presented in the vignette titled “The Malignant Matrix.” Even if you don’t agree with his philosophy, you will appreciate how he articulates and envisions things. Its complexity might not be for everyone’s tastes at it sort of demands some forehead-wrinkling neural activity as one’s eyes glaze over the words, and I had to read it twice to even begin to understand it. So, not really a “relaxing Sunday read,” but more a “deconstruction effort.”

 

Then we have the second highlight of this volume and a real masterpiece of philosophical/existential horror: “The Clown Puppet.” This story is just so well-constructed and written, it draws you right in with its mesmerizing black humor and witty existential critique peeking out from behind its glamorous, uncanny façade. The repetition of the “nonsense” stuff works so well. And the whole meat shop angle combined with the odd inclusion of “goat” is just the icing on top. And what about that ending...!? There’s just nothing bad about this story; not a single misplaced word or overcrowded paragraph. This story together with “The Town Manager” is proof enough of Ligotti’s genius. Perhaps due to some odd condition of his psyche, he seems to be able to produce these stories that literally no one else could possibly even begin to fathom; rainbows vomited up by some deranged whirlpool churning around in his decaying gray matter. “The Clown Puppet” checks absolutely every box there is.

 

Next, we have two exquisite tales of what I’m going to call ‘work horror’ (or alternatively ‘industrial horror’ or ‘corporate horror’). The first, “My Case for Retributive Action,” is a stunning societal critique that both contains lots of black humor (not the least delivered through Ligotti’s brilliant use of repetitions) and bone-chilling horror that really crescendos toward the end. It revolves around a new employee in a ‘form processing company’ with an endless workload which spirals into further monstrous endlessness upon eternal endlessness... How Ligotti narrates this bleakness is just pure brilliance (ironically).

 

Then comes “Our Temporary Supervisor,” the third real highlight of the volume, which is somehow even better than “My Case for Retributive Action” (works well to read these two in sequence), really upping the ante of gloom and existential bleakness rooted in the modern workplace. Details like the company not accepting resignations and then eventually extending this policy to not accepting retirements, the whole ‘unseen supervisor presence’, and the gradually building hopelessness and self-imposed efficiency is just so masterfully presented its almost maddeningly good! Ligotti proves, once again, that he is the undisputed master of this sub-genre of horror fiction that I’ve here called ‘work horror’ but which is alternatively sometimes called industrial or corporate horror.

 

Next comes “In a Foreign Town, In a Foreign Land,” grouped together in the volume with the previous two tales. This time we are treated to four sub-stories that merge into a creepy and iconically Ligottian ‘reality horror’ saga. The idea of uncreation in the first is chilling, the creepy motel and jingle-jangling housekeeper thing in the second is very unsettling, and the unfiltered existential bleakness of the third is... hauntingly beautiful. Small details like how the second vignette opens with the bench scene makes our journey all the more enchanting. This quartet of nested stories probably won’t chime with everyone, but for those who appreciate Ligotti’s philosophical musings it really hits hard. “In a Foreign Town, In a Foreign Land” is up there with his best existential explorations of the human condition – despite the story’s janky name (come on Tom, surely you could’ve come up with a slightly less awkward name for this one).

 

Then we have the titular story, “Teatro Grottesco,” which shifts the collection’s gears to a more personal level for Ligotti, it would seem, exploring ‘the end of artistic drive’ and the dissolution of creativity while critiquing art more broadly. It does this via the extended ‘metaphor’ of a grotesque theatre troupe that haunts artistic individuals. While still quite interesting, I think it’s my least favorite in the collection thus far (simply because everything before it was so damn good).

 

The next story, “Gas Station Carnivals,” follows in the same vein of art and identity horror, but begins with what is likely the coziest opening paragraph Ligotti has ever written. I enjoyed this story much more than “Teatro Grottesco.” First of all, it has some seriously haunting imagery in the ‘The Showman’ and the dilapidated carnivals with their creepy sideshows all presented through the fog of memory. These conjure a more traditionally eerie backdrop upon which Ligotti then does Ligotti things, unpacking identity and reality before delivering a crushing and iconically pessimistic finale. Additionally, I think the diner/pub setting works much better as a narrative stage than the non-descript venues that rotate in and out of “Teatro Grottesco.”

 

Then we have “The Bungalow House,” where the story is narrated by a person undergoing a complete psychological unraveling. This story is more tangible than the previous two (which were primarily mood/theme stories) and has more of a plot. The premise is simple: A man keeps visiting an art gallery on his lunch breaks to listen to a mysterious series of audio tapes. Eventually the story becomes one of obsession and identity horror, as we slowly descend – alongside the protagonist – into the abyss of the human condition.

 

After this comes “Severini,” where we embark on a dreamy and mood-driven descent into madness, which, as Ligotti is eager to always hammer home, is actually not madness but what ought to be our natural state, since it is the logical opposite of the true madness that is the mass delusion whereby human existence is seen as worth anything above absolute zero. This is a profoundly anti-life and anti-natalist story (even more so than the preceding stories) which therefore only classifies as ‘horror’ for those who disagree with Ligotti, which will be almost everyone reading it. That being said, even without subscribing to Ligotti’s philosophical pessimism, it is still generally enjoyable as a reflective mood piece: It has intense imagery and functions well as a ‘deranged narrator’ story (this works on both levels: Severini as the deranged story narrator or Ligotti as the deranged meta-narrator!).

 

The collection then draws to a close with the aptly named “The Shadow, The Darkness.” This story functions as a deeply personal philosophical overture for Ligotti and a continuation of “Severini” in many ways. The first two sentences are immediately just pure Ligottian brilliance, what with that one-word in italics and the phrase “nucleus of nowhere.” Just these first two sentences (1) stir our curiosity, (2) generate a small mental chuckle (Ligotti’s signature phrasing-humor), and (3) set the tone of what is to come. This is what I mean when I keep underlining “Ligotti’s genius.” Anyway, the story then progresses into a beautiful, humorously-written philosophical ‘horror’ tale about the shadowy blackness that lurks behind the façade of everything within and to do with human existence. Again, we find references to gastro-intestinal troubles in this story, just like several prior stories, showing how much Ligotti’s real-life bout of such troubles must have affected him. This final story also seems additionally personal for Ligotti since he keeps ‘self-referencing’ a fictional version of his non-fiction novel (The Conspiracy), and also alluding to his earlier fictional works, such as “The Tsalal.”

I hope you enjoyed my comments, please let me know your thoughts. I don't think there's enough online discussion of this amazing collection.

Hi all, I wanted to share my thoughts about Burnett's 2022 short story collection, which I think is really amazing (hence why I wanted to share my thoughts in case it inspires you to also pick it up). [Additional note that I unfortunately like to include these days: this review is completely my work, I used no AI whatsoever, neither to write it nor in consultation in any way at all - human brain power only, thank you.]

Right off the bat I'll say that it is an excellent book of existential/cosmic horror with a heavy thematic leaning into grief/loss as drivers of the horror.

First, I want to address the Ligotti comparisons: As a big fan of Thomas Ligotti’s fiction, I can definitively say that he never wrote ‘grief horror’, which is the psychological/existential unraveling precipitated by grief/loss in horror story format. In fact, that would be antithetical to his worldview where human affairs are in general “malignantly useless” in the face of a universe where everyone’s destiny is to “work the great wheel that turns in darkness, and to be broken upon it.”

Burnett, on the other hand, features grief/loss horror quite prominently in this collection and that is why I would compare his stories more closely with those of Christopher Slatsky, and particularly with Slatsky’s second collection, The Immeasurable Corpse of Nature (think of the “The Figurine” for instance). Similar to Slatsky, Burnett takes these intense, human-centered episodes of loss/anguish and weaves them into unsettling, beautiful vignettes of cosmic/existential reckoning. The second comparative name that comes to my mind is Brian Hodge, who also taps into this reservoir of grief horror to an extent, but who is more similar to Burnett for reasons of theme/subject, as I’ll get in to below.

The first story of the collection, “The Toy Shop” is a prime example of this 'grief horror' and one of my favorites. Without spoiling it, all I can say is that it takes the psychology of a close family death, adds many unsettling details (dolls, toys), and gradually folds all that into a haunting tale of cosmic/galactic horror. The story “Our Endeavors” is another good example of how Burnett takes grief/loss and weaves it into existential horror with quite pessimistic (Ligottian) tones. The final crescendo of that story (in fact, it’s last 2-3 pages in general) is really incredible, another one of my favorites from this collection.

But, nonetheless, I would say don’t acquire this collection if you expect stories like those of Ligotti (I doubt anyone will ever fill the Ligotti shaped hole in our souls). There are certain similarities with Ligotti: (1) puppets/dolls and other inanimate objects feature quite prominently in Burnett’s stories as conduits of horror, (2) he often deploys light touches of Ligottian pessimism (e.g., the desire to be an inanimate object, the horror of existing, etc.), and (3) he continues the timeless Lovecraftian (and Ligottian) tradition of using the night sky (stars, moon, space) and also light/darkness as hauntingly beautiful imagery.

Burnett also borrows some of Ligotti’s experimental narration styles, a particularly striking example being the one-sided dialogue format he uses in “The Golden Thread,” which is very clearly inspired by Ligotti’s “The Chymist.” This isn’t bad of course; I like authors borrowing stylistic things on occasion (and nothing else is similar in these two stories except their narration style).

So, while Burnett’s stories are in general in a somewhat different and more anthropic vein than Ligotti’s, there are some notable and deliberate stylistic/thematic similarities. And he also names Ligotti and analyzes several of his stories in the titular ‘monologue’ – which in my opinion was actually the weakest thing in the collection. I don’t think it was a very good analysis of Ligotti and I’d be happy to expand this if reached out to but won’t drag it here in this review.

For my second (2) point, for instance, look at this passage of Burnett’s concluding a saga of intense grief/loss horror with a touch of pessimism heavily reminiscent of Ligotti: “Know that we can’t even hope to join each other in mutual darkness, for I am there now and have found nothing.” This type of existentially bleak ending is very similar to some of Slatsky’s recent stories. For instance, consider the ending of Slatsky’s “Professor Cognoscente's Carnival.” Both Slatsky and Burnett use Ligottian themes as parts of their stories, often as the ending punch, rather than those themes being the entire story like the big L’s style in his Teatro Grottesco collection.

But aside from grief/existential horror, Burnett also has some very Lovecraftian stories in this collection, a great example of which is “The Rubber Man.” He also leans into music and particularly metal music as a thematic setting, which is great – a bit like Brian Hodge. It is immediately possible to tell that such authors are metalheads, which is great. For me, this brought several stories quite close to my heart, those such as “Devourer” and “Sister” come to mind.

Burnett also has some quite experimental pieces, which really elevate this collection as a whole, allowing him to showcase his authorial prowess, with the titular ‘story’, “Our Endeavors,” “The Enucleator,” and also “A Prisoner’s Guide to Stargazing” coming to mind. The last one is one of the scariest things I’ve ever read, and I just want to forget about it!

Burnett also leans into Sci-Fi themes in several stories (e.g., “ABDN-1”) adding yet more thematic diversity to what is already quite a varied collection. It is similar, in that respect, to Ligotti’s Songs of a Dead Dreamer, where he too had experimented with many different literary styles and thematic strands before leaning into his ‘favorites’ in subsequent collections. This is also brings to mind Brian Hodge, who employs a similarly diverse register of thematic settings in his story collections (e.g., Skidding into Oblivion). “The Golden Thread” for instance is similar to Hodge’s “One Possible Shape of Things to Come” in the originality of its main premise – both being excellent stories that really make you think, “how did they even think of this?”

In that vein, and to humbly provide my opinion on how I hope Burnett continues his career, I feel that he is strongest when writing grief horror tuned to existential/cosmic terror such as in “Our Endeavors” and “The Toy Shop.” I hope to see more of this sort of stuff in his future work. And as I said above, I unfortunately found the largely non-fiction ‘monologue’ piece to be the weakest thing in this collection – it is always harder to land these types of works.

In general, I was excited to ‘discover’ Justin Burnett, and I can safely say that I will be following his work closely from now on. I have added him, in my mind, beside others of the new generation of promising short-form horror authors. I highly recommend this collection. Buy it, read it, spread it.

Not sure if any of you are familiar with the story (it is in the "Nyctalops Trilogy" which I believe can be found in "Songs of a Dead Dreamer"), but there is a point where the hypnotist is trying a final trick for the audience (code name: Seraphim) and the audience does not or cannot see what he is trying to show. Ligotti doesn't explain what's going on here and it's very much left to the reader's interpretation.

Do any of you have any idea what it could be about?

Hello, I am asking this question in very good faith so please do not react offensively. I am simply trying to understand the book better. In the first story, Purity, Candy is introduced as a black woman and is then described as doing these really gross things while living in a destroyed disgusting home. It becomes even worse when it says she's unable to understand the concept of Europe... Whatever that means. There is much about her character that seems incredibly racist and stereotypical and everything and I feel uncomfortable ignoring it. The story is otherwise very intelligent though and I'm having a hard time believing it's actually just using racist stereotypes in such a straightforward manner. It understands how social constructs like religion, nationalism, class, and gender impact the world and are ultimately "impure delusions", so how could it be so blind to race? It seems unlikely but I still just can't understand how it could be not racist. No one talks about that aspect anywhere I look! It's very disappointing about the book because otherwise it would be kind of a perfect work for me.

I'm also considering how the people who are fans of his work do not seem to be people who are or would be racist

There is also My Case for Retributive Action where Ribello is described as "rachitic", I originally thought this meant "ratchet" (obviously a very racially charged term) but after looking it up it is a way of describing someone who has rickets? Is he using it in this way? Isn't rickets specifically a thing children get? I looked it up and it said when adults get something like rickets it's called something else. What does it mean when Ribello is described as that?

Please help people I don't know :[