Think Kafka meets David Lynch meets… I don’t know, Cortazar? Ligotti’s stories contain grotesqueries, but almost no violence whatsoever. The only title I can think to give it is philosophical horror. It took me about a week this fall to read all the stories–but since then I’ve thought of them pretty much every day, puzzling them out, piecing them together. It’s more like a scope-creep of dread and awe. I’m pleased to report that it’s fucking phenomenal. But out of curiosity I finally bought Teatro Grottesco. A purple writer with visceral but repetitive and fairly superficial ideas.
The work itself sounded Lovecraftian in content and style. I found a site devoted entirely to his work, which by then I realized had a hardcore cult following.
I’d be searching for something unrelated and a relevant keyword would pop up in some message board post about Ligotti. (Because both their covers feature masks?) Ligotti’s name came randomly to my attention other ways, too. According to the unfathomable Amazonian formula, if you liked one, you might like the other. So for a while, whenever I looked at Amazon’s page for one of my own obscure books, the system recommended something called Teatro Grottesco by Thomas Ligotti.
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