This
sensible advice is offered by Jedediah Orne in a letter sent to Joseph Curwen
in the late 18th century.
Both men were nefarious characters—Curwen especially—in one of H.P.
Lovecraft’s most ambitious works, The
Case of Charles Dexter Ward. The
failure to abide such advice provides the impetus for much of the ensuing
horror and tragedy. The novel, which is the
longest work of fiction Lovecraft ever wrote, was published several years after
his death, first appearing in an abridged version in Weird Tales in 1941.
Despite
its flaws, The Case of Charles Dexter
Ward is H.P. Lovecraft at his best, in command of his material, showing
markedly improved characterization, and making effective use of his particular
strengths as a writer: creating moody
and disturbing scenes, building up nightmares out of thorough backstory, and
offering mind blowing concepts for his readers to piece together from the
steadily accumulating and disquieting evidence.
Unusual for Lovecraft, the story is told in the third person instead of
the first, and superficially at least seems less autobiographical than much of
his fiction.
As the
title suggests, The Case of Charles
Dexter Ward, is essentially a clinical study of psychic possession. It falls to the diligent family physician,
Dr. Willett, to determine—from family report, genealogical records,
correspondence, newspaper articles and his own observations—a terrifying
diagnosis with frightful implications for all of humankind. This being a Lovecraft story, readers can
probably anticipate what the prognosis
will be for Charles Dexter Ward. But his
family and doctor barely survive themselves with their sanity intact. The novel contains something pathological for
everyone: grave robbing, necromancy, corruption (political and economic as well
as physical), psychic possession, grotesque monsters, and even vampirism.
It is
interesting to compare The Case of
Charles Dexter Ward with The Shadow
Out of Time (1936). (The latter was
discussed in late July; see also 3.
Time: Not on Our Side). Both stories involve forms of mental transference,
one brought about through necromancy, the other administered by
extraterrestrials. Why was this such a
frequent motif towards the end of Lovecraft’s career? It seems inconsistent with his oft stated
belief that nothing of mind or soul survives outside the physical body.
However,
the appearance of mental transference or soul exchange is also a marker of the tension
between the supernatural and the proto-science fiction elements in his work. Lovecraft seems to oscillate between occult
and pseudo-scientific explanations for the phenomena. Other stories that contain this motif include
The Whisperer in Darkness (1931), The Challenge from Beyond (1935), The Thing on the Doorstep (1937), and
perhaps The Evil Clergyman (1939). The last of these, which is fragmentary and
dream-like in conception, contains an uneasy mixture of both supernatural and
scientific or technological imagery.
The Case of Charles Dexter Ward actually contains two stories in
roughly equal proportions. First, there
is the pain-staking reconstruction of a concealed history, that of the career
of one Joseph Curwen, refugee from “the great witchcraft panic” in Salem,
vengeful sorcerer and corrupter of pre-Revolutionary Providence. Curwen’s method of obtaining powerful occult
and esoteric knowledge was through necromancy—reconstituting
the bodies and souls of the long deceased from a handful of their dusty
remains. Which knowledge he used
effectively to gain political and economic influence, as well as the hand of a
local heiress in marriage. But Curwen
had another project he was secretly completing on his farm in nearby Pawtuxet,
one with dire consequences for the entire world.
Lovecraft
cleverly incorporates the fictional history of Joseph Curwen into the actual
history of events in Providence circa the mid-18th century—a skill
he shares with his colleague Robert E. Howard, who in some of his adventure
tales did the same with ancient European and Middle-Eastern history.
Interwoven
with the story of Joseph Curwen is the relentless demise of his descendent,
Charles Dexter Ward, who outwardly resembles Curwen when compared to an old
portrait of the sorcerer. Ward also very
much resembles Lovecraft in physique,
temperament, sheltered childhood, scholarly preoccupations, and obsession with genealogical
and antiquarian matters. Reading the
description of Ward’s upper class lifestyle and demeanor, one wonders if this essentially
autobiographical material is Lovecraft’s own life rewritten: what his
experience might have been if his grandfather’s business had not collapsed and the
family’s fortunes not precipitously declined, leaving him impoverished.
When
Ward becomes aware of his ancestor, he is soon obsessed with finding out all he
can about him, even locating the necromancer’s unpublished Journall and Notes of Jos: Curwen, Gent. Of Providence –Plantations,
Late of Salem. As he becomes ever
more under the sway of Curwen’s influence, Ward begins to recapitulate the
occult work his evil progenitor had begun in the late 1700s. Like father, like
great-great-great-grandson. Ward’s
parents and family doctor become increasingly alarmed, though for a while they
are remarkably tolerant of all the chanting, shrieking, thunder claps and
disturbing odors that radiate from Ward’s locked study.
Much of
the initial part of The Case of Charles
Dexter Ward is lengthy travelogue describing historic properties and
locations in Providence. There is also
an overly long portrait of Ward’s early life, which seems in many aspects to be
a version of the author’s autobiography.
This material appears to serve little purpose in unedited form, and
gives the impression it was appended to the front of the story. Less committed readers may want to skim these
early sections.
Lovecraft
has often been criticized for excessive back story, which typically involves depiction
of a narrator diligently studying and pondering old records in search of an
explanation for some bizarre event.
However, the detailed history of Curwen and his activities, as well as
the clinical depiction of Ward’s collapse into psychic possession are critical
to the story, and firmly establish the basis for the increasing horror and
tragedy. And Lovecraft skillfully brings
the narratives of the two men together at the end, with a climax that is
memorable and haunting.
By the
late 1930s Lovecraft was attempting ever longer and more complex stories with
multiple characters and subtle, disturbing themes. His skill as an author was continuing to
develop. His voluminous correspondence, the fragments and some of the
posthumous publications he left behind—among them Ibid (1938), The Evil
Clergyman (1939), The Very Old Folk
(1940) The Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath
(1943) and The Case of Charles Dexter
Ward (1941) clearly show that his work was not yet done. It is a tribute to his efforts that so many
have since attempted to build on top of the foundation he laid, or perhaps—because
there was so much excavation involved—uncovered.
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