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    The White People
    The White People
    The White People
    Ebook54 pages1 hour

    The White People

    By Arthur Machen

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    A discussion between two men on the nature of evil leads one of them to reveal a mysterious Green Book he possesses.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherStart Classics
    Release dateFeb 13, 2015
    ISBN9781633558588
    Author

    Arthur Machen

    Arthur Machen (1863–1947) was a Welsh author and actor best known for his fantasy and horror fiction. He grew up with intentions of becoming a doctor, but followed a boyhood passion of the supernatural and occult and started to write. In 1890, Machen began publishing short stories in literary magazines. Four years later, he released his breakthrough work, The Great God Pan. Decried upon initial publication for its depictions of sex and violence, the tale has since become a horror classic and has been hailed as “maybe the best [horror story] in the English language” by Stephen King. Machen continued to publish supernatural novels but spent time as actor in a traveling player company after his wife’s death. His literary career revived once more with the publication of his works The House of Souls and The Hill of Dreams. During World War I, Machen became a full-time journalist. Though he rallied for republications of his works, Machen’s literary career ultimately diminished, and he lived much of his life in poor finances. 

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    3.5/5

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    • 4/5
      “Now we are past all this. We are too weak. We dream when we are awake and when we dream we think we wake.”—“The Terror” by Arthur MachenAtmosphere is not a strength of most writers I’ve met—of most writers I’ve read. The current trend in publishing tends toward plot. And long on plot. Way long. Maybe string it out for a few installments with one fantastic invented element thrown in the titles or subtitles to make those who are “in the know” feel all the better for being so. So, maps and languages and lineages are cut from whole cloth that had been stolen from better writers. And they in turn had done the same. And that’s the sad saga of where literature has left us; cooked in a lusterless spoon. A rubber hose cuts off the artery in a neat linear narrative, needle-thin characters barely pierce the surface, a syringe full of wish-fulfillment and opioids; we are addicted to plot. Most of us. But there are a few . . . Conrad’s setting in "Heart of Darkness" was more of a character than either of the two great main characters of that novella. Blackwood’s “The Willows” were populated by beings that you aren’t quite sure if you’ve properly seen. Bolaño’s "2666" doesn’t even really have a plot. And just who the fuck is "V." in Pynchon’s novel by the same name? Every one of these works has far more atmosphere than the average reader’s imagination knows how to process. Or even store away in the closet next to all the other objects of obsolescence, somewhere in the corner above the outmoded shirts and sweaters that are too warm for the current clime since the move, below the cracked plaster that sorely needs painted over, next to the books of CDs that will never be played again, multiple hardback dictionaries that had even lost the utility to prop up computer equipment, all undergoing the same damage by time, oxidation, disuse, simply because we’ve stopped caring. And maybe none of it is important anymore. I mean, pleated cuffs on shirts? What the hell?Except that atmosphere sticks like glue on eyelids. Kind of like how your t-shirt clings after watering the plants in eighty percent humidity. You’ve got a second skin and it doesn’t fit at all like you want it. You need to slough it off and shower and, for fuck’s sake, you better put the bathroom fan on or else the mirror will be fogged so much that you won’t be able to see the sweat slide down from a break in the wetlands that have become your hair.Atmosphere. That’s what Arthur Machen had. Even if I scratched my head over the plot, puzzled over just which character was who, or had to keep straight exactly which timeline I was in, I never lost the atmosphere—the smell and feel of where I was. To “lose the plot” is a saying. Besides the obvious thread of the narrative slipping through the fingers, it can also refer to one going crazy. And when writer after writer keeps stuffing their vacuous narratives with plots out-twisting the most tortuous of Shyamalan stories, I can’t help and wonder at the lack of wonder their work is sodden with. Wet hair in a wet bathroom with streaks on the mirror. It makes me crazy. Atmosphere.Take a chance and read something to feel something—even if you don’t know what the hell it means. Be brave enough to reject the quick fix. The swim in cool, unfathomed waters is so much more stimulating. And who knows? Maybe you’ll come up with an atmosphere worth remembering, too. Something that’ll truly stick.In the meantime, I’ve got a closetful of shirts with pleated cuffs to clear out.
    • 4/5
      "The White People and Other Weird Stories" is a collection of short stories from a favorite author: Arthur Machen. A Welshman, he wrote tales of the supernatural beginning in the late 1890s through the 1930s, and focused much of the underlying horror on Celtic and pagan beliefs mixed with a touch of Christianity. The stories in "The White People and Other Weird Stories" all provide a little chill running up and down the spine as the main characters try to figure out who is leaving the crude and strange red hand drawings above his victims or wonder at the mysterious deaths of townsfolk during the early stages of WWII, believing it to be Germans lying in wait through Great Britain -- but the truth is far more strange and difficult to comprehend. Most of the stories seem to deal with modern man inadvertently colliding with gods of old or with creature thought to have disappeared many centuries ago. With a few stories -- such as "The Bowmen" and "The Soldier's Rest" -- Machen tints the the battles of WWI with shades of the supernatural, ghostly soldiers coming to the aid of those in need.It's a fantastic collection of stories and a great introduction to the work of Arthur Machen. Highly recommended.

      1 person found this helpful

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    The White People - Arthur Machen

    The White People

    by Arthur Machen

    1899

    Start Publishing LLC

    Copyright © 2012 by Start Publishing LLC

    All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

    First Start Publishing eBook edition October 2012

    Start Publishing is a registered trademark of Start Publishing LLC

    Manufactured in the United States of America

    10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

    ISBN 978-1-63355-858-8

    PROLOGUE

    SORCERY and sanctity, said Ambrose, these are the only realities. Each is an ecstasy, a withdrawal from the common life.

    Cotgrave listened, interested. He had been brought by a friend to this mouldering house in a northern suburb, through an old garden to the room where Ambrose the recluse dozed and dreamed over his books.

    Yes, he went on, magic is justified of her children. I There are many, I think, who eat dry crusts and drink water, with a joy infinitely sharper than anything within the experience of the 'practical' epicure.

    You are speaking of the saints?

    Yes, and of the sinners, too. I think you are falling into the very general error of confining the spiritual world to the supremely good; but the supremely wicked, necessarily, have their portion in it. The merely carnal, sensual man can no more be a great sinner than he can be a great saint. Most of us are just indifferent, mixed-up creatures; we muddle through the world without realizing the meaning and the inner sense of things, and, consequently, our wickedness and our goodness are alike second-rate, unimportant.

    And you think the great sinner, then, will be an ascetic, as well as the great saint?

    Great people of all kinds forsake the imperfect copies and go to the perfect originals. I have no doubt but that many of the very highest among the saints have never done a 'good action' (using the words in their ordinary sense). And, on the other hand, there have been those who have sounded the very depths of sin, who all their lives have never done an 'ill deed.'

    He went out of the room for a moment, and Cotgrave, in high delight, turned to his friend and thanked him for the introduction.

    He's grand, he said. I never saw that kind of lunatic before.

    Ambrose returned with more whisky and helped the two men in a liberal manner. He abused the teetotal sect with ferocity, as he handed the seltzer, and pouring out a glass of water for himself, was about to resume his monologue, when Cotgrave broke in--

    I can't stand it, you know, he said, your paradoxes are too monstrous. A man may be a great sinner and yet never do anything sinful! Come!

    You're quite wrong, said Ambrose. I never make paradoxes; I wish I could. I merely said that a man may have an exquisite taste in RomanŽe Conti, and yet never have even smelt four ale. That's all, and it's more like a truism than a paradox, isn't it? Your surprise at my remark is due to the fact that you haven't realized what sin is. Oh, yes, there is a sort of connexion between Sin with the capital letter, and actions which are commonly called sinful: with murder, theft, adultery, and so forth. Much the same connexion that there is between the A, B, C and fine literature. But I believe that the misconception--it is all but universal--arises in great measure from our looking at the matter through social spectacles. We think that a man who does evil to us and to his neighbours must be very evil. So he is, from a social standpoint; but can't you realize that Evil in its essence is a lonely thing, a passion of the solitary, individual soul? Really, the average murderer, qu‰ murderer, is not by any means a sinner in the true sense of the word. He is simply a wild beast that we have to get rid of to save our own necks from his knife. I should class him rather with tigers than with sinners.

    It seems a little strange.

    I think not. The murderer murders not from positive qualities, but from negative ones; he lacks something which non-murderers possess. Evil, of course, is wholly positive--only it is on the wrong side. You may believe me that sin in its proper sense is very rare; it is probable that there have been far fewer sinners than saints. Yes, your standpoint is all very well for practical, social purposes; we are naturally inclined to think that a person who is very disagreeable to us must be a very great sinner! It is very disagreeable to have one's pocket picked, and we pronounce the thief to be a very great sinner. In truth, he is merely an undeveloped man. He cannot be a saint, of course; but he may be, and often is, an infinitely better creature than thousands who have never broken a single commandment. He is a great nuisance to us, I admit, and we very properly lock him up if we catch him; but between his troublesome and unsocial action and evil--Oh, the connexion is of the weakest.

    It was getting very

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