H.P. Lovecraft, Author, Is Dead

    His days and nights for years were spent in writing in the library at 66 College street, where he lived, in recent years, with his aunt, Mrs. Phillips Gamwell, his sole survivor. As he neared the end of his life, he turned his scholarly interests to a study of his own physical condition and daily write minutely of his case for his physician’s assistance. His clinical notes ended only when he could no longer hold a pencil.

With each passing year, Lovecraft and his cthulhoid creations snake their tentacles deeper into the public consciousness. The H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society has produced and released several movies (with The Call of Cthulhu available via Netflix Streaming), and the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival is now in its 17th year. Fantasy Flight Games is creating new and lavishly produced Lovecraftian games such as Arkham Horror, indoctrinating a new generation of players into the fold. Books and comics and graphic novels based on the Mythos are flourishing. There was even an episode of South Park devoted to the “mountainous white bulk” of Cthulhu.

With more people than every are aware of the writer, his works, and his legacy, that pivotal word in the headline of his obituary is finally acknowledged as accurate and just. H.P. Lovecraft, author, is dead.