{"id":65362,"date":"2014-01-22T17:47:27","date_gmt":"2014-01-22T22:47:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=65362"},"modified":"2014-01-23T16:33:13","modified_gmt":"2014-01-23T21:33:13","slug":"a-mountain-of-sable-plumes","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2014\/01\/22\/a-mountain-of-sable-plumes\/","title":{"rendered":"A Mountain of Sable Plumes"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"strawberry-hill\"<\/a>

Strawberry Hill, Walpole\u2019s Gothic revivalist manor, in Twickenham.<\/p><\/div>\n

Earlier this week, to commemorate Edgar Allan Poe\u2019s birthday, Flavorpill found ten Gothic short stories<\/a> for our delectation, and I must say, they\u2019re really hitting the spot. January is especially well suited to the tint of the Gothic mindset\u2014nothing helps you settle into the winter doldrums like an unceasing parade of bloodied knives, thousand-yard stares, disemboweled corpses, creaking doors, and shrieking virgins. It\u2019s enough to make you want to sunder a frilled shirt and drink rancid port from a tarnished silver chalice, muttering all the while about the gloaming, the gloaming, the gloaming<\/i>\u2026<\/p>\n

And let\u2019s not forget the funereal knell of church bells. You\u2019ll want those, too.<\/p>\n

If you really want to whip yourself into a Gothic froth, I recommend The Castle of Otranto<\/a><\/i>, Horace Walpole\u2019s 1764 novel, widely regarded as the forebear of the Gothic proper. It\u2019s not \u201cgood,\u201d exactly\u2014you won\u2019t find independent booksellers foisting it on you as a forgotten classic\u2014but it packs a lot of senseless murk into a slim volume, and it features one of my favorite opening scenes in all of literature: a homely young man is crushed to death by a giant helmet, which seems to have fallen from the sky. His father, Prince Manfred, comes upon the disaster:<\/p>\n

\n

The first thing that struck Manfred\u2019s eyes was a group of his servants endeavoring to raise something that appeared to him a mountain of sable plumes.\u00a0He gazed without believing his sight.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are ye doing?\u201d cried Manfred, wrathfully; \u201cwhere is my son?\u201d<\/p>\n

A volley of voices replied, \u201cOh! my Lord! the Prince! the Prince! the helmet! the helmet!\u201d<\/p>\n

Shocked with these lamentable sounds, and dreading he knew not what, he advanced hastily,\u2014but what a sight for a father\u2019s eyes!\u2014he beheld his child dashed to pieces, and almost buried under an enormous helmet, an hundred times more large than any casque ever made for human being, and shaded with a proportionable quantity of black feathers.<\/p>\n

The horror of the spectacle, the ignorance of all around how this misfortune had happened, and above all, the tremendous phenomenon before him, took away the Prince\u2019s speech.\u00a0Yet his silence lasted longer than even grief could occasion.\u00a0He fixed his eyes on what he wished in vain to believe a vision; and seemed less attentive to his loss, than buried in meditation on the stupendous object that had occasioned it.\u00a0He touched, he examined the fatal casque; nor could even the bleeding mangled remains of the young Prince divert the eyes of Manfred from the portent before him.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

And so on. It\u2019s a turn that seems straight out of Terry Gilliam\u2019s Monty Python<\/i> animations<\/a>, but without the fart sounds. You can read all of Otranto <\/i>here<\/a>; it goes on to include ghosts, brazen trumpets, and walking portraits, among other oddities. If you\u2019re not engrossed, you may be, at least, instructively perplexed. And when, after a few hours in the hysteria and gloom, you raise your heavy eyes, the winter will be that much closer to its end.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Earlier this week, to commemorate Edgar Allan Poe\u2019s birthday, Flavorpill found ten Gothic short stories for our delectation, and I must say, they\u2019re really hitting the spot. January is especially well suited to the tint of the Gothic mindset\u2014nothing helps you settle into the winter doldrums like an unceasing parade of bloodied knives, thousand-yard stares, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":38,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[419],"tags":[1759,12636,12633,12634,12635],"class_list":["post-65362","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-arts-culture","tag-edgar-allan-poe","tag-falling-helmets","tag-gothic-novels","tag-horace-walpole","tag-the-castle-of-otranto"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nHorace Walpole\u2019s The Castle of Otranto Is One Weird Gothic<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"January 22, 2014 \u2013 Earlier this week, to commemorate Edgar Allan Poe\u2019s birthday, Flavorpill found ten Gothic short stories for our delectation, and I must say, they\u2019re\" 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