Lovecraft Country: A Novel
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The critically acclaimed cult novelist makes visceral the terrors of life in Jim Crow America and its lingering effects in this brilliant and wondrous work of the imagination that melds historical fiction, pulp noir, and Lovecraftian horror and fantasy.
Chicago, 1954. When his father Montrose goes missing, 22-year-old Army veteran Atticus Turner embarks on a road trip to New England to find him, accompanied by his Uncle George—publisher of The Safe Negro Travel Guide—and his childhood friend Letitia. On their journey to the manor of Mr. Braithwhite—heir to the estate that owned one of Atticus’s ancestors—they encounter both mundane terrors of white America and malevolent spirits that seem straight out of the weird tales George devours.
At the manor, Atticus discovers his father in chains, held prisoner by a secret cabal named the Order of the Ancient Dawn—led by Samuel Braithwhite and his son Caleb—which has gathered to orchestrate a ritual that shockingly centers on Atticus. And his one hope of salvation may be the seed of his—and the whole Turner clan’s—destruction.
A chimerical blend of magic, power, hope, and freedom that stretches across time, touching diverse members of two black families, Lovecraft Country is a devastating kaleidoscopic portrait of racism—the terrifying specter that continues to haunt us today.
being admitted to the secret meeting room; he gazed in wonder at the two Solomonic pillars, the altar with its copies of the Holy Bible and the Koran laid out side-by-side, and, sitting forgotten and gathering dust in a corner, the scale model of King Tut’s tomb. “Is this a game?” Horace asked, of the model. But his father didn’t answer and his mother said only, “Remember what I told you.” Pirate Joe and Abdullah came next, followed by Mortimer Dupree. Atticus, Letitia, and Montrose showed up
heavily abridged and revised. There was dancing and some drinking, but no kissing, and while the night culminated in a job offer, there was no magic potion. “He said he worked for the government and he was in Chicago on a special assignment. He said he needed a housekeeper for this safe house he’d set up—someone who’d be discreet and not mention his name to anyone.” Ruby shrugged. “It was work, and it paid well.” Her description of the job itself was as close to the truth as she could make it
smoke were alert and intelligent. Two more white men stood leaning against the bar. They’d removed their jackets, exposing matching shoulder holsters, and police stars pinned to their vests. Sandwiched between them was a Negro man with his head bowed, hands cuffed in front of him. George almost didn’t recognize his nephew, who was supposed to be in Iowa today on a research trip for the Guide. Atticus looked up, embarrassed. “Hi, Uncle George,” he said. “George Berry and Montrose Turner,”
He moved to the front of the group and drew a line in blood across the keystone, taking care to touch every one of the letters. The tile soaked up the blood almost instantly, and as the stain faded, the hue of the keystone brightened. The brightness spread to the other tiles in the arch, while the dark tiles began to blur and flow together. The darkness grew vivid, acquired depth, until, in a moment of seamless transition, what had been just a suggestion of an opening became an actual hole in the
have powers. She could read your mind, but not like a psychic; more like the way my daddy did at the poker table. Not that she even had to read minds at the Two El’s. A woman sits down to get her hair done, all you need to do is listen, and by the time she gets out of the chair, you know exactly what she’s worried about and who she wants to hear from on the other side. The rest is just parlor tricks.” Momma would have taken exception to this description too, Ruby knew. Had done, many times,