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  <title><![CDATA[Dagon (Voices of the South)]]></title>
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  <description><![CDATA[Yellow light filled the attic. The light locked with the dust--tons of dust up here--and the atmosphere of the place stuffed his head like a fever. It seemed that he perceived this light with every nerve of his body.   <p>The attic was mostly empty but toward the south wall was a queer arrangment of chains; the ends dangled about seven feet from the floor and had broad iron bands attached. The bands were hinged on one side so they could open and shut. The chains looked red in the yellow light.   <p>He held one of the bands and stroked his finger along the inside and it came away reddish. Rust, he thought; but it didn't flake; it wasn't gritty like rust. It was old, caked blood. . .   <p>Slowly, Peter is mesmerized and begins a journey into madness where a bloodstained god waits to claim the mind and soul of the last of the Lelands.   <p>&quot;I am honestly convinced that Fred Chappell is one of the finest writers of this time, one of the rare and precious few who are truly 'major.'&quot; -- George Garrett, author of Death of the Fox and The Succession.</p></p></p></p>]]></description>
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    <![CDATA[Yellow light filled the attic. The light locked with the dust--tons of dust up here--and the atmosphere of the place stuffed his head like a fever. It seemed that he perceived this light with every nerve of his body.   <p>The attic was mostly empty but toward the south wall was a queer arrangment of chains; the ends dangled about seven feet from the floor and had broad iron bands attached. The bands were hinged on one side so they could open and shut. The chains looked red in the yellow light.   <p>He held one of the bands and stroked his finger along the inside and it came away reddish. Rust, he thought; but it didn't flake; it wasn't gritty like rust. It was old, caked blood. . .   <p>Slowly, Peter is mesmerized and begins a journey into madness where a bloodstained god waits to claim the mind and soul of the last of the Lelands.   <p>&quot;I am honestly convinced that Fred Chappell is one of the finest writers of this time, one of the rare and precious few who are truly 'major.'&quot; -- George Garrett, author of Death of the Fox and The Succession.</p></p></p></p>]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[a retelling of a cult-classic lovecraft story - which, frankly, i generally dont care much for either the genre or the dork mythos surrounding horror fiction. <br/><br/>but this is a modern tale, and rooted in real, deep horror and explores issues of control, abuse and abandonment within possibili...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/39813527">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[Yellow light filled the attic. The light locked with the dust--tons of dust up here--and the atmosphere of the place stuffed his head like a fever. It seemed that he perceived this light with every nerve of his body.   <p>The attic was mostly empty but toward the south wall was a queer arrangment of chains; the ends dangled about seven feet from the floor and had broad iron bands attached. The bands were hinged on one side so they could open and shut. The chains looked red in the yellow light.   <p>He held one of the bands and stroked his finger along the inside and it came away reddish. Rust, he thought; but it didn't flake; it wasn't gritty like rust. It was old, caked blood. . .   <p>Slowly, Peter is mesmerized and begins a journey into madness where a bloodstained god waits to claim the mind and soul of the last of the Lelands.   <p>&quot;I am honestly convinced that Fred Chappell is one of the finest writers of this time, one of the rare and precious few who are truly 'major.'&quot; -- George Garrett, author of Death of the Fox and The Succession.</p></p></p></p>]]>
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    <![CDATA[Dagon. Ein unheimlicher Roman.]]>
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    <![CDATA[ Mit dem &quot;Cthuhlhu-Mythos&quot; und seinem Pantheon überirdischer Wesen (in Ermangelung eines besseren Ausdrucks &quot;Götter&quot; genannt) schuf der amerikanische Schriftsteller H. P. Lovecraft -- unangefochten der bedeutendste Verfasser unheimlicher Phantastik im zwanzigsten Jahrhundert -- eine populäre Mythologie des Schreckens, die nach seinem Tod von zahlreichen Schriftstellern weiter ausgebaut wurde. Mit <em>Dagon</em> ist nun -- mehr als dreißig Jahre nach der Erstveröffentlichung in den USA -- erstmals einer der interessantesten und literarisch anspruchsvollsten Beiträge zum Lovecraftschen Kosmos in deutscher Übersetzung erschienen.<p>  <em>Dagon</em> schildert das Leben des Methodistenpaters Peter Leland, dessen wohlgeordnetes Leben nach der Begegnung mit einer seltsamen, halb-menschlichen Mischlingsfrau namens Mina gründlich aus den Fugen gerät. Lelands Niedergang führt, nachdem er seine Frau ermordet hat und zunehmend tiefer in den Bann seiner Obsessionen gerät, durch Schmerz und Demütigung über eine Begegnung mit dem Fischgott Dagon in den Tod -- und damit in eine neue Existenz. Der Nachdruck und die Vehemenz, mit der Fred Chappel diesen Niedergang verfolgt, ihn akribisch in einer bis zur Kantigkeit kargen Sprache schildert, haben unter den zahlreichen Lovecraft-Epigonen nicht ihresgleichen.<p>  Chappel, der in den amerikanischen Südstaaten als literarische Größe gilt, verbindet (das höchst informative und kenntnisreiche Nachwort des Herausgebers Frank Rainer Scheck hebt es deutlich hervor) Elemente der Südstaaten-Literatur in der Tradition William Faulkners mit denen des materialistischen, existenzialistischen Kosmos von H. P. Lovecraft, in dem der Mensch eine unbedeutende Randerscheinung ist -- Zufall und Notwendigkeit aus literarischer Sicht. So wandelt sich der Roman vom psychologischen zum philosophischen Horror, wirft Fragen nach dem Sinn menschlicher Existenz, menschlichen Strebens in einem gleichgültigen Universum auf und veranschaulicht seinen philosophischen Standpunkt, indem er seinem Protagonisten Unerträgliches aufbürdet. Nicht &quot;vom Himmel durch die Welt zur Hölle&quot; führt der Weg von Peter Leland, sondern durch die Hölle Welt hin zur Transzendenz im Augenblick des Todes: Ein aufwühlendes, quälendes Buch, ein vergessenes Kleinod der Phantastik. Und obendrein, in der deutschen Ausgabe mit ihren informativen Nachbemerkungen und Erläuterungen, in einer vorbildlichen Edition. <em>--Joachim Körber</em></p></p>]]>
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    <![CDATA[Yellow light filled the attic. The light locked with the dust--tons of dust up here--and the atmosphere of the place stuffed his head like a fever. It seemed that he perceived this light with every nerve of his body.   <p>The attic was mostly empty but toward the south wall was a queer arrangment of chains; the ends dangled about seven feet from the floor and had broad iron bands attached. The bands were hinged on one side so they could open and shut. The chains looked red in the yellow light.   <p>He held one of the bands and stroked his finger along the inside and it came away reddish. Rust, he thought; but it didn't flake; it wasn't gritty like rust. It was old, caked blood. . .   <p>Slowly, Peter is mesmerized and begins a journey into madness where a bloodstained god waits to claim the mind and soul of the last of the Lelands.   <p>&quot;I am honestly convinced that Fred Chappell is one of the finest writers of this time, one of the rare and precious few who are truly 'major.'&quot; -- George Garrett, author of Death of the Fox and The Succession.</p></p></p></p>]]>
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    <![CDATA[Yellow light filled the attic. The light locked with the dust--tons of dust up here--and the atmosphere of the place stuffed his head like a fever. It seemed that he perceived this light with every nerve of his body.   <p>The attic was mostly empty but toward the south wall was a queer arrangment of chains; the ends dangled about seven feet from the floor and had broad iron bands attached. The bands were hinged on one side so they could open and shut. The chains looked red in the yellow light.   <p>He held one of the bands and stroked his finger along the inside and it came away reddish. Rust, he thought; but it didn't flake; it wasn't gritty like rust. It was old, caked blood. . .   <p>Slowly, Peter is mesmerized and begins a journey into madness where a bloodstained god waits to claim the mind and soul of the last of the Lelands.   <p>&quot;I am honestly convinced that Fred Chappell is one of the finest writers of this time, one of the rare and precious few who are truly 'major.'&quot; -- George Garrett, author of Death of the Fox and The Succession.</p></p></p></p>]]>
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    <![CDATA[Yellow light filled the attic. The light locked with the dust--tons of dust up here--and the atmosphere of the place stuffed his head like a fever. It seemed that he perceived this light with every nerve of his body.   <p>The attic was mostly empty but toward the south wall was a queer arrangment of chains; the ends dangled about seven feet from the floor and had broad iron bands attached. The bands were hinged on one side so they could open and shut. The chains looked red in the yellow light.   <p>He held one of the bands and stroked his finger along the inside and it came away reddish. Rust, he thought; but it didn't flake; it wasn't gritty like rust. It was old, caked blood. . .   <p>Slowly, Peter is mesmerized and begins a journey into madness where a bloodstained god waits to claim the mind and soul of the last of the Lelands.   <p>&quot;I am honestly convinced that Fred Chappell is one of the finest writers of this time, one of the rare and precious few who are truly 'major.'&quot; -- George Garrett, author of Death of the Fox and The Succession.</p></p></p></p>]]>
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