The Tsalal

[Nemonymous]

THE TSALAL

"For each of the bright, bristling stars would begin to loosen in the places where the blackness held them. They wobbled at first, and then they rolled over in their bed of night."

La La La La La, I'm not going to listen to you. La La La La...
Until the LAST LA when death becomes the last change, birth having been the first change.
And life between that birth and death has been nothing but regret for one and dread of the other - like a pendulum over a pit.
Or, as the twelve chapters of this novella itself state, it's all a theme and variations on Poe's Arthur Gordon Pym? Well, if it is, TSALAL was the phonetic, if not semantic, keynote struck by the conductor as this symphony of words begun with probably Ligotti's most relentlessly melted and knotted oxymorons. "This mingling of mastery and helplessness."
The horror here is tangible, incarnate, resistant to understanding, until it all comes together that Moxton -- with its swinging pendulum traffic lights and small town community and with a skeleton staff of townspeople simply to make it a town, some of them who stay too long, others who try to leave it but can't, others who forget everything with the 'refuge amnesia' of Alzheimer's -- is not really a mid-1990s precursor or echo of Twin Peaks (who said it was either?), but a patchwork tale of a Reverend and his son with the family name of Maness (with the feminine suffix?) - where faith and despair battle it out through dark rituals and smoky shadows. Each street with the inevitable END house. "The imperfect zoology of cloud-forms - but soon drifted into hazy nonsense."
"...an octet of limp tentacles."
An apocalypse of grotesque change from, I suggest, this book's earlier Cynothoglys to Tsalal simply because we now look through the latter's eyes not the former's. The beast within the skull that must be kept in that lair (and not propagated by that feminine suffix. Parthenogenesis rather than second Genesis.)
There is a list of some amazing horror images towards the end that you will never forget. Never forget, nor understand each item one by one, even if you might understand the whole in a final revelation or epiphany.
I cannot cover all the ground; it is too massive for that. "...something queer, something no one understood." But it will grow on you like a seed planted in darkness.
I end up walking the Street of Lamps like the ghost of Jean Ray.
"But you have already stayed too long enough in this place..."

(Above is an extract from the on-going review of my re-reading NOCTUARY.)

[Nemonymous]

Quote Originally Posted by Nemonymous

THE TSALAL "For each of the bright, bristling stars would begin to loosen in the places where the blackness held them. They wobbled at first, and then they rolled over in their bed of night." La La La La La, I'm not going to listen to you. La La La La... Until the LAST LA when death becomes the last change, birth having been the first change. And life between that birth and death has been nothing but regret for one and dread of the other - like a pendulum over a pit. Or, as the twelve chapters of this novella itself state, it's all a theme and variations on Poe's Arthur Gordon Pym? Well, if it is, TSALAL was the phonetic, if not semantic, keynote struck by the conductor as this symphony of words begun with probably Ligotti's most relentlessly melted and knotted oxymorons. "This mingling of mastery and helplessness." The horror here is tangible, incarnate, resistant to understanding, until it all comes together that Moxton -- with its swinging pendulum traffic lights and small town community and with a skeleton staff of townspeople simply to make it a town, some of them who stay too long, others who try to leave it but can't, others who forget everything with the 'refuge amnesia' of Alzheimer's -- is not really a mid-1990s precursor or echo of Twin Peaks (who said it was either?), but a patchwork tale of a Reverend and his son with the family name of Maness (with the feminine suffix?) - where faith and despair battle it out through dark rituals and smoky shadows. Each street with the inevitable END house. "The imperfect zoology of cloud-forms - but soon drifted into hazy nonsense." "...an octet of limp tentacles." An apocalypse of grotesque change from, I suggest, this book's earlier Cynothoglys to Tsalal simply because we now look through the latter's eyes not the former's. The beast within the skull that must be kept in that lair (and not propagated by that feminine suffix. Parthenogenesis rather than second Genesis.) There is a list of some amazing horror images towards the end that you will never forget. Never forget, nor understand each item one by one, even if you might understand the whole in a final revelation or epiphany. I cannot cover all the ground; it is too massive for that. "...something queer, something no one understood." But it will grow on you like a seed planted in darkness. I end up walking the Street of Lamps like the ghost of Jean Ray. "But you have already stayed too long enough in this place..." (Above is an extract from the on-going review of my re-reading NOCTUARY.)

Rationale: http://www.ligotti.net/showthread.ph...007#post123007

[Nemonymous]

Just saw a tearing off of an arm at the elbow that triggers a scream. But what else is triggered?

My review in 2015 of a story:
THE TSALAL

“For each of the bright, bristling stars would begin to loosen in the places where the blackness held them. They wobbled at first, and then they rolled over in their bed of night.”

La La La La La, I’m not going to listen to you. La La La La…
Until the LAST LA when death becomes the last change, birth having been the first change.
And life between that birth and death has been nothing but regret for one and dread of the other – like a pendulum over a pit.
Or, as the twelve chapters of this novella itself state, it’s all a theme and variations on Poe’s Arthur Gordon Pym? Well, if it is, TSALAL was the phonetic, if not semantic, keynote struck by the conductor as this symphony of words begun with probably Ligotti’s most relentlessly melted and knotted oxymorons. “This mingling of mastery and helplessness.”
The horror here is tangible, incarnate, resistant to understanding, until it all comes together that Moxton — with its swinging pendulum traffic lights and small town community and with a skeleton crew of townspeople simply to make it a town, some of them who stay too long, others who try to leave it but can’t, others who forget everything with the ‘refuge amnesia’ of Alzheimer’s — is not really a mid-1990s precursor or echo of Twin Peaks (who said it was either?), but a patchwork tale of a Reverend and his son with the family name of Maness (with the feminine suffix?) – where faith and despair battle it out through dark rituals and smoky shadows. Each street with the inevitable END house. “The imperfect zoology of cloud-forms – but soon drifted into hazy nonsense.”
“…an octet of limp tentacles.”
An apocalypse of grotesque change from, I suggest, this book’s earlier Cynothoglys to Tsalal simply because we now look through the latter’s eyes not the former’s. The beast within the skull that must be kept in that lair (and not propagated by that feminine suffix. Parthenogenesis rather than second Genesis.)
There is a list of some amazing horror images towards the end that you will never forget. Never forget, nor understand each item one by one, even if you might understand the whole in a final revelation or epiphany.
I cannot cover all the ground; it is too massive for that. “…something queer, something no one understood.” But it will grow on you like a seed planted in darkness.
I end up walking the Street of Lamps like the ghost of Jean Ray.
“But you have already stayed too long enough in this place…”

Context of this review here: Noctuary Thomas Ligotti | The Des Lewis Gestalt Real-Time Reviews

Quote Originally Posted by Nemonymous

THE TSALAL "For each of the bright, bristling stars would begin to loosen in the places where the blackness held them. They wobbled at first, and then they rolled over in their bed of night." La La La La La, I'm not going to listen to you. La La La La... Until the LAST LA when death becomes the last change, birth having been the first change. And life between that birth and death has been nothing but regret for one and dread of the other - like a pendulum over a pit. Or, as the twelve chapters of this novella itself state, it's all a theme and variations on Poe's Arthur Gordon Pym? Well, if it is, TSALAL was the phonetic, if not semantic, keynote struck by the conductor as this symphony of words begun with probably Ligotti's most relentlessly melted and knotted oxymorons. "This mingling of mastery and helplessness." The horror here is tangible, incarnate, resistant to understanding, until it all comes together that Moxton -- with its swinging pendulum traffic lights and small town community and with a skeleton staff of townspeople simply to make it a town, some of them who stay too long, others who try to leave it but can't, others who forget everything with the 'refuge amnesia' of Alzheimer's -- is not really a mid-1990s precursor or echo of Twin Peaks (who said it was either?), but a patchwork tale of a Reverend and his son with the family name of Maness (with the feminine suffix?) - where faith and despair battle it out through dark rituals and smoky shadows. Each street with the inevitable END house. "The imperfect zoology of cloud-forms - but soon drifted into hazy nonsense." "...an octet of limp tentacles." An apocalypse of grotesque change from, I suggest, this book's earlier Cynothoglys to Tsalal simply because we now look through the latter's eyes not the former's. The beast within the skull that must be kept in that lair (and not propagated by that feminine suffix. Parthenogenesis rather than second Genesis.) There is a list of some amazing horror images towards the end that you will never forget. Never forget, nor understand each item one by one, even if you might understand the whole in a final revelation or epiphany. I cannot cover all the ground; it is too massive for that. "...something queer, something no one understood." But it will grow on you like a seed planted in darkness. I end up walking the Street of Lamps like the ghost of Jean Ray. "But you have already stayed too long enough in this place..." (Above is an extract from the on-going review of my re-reading NOCTUARY.)

[Nemonymous]

Although I previously glimpsed mention of Tsalal at the top of this page, I had no idea it was a large part of a new American TV series, so I have started watching it after my son told me where to find it.
Of course, at my ailing age, and having in recent years a lack of sympathy with such screen entertainment, I do not fully understand or appreciate it, but I would be interested to know how this connection with the Ligotti novelette came about and whether my review above in 2015 has any relevance to anyone watching this TV series.
Your comments would be welcome.

[Nemonymous]

Quote Originally Posted by Nemonymous

Although I previously glimpsed mention of Tsalal at the top of this page, I had no idea it was a large part of a new American TV series, so I have started watching it after my son told me where to find it. Of course, at my ailing age, and having in recent years a lack of sympathy with such screen entertainment, I do not fully understand or appreciate it, but I would be interested to know how this connection with the Ligotti novelette came about and whether my review above in 2015 has any relevance to anyone watching this TV series. Your comments would be welcome.

See 2014 comment stream here:
Dreamcatching or Plagiarism? | The Des Lewis Gestalt Real-Time Reviews