"The Troubles of Dr. Thoss"

The Silent One

The Silent One

Grimscribe
What are your thoughts on this one? I personaly thought that the middle section and end were particularily disturbing. "My name is Thoss. I am a doctor." Surreal. It also echoes the common pandemonic/maltheistic concept to an extent. The whole thing was just plain weird. But I enjoyed it.
 
Since I trust my past, fresh impressions of "The Troubles of Doctor Thoss" more than my present ones, I'm going to quote an old newsgroup post of mine from 1998!

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Ok, this one is perhaps the most serious case of a Ligotti story I was initially lukewarm about and now think is amazing (in fact, it is at least one of my top ten Ligotti stories [perhaps top five]). If you are reading this one for the first time, read it again. The story gets better and better with time and experience; Ligotti is able to evoke an ending that seemingly comes straight from dreams (and like a dream, the last quarter of the story is completely surreal and uncertain - but this is a vision whose effects get under your skin and stay there).

Contained within the pages of this tale are some of the most vivid descriptions I have ever encountered (i.e. I know exactly what the good Doctor sounds like when his tinny, garbled voice seems to say, "My name is Thoss. I am a doctor").
 
Re: "The Troubles of Dr. Thoss" (Part One)

A few days ago, after first reading The Silent One's post, I reread this story. I had only read it once before, back in 1998 or thereabouts when I was first reading SONGS OF A DEAD DREAMER, and my initial impression was a bit like yours, Jonathan, in that the story didn't make a big impression on me, except for that fact that I admired the subtle mood of dread it generated, and also its surreal atmosphere.

I noticed a lot more on my second reading. In particular, I was intrigued by Tom's use of a color, or rather the lack of it, in the descriptive passages, and also by the protagonist's dual artistic life. Regarding the use of color, I thought it was quite an interesting approach to dwell upon the narrator's pale blond hair, and his pale gray bedclothes, and also the drab paleness of his room, and the grayish-white of the town's cloudy sky, and the muted, washed-out colors of the restaurant, and the tombstones in the cemetery, and the design and decoration of the church. And so on. This all seems in keeping with the protagonist's name, "Alb Indys," which must derive at least partly from the word "albino." This fits nicely with the physical description (minimal though it is) of his pale blond hair, and also with his general surroundings as noted above. It also fits with his bland, imaginatively-bereft inner world; recall the fact that he's presented as being totally lacking in the faculty of visionary imagination, that is, of being able to conjure up original inner scenes and impressions.

And this is a thought that plays right into the second syllable of his last name, "dys." I think an interesting reading of his name comes from combining the albino association with "dys," understood as the same prefix found in the words "dysfunctional," "dystopia," and "dysphoric"; that is, with "dys" indicating the negative of something, and more extendedly, connoting something bad, wrong, abnormal, impaired, and so on. It is also related to the prefix "dis," which not only has a similar meaning and serves the same function as "dys," but which is phonetically identical to the proper name "Dis," or Hell as envisioned by the Romans and Dante. So, read in this way, the name "Alb Indys" connotes a pale, washed out albino -- both physically and imaginatively -- whose very name, presence, and paleness not only imply dysfunction and dysphoria, but also contain hell hidden within them. Or more simply, his name can be read simultaneously as "The Dysfunctional/Dysphoric Albino" and "Alb-in-Hell."

[continued below]
 
Re: "The Troubles of Dr. Thoss" (Part Two)

As for poor Alb's dual artistic life, this was the thing that first caught my interest and attention as I reread "The Troubles of Dr. Thoss." His prosaic "normal" art, which consists entirely of the most bland, drab scenes imaginable, and which is limited entirely to the immediate physical contents of his room, would appear to symbolize or represent his attempt to maintain a hold on the normal world, and also, by the same token, to keep out the larger, darker intimations of a mysterious unknown world beyond those four walls. When he draws anything besides this type of art, it consists entirely of borrowed and recycled scenery from other people's work -- and yet there is a distinct disfiguring, Dis-like (i.e. hellish, demonic), surreal cast to these products. It is as if he only feels that he is imaginatively bereft, whereas in actual fact the impulse that leads him to want to create art at all leads him to recycle the work of other people into gothic-surreal scenes that suggest a definite visionary impulse, a definite horror-laden and horror-seeking motivation within his psyche. But this motivation is hidden from him, which makes it, and more pointedly, makes the deep source of it, all the more sinister.

At the end of the tale, when he sees that his latest piece of prosaic art, a sketch of the chair and window in his room, has been invaded by items and figures that more properly belong in his more horrific art (e.g. the moon in the window), this signals the coming together of two worlds within him that he had always wished to keep separate. He can no longer separate the safe and "normal" daily world from those visionary hints that murmur and erupt deep within his consciousness. Some sort of delicate balance that he had achieved has been lost, and now the horror that he has been hiding from himself, within himself, has come to the fore and become his most immediate reality. It has invaded the safe, bland, washed-out prosaic world of his hard physical surroundings. And, as implied by the whole healing and curing motif, this coming-together under the ministrations of Dr. Thoss represents a healing in the deepest sense for Alb Indys, although the healing takes the form of his becoming what he has always been, and also always feared, at his deepest level, beneath the layers of his carefully cultivated emptiness and blandness -- which is to say that his healing is actually the ultimate destruction, the ultimate disease, as is so often the case within the Ligottian fictional universe (witness, for example, the denouement of "Notes on the Writing of Horror").

As should be obvious, these thoughts are all hastily expressed, and I know they're only half-formed. But I wanted to get them down while they're still fresh. I hope they make sense to someone besides me. And thanks, Jonathan, for the insight into Tom's thought-process when he was creating the character of Alb Indys. That's most illuminating.
 
As you have mentioned in your long yet interesting explanation, Thoss' cure seems to be oblivion, the absolute cure for all one's personal woes. Hence, feeding your troubles to Dr. Thoss. Or the sea if drowned. My thoughts on the nature of character are also rooted is the idea of a being who is a bringer of mercy, at least in nihilistic sense. Perhaps the first version of the myth was true, and on that night he had the revelation that death is the absolute cure (echos of Dr. Locrian and other Ligottian hero/villains here) for the true malady: LIFE. Oh, great, bring out the rope and stool, I think I'm turning into a nihilist. Not really, just another hopeful agnostic who celebrates bizarre holidays and collects the small-press works of a reclusive horror writer. Add my last name and find THAT on Google ::).
 
Interesting thoughts, Silent One. Also interesting is your self-designation as a "hopeful agnostic."

Best wishes as you, like the rest of us, seek your ultimate cure. :-)
 
This thread is but one of the many reaons why I love this forum. As is the case with Dr. Locrian, "The Troubles Of Doctor Thoss" skyrocketed in meaningfulness for me after repeated readings. And after seeing the original post in this thread, I too reread it (like MC), and once again have come away greatly affected -- more so than ever, in fact. I can't add anything to what already has been said, so I'll leave the matter alone with the refrain known to all of us: there's no one like Ligotti.

Oh, and Matt's analysis of Alb Indys' name seems spot-on to me (now), though I never before had considered the possibilities. One of these days, I swear I'm going to start a thread discussing the names of Ligottian characters. There's a lot going on there, methinks.
 
I think I'll take a stab at this one...

Alb Indys IS Dr. Thoss. In fact, he may not even leave the room physically during the course of the story; he is merely dreaming (the restaurant part is a bit unclear, but right afterwards in the church is clearly a dream). Not only that, but he kills himself in the end. But before we get into the details (and the ending), lets examine the character of Alb Indys a little deeper. He is obviously a shut in (at least partially) and doesn't leave his room/dwelling very much at all. He is also an insomniac (the reasons for which we will examine later). He does not seem to be employed, and the only activity that we can be sure he engages in is drawing. We are told repeatedly that he has no imagination, but there are indications that this is false or at least not entirely accurate. Although it is not explicitly stated, Alb Indys clearly suffers from some sort of physical or psychological ailment, especially considering the discussion of various other doctors whose cures did not work for him. But what is the nature of this affliction?

Before we tackle this question, lets explore his art in greater detail. We are told that he only produces two types of works: those depicting his immediate surroundings and those that copy bits and pieces from disparate sources and fuse them together to form his 'collaborations.' The picture he finally produces in the story is actually both of these types combined. He has added the crescent moon and a new inhabitant to his room. He went from two different types of work to a blending of the two, representing perhaps the melding of his dreams/nightmares and his reality, which for Alb Indys must be ultimately horrific and intolerable.

We should now consider the dream angle more closely, so we ask ourselves why can't Alb Indys sleep? Its because of the dreams. He is terrified of dreams and dreaming, apparently because no matter how good they appear, they inevitably take a turn for the worst (at least as he perceives them). Take the following quote:

"and it seemed perfectly natural to Alb Indys that, like everything else, even the most inviolable or obscure phenomena eventually find their way from good dreams into bad, or from bad dreams into the wholly abysmal."

Although this text comes from an examination of his 'collaborations,' it has deeper meanings as well. In its normal context it describes how he feels about these works, that is that they are nightmarish. But it also seems to imply that everything begins clean and good but will unfailingly deteriorate. It is also important to note that things "find their way from good DREAMS into bad..." suggesting that reality and dreams may be interchangable. When considered in this light, Alb Indys ailment is clearly psychological and is tied to his fear of dreams. We can even go further and say that for him dreams blend with reality and thus make them even more terrifying, so he seems to be searching for a cure for his dreaming. None of the doctors he has talked to have been able to help him, but his work may be a form of self-therapy. Perhaps by transferring his visions onto the page, he can keep them from troubling him.

Of course, we know that the only way to silence dreams has the unfortunate consequence of silencing everything else as well, namely death. This is where Dr. Thoss comes in. He is the part of Alb Indys that realizes the dilemma: the only escape is complete oblivion, there is no half way. As Alb starts to hear his true name whispered by his psyche, he has already begun his descent towards the inevitable. Recall his final work once again. Here we have his 'collaborations' and his depictions of his room becoming one and the same. This symbolizes the blending of his dreams and reality. The dream of finally ending his dreams has escaped from his mind into the real world, and he is finally freed by the hand of Dr. Thoss.


I apologize for the lack of supporting quotes and a more thorough explanation of some of the points (making some of the stuff seem like big logical jumps); I was a bit rushed and knew if I didn't just post it I would never get around to it.
 
Excellent discussion! Inspired by Matt's name-analysis and Adam's line of thought about Dr. Thoss, I will mention that the word "Thoss" seems to me to be a fusing of the Greek God of Death (and brother of Hypnos or Dream), Thanatos, and the Egyptian god of knowledge, Thoth, god of the moon (and knowledge). The reasons for this choice, particularly in light of Adam's analysis, are pretty clear.
 
Don't know why this didn't hit me till now, but the following is from the recent Fantastic Metropolis interview regarding Alb Indyhs:

"The main character is hypochondriac, as was I at the time I wrote the story. I based the character’s artwork on that of Harry Morris. His first name, Alb, short for Alban, was used because Harry lives in Albuquerque. The rest of it is based on my own fears and sickness and delirious dreams of a cure that will be worse than the disease, which in this case was my panic-anxiety disorder. I also wanted the main character to be pursuing a form of horror art, a pursuit that is the path to his undoing. I’ve never really had any faith in the imagination or creativity as means of purging oneself of demons but more as a degenerate pastime. I’m definitely not a believer in art as a curative catharsis."

As a fellow hypochondriac of old (and fear of doctors as an added bonus), my love of this story is not too surprising.

Another thought (inspired by Matt's message above): Alb Indys pronounced phonetically could be translated as "I'll be in Dis". Also, "Alb Indys" is an anagram for "Blind-say" or, if you want to get fancy and hermetic: "Sibyl DNA"! I'm CERTAIN Tom didn't intend Alb's name as such an anagram, but these lines of thought are fun to pursue, regardless (and, as Matt has recently inferred) tend to reflect on the reader's imagination as much if not more so than the author's!
 
Oh, and I was recently informed by Tom (via email) that Thoss is simply an abbreviation for "Thomas." So much for my Thoth theory (though I didn't honestly believe that was the kind of thing Tom would consciously pull).
 
Adam – I love your reflections about Alb Indys’s dream life. Very stimulating. The idea that he is, as you put it, “searching for a cure for his dreaming” is fascinating. I gather that our readings of the nature of his “cure” are closely akin, since we’re both working with the idea that the cure takes the form of a reintegration of parts of himself, of his deep psyche, that he desperately wants to remain separate. (Not surprising, of course, since the text contains definite cues encouraging such a reading.) Thanks for sharing your thoughts.

DeathfareDevil – I’m glad my reading of Alb’s name seems plausible instead of ridiculous, as I had half-expected.

Dr. L – Thanks for reminding us of Tom’s comments in Neddal’s interview. I can’t believe I forgot that he had spoken so recently, and in such detail, about this story. As for your Thanatos/Thoth connection, regardless of Tom’s explanation that “Thoth” is simply derived from his own name—a claim which is revelatory in itself (I mean, what? He cast himself in the role of the demonic doctor!?)—I find it to be quite plausible, especially since the Thoth connection is made explicit in the concluding passage of “The Last Feast of Harlequin.” And I will maintain vigorously that author intent will always remain far from being the last, or even the first, word in matters of textual interpretation.
 
Incredible! Intended or no, those anagrams and phonetic renderings of "Alb Indys" are highly insightful!

I'll Be In Dys...very eerie sentiment, especially in regards to the story under discussion.

Blind-Say and Sybil-DNA are evocatively creepy in their own right...

Thrice Widdershins Round the Old Church at Twilight,
Aether
 
Matt: You're quite right about Thoth/Thoss, of course, and nice perception about "Last Feast"! Never crossed my mind. And certainly authors (like playwrights and, in fact, any types of artists) have no control over the interpretation of their work (nor should they). That stated, you've made me wonder whether the Thoss/Thoth connection was indeed in Tom's mind (consciously or subconsciously) when he wrote TToDT.

I, too, have considered the psychology behind Tom casting himself as Thoss. In a move that would make HPL proud, the villain he himself "plays" destroys (and cures) the miserable protagonist, "played" by friend and fellow (brilliant) artist, Harry O. Morris. That, of course, is a tremendously surface summary of "The Troubles of Dr Thoss", but I don't doubt that the story originated from such a humble idea.

In a sense, Tom himself often metafictionally plays the demonic role behind the scenes in his stories in the sense that he is often telegraphing a quintessentially horrifying idea about existence itself to us little Alb-readers out there (in our own "Dises").

There's another passage from the Fantastic Metropolis interview that also bears analysis. In fact, the key to TToDT may be found in the peculiarly evocative phrase that Tom uses to describe "The Spectacles in the Drawer" as well as (obliquely) the story in question: "atheism in the imagination as salvation". This concept dovetails nicely with adam's perceptive idea that Thoss and Alb are really one and the same, and that the horror of Alb's imagination and his perceived reality ultimately merge and consume (and finish) themselves/itself. Alb is ultimately embraced by the only entity that is able to devour his "troubles" (mental, spiritual, and otherwise): the embodiment of unbelief (and, thus, true emptiness of mind and imagination--a kind of holistic atheism), Dr. Thoss.

In Ligotti's fictional universe, any character that is forced to face the ultimate reality of unreality is literally annihilated body and soul just like poor old Alb (although he's arguably more fortunate in oblivion than we are out of it/unaware of it). That this Thoss-entity would be one and the same with death itself isn't surprising. The_Silent_One was right on the money, I think, in describing Thoss as, ironically, a "bringer of mercy." Even Ligotti described this atheism-Thoss (Thanatos?)-thing as "salvation." The best a Ligotti character can hope for is to be put out of its misery.

It also isn't surprising that Thoss' "coming" is, again ironically, interpreted by Alb's mind in the worst possible way. After all, nothing is quite as dreadful as a personal, intrinsic awareness of life's meaninglessness and the hungry oblivion that this line of thinking evokes. I'm not saying I personally buy into this philosophy, btw, but the possibility that such visions are true ones is more horrifying than anything else I can possibly imagine. It's beyond nihilism. Utter, perhaps unimaginable unbelief.

Thanks for the great posts, guys. The above interpretation is hobbled together with or inspired by your superb ideas. What a terrific discussion this has been and is! Thanks a million!
 
Just running across these posts for the first time in too long. I'm coming out of the post-Katrina haze and chaos--at last--so I hope to contribute more again...
 
Thank you, Dr. Locrian, for having revived this topic last week. Somehow, in spite of my attention to the posts on this website, I had missed the critical discussion of “The Troubles of Dr. Thoss” – one of TL’s most elliptical tales, and, in my view, one of his greatest. I tend to regard the story as a kind of exemplum, a rendering in fiction of a particular philosophical viewpoint. As you, The Silent One, Matt Cardin, DeathfareDevil, Adam, and Aetherwing all acknowledged, the very name of Alb Indys provides clues to the character’s identity and role. To your readings I’d like to add one more. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, an “alb” is “a tunic or vestment of white cloth reaching to the feet, and enveloping the entire person; a variety of the surplice, but with close sleeves; worn by clerics in religious ceremonies, and by some consecrated kings.” Alb Indys, who is, as Matt Cardin notes, a whitish figure (“attired in pale gray pajamas,” with “blond hair, almost white”), seems, by virtue of being an artist, to fulfill something of the priestly function connoted by his name and appearance. The churches over which he imaginatively presides, however, are always beset by demons. And he wouldn’t have it any other way; he is ceremonious, to the point of rapture, whenever he envisions or intimates horror. When working on one of his “collaborations,” he takes care to “transcribe with all possible fidelity an unknown artist’s conception of assorted devils and demons, making them dance down from the ice-mad mountains and invade the helpless cathedral”; after reading “with interest and appetite” the “real story of Dr. Thoss” in the newspaper, he feels that “for him a secret sun was glowing somewhere” (italics mine). Alb’s zeal and his ecstasy are clearly of the religious variety . . . And his Redeemer is Dr. Thoss. Thoss -- if I can make a giant, and undoubtedly clumsy, leap – is a version of Peter Wessel Zapffe’s Last Messiah, whose troubles are the Earth’s collective troubles (to paraphrase the philosopher). With his “miracle claws” he effects the “miraculous remedy” – the elimination of consciousness and suffering. In the end, both the messiah and his priest are consigned to “the doubtful realm of regional legend”; they simply serve, as do so many other characters in TL’s stories, to illustrate that “unshut eyes,” such as Alb’s, are a curse – the worst of afflictions – until the second when they are permanently closed.
Finally, I would just like to note that Alb’s endlessly suggestive name partly reveals where he’s headed, and where he’s always been: the abyss (Alb Indys).

Thanks again -- it was a pleasure reading the contributions to this thread,

Daisy
 
THE TROUBLES OF DR. THOSS

"Nothing was in the window but the pure whiteness of the page, the pale abyss of unshut eyes."

The insomnia theme of this section of stories comes home to roost with this truly disturbing one, and is it any wonder, with the quote above, that Alb Indys, the main protagonist, has a name that has the mixed-up middle letters of the word Blind?
He sits sketching in his bed - to avoid such insomnia or to make it worse? - with a lump in the bed that might be his own trousers (or Nathan's, I ask?)

He is sketching today, for the umpteenth time, the window in his room, one of his regular subjects of artistry by continuously depicting the interior objects of his room. His other discipline of artistry is when 'collaborating' with pictures by other people that he finds in various publications and old picture books, using their images separately or together, morphing them, plagiarising them, cohering their leitmotifs into a new and sometimes disturbing image that he calls his own. (I try to ignore any specious thought that I might be accused of doing much the same thing with my Dreamcatching real-time book reviews!!)

Today, he hears, outside his window, a garbled conversation recurrently mentioning a Dr. Thoss. This name continues to crop up in the story until we reach one of the most frightening endings to a story you are ever likely to read. That is no idle claim. In the artfully built-up context, it really is.

But, for me, the most intriguing aspect -- of this highly textured and evocative style of a prose fiction -- is when Alb Indys leaves his seedy PInteresque or Beckettian room (in this downtrodden town that is vaguely a seaside one), giving the impression that he is triangulating various leitmotifs of his surroundings and the people, including the mysterious Doctor, to cohere his own gestalt, which process is a highly methodical, close-knitted, almost autistic, approach very much like the characters in 'Report on Probability A' by Brian Aldiss (reviewed HERE) and that thought releases all manner of new dimensions to this story.

Which again brings me back to Dr. Thoss.

(An extract from my on-going review of the Penguin Classics collection.)
 
I'm reading Songs for the first time thanks to the Penguin reissue, and "Dr. Thoss" is the story that's jumped out at me most strongly. I don't have much insight beyond what's already been offered, but I did note a particular detail that nobody appears to have pointed out... During the restaurant scene, Alb reads a newspaper article which gives two differing accounts of Dr. Thoss' legend.

The first holds that the Doctor was a mundane physician who went murderously insane and was summarily dispatched by decapitation, drowning, or both.

The second says that the Doctor was a mystic, as the text puts it "a recluse of the witch-days", hinting at the unspoken phrase 'witch doctor'. This Doctor Thoss had a familiar... A familiar which some sources claim was, in fact, the Doctor himself. The unwholesome creature is described as shriveled, rotting, decomposing, disturbingly equipped with many claws... And roughly the size of a human head.

To me, at least, this raises the distressing conjecture that both versions of the legend are 'true', inasmuch sense as any elements of the story are. The murderous killer physician is put to death, head and body cast into the sea, from which briny abyss the head of Dr. Thoss later emerges, rotted and clawed like a crab, animate and "deeply schooled at forbidden universities."

I think this small conjecture gains weight when you compare it to a later story in Teatro Grottesco in which a man's head becomes part of the mutated body of a monstrous spider.
 
Great thread, I think one of the greatest and most philosophically challenging aspects of the story is the constant affirming and discrediting of what occurs. I don't have the story in front of me, but I remember vividly when Alby is in the restaurant "he heard or thought he heard" Dr. Thoss speak.

In many of Ligotti's tales there's a constant and dynamic struggle between what occurs and what we think occurs, real vs. unreal. I'm curious as to know why can't it not be both. In the sense there's an implosion or conflation of real and unreal and an explosion of real and unreal at the same time.

I'm just not beginning to explore this idea in Songs and Grimscribe, it's my first time reading Ligotti, but I'm a Weird Fiction scholar. Anyways, I'd be interested to hear what any of you all think as to my inquiry of implosion/explosion of real/unreal.
 
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