Lovecraft’s entry to classic literature are stories based on his vivid dreams. But for us, plebeians, they’re most likely the stuff of nightmares. And while I can appreciate how far advanced he was in the Sci-fi/horror genre, this short story is turning out to be way out of my paygrade.
It is, for all intents and purposes, a classic literature. So the writing spoke of the time. It is very difficult to understand at times so much so that I kept finding myself re-wording and re-working sentences to make it more palatable. I am about halfway and the only thing I can glean so far is that it reminds me of every movie, and every book I’ve ever read containing stories of an archaeological dig and discovering a creature that may or may not lead to the entire world’s demise.