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Showing posts with label gothic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gothic. Show all posts

Friday, March 22, 2024

“The Monk: A Romance” by Matthew Gregory Lewis, a Gothic Novel audiobook version and essay



 The Monk

 Let’s delve into the dark and captivating world of “The Monk: A Romance” by Matthew Gregory Lewis. This Gothic novel, published in 1796, weaves a tale of corruption, forbidden desires, and supernatural forces. Buckle up as we explore its twisted plot, memorable characters, and enduring impact.

Overview and Context

  • Title: The Monk: A Romance
  • Author: Matthew Gregory Lewis
  • Genre: Gothic novel
  • Publication Date: 1796

Plot Summary

“The Monk” has two intertwined plotlines that keep readers on the edge of their seats:

  1. Ambrosio’s Downfall:

    • Ambrosio, a celebrated monk in Madrid, is the central character. Abandoned at an abbey as an infant, he grows up to be virtuous and revered.
    • His closest friend, Rosario, reveals her true identity as Matilda, a woman who disguised herself to be near Ambrosio.
    • Matilda nurses Ambrosio back to health after a serpent bite, and their relationship takes a dark turn. She tempts him into forbidden desires, leading to a secret affair.
    • When Ambrosio becomes infatuated with the virtuous maiden Antonia, Matilda offers him a sinister solution: witchcraft.
    • The consequences of Ambrosio’s choices spiral into murder, lust, and damnation.
  2. Raymond and Agnes:

    • The subplot follows the romance between Raymond and the nun Agnes.
    • Their love story unfolds against the backdrop of Ambrosio’s downfall, adding depth and complexity to the narrative.

Themes and Elements

  • Gothic Horror: “The Monk” epitomizes the Gothic genre, emphasizing horror, suspense, and the supernatural.
  • Forbidden Desires: Ambrosio’s inner struggle with desire, lust, and temptation drives the plot.
  • Intriguing Characters:
    • Ambrosio: Initially virtuous, he succumbs to darkness.
    • Matilda: The enigmatic temptress who leads Ambrosio astray.
    • Antonia: The innocent maiden caught in the web of intrigue.
  • Witchcraft and the Occult: Matilda’s involvement with Lucifer and her use of magic add an eerie dimension.
  • Moral Decay: The novel explores the corruption of virtue and the consequences of sinful choices.

Legacy and Adaptations

  • Influence: “The Monk” left an indelible mark on Gothic literature. Its scandalous plot and vivid characters inspired countless imitations.
  • Stage and Screen: The novel has been adapted for theater and film, capturing its dark allure.

Conclusion

“The Monk: A Romance” remains a haunting and influential work. Lewis’s ability to blend horror, passion, and the supernatural ensures its place in literary history. So, dear reader, immerse yourself in this twisted tale—it’s a journey you won’t soon forget.

References:

  1. Wikipedia: The Monk
  2. Goodreads: The Monk
  3. LibriVox: The Monk
  4. Amazon: The Monk: A Romance
  5. Project Gutenberg: The Monk

Friday, December 15, 2023

Tranquil, a short story by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA from the Tale Teller Club

 Tranquil, a short story by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA from the Tale Teller Club 


illustration from Tranquil by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA
Sarah answered the door.
The Priest smiled and Sarah let him immediately. Without taking off his coat, he said

‘Yes, indeed Sarah I can feel a terrible energy here. But I can help you now. Let us begin.’

David sat alone in a dark room. There was a table and another chair and a light hung from the ceiling, swinging, creaking. He hurt all over, it was the dull ache of disaster. It was cold, very cold. He put up his collar and folded his arms in an attempt to keep out a determined draft. There was dried blood all over his shirt and jeans which he couldn’t disguise. How long had he been here? He couldn’t be sure. This room was familiar now but the hours, days and months were not his own. He hadn’t been able to think straight and concentration after the incident had been sporadic. He wasn’t even sure when he had last eaten.


There was a door on either side of the room, to his left and to his right. He wondered if he could just get up and leave but some unknown force made him stay put. He would wait it out, besides, he was exhausted, he no longer slept.

In Sarah’s house the Priest lit candles and incense all around. He went into each room and recited prayers and passages of scripture. Sarah was not a Catholic but her situation had driven her to ask for help. Her life was almost beyond liveable. Her friend had recommended the Father who would guide Sarah through the process.

In the cold dark room the door to the right opened suddenly.

‘Hullo, hullo, David. Now, how are you this fine day?’

A man in a heavy coat and scarf entered the room. He was jolly and spoke in a thick Irish accent.

‘Well, now then, it’s not the warmest place is it?’ he continued, rubbing his hands together. ‘Ah forgive me’, he said, ‘let me introduce myself, I am Darragh O’reilly, and I am here to help son, only to help.’

Darragh walked to the side of the room and put on a heater.

‘That’ll warm us up soon enough he said,' pulling the chair out on the opposite side of the table and making himself comfortable.

‘A nasty business this David, but we can sort it out. Just tell me what happened, in your own time.’

David looked at Darragh whose kind eyes were pools of hope glistening in the half-light, and then he began.

‘We used to be OK, me and Sarah. We had some great years. She was funny, you know, quirky. Not a girly girl, one of the lads. I liked that.

We had been friends first, from school, did you know?’

Darragh smiled and nodded slowly.

‘Well, things changed, you know, when she got this new job, and she started wanting more. I wasn’t really enough, you know, she wanted a better car, better house, better boyfriend. I really tried, long hours, lots of overtime. I loved her, wanted a family, to live and die together. Simple, normal.

She started moaning. Always fucking moaning. Home is supposed to be calm and tranquil, not stressful. It was a battleground. I lost my job and things got worse. More fucking moaning. Screaming sometimes, so the neighbours could hear. Trying to make me feel bad when it was her fault I was getting angry all the time.

Then this one Saturday, I admit I was a bit pissed, I’d been watching the football. England had lost so that pissed me right off. You know, I was tense, you know what it’s like. I’d run out of beer so I messaged and asked Sarah to pick some up from the offy; she was already out shopping, would have been no bother. Well, she forgot Darragh, I mean one thing was all I asked, one fucking thing.’

Darragh looked sympathetic and nodded slowly. David felt solidarity and continued.

‘So, she gets in, no beer, and starts going on about the rubbish. I hadn’t put it out see and, yeah, well I guess it was stinking but I was distracted with the football. She starts yelling right, said I looked like a dosser, like a vagrant. Said I was a mess and she couldn’t bear to be near me anymore. She was all tarted up, smelled of fancy perfume and had new shoes on, like a right dog’s dinner she was. Fucking slag.’

David looked down at his bloody hands. A tear rolled down his cheek, then he sobbed like a child.

The Priest fell to his knees on Sarah’s living room floor calling the unwelcome spirits in the house to leave in a chant-like song.

Sarah had never seen an exorcism before and felt a chill through her body and a wave of nausea. She assumed it was fear. The lights flickered. A door flew open and something in the kitchen fell to the floor.

Sarah ran towards the kitchen but the priest yelled.

‘No, be still child!

Exsúrgat Deus et dissipéntur inimíci ejus: et fúgiant qui odérunt eum a fácie ejus,' the Priest was chanting in Latin.

A gust of air surged through the house.

Darragh put his hand on David’s arm.

‘It’s OK David, I am not here to judge, only God judges. Tell me everything.’

The sobbing had stopped and David continued.

‘I was just so fucking angry. I just grabbed her by the neck and pushed her against the wall. I was so close to her then, closer than I had been for ages. I could feel her breath on my cheek. I almost kissed her but I head-butted her instead. I didn’t mean to do it so hard and she was bleeding. I could smell the blood. But she spat at me and I just got angry so I punched her in the face. There was so much blood, it was pouring from her nose and her brow. There was a big cut. I watched her bleed for a bit. It dripped down her neck and over my hand and I licked it. I wanted to taste her blood. I loved her you know, really loved her.
She was quiet. It was so peaceful without her rabbiting on about all that shit. I was squeezing her neck still but I released it a bit because I thought she may be dead, that I’d killed her. I didn’t want to honestly.


Everything in Sarah’s house began to rattle. Things were moving about, flying at speed through the air and being thrown around the room backwards and forwards. Things were breaking, pictures falling off the wall and mirrors cracking.

The priest carried on shouting despite the danger of a hundred objects hurtling through the air.

‘Let God arise and let His enemies be scattered: and let them that hate Him flee from before His Face! As smoke vanisheth, so let them vanish away: as wax melteth before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God.’

‘Carry on David,’ said Darragh, ‘keep going son, keep going.’

‘Well, then she said I was pathetic and I couldn’t help it Darragh, really I just went mad, I lost it then completely. I bit her lip really hard. It was like meat, her lip in my teeth, I could feel it coming off in my mouth, felt all her blood on my tongue.

That’s when she did it. She picked up a knife, from the side. She stuck it right through Darragh. Straight through my heart. I mean, how could she?

It didn’t hurt, like a punch, then hot. But I knew, I knew I was a gonner.’

The priest stood up in Sarah’s living room and moaned. Then he opened his eyes. The wind had slowed and things were no longer flying about.

‘Well David, it is good that you have told me and I know you will feel better for it.’ said Darragh.

Then he took off his coat and David saw the white collar of a priest.

‘Do I have to go?’ He asked. ‘Yes David you do, I am here to guide through the door.’ Darragh pointed to the door on the left which was opening. There was a bright light beyond it like a summers’ day.

‘But don’t be afraid David, beyond the door is salvation. Let me take you now.’

Darragh took David’s hand and escorted him to the door. David dropped to his knees.

Darragh spoke in prayer, ‘God our Father, I believe that out of Your infinite love You have created David. In a thousand ways he has shunned Your love. David repents of each and every one of his sins. Please forgive him, Dearest Lord, Amen.'

Then he kissed David’s forehead and led him through the door.

Sarah’s house was quiet. There was a phenomenal calm that had never been in the building before. The pain of all that had happened was lifted and gone. There was peace here now.

‘Has he gone Father?’ Sarah asked.

'Yes, Sarah he is gone to Jesus, and he has found peace in forgiveness.'

‘So what happens now?' She asked.

The Priest looked at the young girl, her face scarred and her eyes sage,

‘I will hear your confession and be on my way,’ the Priest said ‘for all that is tranquil has been resolved.’


© 2019 Sarnia de la Maré FRSA
Other Episodes of the Book of Immersion by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA


Saturday, December 9, 2023

The Pain of the Dead by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA for Tale Teller Club Publishing

 

In shadows deep, where darkness weaves,
A tale unfolds amongst leaves.
Moonlight whispers, a specter's hymn,
In the haunted night, where fear begins.

Through twisted branches, a chilling wind,
Sings the sorrow of souls who've sinned.
Deadly echoes and distant wails,
Hymns of the dead and tragic tales.

Beneath the boughs, where shadows dance,
An eerie trance, I saw by chance.
Phantoms lingered in the midnight air,
Their hollow gaze, an empty stare.

A midnight walk, with tombstones old,
I heard stories and secrets told.
Whispers rising from the cold, damp ground,
A chorus of the lost, the only sound.

Creaking floorboards, a ghostly moan,
I traipsed the house that they called home.
Shivers on my skin like frost,
Where broken hearts and hopes were lost.

A spirit's touch, a frosty breath,
Chilled by graves, the embrace of death.
They forced me then to dance and sway,
In the ghostly night, where phantoms play.

Beware the hour when the clock strikes twelve,
For the netherworld, its secrets delve.
In the realm of souls still so forlorn,
I felt their pain and brought it home.