Noctuary Hardcover – June 30, 2012

Ligotti is one of a kind, even among the writers of "weird" fiction from the present going back to Lovecraft, Poe, Count Stenbock and Arthur Machen. This isn't necessarily going to appeal to all, or even many, fans of the horror genre who like solid character development and plotting and a big reveal of the horror payoff. Ligotti writes in the shadows, of shadows, there is mystery (small m, not the Mystery genre) galore, and unease, and a sense that all is shadow, if that. Reading his nonfiction Conspiracy Against the Human Race might be a good introduction to the Ligotti neophyte, as it lays out the philosophical ground on which his fiction stands. I dearly wish this book, and all of his books, would come back into print... not in costly limited editions, but readily available... and was happy to see two books get a relatively recent release from Penguin Classics... a distinction well deserved. Perhaps now that Penguin has started the Horror Classics imprint, more will follow from Ligotti. I'd recommend any of his short fiction (can't vouch for the graphic novels someone has adapted from his work) to fans of Kafka, Bruno Shulz, J. L. Borges, Alfred Kubin, maybe, or enjoys watching the films of The Brothers Quay or Jan Švankmajer... these more than King, Koontz, Straub, and even Lovecraft, though Lovecraft is closer than the others. This isn't pulp, and it isn't straight Horror (capital H) genre fiction. These stories are finely tuned exhalations, sighs, of dis-ease and the horror of existing in this world and body and mind. That said, they are also fun to read, if the reader has tasted and knows of this dis-ease, this feeling of being nobody, nowhere, and yet being, somebody among other somebodies, someplace, these others maybe knowing they are nobody, nowhere, maybe not knowing, and maybe one or more are truly Something, supernatural, puppet master, source of horror.

Thomas Ligotti is considered a horror author, or a writer of weird fiction. I see him as more than that. Ligotti has transcended the trap of genre and writes a kind of languid, hallucinatory, fiction that is rarely matched by others. He is in the league of Poe and Lovecraft's better imitators.I first read Noctuary twenty years ago. I was a child and couldn't get enough of gory horror books. I would go to the bookstore and purchase any book off of the tiny Horror shelf and devour it in a manner of days. The more violent and blood caked the book, the happier I was. Until, one day, a slim volume called Noctuary appeared. I had never heard of the author, but the cover art and strange title was enough to cause me to hand over my coin.The first story in the collection, The Medusa, was such a shock that I read it over again as soon as I had finished it the first time. The writing was focused, yet disjointed in a way. Time seemed to shift and the edges of things slid in a subtle and strange way. The whole book read that way. Each story felt as if I were trying to remember and tell someone about a particularly horrific dream. There was very little blood and gore, but the overall effect of the book was much more disturbing. I was, in a very real sense, haunted by this book from that moment on. It infected me in a way that I cannot quite explain. It is a subtle and nearly intangible disease, but I was changed then.I hadn't read any of these stories, until the Subterranean Press began to re-issue definitive editions of Ligotti's cannon. Reading these tales again, after twenty years, was like meeting an old friend. But an old friend that is unstable and a tad dangerous. It was lovely to reminisce about old times, but I know that my old friend will damage me in some way. The damage will most assuredly be in my best interest, will most assuredly add excitement to my life, and will most surely push me in the direction of a deeper contemplation of the oddity of existence. But, it is still damage at the end of the day. Noctuary is much like Chambers' King In Yellow. To read it, is to succumb to it and live it.I can't recommend this book enough.

Bleakly enchanting. Imagine exploring one of these desolate paradises with a beloved companion. I am reminded of a distant afternoon spent with my future husband exploring the San Francisco Columbarium, as the summer fog drifted back and forth. Not as good as Grimscribe or Teatro Grotteco, but still, absolutely gorgeous.

Ligotti is masterful in the way he finds horror in the most trivial and mundane places. The more dull the setting is the more ligotti unchains our mind’s longing for terror. And many of the stories will cause you to inquire further into yourself for the horror within the horror.Highly recommended.

Thomas Ligotti's stories are more compressed here than in a few of his other collections: the longest story here being 40 pages, but often many of the stories are just a few. This compression gives Ligotti's comsicism less space to articulate itself, so these stories have almost a darkly poetic quality. Ligotti's subtly can even dominate in very brief prose, but this may be more accessible than many of Ligotti's other works because of the compression of some of the stories.

Da appadsionato del genere avevo grandi aspettative su questo autore, così apprezzato da numerosi utenti. Aspettative che sono state irrimediabilmente deluse: si tratta di una raccolta di racconti che non inquietano, non coinvolgono né tantomeno spaventano; una sequenza di narrazioni più o meno brevi ma caratterizzate tutte da un manierismo lessicale estremamente irritante. Paroloni altisonanti per esprimere concetti o fin troppo scontati o, in molti casi, così contorti da risultare privi di significato profondo: il risultato sembra essere una via di mezzo tra un brutto plagio (perché siamo ben oltre l'omaggio) di H. P. Lovecraft e il compitino da corso di scrittura creativa. La raccolta si fa inoltre via via sempre più incomprensibile man mano che si procede verso l'agognato finale, in una perdita progressiva di trama in favore di una rimasticatura di concetti che risultano essere incomprensibili e sempre più attorcigliati su se stessi. In sostanza: una supercazzola di mascettiana memoria. Due stelle e non una sola perché il genere deve essere preservato e incoraggiato, e perché, in fefinitiva, qualche immagine è vagamente in grado di suscitare emozioni. Ma poche.

L'ultima raccolta di Ligotti che mancava all'appello. Bisogna solo ringraziare chi ha deciso di proporre i suoi inediti in Italia, sebbene ci sia qualche ombra da appuntare:- La traduzione, a volte un po' incerta- Il prezzo. Ok che il valore di Ligotti non si discute e, come al solito, il livello dei racconti è molto alto, ma davvero 11 euro per un Ebook? UNDICI! Quando lo sanno anche i muri che, levati i costi della versione "fisica" del libro (che non sono nemmeno così alti), ciò che rimane sarebbe un prezzo che non va oltre i 5 o 6 euro.