To Strike Through The Pasteboard Mask of This World – Reading John Langan’s “The Fisherman”
On the last full day of vacation in Maine, I got “The Fisherman,” by John Langan and started reading.
Something about the languorous tone of Abe, the story’s protagonist, and his tale of grief and loss drew me in. So much so that several hours later, when I put the book down to go swimming, I was 40% through the book. I wouldn’t finish it until I got back to Maryland, driving for the better portion of a day, and passing over the Hudson River to get home. By that time, though, I’d already gotten to the story-within-a-story portion of book detailing the background of Dutchman’s Creek, running from the Ashokan Reservoir in the Catskills.
When we drove over the Tapan Zee Bridge in the early evening, with the last streaks of daylight dancing on the horizon, singing along with Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now,” I could see why the Catskills have their own folklore. From the bridge, the first, mist-haunted hills that would become the Catskills rose from the river, and the lighted houses nestled in their skirts seemed so small against the dark. It reminded me of a book I checked out of my middle school library, all about weird tales of the Catskills, and how the devil seemed to walk the dark woods there. How I managed to learn about the weird folklore of the Catskills in Puerto Rico is a long story. I’m also aware that much of that folklore is likely re-tellings and updates of older stories brought over from Europe even when they’re not coding non-European places (such as Native American settlements and ceremonial places) as being of “the devil”.
Knowing all this, I still loved how “The Fisherman” melds Catskill Weird with cosmic horror by way of Melville. So much so, I finished it within a couple of days–something rare for me these days. Even better: Langan nails the ending.
As I galloped to the finish at some hour near midnight, the images of those last lines will stay with me.
No Comments