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on 15 September 2017
I'd been pre-warned that Ligotti was something of an anomaly in the world of writing - an author who created strange, horrifying and sometimes incomprehensible stories...all eerily positioned in the everyday, the mundane and the wholly relatable.

Reading through this collection of short stories, it was immediately apparent that I wasn't in for an easy ride, which I welcome from time to time (it's nice to be challenged!). The stories read like someone else's nightmares; sinister, disjointed and occasionally ludicrous. At times, I was reminded of David Lynch... Ligotti has the same knack of creating tales that operate on a subconscious level, leaving you feeling unsettled, without knowing why.

There were a host of images in this book that'll remain with me for a while. The horrible sideshow carnival man with red hair, who refuses to face his audience. The nobby monster, which is some hideous mash up of human and spider. I could go on.

Definitely worth reading if you like your stories weird.
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on 2 August 2015
Not my sort of thing..... spent most of the time waiting for the stories to pick up, if only a little bit, but most of them don't
This collection will no doubt be loved by Ligotti aficionados, but sadly for me not one story was in any way memorable.
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on 22 March 2017
Masterful writer of uncanny horror. Manages to blend Kafkaesque unease with a Lovecraftian vibe but has a unique style all his own. Genuinely disquieting short stories.
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on 29 June 2016
Good Fathers Day gift
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on 3 June 2016
Thomas Ligotti has been compared to H P Lovecraft but his works are more like gnostic horror. Consciousness he suggests, is an evil illusion that inspires us to inevitable failure and condemns us to unhappiness and cannot be removed, yet awareness of that fact is the ultimate horror. His stories, often situated in offices, in artistic communities, run down cities and decrepit funfairs, are dark, dismal and very similar to one another. Ligotti is good with humour and self reference, a character in “The Shadows The Darkness” has written an unpublished “An investigation into the conspiracy against the human race” while “the conspiracy against the human race” is actually one of Ligotti’s own books, to my mind his best because it does not make any claims to being creative fiction. Ligotti has a number of tropes and tricks like repeating a long phrase many times through a story but he has some talent and a distinctive voice. It just isn’t one I want to hear very much of.
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on 12 May 2017
I have mixed feelings about this collection by Thomas Ligotti. In my opinion the stories in part one of the book are the best, followed by the stories in part 2. I didn’t care that much for any of the stories in part 3 unfortunately. I'd recommend the book to fans of weird fiction, but I'd suggest that Ligotti's earlier collections are the better way to experience Ligotti.
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on 7 September 2017
Ligotti is one of those authors who, while being of immense talent, is relatively unknown among general reading sorts. I've never met anybody with any experience of his work and only found out about him and his Teatro Grottesco while browsing the internet for authors similar to H. P. Lovecraft (which he is, so far as he writes short fictions of a disturbing nature – although there are marked differences in style and subject matter which clearly distinguish one from the other). And now, having delighted in every page of that curious collection of disturbing oddities, I'll be making space on my shelves for everything else he writes. Not only this, but I'm harbouring that oh-so-smug feeling which arises in particular when you've found something that you know is good, really good, while everyone else around you is oblivious even of their own ignorance.
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on 24 May 2012
Teatro Grottesco, a collection of short stories, is split into three categories: Derangements, Deformations and the Damaged & the Diseased. This is the first time I've read anything from this author (whom I've heard so many goods things said) and I'm really enjoying it so far. I find his style very easy to read (although he does belabour the point sometimes) and he successfully manages to weave a haunting atmosphere in a most indirect way.

What particularly drew my attention to Ligotti is that people said he wrote in the tradition of Lovecraft with subtlety generally lacking from many modern writers of horror. He unsettles the reader not by regaling us with explicit acts of violence or terror, but instead by weaving a mood and atmosphere with his words and the way he tells the story.

With Lovecraft, his themes often centered around an individual uncovering a mystery that led the protagonist to discover ever more unsettling and disturbing things about reality that threatens their sanity. Humanity and it's sense of order and being the dominant species are undermined and belittled by the discovery of beings that were they not somehow dormant or absent would swat us away like we would an insignificant insect.

Ligotti seems to pursue this theme but in a different way. There are malignant and supreme forces at work in the universe that defy all comprehension by us mere mortals. As the reader, don't expect to understand the these mysteries any better than the protagonists of the story. The torment/suffering of the human victims in Ligotti's stories are often almost incidental to the central but unknowable goals of these malignant forces/beings. Or else extra-ordinary lengths seem to have been gone to in order to inflict the most subtle and minute of torments upon a victim, as if more for the pleasure of the obscurity and peversity of the act than the suffering it causes.

There seem to be several recurring themes throughout this book (and throughout his other works for all I know); the illusions of the self and the soul, the way our lives and the lives of others are just a side-show distracting us from the "real" nature of existence, and the way infections and pain (particularly of the gastro-intestinal variety) can induce delirium that may enable us to penetrate these illusions (that we otherwise desperately cling to). Often the protagonist in his stories is an artist, a friend of an artist, or in a circle of artists/intellectuals who are searching for ultimate form of artistic expression.

I've never quite read anything like this before and Ligotti most definitely brings something new to the table. This won't be to everyone's taste. Many of the stories are difficult to make much sense of, and his pervading view on the nature of our existence is not particularly comforting.
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on 23 April 2016
Were it not for the consistency of repetition in this book, I'd give it a higher rating. At times, it seems as though Ligotti decidedly enjoys repetition as a mantra leitmotif. As professionally as this is applied throughout, by the end it's predictably formulaic. Consequently, I felt unable to complete the novel.
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on 4 August 2011
Teatro Grottesco is a collection of thirteen short stories (give or take (some include `micro' narratives inside themselves)), in the horror genre. What kind of horror, precisely, is difficult to say, because while Ligotti doesn't conform to any of the basic slasher-gore, paranormal, supernatural, serial killer (etc.) genre types, he doesn't ignore them either. Instead he offers a subtle convergence of all of these ranks of horror (and much more besides), while simultaneously corrupting and distorting them from their more classic/familiar incarnations. For example, Ligotti's conception of viscera isn't a hyperbolic focus on blood `n' guts, but a half-glimpsed suggestion of mutation, tumorous growths and sick, malformed bodies. In the opener `Purity' I see a fetishising of the latent horror implicit in extreme body types - from the incredibly obese to the deathly emaciated or over-tumoured; the reader is unnerved not by any explicit focus on blood/bile/organs or the other inside aspects of the body which commonly dominate horror, but by an external grotesque which, mostly hidden in shadows or shooed away, is all the more disturbing for its malformity - such bodies cannot exist without something having gone drastically wrong. In this aspect, Teatro Grottesco is strikingly Lovecraftian: the body isn't a healthy temple which spills its secrets when sliced from the outside; it's instead an internally corrupting, treacherous, sickly and unhealthy shell liable to bloat itself or shrivel or grotesquely mutate: unreliable and frightening.

Similarly, Ligotti's approach to the supernatural is unconventional. In the title story `Teatro Grottesco', an elusive, never-seen theatre company drains all ambition and creativity from any artist precocious enough to enlist their services. Not only is this a bizarre re-imagining of Vampire mythology (the sucking away of lifeblood), but it also functions as sarcastic metaphor for what Ligotti clearly sees as a rampant lack of creativity in his own genre and, on a more pernickety level, a grotesque manifestation of the author-centric fear of writers' block. Elsewhere the supernatural is less explicit, such as in `The Red Tower', which is a brief description-piece about an abandoned factory that used to produce and ship creepy artefacts. Underneath this factory, however, sleeps a more disturbing and surreal manufacturing work of the grotesque. So it is with much of Teatro Grottesco's supernatural moments: they occur off-camera - conjured via suggestion and narratorial guesswork as much as by explicit description or explanation.

That Ligotti's narrators are all (without exception) unreliable, is simultaneously both problematic and beneficial to the portrayal of the supernatural. Where Ligotti is highly skilled in drafting incredibly varied, different horror stories, he conversely suffers from a singleness of style which colours all of his work with the same narratorial tone. Every story here is narrated in the first-person past tense, and each is told by an alarmingly disturbed individual; narrators who suffer from extreme anxiety, panic attacks, depression, schizophrenia, insomnia and self-imposed loneliness. While this forsaken identity gives the narrator a privileged position as social outsider, perfectly situated to recognise and name the supernatural for what it is, it also makes him an unreliable storyteller. Such obsessed individuals brilliantly unsettle the reader, as we see everything through the eyes of a very specific and disturbed subjective - but, as I've stated, this is also problematic, as any combination of madness with the paranormal begs that most boring of naturalist questions: is anything real? Is the narrator of `The Clown Puppet' really terrorised by a deformed, life-size wooden mannequin, or is the puppet merely a narrative manifestation of our mad narrator's internal psychoses? Such a focus on disturbed narrators has the double-edged-sword effect of giving the stories an unsettling point of view, while also throwing into doubt the very truth of the horror. Horror that, once dubious, loses much of its power.

Location, as well as narrator, also suffers from a lack of variety in Teatro Grottesco. Abandoned, out-of-the-way towns are the norm: and while this is a great setting for revelations of the uncanny and horrific, it gets a tad repetitive. Similarly, the locales of these short stories are all so idiosyncratically weird, and so intertwined with the narrator's identity, that I couldn't help but read many of them as a psychological construct - maybe our mad/anxious/depressed narrator has conjured up these grotesque towns from the walls of a mental institution in which he's imprisoned? Are the phantoms his nurses? The ghouls his fellow inmates? The locked rooms inaccessible hospital wings? In stories in which madness is so significant, it's difficult to ignore these questions. Unnerving in themselves, when they pop-up in story after story after story they begin to wear. As brilliantly disturbing as Ligotti is, the singularity of his approach came as a let-down. But maybe this is a failing of my own making. I recommend you don't read Teatro Grottesco as I did: cover to cover, like a novel. After all, many of these stories were written decades apart, in which case, it's probably a little disingenuous of me to highlight their uniformity.

A final note about style that I can't ignore is Ligotti's preoccupation with repetitious phrasing. In almost every story there are long phrases repeated in their entirety again and again, which eventually pound into the reader's mind like some kind of verbal hammer - reinforcing the concept of madness while concurrently boxing the reader into a claustrophobic space of constant, inescapable repetitions.

There's so much more I have to say about Ligotti, but I'm already running long. If I had to pick a favourite story, it'd be `My Case for Retributive Action' - set in a perpetually mist-covered American town, it's a quasi-comic and highly disturbing story about infinite working days, meaningless paper-work that's recycled endlessly (you can see the satire) and grotesque rumours about a deformed man-spider responsible for maddening sounds that haunt the town.

Ligotti's nightmarescapes didn't scare me as much as they left a lingering sensation that I'd been unsettled and disturbed. They're preoccupied with the individual's struggle to find meaning and definition in a hostile and increasingly repetitive world - and in this regard they're strikingly modernist: a space in which, to quote, there is "a killing sadness that feels as if it will never leave me no matter where I go or what I do or whom I may ever know."
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