Well, that was quite a nice surprise!
Great reading by Ben! "Oil of Dog" is one of those stories that once you've heard it, it never leaves your head...for all the reasons Al mentioned, but here's a few others: Bierce wasn't just the dryest, most acerbic writer at the time, he was also the damn funniest. For those who enjoy black humor, "Oil of Dog" succeeds at being grimly funny as well as horrifying - Bierce can see the increasing industrialization of America, and the hypocrisy of proto-capitalist culture, the willingness (in fact, need) to turn everything into product, including people and their lives...and babies...and dogs, all while maintaining a civilized, cultured facade....and Bierce realizes the only way to condemn such cynical exploitation is to magnify it, exaggerate it and turn it back on itself. And in the end, the American Myth of "Redemption Through Travel" means our young narrator can move away and relate the terrible events as just another part of his history.
Erik Bauersfeld (for my money one of the top 5 dramatic audio readers of horror fiction during the pre-internet age) did a performance of "Oil of Dog" on THE BLACK MASS, a KPFA radio show out of San Francisco, in 1964. For those who would like to hear it, an mp3 can be downloaded here (and please don't deny yourself the other pleasures offered - sound can be a bit spotty at times, as these were broadcast in the 60's, but the Lovecraft, Bierce, Dunsany, Poe and De La Mare are outstanding):
http://www.kpfahistory.info/black_mass_index.htmlNotorious dark-humor monologist, downtown NYC off-off-off Broadway crackpot and late-in-life David Letterman repeat guest Brother Theodore also included a slightly altered version of "Oil of Dog" (retitled "Tears From A Glass Eye") as part of his stage show, and it made it onto the first side of his 1955 album AN ENTERTAINMENT OF SINISTER AND DISCONCERTING HUMOR. Someone has kindly mp3ed this obscure treasure and while you may have to listen to most of Side A (yes, it was one of those grammy-phone wax recordings) to get to his take on the tale, everyone should hear a little of Brother Theodore's dark wisdom sometime in their life (he also performed pieces by Clark Ashton Smith and Gustav Meyrink):
http://cosseyedcyclops.blogspot.com/2008/12/music-brother-theodore.htmlAs for "Horror Of The Heights" - I enjoyed it on this listen more than I did when I read it years ago. Partially because I had read it then expecting a horror story, when really its more of a monster story or a weird tale, a strange creature or unknown world uncovered, than a story attempting to scare you. As one gets older and reads more widely, it's nice to revisit older works and realize that you and your understanding of what consititutes good writing can only get wider and more inclusive, that there are very few concrete approaches to fiction that apply across time, and that its always better to look for what you can get out of older works instead of judging them harshly by your own blinkered perspectives. What struck me on this reading were Doyle's wonderfully lyrical descriptions of the aerial vistas, alien and beautiful (Al's reading really sold these parts - good job - and the writing itself reminded me of Antoine de Saint-Exupery's memoir WIND, SAND AND STARS or Beryl Markham's WEST WITH THE NIGHT), and the entertaining "of-the-period" details on aviation and its history - you can really feel the rush of pride and joy over man's achievements in these realms, and feelings of justifiable assurance that these advancements will continue (specific details of the piece, like aerial jungles - what a great term! - aside). Something I always find rewarding about reading older works are these "of the time" details that provide a nice dose of humility regarding our modern age's own assurance in its technological fetishism.
So, congrats Pseudopod, two simply wonderful stories. I'd actually enjoy it if older, public domain works were made the occasional, but scheduled (say bi- or tri- monthly) event to provide a nice contrast and bit of history.
Thanks for listening.
“I told myself: 'I am surrounded by unknown things.' I imagined man without ears, suspecting the existence of sound as we suspect so many hidden mysteries, man noting acoustic phenomena whose nature and provenance he cannot determine. And I grew afraid of everything around me – afraid of the air, afraid of the night. From the moment we can know almost nothing, and from the moment that everything is limitless, what remains? Does emptiness actually not exist? What does exist in this apparent emptiness?”
Guy de Maupassant, “Letter From A Madman” (1885)