I had a stint where I read a lot of Lovecraft. After finishing his novels, I checked out some books that collated his personal letters. He wrote a lot of fucking letters - 20,000 survived, which is only 1/5th of what he wrote. The guy literally had nothing to do all day. Essential Solitude is one I remember being a total gas to read. Lovecraft harbored some of the most hilariously inane racist thoughts I'd ever heard, but it wasn't just how he wrote and articulated them in such a self-satisfyingly, flowery way to his personal friends and colleagues that was so funny. It was also that it was all he ever seemed to write about. He was like Stefan Molyneux with a bigger thesaurus. The more you read about Lovecraft, the more you realize he was kind of worthless outside of literature. He spent a lot of time talking about the lack of accomplishments, glory, and ugliness of lesser races...but he spent his entire life leeching off his mother and aunt, and for a few years off his wife, who he couldn't stand, but kept her around to pay for his tendies. Also, he was ugly as shit.
