In Thomas Ligotti’s first nonfiction outing, an examination of the meaning (or meaninglessness) of life through an insightful, unsparing argument that proves the greatest horrors are not the products of our imagination but instead are found in reality.
“There is a signature motif discernible in both works of philosophical pessimism and supernatural horror. It may be stated thus: Behind the scenes of life lurks something pernicious that makes a nightmare of our world.”
His fiction is known to be some of the most terrifying in the genre of supernatural horror, but Thomas Ligotti’s first nonfiction book may be even scarier. Drawing on philosophy, literature, neuroscience, and other fields of study, Ligotti takes the penetrating lens of his imagination and turns it on his audience, causing them to grapple with the brutal reality that they are living a meaningless nightmare, and anyone who feels otherwise is simply acting out an optimistic fallacy. At once a guidebook to pessimistic thought and a relentless critique of humanity’s employment of self-deception to cope with the pervasive suffering of their existence, The Conspiracy against the Human Race may just convince readers that there is more than a measure of truth in the despairing yet unexpectedly liberating negativity that is widely considered a hallmark of Ligotti’s work.
This is one of those books that makes me feel dumb. And I mean that in the best way.
Thomas Ligotti is a deep thinker, and he’s very good at pulling together disparate strings of thought into one incredibly cohesive whole. His fiction is unlike anyone else I’ve ever read, and it’s something I come back to time and again, because it’s just that good.
There’s authors out there that I enjoy. There’s authors out there I revere. And then, there’s a very, very small group of authors out there that I wish I could write like, but know I’ll never be able to. Ligotti is pretty much at the top of that list.
In this tour de force essay, Ligotti lays out his argument against humanity continuing, why life is a futile endeavour, and why consciousness is both indefinable and a scourge to humanity.
It’s bleak as hell, and compelling as hell. I’ve always enjoyed a bleak point of view, I find it fascinating. I’m a pessimist, and I’m far too cynical for my own good, but Ligotti makes me look like…I don’t know, the love child of Tony Robbins and Richard Simmons, maybe?
I listened to the audiobook of this, but halfway through, I ordered a hard copy of it, because I know it’s something I’m going to want to come back and study in more depth.
Because I know I didn’t pick up even half of what Ligotti is laying down. It’s going to take me a long time to unpack all this
Because this is one of those books that makes me feel dumb.
