Morrissey taught us that Keats and Yeats are on our sides, Syd Barrett set James Joyce’s poem V from Chamber Music to, well, music (Stevie Nicks did something similar with Edgar Allen Poe’s “Annabel Lee”), and heavy metal vocalists are obsessed with Victorian horror.
Literature and music go together like cheddar cheese and grape jelly – er, okay, maybe that’s just my weird proclivity. Let’s say peanut butter and grape jelly! Read on for some of our favorite literary bedfellows.
Once upon a school year dreary, while I pondered weak and weary (as a broke undergrad), I lived in a haunted house.
It was rumored that the rickety, 19th century mansion-cum-student housing was once inhabited by a family annihilator. Unexplained things happened all the time: the television changed channels without warning, and footsteps echoed from the off-limits attic. Belongings disappeared, pictures leapt from walls. A roommate swore on a bottle of Jose Cuervo that she’d once awoken to the nebulous form of what looked like a child at the foot of her bed.
Wishful thinking on our parts? I’ll own up to having a little Lydia Deetz in me, but the mishaps seem awfully similar to another – and much more famous –haunting, presumably by everyone’s favorite cosmicist H.P. Lovecraft.
I – along with half the nation, it seems – am sick. I’ve quarantined myself with a pile of books, whiskey, and tissues, indulging in Oh-My-God-It’s-Really-The-Apocalypse theories (which now come with Extra Fever!). Seriously - the CDC says 2013 is shaping up to be the worst flu season ever, viruses replicate at record speed, and vaccine-less danger lurks inside every dented canned good (yes, I’m still so afraid of botulism that I won’t even touch a damaged can at the grocery store).
So herewith, an indulgence of my flu-induced paranoia: some of the worst literary viruses that led to apocalyptic meltdowns, complete with unscientific probability percentages based on nothing more than speculation, a few real-world comparisons, and Extra Fever!