At the Mountains of Madness Review – Editions Rémanence journal

Editions Rémanence book reviews

In the vast, frozen wastes of Antarctica, where the wind screams like a dying animal and the temperature drops to levels that freeze the blood, lies a secret that defies sanity. H.P. Lovecraft’s novella, At the Mountains of Madness, is the crown jewel of his Cthulhu Mythos. Published in 1936, it is a masterwork of "cosmic horror"—the terrifying realization that the universe is not only indifferent to human existence, but filled with entities so ancient and powerful that we are no more significant than ants on a hill.

The story is presented as a frantic report by William Dyer, a geologist from Miskatonic University. His mission is simple: to warn a future expedition away from the ice. Why? Because his own team found something there. Something that was not meant to be found. What begins as a scientific triumph—the discovery of new, unparalleled fossils—quickly descends into a nightmare of slaughter and madness.

The City of the Elder Things

Lovecraft was a man obsessed with the past, and here he creates a history of Earth that renders humanity obsolete. Dyer and his companion, Danforth, fly their plane over a mountain range higher than the Himalayas—mountains that "should not be." Beyond them, they discover a sprawling, cyclopean city, preserved for millions of years by the cold. It is a city of non-Euclidean geometry, of five-pointed towers and labyrinthine tunnels, built by the "Elder Things"—star-headed beings who came to Earth when life was just a soup of amino acids.

The exploration of this city is one of the most atmospheric sequences in horror literature. Lovecraft describes the architecture with a meticulous, almost clinical detail that makes it feel disturbingly real. We walk with Dyer through the silent halls, reading the bas-reliefs that tell the rise and fall of a civilization that spanned eons. We learn of their wars, their art, and their creation of a slave race—the shapeless, protoplasmic Shoggoths.

Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!

The true horror of the novella is not just the monsters, but the implication of their existence. The Elder Things were scientists, colonizers, and artists. In them, we see a dark mirror of ourselves. And like us, they lost control of their creations. The Shoggoths, bred for labor, eventually rose up in a rebellion of slime and fury.

When Dyer and Danforth finally encounter the source of the horror in the subway tunnels beneath the city, the tension breaks into sheer panic. The cry of "Tekeli-li!"—borrowed from Edgar Allan Poe—echoes through the darkness, signaling the approach of a doom that cannot be fought, only fled. It is a moment of pure, adrenaline-fueled terror that stands in stark contrast to the slow, creeping dread of the earlier chapters.

The Indifferent Stars

Why does At the Mountains of Madness endure? Because it strips away the comfort of religion and anthropocentrism. It forces us to look at the night sky and realize that the darkness is not empty. It suggests that our time on this planet is brief, accidental, and ultimately fragile. For those brave enough to peer over the edge of reality, this book is a cold, magnificent, and terrifying abyss.