Mark Fisher is a force. I have to admire the broad range of his interests and approaches, and in The Weird and the Eerie, Fisher latches onto something more literary than his work about politics or music. The text begins with establishing the distinction between the weird and the eerie, with a large difference being that the “weird” is strange but ultimately explicable whereas the “eerie” has an unusual effect because there is an ontological or epistemic gap. There is some kind of missing knowledge that prevents its comprehensibility. Later, Fisher comments on the grotesque, as well, suggesting that it inspires both laughter and revulsion—the laughable and that which cannot be laughed at as a subset of the weird. The definitions are somewhat useful, somewhat flexible.
To make the distinction clear, Fisher summarizes and analyzes a range of texts, ranging from H.P. Lovecraft to H.G. Wells to Daphne DuMaurier to Margaret Atwood to the British serial Quatermass, the films of David Lynch, the novel and film Under the Skin and the work of Stanley Kubrick and Christopher Nolan. The book is a wonderfully considered primer for weirdness and eerieness as a concept and, given its refreshing brevity, I can’t help but feel it could have gone even further—in fact, when I finished reading it, I went off to explore some of the media Fisher references, and then I immediately re-read his book and still feel like there’s more to say, especially with respect to posthumanism. For instance, if we are alien to ourselves, if our intentionality is ambiguous, how does that impact our conceptions of agency in any number of realms of our lives?
If you’re interested in discussions of horror, eeriness, alienation, the uncanny, identity, time, and capitalism (capital is eerie in that it does not exist in any substantial way but can produce any number of effects), there’s a lot to discuss here. Fisher is consistently insightful regarding his media selections. From here, I’ll comment on some individual sections and share a few insights.
I have very limited exposure to H.P. Lovecraft. I’ve read a story or two, but they never really resonated with me. As I have mentioned before, a great critic gives me a fresh perspective or new appreciation for works, and Fisher does just that with Lovecraft. In particular, I really appreciated his commentary on how Lovecraft incorporates actual history and simulated scholarship into his work to create “ontological anomalies.” Fisher notes, for instance, how there are many people who have sought out The Necronomicon in libraries, despite it being a fictional text. Fisher notes that “by treating really existing phenomenon as if they had the same ontological status as his own creations, Lovecraft de-realizes the factual and real-izes the fictional.” I find that such an interesting phenomenon, especially in seeing how it developed into works like House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski, for example. He also comments on the fragmentary quality of Lovecraft’s references to The Necronomicon as being the core factor in being seen as real, as though the incompleteness gives it its reality effect. It is more real by seeing only the citations, rather than providing a full text. I am fascinated by this reality-effect and “ontological displacement” that gives text their own autonomy from their author.
Fisher’s characterization of texts often makes me want to read them; for example, Daphne Du Maurier’s story “Don’t Look Now” and H.G. Wells’ “The Door in the Wall” are newly enticing. The latter is compelling since the notion of portals and passageways to other places frequently holds its own power, but Fisher’s remarks about the man who continually sees the door but does not go through it give the story an entrancing quality that encourages me to read it. In a similar vein, Fisher comments on doors and curtains in the work of David Lynch, with particular reference to Mulholland Dr. and Inland Empire. I have memorable experiences of watching both works, and Inland Empire was a particularly visceral viewing experience, given how sick I already was at the time. When Fisher remarks that Inland Empire is an “ontological rabbit warren,” it re-ignited an interest in the film for me and much of it started to click into place. Is it a coincidence that the climax of the film involves watching rabbits in miniature and weeping to a silent sitcom?
On the topic of Inland Empire, Fisher suggests that people are defined by their spaces. Our identities are unstable because when we enter new places we have new identities, new roles to fulfil. When we go down rabbit holes and become new people, the implications are deeply important, philosophically. This could also be connected to Fisher’s commentary on Freud: the psyche is failures of presence (the unconscious) and failures of absence (the drives “that intercede where our free will should be.”
This discussion of something where there should be nothing and nothing where there should be something gets linked to some compelling readings of Daphne Du Maurier’s “The Birds” and Christopher Priests novels, with which I am unfamiliar. The discussion of the collapse of time in Daphne Du Maurier’s work gives me another angle from which to analyze her work, which is convenient, given that I have another one of her collections ready on my shelf. I appreciate the doublings (indeed, I’ve read Du Maurier’s double novel The Scapegoat) and the agency that seems to exist beyond our perception where it ought not be. I also appreciate the discussion of echoes in Venice as an eerie effect in Du Maurier.
From a literary standpoint, Fisher also has a knack for pulling texts to the fore that often go unnoticed or that seem, in my mind, to be underappreciated in the academy. For instance, his chapter on Picnic at Hanging Rock by Joan Lindsay and its film adaptation is very intriguing, despite my never having heard of it before. Similarly, the novel and film adaptation Under the Skin get their own chapter. After reading The Weird and the Eerie, I immediately the film version directed by Jonathan Glazer and I thought it was a masterpiece. I’m surprised it is not discussed more often. Fisher gave some angles for considering the film, and going into the film with his views in mind enhanced by viewing without overshadowing the thoughts that came to mind throughout. I was inspired by the eeriness of the film and had a wealth of ideas for essays to come.
When Fisher comments on Jonathan Glazer’s adaptation of Under the Skin, he offers an astute and engaging observation: the adaptation adds gaps, for instance by removing the interiority of Scarlet Johannson’s character that would need to be integral to the novel. The idea of an addition being an omission is very interesting to me, of course, because a negative becomes a positive in a strange ontological switch. It’s a shame that Mark Fisher is no longer with us; from what I understand about Glazer’s The Zone of Interest, Fisher would have found it fascinating and well-worth commentary.
All of this and I didn’t even get to mention the commentary on The Shining as a kind of alien eerie film or Interstellar as being eerie in its deployment of love as a scientific force, despite its risk of seeming facile. The discussion of both films is somewhat against the grain of how I normally hear the films talked about, which enriches my experience of both what I have seen and what I have not.
In brief, Mark Fisher is insightful and inspires me to read more, view more, and think more. Reading the book twice didn’t even feel like a chore—I felt enriched each time and the book successfully maintained my deep interest in Mark Fisher himself as a thinker. I’ll likely need to report some more on his work very soon.
All the best and happy reading!
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