The Fisherman by John Langan

A book about traversing grief in its many forms, as seen through the lens of cosmic horror.

TLDR:

Two widowers bonded by loss seek solace in fishing, only to stumble upon an ancient, terrifying secret hidden in the Catskill Mountains.

The Fisherman is a haunting meditation on grief and how it can drive a person into darkness. This book snagged me on the lip and reeled me in as if I were another mindless catch to throw on the pile. I hesitate to say it right after finishing a book, but this may well be a masterwork in horror.

Synopsis:

The story follows Abe and Dan, two men who have lost their wives to tragedy. Despite their sadness, they have fashioned a quiet, fragile friendship in the ritual of fishing. When they hear rumors of "Der Fisher" and a mysterious creek that shouldn't exist, they head into the wilderness looking for a distraction from their pain. What they find instead is a "story within a story" that stretches back generations—a cosmic horror epic which hangs in the abyss like a silver hook in the darkness.

Insights:

• The Weight of Grief: Langan depicts loss as a physical landscape. Literal in some respects. A hostile land that must be traversed and explored. The book is an absorbing treatise on how trauma and mourning can make a person vulnerable to things they should otherwise avoid.

• Literary Lineage: The atmosphere of the book sits in a dark space right between Stephen King's character-driven small town folksiness and the cold, existential dread of H.P. Lovecraft. I also detected the likes of William Hope Hodgson and Algernon Blackwood, especially in the way the environment itself feels patient and predatory.
• Masterful Oratory: A large chunk of the book is told as a yarn within a yarn by a local diner owner. This old-school oratory style makes the supernatural elements feel grounded, like a piece of dark folklore being whispered directly in your ear. Some may lose their patience, as one story gives way to another for most of the book, but I found that it built tension within its lore.

Final Reflection:

This book is a journey into unsettling territory.

It is true horror at it's finest. I found myself mentally noting specific scenes that I just knew were going to haunt my dreams. It's a very dark and nihilistic read, but more than that, it's an emotionally honest one. It doesn't make any promises it can't keep.

The way things are right now with the world, this may not be your cup of tea. If you are already in a dark place, and are inclined to avoid more darkness, you may want to put this back on the shelf and return to it when your emotional battery is charged up and you're ready for a deep dive into the nature of suffering.

As for me, I'm glad I picked this up-it's the kind of horror that hollows you out. Which can be cleansing in a certain way. Like how a storm brings the forest detritus to the floor for natures recycling program or how it is easier to laugh after you've had a good cry. This book reminds you that things could be worse. It opens the door and allows you to process that deep existential dread that keeps many of us up at night. Which can be healthy, depending on how your brain works. Most of all, it understands that the scariest things aren't just evil monsters, but the holes left behind by the absence of those we love.

BONUS CONTENT:

Sometimes certain books inspire me to draw. In this case, I doodled a fun, custom bookmark on my iPad while I was listening to the last few hours of the book. Here is a video of that drawing: