{"id":5055,"date":"2024-10-12T14:35:22","date_gmt":"2024-10-12T21:35:22","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/josephaleo.com\/blog\/?p=5055"},"modified":"2024-10-23T14:04:20","modified_gmt":"2024-10-23T21:04:20","slug":"the-tree","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/josephaleo.com\/blog\/the-tree\/","title":{"rendered":"The Tree"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Though I find myself gratified by the renewal of my long-cherished tradition\u2014reading, each day throughout October, a tale spun by that master of cosmic terror, H.P. Lovecraft<\/a>\u2014I confess an unshakable disquiet. There is something faintly profane in absorbing these eldritch horrors through the cold, pallid luminescence of a backlit Kindle screen rather than from the ancient, worn pages of a proper tome. Yet, what choice have I? The modern world, in all its indifferent progress, has forced my hand. And so be it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the olive grove still stands, as does the tree growing out of the tomb of Kalos, and the old bee-keeper told me that sometimes the boughs whisper to one another in the night-wind, saying over and over again, \u201c\u039f\u1f36\u03b4\u03b1! \u039f\u1f36\u03b4\u03b1!\u2014I know! I know!\u201d<\/em><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Today\u2019s story, \u201cThe Tree,\u201d<\/a> is one I have read before\u2014yet now, with the deeper knowledge gleaned from perusing the works of Algernon Blackwood<\/a> and Arthur Machen<\/a>, I find myself newly attuned to Lovecraft\u2019s craft. His tale grows more haunting with each re-reading, as though the fabric of its mystery darkens with age.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the desolate foothills of Mount Maenalus<\/a> in Arcadia<\/a>, an olive grove casts a sepulchral pall over a crumbling villa and an ancient tomb of marble. From this ground, there rises a grotesque, distorted tree\u2014a hideous mockery of human form, its gnarled roots shifting the very stones of the tomb beneath it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The tale, as our narrator relays it, came from the lips of a simple beekeeper. In those ancient days, the villa was home to two illustrious sculptors, Kalos and Musides. Though bound by the deepest of friendships, they differed greatly in their souls. Kalos sought the quietude of the olive grove, where he communed with strange inspirations; Musides reveled in the life of the city. The Tyrant of Syracuse sent emissaries to these two, demanding a statue of Tych\u00e9<\/a>, goddess of fortune. Yet, as fate would have it, Kalos fell gravely ill, leaving Musides to watch in despair as his friend grew weaker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As Kalos lay dying, his calm stood in stark contrast to Musides\u2019 grief. He made one strange request\u2014that olive twigs be buried near his head when his inevitable death came. And so it was. From that burial sprouted a great olive tree, unnaturally swift in its growth, overshadowing the unfinished work of Musides. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Three years passed, and Musides completed his statue. Yet in the end, a malevolent storm, like the very hand of fate, came howling down from the mountain. The next morning, the villa was found in ruins, the statue crushed beneath the twisted boughs of the tree, and Musides vanished without a trace. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thus, the story ends as it began\u2014with that grim reminder: \u201cFata viam invenient\u201d\u2014fate will find a way, no matter how we struggle against its inescapable pull.<\/p>\n<\/body>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

As I read Lovecraft’s \u201cThe Tree\u201d, the pallid glow of my Kindle feels profane\u2014yet the tale, like fate, grows darker with each re-reading, drawing me deeper.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5101,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[178],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5055","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blog"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/josephaleo.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/10\/photo_12_1366x7681.jpg?fit=1366%2C768","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/josephaleo.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5055","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/josephaleo.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/josephaleo.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/josephaleo.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/josephaleo.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5055"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"http:\/\/josephaleo.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5055\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5130,"href":"http:\/\/josephaleo.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5055\/revisions\/5130"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/josephaleo.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5101"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/josephaleo.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5055"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/josephaleo.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5055"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/josephaleo.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5055"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}