There is magic in the world. I think we all know this instinctively and it's an unfortunate series of events that leads us to forget it. I was lucky--I don't think my father ever truly forgot this fact, despite the best efforts of the world we live in to take this knowledge away form him. I think it was a conscious effort on his part to try and constantly remind me of this when I was younger--especially since I was part of the effort to take this knowledge away from him.
Randolph Carter and his silver key reminded me again. I constantly repeat that these stories were written with me specifically in mind, and the more I read, the more I am convinced of this. I know that I will forget again, and I hope that something in my future comes along to remind me.
Yes, I read The Call of Cthulhu and I think that there's nothing I can really say about it that hasn't already been said. It hasn't really affected me personally (and I hope it never does), so I'll leave the literary criticism to those more capable of it than I.
