While finishing my lengthy paper, I came across a monograph that I bought a while ago at Waterstone’s: I kept it on a shelf close to my work desk yet hadn’t managed to read it properly (random picking of quotes here and there aren’t counted). Until now: I needed a bit of a kick for the last chapter of my draft and chose this book merely for its title, which went in line with my work: it’s called “The Weird and The Eerie,” and the author’s name was Mark Fisher.

That was a small book and, consequently, a short read, but I was impressed by Fisher’s ability to catch that sadness in the uncanny (Unheimlich) that felt as if it were just a bit more elevated on an emotional scale than your average academic study. Fisher dedicated his monograph to a juxtaposition of the “fantastique” in the books of the Weird Fiction writers and those of famous musicians and filmmakers who use the uncanny (that is, weird and eerie) in their works (Brian Eno, David Lynch, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, to name a few).

Fisher wrote about the Unheimlich of “the outside,” not even meaning specifically the outer world which surely can be harsh, but, mostly what he’s describing was our own projection into that reality: it is not hospitable, this is a no man’s land. “For James [M.R. James—E.T.], who was born a horror writer and a conservative Christian, the fascination of the outside is always fateful, as the title of “A Warning to the Curious” made clear” (Fisher 80). How true is this? Everything you think you know about “your” reality could crumble in front of your eyes in a second and all you would have left is your deep despair.

I‘d say that Fisher became one of the clearest academic writers whose main topic was amor fati, “love to fate,” which I foolishly picked for myself many moons ago, too.

Fisher hanged himself just before his last book—that book I was reading—had gone into print: he never had the chance to see it published. He was 48 years old. He was an excellent writer and a good scholar, he also was a husband and a father. The Unheimlich of the outer world appeared to be stronger, remorseless and deceitful: it won. It struck a cord inside me: love your amor fati, but, please, do not engage with it completely.

I will return to his book again: may he rest in peace.