So, yeah. H.P. Lovecraft. Super-racist. And not just in that “it was a different time” way, either. Lovecraft was so racist that even his contemporaries were all like, “Woah, dude. Calm down. That’s a bit racist.”

You can like his stories, you can love his stories.

But he was super, super fucking racist. (And so, for that matter, are a non-zero number of his works.)

For the record, I love Lovecraft, but I also started reading him when I was, ah, younger and less attuned to certain issues (to be kind of my teenage self). Sometimes I wonder whether I’d still enjoy his works if I came at them now. Maybe not.

I think we’ve all got a Lovecraft–or an Orson Scott Card, or a Roman Polanski, or a whomever–on our shelves somewhere. It’s a thing. I think it’s a disservice to pretend it isn’t.