Aren’t You Worried About Us?
This chapter is the full mental health crisis of Katy Porter chapter, with spiralling depression, suicide ideation, self-harm desires/intent, and a magical intervention. Katy asks Myrddin why he’s telling her to fulfill her eldritch potential and if he’s not at all concerned that they are a real threat to the world too, and his response is to point out that they aren’t that much of a threat.
The whole point of this family is a pastiche of Lovecraftian abominations like The Dunwich Horror and The Shadow over Innsmouth, in which they aren’t really a threat to the wider world except to (oh no) spread their eldritch DNA if they’re not careful. But they are this way because of their aims and values and personalities; the family culture is aspiring middle-class, and they care more about appearances and holidays in Mauritius and shopping in John Lewis than they do about world domination.
There’s a lot of mundane juxtaposition with eldritch/cosmic that creates anticlimaxes in the story (on purpose) and this is one of those moments where Katy is confronted with everything she could be versus the reality of where she is, and it’s very bald and unsympathetic, and she doesn’t take it well.
I think I also needed someone to lay out why the Triad themselves aren’t a threat, but Myrddin does this in a very blunt, critical way that probably doesn’t help.
She frowned. “Hey, so. If we’re so powerful, and you want me to – what, work with the boys? To kill Grandad? Have I got that right? Then… aren’t you worried about us? Because I’d be worried about us.”
He took a deep breath of the stiff sea air. “If it was anyone else, the stars would turn dark, the moon would be blood, and the world would burn.”
Katy rolled her eyes. “Bit dramatic.”
Myrddin remained unimpressed. “And instead… your brother, who could master armies and spread his infection across continents, who contains legions and could muster them at will for peace or for war, is doing what? Running a nightclub in Brixton? Terrifying. And your cousin, who could pluck secrets from the heart of the sun and weave the tapestry of the wyrd into any pattern of his choosing, is where? Wallowing in solitude because he’s upset his missus.” He shook his head.
“No, he’s not,” Katy snapped, before she could stop herself. “He’s doing better.” She caught his expression and scowled, partly at his scepticism and partly at herself for defending him.
Myrddin ignored her. “And you – you who could stand and defy the apocalypse – you, who could sit on the Throne you’ve made and be the keeper of your clan and their memory, you, possessed of a form nothing can destroy… You are sitting in a park, about to cut your arms with something your brother-in-law uses for slicing tomatoes.”
Katy’s cheeks burned. “Fuck you, old man.”
“I see he’s rubbed off on you, your cousin.” Myrddin gave her an arch look of disapproval. “Not quite in the way I’d hoped, but it’s something.”
“You’re saying that… that what, we’re stupid? That what we feel doesn’t matter? That we should just… we should stop being ourselves and be this… be these monsters we’re supposed to be?” Katy threw the empty can at him. “What the fuck are you doing, then?”
He caught it without blinking. “I’m saying we are all very fortunate that you are who you are. But I’m also saying perhaps there is more out there for you than that small dark room you each insist on sitting in.” He crushed the can in his hand without visible effort. “And I am trying to ensure that the world doesn’t end, because even I have my limitations, and some acts of heroism, God help us, are for those with the powers I do not possess. Even if the ones with those powers are doing their level best to deny their potential and doom us all.”
Katy couldn’t reply. She swallowed.
The Day We Ate Grandad – pp. 109-110
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