My least favorite story of Lovecraft's New York period, which was the worst period of writing in his career. The main value of this story is in the autobiographical aspects on Lovecraft's feelings about his move to the city.
A writer moves to New York City, then hates it (and all the immigrants of course). While wandering around one night, he meets an old guy who also loves history, and this man shows him around, and then takes him to a window that can magically see into the past and future. Then shit gets weird.
Honestly, not enough happens in the story, and it was tough to get through despite being very short. And then it is tough to actually remember. But Lovecraft isn't a complete failure; there are some nice bits of description, particularly the view of the future and the creepy ghost ooze thing at the end. I also like the first line: "I saw him on a sleepless night when I was walking desperately to save my soul and my vision."
But overall, the story doesn't make a lot of sense and has little point besides hatred of the city. Although there is a bit of a stealth moral about not being too hung up on the past, I'm not sure Lovecraft meant it.
Lovecraft's visions of the future aren't good enough for more than 2 impious pyramids out of 5.
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