Why We Need Both Carcosa and Ithaka

Picture the human mind as a vessel navigating open water. Throughout literature, two destinations pull at me from opposite horizons.

On one side lies Carcosa: the fictional, ruinous city under black stars popularised by Robert W. Chambers in The King in Yellow and resurrected in HBO’s True Detective. On the other sits Ithaka: the rugged Greek island Odysseus spent ten brutal years trying to reach in Homer’s Odyssey.

One is a hallucination of nihilism and madness; the other, an embodiment of endurance and home. They should be mutually exclusive, yet I feel drawn to both.

Modern life demands constant control, predictable routines, and emotional restraint. Under that weight, a subtle psychological reaction occurs: a quiet desire for complete deconstruction.

Carcosa serves as the ultimate literary metaphor for this impulse. It is a forbidden landscape of twin suns, double moons, and tattered yellow robes. It represents cosmic indifference: the terrifying notion that beneath our carefully constructed order, the universe is absurd and unconcerned with us.

Our attraction to such a bleak vision functions as a psychological relief valve. Carcosa gives us permission to acknowledge our darkest and most repressed thoughts. It satisfies our impulse to stare into the void and tear away the comforting illusions we live by, even if that truth threatens to unravel us.

If Carcosa is the gravity pulling us into the deep, Ithaka is the rope hauling us back to the deck.

In Homer’s myth, Ithaka is not a lavish paradise, but a rocky, unforgiving island. Yet neither immortal goddesses nor deadly sirens could turn Odysseus away from it.

Ithaka represents self-definition and the rebuilding of inner order. In an era where many people suffer from a sense of spiritual drift, Ithaka acts as a mental anchor. It isn’t necessarily a physical place, but a foundational set of values, a core purpose, or a sense of self. Having an Ithaka transforms aimless suffering into a meaningful journey.

As C.P. Cavafy observed in his famous poem, Ithaka gives you the journey itself. It stands for the quiet resilience required to keep steering home after realising how fragile and absurd the world can be.

Carcosa and Ithaka are two sides of the same psychological landscape. We are simultaneously restless explorers aching to break the rules, and weary travellers searching for a safe harbour.

• Carcosa is the abyss within. It honours our fascination with the unknown, reminding us of our smallness and giving voice to the internal storms we usually hide.
• Ithaka is the lighthouse. It grounds us when we risk drifting away, calling us back to reason, agency, and purpose.

Surrender entirely to Carcosa, and you drown in nihilism. Stay rigidly attached to Ithaka without ever acknowledging the void, and life turns sterile and fragile.

The most authentic human experience happens in the tension between the two: peering into the strange, dark waters of Carcosa, then turning back to the wheel and sailing toward home.

Cassilda’s Song

From “The King in Yellow” by Robert W. Chambers

Along the shore the cloud waves break,

The twin suns sink behind the lake,

The shadows lengthen

In Carcosa.

Strange is the night where black stars rise,

And strange moons circle through the skies,

But stranger still is

Lost Carcosa.

Songs that the Hyades shall sing,

Where flap the tatters of the King,

Must die unheard in

Dim Carcosa.

Song of my soul, my voice is dead,

Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed

Shall dry and die in

Lost Carcosa.

Ithaka

By C.P. Cavafy

As you set out for Ithaka

hope your road is a long one,

full of adventure, full of discovery.

Laestrygonians, Cyclops,

wild Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:

you’ll never find things like that on your way

as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,

as long as a rare excitement

stirs your spirit and your body.

You won’t encounter Laestrygonians, Cyclops,

or fierce Poseidon unless you bring them inside your soul,

unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope your road is a long one.

May there be many summer mornings when,

with what pleasure, what joy,

you enter harbors you’ve never seen before;

may you stop at Phoenician trading stations

to buy fine things,

mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,

sensual perfume of every kind—

as many sensual perfumes as you can;

and may you visit many Egyptian cities

to learn and go on learning from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.

Arriving there is what you’re destined for.

But don’t hurry the journey at all.

Better if it lasts for years,

so you’re old by the time you reach the island,

wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,

not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.

Without her you wouldn’t have set out.

She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.

Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,

you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.