Had a long-ass dream where I was reading the book (written in hard-to-read purple prose), which suddenly became narrated out loud by a male voice, and it became so I was seeing and interacting with things he was describing, sometimes in ways contrary to narration.
It was a book about writers, and it was a place where narrator had entered the "pantheon", where godlike authors appeared in front of him one by one. Some appeared "overtaken" by their creations, some were just changed a bit or surrounded by something weird.
They were also split into categories, but I only remember few authors in general, one category I forgot name of, which housed Agatha Christie (appearing mostly as herself, riding on a throne of pages wound into humanlike figures, whose intertwining arms formed the seat) and Conan Doyle (he was made of smoke that came from the pipe of shadowlike Holmes who loomed over him) and few others; "Fathers" category, in which there was Tolkien who appeared as walking schism in the reality, his traits formed by a view of nature and lit-up medieval town in front of mountain, and there was Pratchett, whom narration described in rather horrifying terms, as "shell housing the shadow of oblivion itself, wound in bright wrappings", but who, to me, looked like himself, except...uh...it appeared he was way old, older than he ever was in reality, and a younger and smiling version of his own face was painted over his real one, and there was something weird with his body, too, but it was hard to tell; I think Frank Baum was also a "father", but am not sure, and he was a wide, dragon or turtle-like figure, who crawled on his arms, his entire middle part and legs dragging behind, with his back housing a gorgeous Emerald City, under which, layer cake-style, were other parts of Oz...narration described him in positive terms, but he appeared damn unhappy; and, in later part, I remember categories of "Dreamer", which had sci-fi authors aplenty, none of them interesting (guess because IRL, I can not be assed to remember what Azimov and co look like) + Lewis Carroll for some reason (with a hall of mirrors, in which he appeared as a little boy, playing with a little girl, tailing him) , and "Racists", of which I remember two:
1) Sax Rohmer, whom I saw as normal person at first, but then realised he was a group of changing, looping "frames" on one of these circular thingies, and that it was being held by a titanical Fu Manchu, whose yellow robe, as it turned out, also spread around as the landscape the previous authors appeared on, whom narrator called something along the lines of "progenitor of villainous fancy, grandfather of exotic schemers, wound into stories way beyond the places his roots could have reached", and who, upon seeing me look at him, extended one clawed finger and held me under the chin with its tip for a bit, all while he himself dissolved into mist untill nothing but green glow of his eyes remained as stars in the sky;
and 2) good ole Lovecraft, the only one whose narration I remember, it being "a suffering soul, abandoned by most, if not all, desperately trying to flee the shadows that he, just like nymph who became Charybdus, does not realise are merely parts of himself and his own reality", and he legit was appearing to be stressed and, if not crying, then about to, and only his head and arms were human, with the rest being enormous - like, stretching out onto horizon, - tail of monster extremities and faces, who clawed and bumped his human torso endlessly and whispered in such unpleasant voices that I woke up.
