A quick one, because what Skipp said the other day goes double for me… we’re grinding out a novel together at a rate that would shame a sweatshop overseer, but I wanted to leave you a simple question, before I could hack it to death with my own observations.
Is horror, to you, the writer and/or reader, a literature of stuff and tropes––like the western or space opera, defined by what happens in it––or is it a literature of effect, defined solely by how it makes you feel?
I have always proudly described myself as a horror writer––the blank stares, frankly, turn me on. But as I mature and start to develop a persona in the kind of stories I write, I’m finding a whole new level of glass ceiling in the editorial plane. Many editors, while praising the craft of the works, are turning them down because they stray outside a defined “horror” trope. With few exceptions, I’ve read their publications, and know what they do, but it’s apparently a presumptuous mistake to suppose they might want something different. That something unexpected might be, you know… scary?
At a time when markets are dying off and readership is steadily bleeding away to less demanding, more interactive media, I wonder if this isn’t a potentially lethal trait within our genre… namely, the tendency to think of horror stories as anything with vampires, zombies, werewolves and other familiar types. I’ve read westerns with werewolves and crime dramas with vampires, and even these hybrids tend to weaken both their parent genres, instead of building on them. As someone who grew up more enthralled by David Cronenberg than Dracula, I always believed that horror could be extracted from anywhere fear lurks, and soon found the creature features on TV and in books stamped “horror” were the antidote for the night terrors that plagued me as a child.
Just as fantasy has painfully liberated itself from the sword & sorcery clichés that defined it, so horror could grow out of the ghetto it’s been contained in, by looking at the basic tropes we draw stories from, and following the roots of fear out of the familiar, almost comforting funhouse elements we’ve been playing with, for so long. The romance genre covers all feminine aspirations, from a solid marriageable square to a dashing, ne’er-do-well rogue, but its sticky appeal is codified in all kinds of formulae. That works for romance, because it’s escape to a particular refuge. Horror promises no such refuge, but in offering people familiar zombies and ancient evils every time out, aren’t we just making unlovely romance novels?
OK, I said I wouldn’t hack this to death, but damn… OK, I really should be crucifying somebody right now, so let me pose it to you, on my way out: What is horror, to you? Is it any story with monsters and death and grue, or is it any story that seeks to unsettle and wipe that smirk off the face of your naked soul?
(Damn it, where’s my nail gun?)
Thanks,
Cody
12 Comments, Comment or Ping
Dave Wilson
Well, it seems reasonably clear to me - the dilemma, not the actual answer to your posed question.
Many, many writers just write. Some of them get great contracts with big publishers by just writing what they intend to write without considering tropes or conventions. These writers often produce horror, but it isn’t packaged that way - it’s packaged as books.
Only those who insist on marketing their books to “horror markets” and “horror publishers” are really constrained, and the constraints are tough and tenacious. The publishers with horror lines, in general, have set audiences, pre-ordained shelf-life and circulation, and reach a fairly steady, but segregated audience.
My thought is, as long as people continue to write books they self-label as horror and fight to “extend the boundaries” of the genre, they are flailing in the wind. In a more zen posture, I prefer to write…close my eyes…ignore the boundaries and attempt to become ONE with the literature…
Maybe it’s just me…
-DNW
Apr 10th, 2008
Peter S
Being a new writer, (less than 10 publishing credits to my name) and I always fancied myself a Horror writer but what Dave said struck a chord on how to market myself and what to feel going into a new project. I think I will now instead of sitting down to write a “Horror” story I will just write a story.
And Cody I feel that horror is anything that scares you whether its a creature of legend or a human monster.
Been coming to this site since it’s inception, best site on the net in my humble opinion
Apr 10th, 2008
Elizabeth Massie
How it makes me feel. Without a doubt. Which is one reason I would classify “Johnny Got His Gun” as horror, though few others would.
Apr 10th, 2008
Thomas Sullivan
Amen. Read any three consecutive essays on this site and you will very likely find the same conflict of definition coming up. Could be that the genre is about to split mitotically, but when was it ever confined to vampires et al? And if it was, someone should have told Poe. Peter captures the spirit of it with a simple broad stroke — scariness (though scariness can be part of almost any genre, and some will will argue for humor and satire in horror). Cody, by implication, fleshes out the broader nature of that scariness when he sketches his own personal tastes and poses his question. Elizabeth adds a subtle distinction. Me, I wander label-less through my writing same as I wander through reading, just as Davey describes.
– Sully
Apr 10th, 2008
Dave Wilson
I’ve tried both sides of that fence, Sully, and ’tis why I now try to pretend the fence isn’t there and hope for the best.
At times I bemoan the two or three missed steps that kept me from hitting my first novel sale in the early 90s at the end of the horror “boom” - and at other times I thank the Gods I mis-stepped then, because I might now be just another mid-list author out of work, rather than a hopeful with eyes pointed skyward.
D
Apr 10th, 2008
Thomas Sullivan
Re.: early 90s horror bust. It was evolution, Davey. A genre label got so specialized it couldn’t survive climate change. You, being loaded with mutations (snicker), are ready for natural selection.
– Sully
Apr 10th, 2008
edwin mcrae
Anything that makes me want to put the book down, turn on every light in the house, check every wardrobe, and look behind every door. ‘Silence of the Lambs’ did that for me. And I have never felt comfortable with clowns, so ‘It’ did me in.
Apr 10th, 2008
Janet Berliner
Thought I’d look up the word horror and found the following–
Origin Middle English: via Old French from Latin horror, from horrere ‘tremble, shudder’
–Janet
Apr 10th, 2008
Dave Wilson
Huh…that IS interesting Janet…
So it was … a verb? Very strange, but apropos, I think…
And an interesting definition to add to the many we bat about so often…maybe the best I’ve heard.
Dave
Apr 10th, 2008
Bob
I consider myself a horror writer as well (well…a horror and non-fiction writer, though a lot of my non-fiction delves into some fairly horrible subjects, like child genital mutilation). But when I write down, I don’t write down to write a horror story. Frequently, that’s what comes out. But right now, I’m writing something that would probably best be classified as a thriller.
I think genre labels are somewhat useful, from a business perspective. I like heading into a bookstore and finding all the horror novels in one place, for instance. But by the same token, I think genre labels can hurt a writer during the creative process. Hell, they’re even a mixed bag from a business point of view, which is why when I walk into a bookstore, even if there is a horror section, I still spend the time it takes to wander around the rest of the store. You never know what you’ll find lurking just the other side of a genre label.
Apr 11th, 2008
Alexandra Sokoloff
I read the news today about the Utah cult that is “marrying” thirteen year old girls to 50 year old pedophiles, not to put too fine a point on it.
That’s horror. Monsters? Oh yeah.
And yeah, Johnny Got His Gun is horror, in spades.
Apr 11th, 2008
Teresa
Horror is definitely more than gore and monsters and zombies… horror is the slow realization that you have come to understand, to ‘grok’, the dilemma of the protagonists. It’s the realization that it’s not the gore or the zombies, or reading about torture or sexual assault that has you tied up in knots. It’s the in the empathy you develop for the torturee; it’s in the dawning knowledge that, like in Bachmann’s ‘The Long Walk’ anything can become a horrific experience if taken to the extreme.
When the elevator gets stuck, a 10 minute wait for help is the pefect way to avoid the nasty client you don’t want to see. 30 minutes… well maybe you wish you had used the bathroom before heading out… 1 hour? Hey! now it’s good to be alone because you can’t hold your bladder another instant and pissing your pants in private is so much better than in the company of strangers. 5 hours… being wet has given you a chill and why the heck hasn’t anyone fixed this yet… 7 hours… it’s after closing time and sitting is easier than standing, even in pissed jeans… 10 hours…thirsty… hoarse …alone in the dark bowels ready to give way.
Zombies got nothing on the power of the ordinary to become horrific.
Apr 11th, 2008
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