Sunday, January 12, 2014
Images of Horror as Not-So-Friendly Reminders
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Nature and Nurture: Character and Setting as Destiny
Why did you throw the jack of hearts away?
It was the only card in the deck I had left to play. -- The Doors
These allusions are based upon the old analogy that compares one’s personal attributes and assets to the hand that one is dealt at birth. Life, according to this view, is not just any game; it's a card game. It’s a gamble. The stakes may vary, but the goal is always the same: to play the cards one has been dealt to one’s best advantage in the hope of winning the pot.
Even before poker, the life = game equation was popular. The Tarot deck is based upon this notion, and, as a result, its devotees claim, the Tarot hand that one is dealt can foretell his or her future, or fortune.
Beowulf, a poem that is interesting for many reasons, shows us the same thing that a study of Greek mythology discloses: humans, like the gods themselves, were subject to the whims of fate. To paraphrase Alexander Pope, Zeus (or Beowulf) might propose, but it was the Fates (or fate) who disposed of the issues, or determined the outcome of the events, of the day. In the days of ancient Greece, the Fates, envisioned as three sisters, were the ones who decided how events would play out. In Beowulf, the Fates have become fate, an impersonal force, much as the Norse goddess Hel became the impersonal place, hell, in Christian belief. Nevertheless, in both the worlds of the ancient Greeks and of the medieval Norsemen, Geats included, it was not the gods or humans who had the final say as to how incidents or actions, including their own, would turn out. There was a power higher than theirs, to which their own wills were subject.
Beowulf was told and retold for centuries before it was finally committed to paper. The person who wrote it down for posterity was a Christian, and, upon the pagan folkways and beliefs evident in the poem, the scribe overlaid references to Christian faith and doctrine. As a result, there is an uneasy alliance between the pagan and the Christian world views that is incompatible and conflicting. Some may suppose that this duality of vision weakens the poem, but it may be argued that the juxtaposition of these two Weltanschauung, in fact, enriches the narrative. The poem shows what the Norse philosophy of life and social values were before their Christian conversion and what they were becoming during, and would be after, this conversion. For example, before, Beowulf attributed his victories over his foes to fate; afterward, he credits them to God’s will. This twofold attribution of success indicates that, gradually, the idea that it is an impersonal fate that determines the affairs of humans was being replaced by the belief that God’s will is the determinant of such outcomes. In other words, fate becomes God's will. The doctrine of predestination develops this idea with rigorous logic, making humans little more than automatons whose behavior consists of little more than actions that are programmed from the beginning--that is, from eternity--by the will of God.
In the pagan world, the cards one is dealt would have been said to have been dealt by the Fates or by fate. In the Christian world, it is God who deals the cards.
A person might be dealt any of the 22 Major Arcana cards or the 14 Minor Arcana cards of the Tarot deck. All of these cards signified and brought about particular things. Today, people don’t usually think of a person as having any particular set of cards of such a predetermined nature in the hands that fate or God deals to him or her. Instead, whatever personal attributes and assets a person has or accumulates are usually considered the cards that he or she has been dealt. Over time, the cards in a person’s hand may change as one is lost or another is acquired. Were we to apply this concept to Beowulf, we might say that his cards included courage, unusually great strength and stamina, martial prowess, longevity, wisdom, loyalty, compassion, great wealth, popularity, and kingship. When circumstances warranted his doing so, he might play one or more of these cards. In his fights with Grendel, Grendel’s mother, and the dragon, he played his courage, strength and stamina, and martial prowess cards; as king, he played his loyalty, compassion, and wisdom cards.
Human destiny is complex and impossible to know in advance. Life seems to be a gamble. We also sometimes do not know the full extent of our personal attributes and assets until we are, as it were, called upon by circumstances to use them. We are not always privy to every card in our hands; sometimes, some must be played from a face-down position. Luck (in pagan terms) or divine will (in Christian terms) has a role to play as well. By using such metaphors and analogies as life = gamble, life = game, and one’s personal attributes and assets = a hand of cards, we reduce these complex sets of incidents, circumstances, and actions to simpler, more understandable ideas. Whether any of these ideas is objectively true is perhaps unknowable, but they are, at least, true to one’s sense of how things are and of how things work. They seem to explain. They make sense to us emotionally, if not rationally.
What does all this have to do with character and setting? Writers play God (or fate) when they write stories. The writer is the one who deals the cards that the characters must play, giving or withholding this personal attribute or that individual asset. It was the writer--and the group of storytellers before him--who gave Beowulf his courage, unusually great strength and stamina, martial prowess, longevity, wisdom, loyalty, compassion, great wealth, popularity, and kingship, just as it was Charles Dickens, for example, who gave Ebenezer Scrooge his greed and stinginess, his callous disregard for others, and his capacities--at first unrealized--for compassion, sympathy, and love.
The cards that writers deal to their characters represent the genetic inheritance of these imaginary persons. But genetics is only one influence, as scientists remind us, that affects--and determines--behavior. We’re products of our environments as much as we are the products of our genes. Both nature and nurture make us who and what we are and who and what we become.
If the personal attributes and assets of the individual character represent his or her genetic inheritance, as it were, what represents the character’s environment? In fiction, the setting is the time, the place, and the cultural milieu into which the character is born. The setting may be past, present, or future. It may involve a tyranny, a theocracy, a monarchy, an oligarchy, or a democracy. It may be secular or religious. It may be amoral, moral, or immoral. It may be a universe or the microcosm of a total institution, such as a boarding school or a prison. It may be a metropolis or an island. It may be urban, suburban, or rural. It may be a rain forest or a desert, a castle or a shanty, this world or another planet in a galaxy far, far away; it may even be heaven or hell. Obviously, if a character were born into or lives in any one of these settings, his or her development would differ--in many cases, radically--from his or her development in another setting. Beowulf, both because of the cards he’s dealt and the time and place in which he lives, is a very different character than Ebenezer Scrooge!
By giving characters specific attributes and assets and by setting their lives in particular times, places, and cultural milieus, writers mimic the genetic and environmental aspects of human existence, providing their imaginary people with the gifts of nature and nurture that actual humans receive from evolution, geography, and culture. Whereas, for people, these gifts are likely to be seen as the effects of accident, luck, or grace, there’s no doubt as to who provides them to fictional characters, and they are given deliberately so that each character can fulfill his or her role in the drama the author has determined to create. The writer, depending upon one’s perspective, is, for his or her characters, fate or god.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Humor versus Horror
In the sexist teen sex comedy, 100 Girls, college student Matthew (no last name) has sex with a coed student with whom he is trapped in a dark, stalled elevator. He awakens the next morning, still in the elevator, to find that his anonymous lover has abandoned him, leaving behind, perhaps as a memento of the occasion, a pair of her panties. In a twist on the idea of Prince Charming’s matching the glass slipper left by Cinderella at the masked ball to the foot of its owner, Matthew seeks the bra that he believes will match the panties. He adopts the strategy of posing as a maintenance man for the college’s women’s dormitory, or “virgin vault,” as he calls it, which impersonation provides him access to coeds’ dressers, wherein he can search for the holy grail, as it were, of the matching bra.
That’s how this situation is developed comically--at least in 100 Girls. How might the same storyline be developed in a horror story? Here’s one possibility:
College student Matthew (no last name) has sex with a coed student with whom he is trapped in a dark, stalled elevator. He awakens the next morning, still in the elevator, to find that his anonymous lover has abandoned him, leaving her glass eye behind her. In a twist on the idea of Prince Charming’s matching the glass slipper left by Cinderella at the masked ball to the foot of its owner, Matthew seeks the one-eyed woman, his “Miss Cyclops,” who owns the glass eye. He adopts the strategy of posing as a maintenance man for the college’s women’s dormitory, which impersonation provides him access to coeds’ rooms, wherein he can search for his “Miss Cyclops.”
Admittedly, this is not much of a storyline. It needs work--a lot of work--and maybe wouldn’t work at all. My point, though, is to indicate how a humorist and a horror writer can treat the same idea, each in his or her own way, which is to say, humorously or horrifically.
In a comedy, order gives way to confusion, but the conflict is usually not a life-and-death matter; typically, it is something lighthearted, insignificant, or even absurd, often with satirical overtones, and the story usually ends well. The theme may be meaningful, but the vehicle for its expression, the story itself, tends to be fluffy and fun.
In a horror story, stability likewise succumbs to chaos, but the conflict that ensues definitely is a life-and-death matter. The story may occasionally feature a lighthearted moment, by way of comedic relief, but, overall, the narrative or drama will be suspenseful, even terrifying, and an atmosphere of dread will pervade, right to the end, as a monster or other antagonist relentlessly and pitilessly pursues his or her (usually his) victims, piling up dead (and often mutilated) bodies like cordwood. The theme usually will be significant, although the story is unlikely to end well, even for the protagonist. In a word, comedies treat their subjects humorously; horror stories, horrifically. Even the same basic situation will take a turn for the better (in comedy) or for the worse (in horror), depending upon the writer’s intent and perspective.
For example, in 100 Girls, Matthew ends up with his mystery lover, whereas, in a horrific treatment of the story:
Matthew might be arrested, suspected of being the psychotic butcher who, for weeks, has been collecting women’s eyeballs. In jail, Matthew has no way to stop the real mutilator/killer, who wants to complete his set by collecting his latest victim’s second eyeball as well. Perhaps Matthew’s parents, mortgaging their house, post their son’s bail, and Matthew is able, then, to track down the true psycho, either in time to prevent him from claiming the coed’s other eye or arriving on the scene a few seconds too late to save her from this blinding fate.
Again, this extension of the plot is about as ludicrous as it is horrific, and it could use a lot more work. For one thing, it is derivative, not only of 100 Girls but also of Jeepers Creepers, a horror film in which a stalker collects women’s eyes. (Hollywood would no doubt solve this problem by making the antagonist of such a film a "copycat" killer, just as this sort of story would itself be a copycat of the original movie.) The derivative nature of the storyline, however, suggests that the tale could be not only told but sold, and indicates, further, that, in horror, the absurd is as welcome as it is in humor, provided that it is treated horrifically, rather than humorously, which means that there must be fear and, in many cases, gore, or, as Edgar Allan Poe, more eloquently phrases the same dictum:
That motley drama!--oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot;
And much of Madness, and more of Sin
And Horror, the soul of the plot!
Monday, May 5, 2008
Guest Speaker: H. P. Lovecraft: Supernatural Horror In Literature, Part VII
Monday, April 21, 2008
Horror Fiction and the Problem of Evil
One of the arguments for God’s existence is the teleological argument (also known as the argument from design), which claims that the intricate design evident in the universe, from the microscopic to the cosmic levels, is proof that an omniscient and omnipotent God has created the universe. In other words, the order, purpose, and design that is obvious in nature shows that the universe is of a divine origin. This argument holds that the complexity, interrelatedness, and purposefulness of the universe could not have occurred as a result of chance or accident.
Among the counterarguments to the teleological argument is one that is known as “the problem of evil.” Observation shows that some incidents or conditions serve no discernable benefit but, instead, cause apparently unnecessary suffering. Examples are the suffering of animals, an infant with a birth defect, a toddler struck with cancer, an adult blinded or deafened or disfigured as a result of a natural catastrophe such as a fire, an earthquake, or a tornado. The problem of evil challenges the idea that a loving, all-knowing, all-powerful God has created the universe, for if he knows all and can do anything, how could he, if he is also loving, permit such evils as suffering animals, birth defects, diseases, and natural catastrophes?
Horror fiction is a means of exploring this philosophical problem. Although, like philosophy and theology, this genre of literature does not offer any definitive answer to the question, it does suggest some partial answers and is a concrete way of demonstrating, or dramatizing, these answers.
As we pointed out in another post, “Evil Is As Evil Does,” various writers in the horror genre have attributed evil to various origins, Nathaniel Hawthorne ascribing it to sin; Edgar Allan Poe, to passion coupled with madness; H. P. Lovecraft, to cosmic indifference to humanity; Dean Koontz, to humanity’s indifference to humanity; Stephen King, to threats to the local community; and Bentley Little, to bureaucratic and administrative indifference to individuals.
Some of these writers see evil as a consequence of individuals’ exercise of free will, whether individually or collectively (sins of commission), in part, at least, whereas others see evil as an effect of indifference, either by humanity to humanity (a sin of omission) or by virtue of humanity’s existence within a universe that is indifferent to it.
Of these writers, Lovecraft seems closest in his analysis of evil to the view of the universe that is implicit in the problem of evil. Lovecraft was an atheist. Had he been religious, he might have been, at most, a pantheist or a Deist. His understanding of a morally indifferent universe, however, would not have permitted him to be a Christian--or, at least, not in the traditional sense. For him, the idea of a personal, loving God who is active in human affairs would have been philosophically untenable. If free will is disallowed as the cause of all human suffering, one must admit culpability at the divine level, if one believes in a personal God. Either God is not loving (or he is actually sadistic), or he is neither all-knowing nor all-powerful. Otherwise, the existence of evil seems inexplicable.
Other corollaries also follow. For example, the teleological aspect of creation becomes potentially problematic. If God is too limited in either knowledge or power, or if he is not a God of love, there is no guarantee that the story of life, or the unfolding of the universe, so to speak, will work out as he has anticipated. Things may get out of hand.
Before Christianity, pagan religion posited a power above and beyond, or transcendent to, the gods. Even Zeus or Jupiter or Odin was subject to the power of the Moirae, the Parcae, or the Norns (that is, the Fates). To paraphrase Alexander Pope, the gods proposed, but the Fates disposed. It was only in Judaism and Christianity that God’s will became what is the equivalent of fate, and predestination entered the logic of theology. In Lovecraft’s world view, fate is equivalent not with God’s will but with blind chance. The universe is a great roll of the dice, and any notion of purpose or meaning is merely an illusion. The universe is indifferent to humanity.
Religious thinkers have offered refutations of the problem of evil, arguing that suffering builds character, that suffering is a result of the exercise of free will (making wrong choices), that suffering is a consequence of knowledge, and that evil happens when individuals do not act in accordance with natural laws.
Neither the argument from design nor the problem of evil is convincing to everyone, and the debate that is based upon the issues these arguments expound is likely to continue to engage both the faithful and the agnostic or atheist. Meanwhile, such writers as those we’ve mentioned (and many others whom we did not cite) will continue to explore both sides of the question. In the process, they will offer more ideas in defense of teleology and more ideas against teleology. In the process, the readers of horror fiction will continue to better understand and appreciate both the possibility of purposeful events and of the meaning, if any, of evil and human suffering.
Friday, February 1, 2008
The Guide to Supernatural Fiction: A Review (Part II)
In A Guide to Supernatural Literature, Everett F. Bleiler, of Kent State University, identifies six “statements” from which “countless stories can be generated”:
1. A man injures another man (and may be punished).He then analyzes each of these “statements,” relating each to his Guide’s “Index of Motives and Situations” (omitted here):
2. A man rebels against the heimarmene (and may be destroyed).
3. An outlaw power touches upon a man (and may be punished).
4. A good power touches upon a man (and may transform him).
5. A man is caught up and carried along by the heimarmene.
6. A man eases or repairs damage to the heimarmene, thereby helping other men.
a. A man commits murder--time gap--punishment by avenging ghost.
b. A man usurps power and oppresses--time passes--punishment by Fate.
c. A man is negligent to others--disturbances--possible resolution by outside party.
d. A man profanes a grave--is haunted by hostile dead--is punished.
e. A man injures another--is punished by avenging powers.
a. A man will not accept death--tries to buy life--is cheated.
b. A man will not accept death--appears after death--may be a nuisance.
c. A man will not accept powerlessness--uses arts--may be punished.
d. A man will not accept his identity--assumes another--is punished.
e. A man acts as a creator--creation gets out of hand. In science fiction, this is motif of the mad scientist.
f. A man affronts the gods--is punished.
g. A man will not accept the deaths of others--awakens them--usually loses.
h. A man will not accept temporary limitations--seeks to remove them--may succeed.
This encounter with the outlaw power has four commons situations, plus several others that are less common. The common situations involve fairies, temptations by the Devil, the hostile dead, and vampires. In each. . . there is a flaw or fault associated with the human that puts him in danger of the outlaw power. In abductions by fairies, the woman must yield sexually to the fairy, which yielding is usually accompanied by some sort of glamour. In temptation by the Devil, the human is usually motivated by greed or lust for power. With the hostile dead, the human is usually trespassing against warning, and is defying a ban. In the vampire story, the victim must give the vampire an initial invitation. As for the ending, the fairy abduction usually ends with the disappearance of the woman. If she returns at all, it is with horrible disfiguration. In the diabolic temptation the Devil almost always wins, and there is little that can be done about the hostile dead. Vampires, however, do permit an escape. Sentence 6 is usually applied, and the human is rescued by outside aid.
3. An outlaw power touches upon a man (and may destroy him).
a. A man meets power--a man’s flaw or gives power a hold over him--man is destroyed or threatened.
b. A man meets power--resists it--may win.
c. A man meets Death--diversions--Death wins.
4. A good power touches upon a man (and may transform him).
a. A man meets power--is victorious--receives gift.
b. A man meets power--is receptive to gnosis--is instructed.
c. A man meets power--has undergone tapas or equivalent--is elevated.
5. A man is caught up and carried along by the heimarmene.
a. Fate needs correction of crime--display--revelation.
b. Ignorance needs correction--death--surmounting of death.
c. Life pattern must be continued on basis or morality--death--path determined.
d. Fate needs correction--sensory limitations removed--adjustment.
e. Ignorance needs correction--man is apt--knowledge imparted.
a. Horrors--invocation of savior--allaying.
b. Disruption--invocation of savior--allaying.
c. Danger threatens--intervention--safety.
This encounter with the outlaw power has four commons situations, plus several others that are less common. The common situations involve fairies, temptations by the Devil, the hostile dead, and vampires. In each. . . there is a flaw or fault associated with the human that puts him in danger of the outlaw power. In abductions by fairies, the woman must yield sexually to the fairy, which yielding is usually accompanied by some sort of glamour. In temptation by the Devil, the human is usually motivated by greed or lust for power. With the hostile dead, the human is usually trespassing against warning, and is defying a ban. In the vampire story, the victim must give the vampire an initial invitation. As for the ending, the fairy abduction usually ends with the disappearance of the woman. If she returns at all, it is with horrible disfiguration. In the diabolic temptation the Devil almost always wins, and there is little that can be done about the hostile dead. Vampires, however, do permit an escape. Sentence 6 is usually applied, and the human is rescued by outside aid.
Bleiler next offers some tips as to how writers may extend or diversify these basic narrative situations. Among these expansion “techniques,” he lists:
. . . duplicating sentence material, interweaving sentences, adding the matter of life, generalizing, rendering more specific, treating figuratively, treating more literally, negating, turning scientific, allegorizing, combining characters, subdividing characters, using offset in various ways, fragmenting, temporally or
geographically. . . .
- Abduction, supernatural-by the dead, ghosts, demons, monsters.
- Adam and/or Eve.
- Afterdeath evolution--soul into form of life--necromorphs--reincarnation.
- Age changes--fountain of youth--rejuvenation.
An excerpt of an individual entry from the Guide illustrates the general approach to specific discussions and suggests the value and use of his tome: In discussing the film The Thief of Bagdad, Bleiler summarizes the plot: To win the hand of a caliph’s daughter, rivals compete to bring her the “most remarkable gift”: “Props then include a flying carpet, the fruit of life and death, an all-seeing idol’s eye, a cloak of invisibility, a magic rope, a magic casket of wishes.”
His summary allows the reader to see that the basic situation that Bleiler describes is has an important function: it establishes the reason, cause, or motive of the action that follows in the remainder of the story, namely the introduction of the various “props” and the ultimate wining of the contest for its prize, the hand of the caliph’s daughter.
Bleiler’s Guide uses some terminology that may not be familiar to the general reader, even of supernatural, or contranatural, literature:
- Heimarmene: A complex term that suggests one’s personal fate, or karma, but also the universal wheel of fortune, or cosmic destiny. It also suggests the dependency of the one’s character and individual destiny upon the interactions of cosmic forces and events, such as, for instance, the alignment of the stars. One must be in the right time and place, within the great wheel of fortune, to triumph. If, on the other hand, he or she is born, as Hamlet was, when “time is out of joint,” the individual may come to a bad end. Basically, one may think of heimarmene as the rule and operation of fate.
- Tapas: “Tapas” is a Hindu term that means religious austerity. Living the simple, plain life is considered a preparation for the understanding and acceptance of spiritual truths. In Catholicism, something of the spirit of tapas is seen in vows of silence and poverty and in the season of lent and its practices, which include fasting and penitence in preparation for Easter.
- Necromorph: Literally, this word means “death-form,” and may be applied to revenants, such as ghosts, vampires, and zombies as well as to corpses and skeletons.
Bleiler, Everett F. The Guide to Supernatural Fiction. Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 1983.
Note: Bleiler is also the author of The Checklist of Science Fiction and Supernatural Fiction. Glen Rock, NY: Firebell Books, 1978, 266 pages.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Imagining the Monster, Part II
- It’s different from anything we’ve seen before.
- It’s an incongruous synthesis of various creatures, unsettling in themselves.
- It’s shown in great detail.
- It’s abilities, like its appearance, is an incongruous synthesis of various other creatures’ capabilities.
- Its life cycle parodies human reproduction processes.
Writers of horror stories can employ some of these same principles in designing the monsters that are to appear in their narratives. For example, we can use other organisms’ senses to envision how the monster experiences its environment--how it sees, hears, smells, tastes, and touches.
Let’s take the lowly housefly, for example. It sees the world very differently than people do. According to “The Compound Eye,” a fly’s eye is compound, consisting of thousands of clusters of photoreceptor cells and pigment cells, complete with lens and cornea, known as ommatidia. In effect, each cluster is a miniature eye. Each eye sends a single "picture element" to the fly’s brain. The fly sees a "mosaic image" made up of "a pattern of light and dark dots like the halftone illustrations" in comic books or "newspaper illustrations." The fly’s eyes are excellent "motion detectors": one after another, in succession, the eyes "turn on and off" as the fly tracks moving objects. The resulting "flicker effect" enables the fly to see moving objects more easily than stationary ones. If your monster has a compound eye, it will see much as the housefly sees. Describing what the monster sees will make it seem strange to your reader, increasing its fright factor.
According to “Amazing Animal Senses,“ bats use their radar sense (echolocation) to locate prey (and obstacles), but they can also discern other animals’ body heat from a distance of 16 centimeters. The same article supplies a wealth of other information about insects' and animals' astonishing senses that can help horror writers create eerie and disturbing monsters. Describing how a monster “sees” heat, probably as patterns of red, orange, yellow, white, and blue or green splotches, will make the creature appear strange to readers and, therefore, more frightening. Butterflies taste with their feet; if your monster does likewise, it will be bizarre and disturbing. Not only do honeybees have compound eyes consisting of 5,500 ommatidia each, but they are also equipped with an iron oxide ring inside their abdomens that enables them to detect magnetic fields, which they use to navigate. Bees also taste with chemo receptors (essentially, taste buds) on their jaws, forelegs, and antennae. If your monster’s vision is sharp enough to see prey at a distance of 15,000 feet, it’s as sharp-eyed as the vulture. Chameleon’s eyes (like those of the seahorse) move independently of one another, allowing the lizard to see in two directions at the same time. Catfish can taste about 100 times better than humans. Spiders don’t just have eight legs; many of them have eight eyes as well, enabling them to see much more than people. We could go on and on, but the point is that nature shows us how to create monstrous monsters: simply describe what they see, hear, smell, taste, and touch. The result will scare readers half to death.
Alternatively, feel free to create monsters that have no parallel in nature, such as Giger’s xenomorph. Scientists (and science fiction and horror writers) have done just this, speculating as to how organisms might have evolved in adaptation to environments very different than Earth’s. As “Alternative biochemistry” points out, some of their speculations replace the life-supporting carbon atom with the silicon atom, the nitrogen atom, the phosphorous atom, or with such surprising elements as arsenic, chlorine, and sulfur, and have posited ammonia, hydrogen fluoride, methanol, and other chemicals as alternative solvents to water, and, as “Extraterrestrial life” observes, within our own solar system, besides Earth, Saturn, Titan, Venus, Jupiter, Europa, and comets have been proposed as potential habitats for alien life forms such as ammonia-based, floating animals and various types of bacterial or microbial life. The National Geographic’s Internet article “Flying Whales, Other Aliens Theorized by Scientists” explains why scientists believe that life is likely on other planets; their concepts include winged, lizard-like “caped stalkers flying through a pagoda forest.” If you want help in creating your monster, you might refer to the SETI Institute’s primer on how to create imaginary extraterrestrial life, “How Might Life Evolve on Other Worlds.” It includes helpful tips and a handy, dandy chart by which to keep track of the creature’s features, including (and these are the actual labels used in the primer):
- Kind of skin
- Number of openings
- Long or other
- Segments
- Appendages
- Hard parts
- Hard outside parts
- Size
- Feeding cells
- Moving around
- Sensing vibrations
- Chemical senses
- Number of eyes
- Eating
- Plant eater
- Predator
- Defensive structures
- Poison as a defense
- Defensive behaviors
- Reproduction
- Sexual reproduction
- Mating
- Babies
Creators can use a dice as a stand-in for nature, fate, or God to determine, for example, body type, shape, dimensions, and features.
Of course, the giant ameba-like monster in The Blob is always a possibility as well. Simple, but effective.
Sources Cited:
“The Compound Eye”
“Amazing Animal Senses”
“Alternative biochemistry”
“Extraterrestrial life”
“Flying Whales, Other Aliens Theorized by Scientists”
“How Might Life Evolve on Other Worlds”
Paranormal vs. Supernatural: What’s the Diff?
Sometimes, in demonstrating how to brainstorm about an essay topic, selecting horror movies, I ask students to name the titles of as many such movies as spring to mind (seldom a difficult feat for them, as the genre remains quite popular among young adults). Then, I ask them to identify the monster, or threat--the antagonist, to use the proper terminology--that appears in each of the films they have named. Again, this is usually a quick and easy task. Finally, I ask them to group the films’ adversaries into one of three possible categories: natural, paranormal, or supernatural. This is where the fun begins.
It’s a simple enough matter, usually, to identify the threats which fall under the “natural” label, especially after I supply my students with the scientific definition of “nature”: everything that exists as either matter or energy (which are, of course, the same thing, in different forms--in other words, the universe itself. The supernatural is anything which falls outside, or is beyond, the universe: God, angels, demons, and the like, if they exist. Mad scientists, mutant cannibals (and just plain cannibals), serial killers, and such are examples of natural threats. So far, so simple.
What about borderline creatures, though? Are vampires, werewolves, and zombies, for example, natural or supernatural? And what about Freddy Krueger? In fact, what does the word “paranormal” mean, anyway? If the universe is nature and anything outside or beyond the universe is supernatural, where does the paranormal fit into the scheme of things?
According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word “paranormal,” formed of the prefix “para,” meaning alongside, and “normal,” meaning “conforming to common standards, usual,” was coined in 1920. The American Heritage Dictionary defines “paranormal” to mean “beyond the range of normal experience or scientific explanation.” In other words, the paranormal is not supernatural--it is not outside or beyond the universe; it is natural, but, at the present, at least, inexplicable, which is to say that science cannot yet explain its nature. The same dictionary offers, as examples of paranormal phenomena, telepathy and “a medium’s paranormal powers.”
Wikipedia offers a few other examples of such phenomena or of paranormal sciences, including the percentages of the American population which, according to a Gallup poll, believes in each phenomenon, shown here in parentheses: psychic or spiritual healing (54), extrasensory perception (ESP) (50), ghosts (42), demons (41), extraterrestrials (33), clairvoyance and prophecy (32), communication with the dead (28), astrology (28), witchcraft (26), reincarnation (25), and channeling (15); 36 percent believe in telepathy.
As can be seen from this list, which includes demons, ghosts, and witches along with psychics and extraterrestrials, there is a confusion as to which phenomena and which individuals belong to the paranormal and which belong to the supernatural categories. This confusion, I believe, results from the scientism of our age, which makes it fashionable for people who fancy themselves intelligent and educated to dismiss whatever cannot be explained scientifically or, if such phenomena cannot be entirely rejected, to classify them as as-yet inexplicable natural phenomena. That way, the existence of a supernatural realm need not be admitted or even entertained. Scientists tend to be materialists, believing that the real consists only of the twofold unity of matter and energy, not dualists who believe that there is both the material (matter and energy) and the spiritual, or supernatural. If so, everything that was once regarded as having been supernatural will be regarded (if it cannot be dismissed) as paranormal and, maybe, if and when it is explained by science, as natural. Indeed, Sigmund Freud sought to explain even God as but a natural--and in Freud’s opinion, an obsolete--phenomenon.
Meanwhile, among skeptics, there is an ongoing campaign to eliminate the paranormal by explaining them as products of ignorance, misunderstanding, or deceit. Ridicule is also a tactic that skeptics sometimes employ in this campaign. For example, The Skeptics’ Dictionary contends that the perception of some “events” as being of a paranormal nature may be attributed to “ignorance or magical thinking.” The dictionary is equally suspicious of each individual phenomenon or “paranormal science” as well. Concerning psychics’ alleged ability to discern future events, for example, The Skeptic’s Dictionary quotes Jay Leno (“How come you never see a headline like 'Psychic Wins Lottery'?”), following with a number of similar observations:
Psychics don't rely on psychics to warn them of impending disasters. Psychics don't predict their own deaths or diseases. They go to the dentist like the rest of us. They're as surprised and disturbed as the rest of us when they have to call a plumber or an electrician to fix some defect at home. Their planes are delayed without their being able to anticipate the delays. If they want to know something about Abraham Lincoln, they go to the library; they don't try to talk to Abe's spirit. In short, psychics live by the known laws of nature except when they are playing the psychic game with people.In An Encyclopedia of Claims, Frauds, and Hoaxes of the Occult and Supernatural, James Randi, a magician who exercises a skeptical attitude toward all things alleged to be paranormal or supernatural, takes issue with the notion of such phenomena as well, often employing the same arguments and rhetorical strategies as The Skeptic’s Dictionary.
In short, the difference between the paranormal and the supernatural lies in whether one is a materialist, believing in only the existence of matter and energy, or a dualist, believing in the existence of both matter and energy and spirit. If one maintains a belief in the reality of the spiritual, he or she will classify such entities as angels, demons, ghosts, gods, vampires, and other threats of a spiritual nature as supernatural, rather than paranormal, phenomena. He or she may also include witches (because, although they are human, they are empowered by the devil, who is himself a supernatural entity) and other natural threats that are energized, so to speak, by a power that transcends nature and is, as such, outside or beyond the universe. Otherwise, one is likely to reject the supernatural as a category altogether, identifying every inexplicable phenomenon as paranormal, whether it is dark matter or a teenage werewolf. Indeed, some scientists dedicate at least part of their time to debunking allegedly paranormal phenomena, explaining what natural conditions or processes may explain them, as the author of The Serpent and the Rainbow explains the creation of zombies by voodoo priests.
Based upon my recent reading of Tzvetan Todorov's The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to the Fantastic, I add the following addendum to this essay.
According to Todorov:
The fantastic. . . lasts only as long as a certain hesitation [in deciding] whether or not what they [the reader and the protagonist] perceive derives from "reality" as it exists in the common opinion. . . . If he [the reader] decides that the laws of reality remain intact and permit an explanation of the phenomena described, we can say that the work belongs to the another genre [than the fantastic]: the uncanny. If, on the contrary, he decides that new laws of nature must be entertained to account for the phenomena, we enter the genre of the marvelous (The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre, 41).Todorov further differentiates these two categories by characterizing the uncanny as “the supernatural explained” and the marvelous as “the supernatural accepted” (41-42).
Interestingly, the prejudice against even the possibility of the supernatural’s existence which is implicit in the designation of natural versus paranormal phenomena, which excludes any consideration of the supernatural, suggests that there are no marvelous phenomena; instead, there can be only the uncanny. Consequently, for those who subscribe to this view, the fantastic itself no longer exists in this scheme, for the fantastic depends, as Todorov points out, upon the tension of indecision concerning to which category an incident belongs, the natural or the supernatural. The paranormal is understood, by those who posit it, in lieu of the supernatural, as the natural as yet unexplained.
And now, back to a fate worse than death: grading students’ papers.
My Cup of Blood
Anyway, this is what I happen to like in horror fiction:
Small-town settings in which I get to know the townspeople, both the good, the bad, and the ugly. For this reason alone, I’m a sucker for most of Stephen King’s novels. Most of them, from 'Salem's Lot to Under the Dome, are set in small towns that are peopled by the good, the bad, and the ugly. Part of the appeal here, granted, is the sense of community that such settings entail.
Isolated settings, such as caves, desert wastelands, islands, mountaintops, space, swamps, where characters are cut off from civilization and culture and must survive and thrive or die on their own, without assistance, by their wits and other personal resources. Many are the examples of such novels and screenplays, but Alien, The Shining, The Descent, Desperation, and The Island of Dr. Moreau, are some of the ones that come readily to mind.
Total institutions as settings. Camps, hospitals, military installations, nursing homes, prisons, resorts, spaceships, and other worlds unto themselves are examples of such settings, and Sleepaway Camp, Coma, The Green Mile, and Aliens are some of the novels or films that take place in such settings.
Anecdotal scenes--in other words, short scenes that showcase a character--usually, an unusual, even eccentric, character. Both Dean Koontz and the dynamic duo, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, excel at this, so I keep reading their series (although Koontz’s canine companions frequently--indeed, almost always--annoy, as does his relentless optimism).
Atmosphere, mood, and tone. Here, King is king, but so is Bentley Little. In the use of description to terrorize and horrify, both are masters of the craft.
Believable characters. Stephen King, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, and Dan Simmons are great at creating characters that stick to readers’ ribs.
Innovation. Bram Stoker demonstrates it, especially in his short story “Dracula’s Guest,” as does H. P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, Shirley Jackson, and a host of other, mostly classical, horror novelists and short story writers. For an example, check out my post on Stoker’s story, which is a real stoker, to be sure. Stephen King shows innovation, too, in ‘Salem’s Lot, The Shining, It, and other novels. One might even argue that Dean Koontz’s something-for-everyone, cross-genre writing is innovative; he seems to have been one of the first, if not the first, to pen such tales.
Technique. Check out Frank Peretti’s use of maps and his allusions to the senses in Monster; my post on this very topic is worth a look, if I do say so myself, which, of course, I do. Opening chapters that accomplish a multitude of narrative purposes (not usually all at once, but successively) are attractive, too, and Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child are as good as anyone, and better than many, at this art.
A connective universe--a mythos, if you will, such as both H. P. Lovecraft and Stephen King, and, to a lesser extent, Dean Koontz, Bentley Little, and even Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child have created through the use of recurring settings, characters, themes, and other elements of fiction.
A lack of pretentiousness. Dean Koontz has it, as do Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, Bentley Little, and (to some extent, although he has become condescending and self-indulgent of late, Stephen King); unfortunately, both Dan Simmons and Robert McCammon have become too self-important in their later works, Simmons almost to the point of becoming unreadable. Come on, people, you’re writing about monsters--you should be humble.
Longevity. Writers who have been around for a while usually get better, Stephen King, Dan Simmons, and Robert McCammon excepted.
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