Showing posts with label zombies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label zombies. Show all posts

Monday, July 12, 2021

Statistics Don't Lie

According to Google, these are the most popular Chillers and Thrillers posts so far from 2021 and 2020. In case you missed them, click the link to any you care to read.


"Man Overboard” by Sir Winston Churchill: A Commentary


Describing Images of Horror, Part II

 

Describing Images of Horror as a Means of Enriching Narrative Possibilities

 

Available NOW on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited: On the Track of Vengeance

 

 Talking Pictures: Plotting through Image Analysis and Imaginative Elaboration


Secret Motivations


 Three Girls Walk into a Forest, and . . . .

 

 Edgar Allan Poe's “King Pest”: Analysis and Commentary


 “She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways” by William Wordsworth: Analysis andCommentary


 “Leda and the Swan” by William Butler Yeats: Analysis and Commentary


 “Long-Legged Fly” by William Butler Yeats: Analysis and Commentary


 “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe: Analysis and Commentary

 

 “The Snake” by D. H. Lawrence: Analysis and Commentary


 Gigantic Horrors


 Truly Monstrous: The Electric Eel


 Truly Monstrous: The Alligator Snapping Turtle

 

 Horror Again (and Again): Increasing Your Audience by Using Universal Themes

 

 Zombies: A Questionable Scientific Explanation

 

The Z Plot


Inspiring Ideas and Insights from the Matriarchy

 

“The Last Halloween”

 

 Freaks of Nature (and Applied Science)


 Erotic Horror, Japanese Style


 Damsels (and Villains) in Distress


 The Not-So-Gentle Sex


The Tzvetan Todorov Plot

Tuesday, May 5, 2020

Zombies: A Questionable Scientific Explanation

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

For a while, back in the 1980s, people believed that science had an explanation for zombies.

 
Clairvius Narcisse, in fact, was one himself.


He had been transformed into one of the living dead through the use of the pufferfish's venom tetrodotoxin and Datura, a plant poison that causes respiratory depression, arrhythmias, hallucinations, psychosis, and even death (Guerico, Gino Del (1986) “The Secrets of Haiti's Living Dead,” Harvard Magazine (Jan/Feb) 31-37. Reprinted in Anthropology Annual Editions 1987/88 188-191).


At least, such was the claim of Harvard-educated anthropologist Wade Davis, who explained all in his 1985 book The Serpent and the Rainbow. Wade claimed that cultural beliefs, combined with the effects of tetrodotoxin and Datura, convinced men like Narcisse that they had died and been brought back to life by voodoo practitioners who then controlled them.


According to The Serpent and the Rainbow, “zombie powder” (tetrodotoxin) kept victims in a state of “mental” slavery, and produced “the initial death and resurrection that convinced the victims and those who knew them that they had become zombies.”

After their “deaths,” the victims were buried, exhumed, and then “enslaved as brain-damaged zombies.”

Narcisse and other zombies were then kept compliant through the administration of “regular doses of” Datura, “which produces amnesia, delirium, and suggestibility.”

Zombies were no longer merely horror story characters; they were real, and Wade had shown just how they were created.

Or so people thought, until scientists could find only little, if any, tetrodotoxin in samples of the zombie powder that Davis provided. In addition, some of Davis's colleagues took issue with his claim that zombies could be kept “in a state of pharmacologically induced trance for many years.” However, both Wade himself and other scientists defend his claims on various grounds.


For fiction writers, the truth or falsity of Wade's explanation is less relevant than it would be to anthropologists and other scientists. For example, Renfield's Syndrome is known to be a hoax meant, by its creator, as a parody of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM) that is the Bible, so to speak, of the professions of psychology and psychiatry. 

Nevertheless, this supposed syndrome is still referenced as an authoritative, medically supported condition when it suits the purposes of a horror author to pretend that it is so. The same use can be put to Wade's pharmacological-cultural explanation of zombification when horror writers find that Wade's explanation advances their own narrative ends.

Nevertheless, writers should know that the anthropologist's views have been challenged and are not accepted by all of his peers. At best, his explanation seems questionable.

On the plus side, Wade's book was adapted to the screen as a pretty good horror flick.




Sunday, April 12, 2020

Inspiring Ideas and Insights from the Matriarchy

Copyright 2010 by Gary L. Pullman



In her addictive 1988 book The Woman's Dictionary of Symbols and Sacred Objects, Barbara G. Walker offers many insights and much information of an inspiring nature. Writers can mine her work for ideas for many stories, whether of the horror genre or another. All it takes is an application of one's own imagination.

Here are some of her inspiring gems.

Any . . . symbol may have hundreds of interpretations, according to the differing beliefs of people who have interpreted it (ix).


How might a mortuary be interpreted by various groups with—shall we say unusual beliefs? For zombies, a mortuary might be seen as an eatery; vampires might convert it into a comfortable bedroom suite; a necrophiliac might also see a mortuary as a bedroom but would be apt to put it to a different use than vampires awaiting the deepening of twilight into night.

People revere external objects that strike their fancy for either esthetic [sic] or associative reasons. Whatever is perceived as somehow special in one's experience can become an object of worship . . . trees . . . stones . . . mountains . . . rivers . . . as well as every kind of personal or collective fetish (x).


Since beauty is in the eye of the beholder, aesthetic vision may differ from one person to another. What makes a place beautiful? The blood-splatter pattern on the wall before which a gunshot victim died? The human flesh that was burned into the stone of a dungeon wall when a prisoner was burned alive? The full-length mirror in which a man or woman was compelled to watch as he or she was flayed alive? What other “associations” might render this place or that sacred? Did Vlad the Impaler find the sharpened treetops stripped of branches upon which he fixed his enemies holy objects? Was the bathtub in which Catherine of Bathory bathed in murdered maidens' blood a revered spot in her castle? Was the burial ground beneath John Wayne Gacy's suburban home as special to him as a churchyard full of dead congregants' bones is to their surviving loved ones?

The simpler the symbol, the more meanings it can accumulate . . . through generations (x). Walker recounts how the swastika, once a symbol of “peace and creativity,” became seen, following its association with the Nazis, a hated thing symbolic of “totalitarianism and cruelty” (ix).


For a naive, loving, young bride pure of heart, her wedding ring might represent love and faithfulness and the sacred union of man and wife in wedded bliss. A few years later, if the groom is not whom she believed, but is unfaithful, cruel, and abusive, the same ring may come to represent hatred and betrayal and her bondage to a man she never knew. To her children, after they have learned of their dear, dead mother's years of torment at her husband's hands, the ring may signify the ordeal of horror, misery, and despair she suffered for their sake.

Ultimately, symbolism boils down to human needs and desires [related to such universal concerns as] health, wealth, fertility, power, control of the environment, or maintenance of the food supply (xi).


Again, Walker gives horror story writers much food for thought in her catalog of “human needs and desires,” especially if they were to be warped by corruption, evil, or decadence. Were an evil man to need a liver donor, to what ends might he be willing to go to obtain a reluctant benefactor? For someone who puts profit before people, what limits, if any, would there be? For a mountebank, an infertile man or woman might present a windfall of opportunity. To gain or hold onto power, men and women have done hideous deeds, indeed. An effort to control the environment could easily backfire, causing deaths by the thousands. What would an otherwise kind and compassionate character do to ensure that he or she and his or her family does not go without food?

Symbols are whatever one cares to make of them (xi).


Problems could arise if one group is willing to eradicate a group whose people stand in the way of what possible followers' devotion to a symbol the first group defines far differently than their intended victims do.

Walker's concepts and perceptions could seed plenty of more story ideas. Perhaps we will revisit her fascinating book's observations again in a future post.

Wednesday, October 17, 2018

Newspaper Plotting

Copyright 2018 by Gary L. Pullman

Many writers have developed plots for their stories, long or short, from newspaper accounts of actual events. A quick way to accomplish this procedure is to change, add, or delete a word or a phrase to make a mundane incident appear bizarre or sinister. Here are a few examples from the “State-By-State” column in the Tuesday, October 16, 2018, issue of the national newspaper USA Today. First, the actual news item is quoted, directly, and then the altered version is presented, the changes are indicated in bold font.

Alabama[,] Birmingham: Sheriff's deputies in Jefferson County are now armed with body cameras.

Alabama[,] Birmingham: Sheriff's deputies in Jefferson County are now armed with weaponized body extensions.

(What, exactly, are “weaponized body extensions”? Whatever you want them to be; have fun deciding.)


Alaska[,] Homer: After decades of serving independent movie selections, Barb's Video and DVD is closing its doors this month.

Alaska[,] Homer: After decades of showing snuff films, Thanatos Palace Video and DVD is closing its doors this month.

(For legal purposes, in fiction it is often advisable to change the names of actual persons and businesses; some writers also change the names of actual cities..)


Iowa[,] Des Moines: State law enforcement officials are warning of a scam in which callers pretend to be state police and demand payment.

Iowa[,] Des Moines: State law enforcement officials are warning of a scam in which callers pretend to be hit men and demand payment to call off the contracts on potential “target's” lives.

Nevada[,] Reno: The 1872 Reno Mercantile and Masonic Lodge, downtown's oldest building, has been found to be too unstable to save.

Nevada[,] Reno: The 1872 Reno Dry Goods Store and Satanic Lodge, downtown's oldest building, has been found to be too mentally unstable to save.

A mad, possibly demon-possessed personified building: now that's a twist!

Ohio[,[ Columbus: An exhibition of veterans' art will showcase works by former military service members from across the state.

Ohio[,[ Columbus: An exhibition of veterans' art will showcase photographs of combat fatalities caused by former military service members from across the state.

Pennsylvania[,] Pittsburgh: Authorities say a pizza deliveryman was shot and killed during a daytime robbery.

Pennsylvania[,] Pittsburgh: Authorities say a pizza deliveryman was shot, killed, and eaten during a daytime delivery to a family of cannibals.*


Rhode Island[,] Providence: Senator Jack Reed is helping to kick off a new apprenticeship program for people who want to build submarines.

Rhode Island[,] Providence: Senator Jim Kinkaid is helping to kick off a new apprenticeship program for people who want to build sanctuary cities for aliens (i. e., extraterrestrials).

An alternative:

Rhode Island[,] Providence: Senator Jim Kinkaid is helping to kick off a new apprenticeship program for people who want to build holding compounds for zombies.

(The beauty of this item is that the people—or creatures—to be housed in the new buildings can be pretty much anything, natural or supernatural. In one of the X-Men movies, a plastic room, suspended in midair, was built to confine Magneto.)

Washington[,] Cougar: Forecasters say strong winds are expected to blow volcanic ash on Mount St. Helens to nearby communities.

Washington[,] Cougar: Forecasters say strong winds are expected to blow mutagenic agents from a remote genetic engineering lab into certain unidentified communities.

Some of the reports in the column need no modification; they're already bizarre or sinister.

Arizona[,] Phoenix: A man, 59, is accused of killing his girlfriend and putting her body in a gun safe he welded shut and buried in the desert.

Massachusetts[,] Peabody: A house where a victim of the Salem witch trials once lived is on the market for $600,000.

Tennessee[,] Bristol: A man police say was run over with a lawn mower while trying to kill his son with a chain saw [sic] had his leg amputated.


A couple of items could be revised to include Bigfoot:

Idaho[,] Boise: An Idaho Fish and game Commission member is under fire after he shared photos of himself posing with baboons he killed while hunting in Africa.

Idaho[,] Boise: An Idaho Fish and game Commission member is under fire after he shared photos of himself posing with Bigfoot creatures he killed while hunting.

New Hampshire[,] Manchester: A New Hampshire Fish and Game official says a biologist shot and killed two bear cubs because they were causing a safety issue.

New Hampshire[,] Manchester: A New Hampshire Fish and Game official says a biologist shot and killed two Bigfoot cubs because they were causing a safety issue.

Once a possible plot has been obtained in this manner, t would need to be developed. A context would have to be created to account for the bizarre or sinister incident. Who caused it and why? What consequences ensued? Who was hurt or killed, how, and why? How was the incident brought to its end, by whom, and why? These are only some of the many questions that a writer would have to answer before the plot was ready to convert into a full-scale short story, novel, or screenplay.

But, hey, USA Today gave us a start!




Sunday, August 5, 2018

Imaginary vs. Imaginative Worlds as They relate to Horror Fiction

Copyright 2018 by Gary L. Pullman


In C. S. Lewis: A Life, Alister McGrath points out the distinction that Lewis makes between imaginary and imaginative worlds. For Lewis, the former, McGrath says, depicts a landscape having “no counterpart in reality,” whereas the latter seeks to convey “images adequate to” the depiction of a transcendent “reality.” The worlds of mythology are examples of imaginative worlds, and “the more imaginative a mythology, the greater its ability, Lewis says, to “communicate more reality to us.”


McGrath makes it clear that, in discussing imaginative worlds, Lewis does not mean that such worlds—or the works devoted to them—are allegories. They may be interpreted allegorically, but that does not mean that they themselves are allegories. As Lewis explains, his own Chronicles of Narnia can be allegorized, but that “of itself is no proof that it is an allegory.” Instead, his Narnia series, which presents an imaginative world, is a “supposal,” by which he means fiction that supplies possible answers to questions of a transcendent nature. Using Narnia as an example, Lewis writes:

If Aslan represented the immaterial Deity in the same way in which Giant Despair [in John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress] represents Despair, he [Aslan] would be an allegorical figure. In reality however he is an invention giving an imaginary answer to the question, “What might Christ become if there really were a world like Narnia and He chose to be incarnate and die and rise again in that world as he actually has done in ours? This is not allegory at all.”


Lewis makes several points:

  1. The writer's work asks or implies a question.
  2. Although the question is posed in or by a work of fiction, the question relates to an actual event or events in the real world.
  3. In the context of its imaginative world, the work poses an answer to the question.


Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz fails these tests and is, indeed, McGrath states, a work about an imaginary, rather than an imaginative, world. The world of Oz has no referent beyond itself. Narnia, by contrast, is shadow of another world which is itself the shadow of yet another world, just as, in Plato's thought, our sense perceptions of phenomena are shadows of the objects in the world and the world is itself a shadow of the transcendent world of perfect Forms.


An illustration of Plato's “Allegory of the Cave” pictures a man chained against a wall behind which men carry clay figures. The men hold the figures over their heads, and the upper portions of the figures are higher than the top of the wall against which the man on the other side is chained. A fire burning on a stone shelf of the cave, on the other side of the men, casts the shadows of the objects onto the wall in front of the chained man. Rather than seeing the actual objects—clay figures of a horse, a bull, and a pot—the chained man sees only their shadows. High on one of the cave's walls, a ladder ascends to the world above, where the sun shines in the sky. The objects the men carry are mere copies of the things in the world above—representations of the animals—and the shadows are copies, as it were, of these copies. Only in the unseen world above are the unseen, actual animals (representing, in the allegory, the Forms themselves).


Lewis's Narnia is somewhat like Plato's allegorical cave. The real world is Narnia, where Aslan dwells. Its copy is The Chronicles of Narnia, which recount the events in Narnia. The copy of the copy is our own world, a dim reflection of the imaginative world of the novels, which is, in turn, itself a faint likeness of Aslan's real world. The images that depict the world of the novels are the clay pots in Jung's cave, which represent, but do not truly reflect, the true objects themselves, any more than the objects truly reflect their transcendent Forms. As Lord Digory says, in The Last Battle, “It's all there in Plato.”


In attempting to envision Forms (i. e., in a Christian context, divine realities), Lewis depicts Christ as the lion Aslan, Satan as the White Witch, the fallen, unredeemed world as a frozen wasteland in which Christmas never arrives (until Aslan appears), and the Pevensie children are disciples. As McGrath points out,

Lewis's remarkable achievement in the Chronicles of Narnia is to allow his readers to inhabit this metanarrative—to get inside the story and feel what it was like to be part of it . . . . The Narnia stories allow us to step inside and experience the Christian story.

Do any horror stories accomplish something similar, creating imaginative worlds wherein the writer's work asks or implies and answers a question related to an actual event or events in the real world? Do any works of horror fiction shadow the true horrors of the real world in such a way that readers can enter their imaginative worlds and “experience” the stories depicting these landscapes? Do any of them give rise to myths? Are any horror stories mythopoeic?


The icons of horror that continue to resonate with readers and moviegoers may indicate which images have particular force in conveying feelings of terror and disgust (probably the two chief elements of horror). Often, these icons appear in literary works, but they are also present in the visual arts, especially painting and sculpture. Such icons include demons, ghosts, vampires, witches, and zombies, all of which have appeared in novels, short stories, or movies that meet Lewis's criteria, asking or implying a question related to what is (or is, at least, believed by some to be) related to an actual event or events in the real world, and pose answers to the question they pose.

To get just an intimation of the power these images of horror originally held for their audiences, we must try, to the best of our abilities, to envision the world as it was to them and to see, in this context, the supernatural beings they imagined as their enemies.


The world in which such creatures existed was a pre-scientific world wherein there was no well-established association of objective cause and effect. Demons, rather than bacteria, birth defects, viruses, radiation, or the like afflicted people with disease, blindness, or mental illness. They also animated human corpses, using dead bodies, as “vampires,” to drink blood. Demons also empowered witches to perform spectacular feats and wonders. The soul's survival of death enabled the existence of ghosts and zombies.


Today, we might call such a view of “reality” superstitious, but, for the ancients, it was simply the truth, the way things were, reality itself. Against such evils, such remedies as prayers, rituals, incantations were the only recourse which might prevail, and, only then, because God ruled over even the supernatural entities that afflicted humanity.

Horror is, like poetry, painting, sculpture, dance, and many other human enterprises, of religious, not secular, origin, and, despite the scientific revolution, the industrial revolution, and the Enlightenment, horror continues to tap the primeval aspects of our existence as human beings that religion once addressed and, indeed, continues, for many, to address.


Just as adults retain vestiges of their childhood experience, humanity retains traces of its primordial heritage. In our fiction and in the dark, dim recesses of our ancient selves, demons, ghosts, vampires, witches, and zombies continue to horrify us, just as, in times past, they possessed, haunted, stalked, hexed, and vexed our ancestors in the “real world” in which they lived. If you doubt this, spend a few minutes alone in a cemetery by yourself after dark or imagine spending a night alone in the catacombs, among centuries-old corpses and skeletons of the dead.


Then, you will begin to fathom the terrible terror felt by those who believed in things that go bump in the night, and reading Edgar Allan Poe, H. P. Lovecraft, or Stephen King will take on a new intensity. In Platonic and mythopoeic terms, their works are, after all, shadows of the shadows of the Real Horrors awaiting us beyond this world.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Cameo Characters Can Do More Than Advance Plots; They Can Be Compelling in Themselves


One of the more interesting (and creepiest) scenes I’ve read recently in a horror-suspense novel occurs in Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child’s novel Cemetery Dance, which features a cult of zombies who live in New York City’s Inwood Hill Park.

The scene of which I write doesn’t take place on the island or even in New York City, however; it occurs in a restaurant, while the character eats his breakfast. A creature of habit, the diner has been coming to the same eatery for some time, always ordering the same breakfast, which he routinely eats while he reads the morning newspaper.

Something in one of the newspaper’s headlines or stories and other perceptions he experiences convinces him that God wants him to board the next bus to New York City, where, once he arrives, a divine plan will be made known to him. His intuition that he has been called as a servant of God is confirmed when he finds that all the money he has left to his name, which he carries in his wallet and pocket, is the exact amount of the one-way fare to his destination.

Needless to say, he serves a further narrative purpose once he arrives in the city, advancing the plot as his dubious service to the Lord edges the plot toward its climax. Otherwise, he is of no importance to the story; he is a cameo character.

Preston and Child, like other successful writers of horror and other genres, demonstrate in this scene the effectiveness of introducing not just any character but a compelling character to support or advance their plots, even when this character him- or herself is otherwise of minor importance in the greater scheme of things. Such a technique costs only a little thought and work, but it pays dividends, making one’s writing intriguing rather than merely perfunctory.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Threat Recognition: Keeping It Real

Copyright 2008 by Gary L. Pullman


Most of us, if we survive our childhoods--no easy task, often--develop the ability to distinguish threatening situations, plants, animals, and other people from their non-threatening counterparts. How do we manage to do such a feat, within seconds or less, as often as necessary (except during naps)? Most people would probably attribute this ability to “instinct,” and, certainly, instinct (whatever is meant by this word) could have be one way--maybe the only way--by which this feat is accomplished. However, it seems reasonable that there may be something more to it than just the action of a genetic automatic target-recognition sixth sense or gut feeling. In this post, we offer a few additional possibilities, leaving it to the psychologists to determine whether any of these ideas seem worth the time and trouble of writing a multi-million-dollar grant proposal. (If it is, and the proposal is successful, remember who made the whole thing possible!)


Predators, scientists tell us, whether they (the predators, not the scientists) are lions, tigers, bears, or your Aunt Matilda, have binocular vision, with their eyes facing forward to look straight ahead, rather than having sideways-oriented oracular organs as do, for example, wildebeests, impalas, deer, and Uncle Henry. Doesn’t it seem possible--or even probable--that, over the centuries prey might come to understand that if the eyes face forward, danger threatens?

Likewise, anything that’s bigger than oneself, whether oneself is a shrimp, a slug, a sparrow, a bunny rabbit, or Cousin Bertha, is likely to be able to kill one and should be, at least until proper introductions are made and a chaperone armed with a 12-gauge shotgun is present, avoided.

Speed, too, may be a red flag, even though many prey animals are fairly fleet-footed themselves. There’s probably a reason that snakes are lightning quick and cheetahs run as fast as a lot of Mustangs--over a short distance, anyway. A fast animal, especially if it’s also relatively large, like a lion or a bear or a shark, ought to be avoided. Likewise, anything that just looks weird or scary, such as a snake or a puffer fish, should generally be kept at bay.


Most plants look harmless (although the Venus flytrap’s pretty scary looking, with all those thorny--or toothy--things along the edges of their leaves). Prey animals can learn something from them and their bright-colored animal friends (or foes), too, though. Some plants, like some animals, mimic dangerous cousins (and, sometimes, grandparents). Bright colors, scientists tell us (possibly as a result of a little too much experimentation) often indicate poison, in both plants and animals, and some harmless ones imitate the dangerous ones by assuming the deadly varieties’ coloration. Anything that’s imitated--female impersonators, for instance--are best avoided.



Persons, places, or things that move--things that move?--Sure, we’re talking horror, right?--in numbers (killer bees, a school of piranhas, a pack or wolves or hyenas, a graveyard full of zombies--should, it goes without saying, be avoided, evaded, and otherwise eluded. (Remember The Birds?)



Sen. John McCain, a Republican in name only (RINO)

Anything that has something you don’t have--armor-quality skin, fangs, claws, spines, quills, thorns, rabies, or whatever--is also a no-no when it comes to even casual dating. Avoid these creatures; they are armed and dangerous.

By knowing what constitutes a potential threat, horror writers can lend verisimilitude to their stories by describing threats in reference to the features that may, to the plants and animals that have learned, as the victims of such bullies, what clues to look for, which, again, includes straight-ahead binocular vision, large size, fast speed, Technicolor apparel, a pack mentality, or some sort of organic weapon.

If the threat’s not human or animal or vegetable--if it’s some kind of machine, for example--a website such as that of Federation of American Scientists (listed among our “Recommended Sites” at the bottom of this column) can shed more light than heat, we hope, upon threat-recognition as it applies to enemy aircraft, artillery, poisons, and other weapons systems, at least.

In other words, you’re pretty safe with roses and daises--unless you’re allergic to pollen or there are killer bees about.

Remember, knowing what constitutes a threat--or the appearance of one--helps you to keep it real as a writer. Who knows? It may even save a life.


Note: The photographs that appear in this post are from the U.S. Government Photos and Graphics website. (In other words, you paid for them.)

Paranormal vs. Supernatural: What’s the Diff?

Copyright 2009 by Gary L. Pullman

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

Anyone who becomes an aficionado of anything tends, eventually, to develop criteria for elements or features of the person, place, or thing of whom or which he or she has become enamored. Horror fiction--admittedly not everyone’s cuppa blood--is no different (okay, maybe it’s a little different): it, too, appeals to different fans, each for reasons of his or her own. Of course, in general, book reviews, the flyleaves of novels, and movie trailers suggest what many, maybe even most, readers of a particular type of fiction enjoy, but, right here, right now, I’m talking more specifically--one might say, even more eccentrically. In other words, I’m talking what I happen to like, without assuming (assuming makes an “ass” of “u” and “me”) that you also like the same. It’s entirely possible that you will; on the other hand, it’s entirely likely that you won’t.

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.

A bit of erotica (okay, okay, sex--are you satisfied?), often of the unusual variety. Sex sells, and, yes, sex whets my reader’s appetite. Bentley Little is the go-to guy for this spicy ingredient, although Koontz has done a bit of seasoning with this spice, too, in such novels as Lightning and Demon Seed (and, some say, Hung).

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.

Pacing. Neither too fast nor too slow. Dean Koontz is good, maybe the best, here, of contemporary horror writers.


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