Saturday, February 2, 2019
The Things We Fear
Copyright 2019 by Gary L. Pullman
They're big. They're
repulsive. Shaped like sperm, they slither (as the title of the movie
they advertise suggests), but they're red and meaty, too, visceral in
appearance, and they remind one of parasites (or feces) as much as
anything else.
They squirm their way up
the exterior of a bathtub occupied by an oblivious damsel in
distress. Her vulnerability is enhanced by her apparent nakedness and
by her relaxed posture: she reclines inside the tub, only part of her
calf and thigh showing.
Centered above the
poster's imagery is the blood-splattered title, Slither,
in black (the color of death). Despite the image of ablution,
cleanliness does not deliver us from death, the poster suggests, not
before or after sex, for, as Jim Morrison, late of the Doors, among
others, has warned, “Sex is death.”
Her
eyes, lost in deep shadows, look like sockets. Her lips are gone,
showing her teeth, as her jaws gape in a silent scream.
Before
her face, half of flesh, half of skull, a glass pane shatters. Shards
fly off, in all directions, the missing piece at the lower right
taking with it her cheek.
Perhaps,
we think, the glass is not in front
of her, after all; maybe she's on the glass or in
it.
The
poster's caption, “Rest in Pieces,” underscores our frailty, our
vulnerability, our temporality as human beings. When death results
from a horrific experience, we do not rest in peace, the poster
suggests, but in pieces.
In
any case, our destruction, our demise, is unavoidable, inevitable: it
is, the movie's title assures us, our Final Destination.
We
are fragile, our emotions, like our flesh itself, susceptible to
trauma, to breakage. Abandonment is traumatic; it leaves us broken,
shattered. The doll featured on the poster for Abandoned
is a stand-in for innocence, for the faith of the young.
Its
face is cracked. What should be laugh lines are fissures, wrought not
by glee, but by a misery so deep and full of anguish that it produces
tears of blood.
But
death, who favors none, treating all the same, whether they are rich
or poor, prince or pauper, male or female, young or old, awaits our
coming, with a guarantee that, whatever one's fate has been in life,
death is faithful; death will not abandon anyone; death embraces all.
The
author of horror must be aware of the situations, events, and
circumstances that frighten men and women, boys and girls. He or she
should keep abreast of surveys and polls and current and historical
events which identify or describe humanity's deepest, darkest fears,
for disgust, horror, and terror, as Stephen King has pointed out, are
the horror writer's stock in trade.
Such
lists of fears come from a variety of sources, some of which may
surprise us. One of the latest lists I've added to my continuing
roster was supplied by Cornelia Dean, author of Making
Sense of Science: Separating Substance from Spin.
Her list, concerning the items of which she provides a few details, includes:
- the uncontrollable
- things imbued with dread
- catastrophe
- things imposed on us
- things with delayed effects
- new risks
- a hazard with identifiable victims
- things that affect future generations
- things we cannot see
- things that are artificial, synthetic, or otherwise human-made (32).
Moreover,
she points out, “If we don't trust the person or agency telling us
about the risk, we are more afraid” (32).
A
story that focuses on one of these fears is apt to resonate with
readers.
Labels:
Abandoned,
Cornelia Dean,
disgust,
fear,
film,
Gary L. Pullman,
horror fiction,
Making Sense of Science,
movies,
Paula Darnell,
Slither,
Stephen King,
terror,
The Final Destination
Sunday, January 27, 2019
Futuristic Fiction
Copyright 2019 by Gary L. Pullman
“The world is too much with us,”
William Wordsworth warned, and it's true: we do
get caught up in
the day-to-day affairs of our everyday lives. As a result, we often
miss the mystery and beauty of the natural world—and of the inner
worlds of ourselves and others.
It is
to escape the tedium of everydayness that men and women travel,
devote themselves to arts or crafts, learn to play musical
instruments, attend movies or sports events, concerts or plays, and,
of course, read.
Reading
takes us out of ourselves; sometimes, it also takes us out of this
world, to times past or future, to strange worlds or other
dimensions, or even, in the case of Dante's Inferno,
to hell itself (not that such a destination is recommended,
ordinarily.)
But
what happens when the worlds of poetry, fiction, and drama themselves
become too familiar to provide the escape from everydayness we crave?
When the tropes and themes of genre literature themselves become too
commonplace, they cannot alleviate the boredom of what The Mothers of
Invention called our “dull, gray” existence.
Futurology,
the study (or, perhaps, speculation about) of possible future
situations, events, and states of existence based upon extrapolations
from current ones, often rekindles the imagination. The future may
not be exactly as futurologists envision it, but, even if it is not,
their conjectures provide fresh visions of the way things could
be, and that's
all a writer of popular literature, regardless of genre, needs to
rekindle his or her own
imagination.
With
thriller and horror fiction genres in mind, let's
consider some of the possibilities that futurologists' ideas might
suggest in the way of such elements of fiction as characters,
settings, plots, motives, and conflicts.
There
are astonishing technological marvels on the horizon, futurologists
predict, including eye-controlled technology, paper diagnostics,
designer antibiotics, ingestible robots, smart clothing, photonics in
space, volcanic mining, a spintronics revolution, carbon-breathing
batteries, super antivirals, diamond batteries, optogenetics, nano
feasibility, an unhackable quantum Internet, biometric materials, the
next generation of artificial intelligence, 3D printing in every
home, designer molecules, a fully immersible, computer interface, and
a self-sufficient ecosystem.
Whew!
If that list
doesn't suggest some fresh characters, settings, plots, motives, and
conflicts that can be, as Stephen King defines horror, (a)
disgusting, (b) horrific, or (c) terrifying, maybe there's no future
for horror (or for the unimaginative aspiring horror writer, at
least).
The
first step in using the futuristic fiction approach is to research
the type of technology in which you're interested as a writer. Start
by gaining an overview of the technology. Then, learn whatever more
detailed material you need to make your story accurate and
believable. (Hint: Videos, such as those available on YouTube, are
often quite sound academically and provide a moving, audio-visual
rather than a static, learning approach, which some might prefer to
reading.)
For
example, suppose you're interested in eye-controlled technology. You
might make a list of questions to research:
- How does it work?
- What uses does it have? (How has it been used? How else might it be used? In other words, what are its applications?)
- What benefits does it provide?
- What are its disadvantages?
As
other relevant questions present themselves, research them as well.
How
does it work?
Eye-tracking
technology can installed
in personal computers, peripheral devices, or eyeglasses.
There’s
a chance that soon eye
tracking will be a standard feature of a new generation of
smartphones, laptops and desktop monitors setting the stage for a
huge reĆ«valuation of the way we communicate with devices—or how
they communicate with us.
“In
the past year eye tracking technology moved from being a promising
technology to being adopted in commercial products in a wide array of
consumer segments simultaneously,” Werner says.
. . . VR headset companies are making large investments
in eye tracking technology.
.
. . eye tracking might make it a whole lot easier for gamers
to interact with the gaming environment.
“There
is an increasing interest in using eye tracking to help diagnose —
and potentially treat –neurological disorders,” says Bryn
Farnsworth, science editor at biometric research company iMotions.
With
eye tracking technology, online advertisers will be able to measure
exactly how many actual human eyes actually view their ads when they
appear on the page.
“Eye
tracking sensors provide two main benefits,” says Oscar
Werner, vice president of the eye tracking company Tobii Tech.
“First, it makes a device aware of what the user is interested in
at any given point in time. And second, it provides an additional way
to interact with content, without taking anything else away. That
means it increases the communication bandwidth between the user and
the device.”
What
are its disadvantages?
- The equipment is expensive.
- Some users can't work with the equipment (for example if they wear contact lenses or have long eye lashes).
- Calibrating the equipment takes time; [as a result] this problem may . . . cause the user to deviate from using the device.
Without
developing a detailed synopsis, we can suggest some possibilities
simply by breaking ideas into the three parts of any story: the
beginning, the middle, and the end:
Eye-controlled Technology
- Beginning: An art gallery stages an exhibition for an up-and-coming artist of the avant-garde.
- Middle: An explosive device installed in the wall, behind one of the artist's paintings explodes.
- End (Terrifying and Gross-out Elements): Sixteen people are killed, including the artist, as terrorists prove the efficacy of their latest innovation: eye-tracking technology that can be used as a trigger to detonate an explosive device. (A good title for such a story might be “The Tenth Gaze,” because the software used to detonate the bomb triggered its explosion in accordance with the tenth time someone gazed at a specific point on a particular painting.)
Next-generation
Artificial Intelligence
- Beginning: A next-generation robot is activated as it exits the assembly line.
- Middle: Its programmed role as a “helpmate” is initiated.
- End: Unhappy with its assigned role, the robot “commits suicide.” (A good title for such a story might be “Access Denied,” since the robot, in self-destructing, denies access to itself to a buyer.) In an alternate ending, the robot could allow itself to be purchased and then kill its owner, claiming the owner's residence (and perhaps his or her family) as its own.
Sunday, January 13, 2019
A Monster Scale
Copyright 2019 by Gary L. Pullman, author of Good with a Gun
One way to energize a genre of fiction is to introduce into it a hierarchy, or some other type of analytical or descriptive scheme, that is commonly used in a different type of narrative literature.
As Don
Lincoln, author of Alien Universe: Extraterrestrial Life in
Our Minds and in the Cosmos,
observes, science fiction employs the scale “popularized”
in J. Allen Hynek's “1972 book The UFO Experience,”
which identifies three types, or “kinds,” of “close encounters”
with extraterrestrial spacecraft or beings:
1st Kind
|
2nd Kind
|
3rd Kind
|
UFO sighting
|
UFO sighting supported by “physical
evidence”
|
Encounter with alien beings
|
These
original “kinds” of “close encounters” have been extended,
says Lincoln, by four other types, although these additional levels
“are “not universally accepted”:
4th Kind
|
5th Kind
|
6th Kind
|
7th Kind
|
“Abduction with retained memory”
|
“Regular conversations”
|
“An encounter” resulting in a
human's “death or injury”
|
“Human/extraterrestrial mating that
produces an offspring, often called a 'star child'”
|
Although
hybrid horror-science fiction narratives or dramas sometimes include
extraterrestrial beings (e. g., Stephen King's Dreamcatcher
and such films as Alien,
The Thing from Another World,
and Invaders from Mars),
space aliens are primarily a staple of sci fi fiction. Monsters, on
the other hand, are more often antagonists in horror fiction. Hynek's
scale, and its extension, provide a means of re-imagining monsters:
1st Kind
|
2nd Kind
|
3rd Kind
|
Monster sighting
|
Monster sighting supported by
“physical evidence”
|
Encounter with monster(s)
|
4th Kind
|
5th Kind
|
6th Kind
|
7th Kind
|
Monster's abduction recalled (or
recovered through the discovery of a lost film or video)
|
Periodic communications with the
monster, vocally or otherwise (e. g., through mental telepathy)
|
“An encounter” with the monster
which results in a human's “death or injury”
|
Human/monster mating resulting in a
hybrid progeny
|
Many
of these types of “close encounters” with monsters have already
been depicted in horror novels, short stories, or movies. There have
been many sightings of monsters, as in Frank Peretti's 2006 novel
Monster; encounters
with monsters (as in Mary Shelley's 1818 novel Frankenstein),
periodic communications with the monster (as in Anne Rice's 1976
novel Interview with a Vampire),
encounters with monsters that end in human's deaths (so many there's
no need to cite an example), and even matings between women and
monsters that result in births of hybrid human-monster children (as
in Ira Levine's 1967 novel Rosemary's Baby).
However,
an imaginative use of this extended scale of “close encounters”
with monsters, rather than with aliens—which, it could be argued,
represented simply another type of monster) can still introduce
innovations into the horror genre. For example, the scale could be
used to structure a novel or, for that matter a heptalogy, or series
of seven works, each of which is inspired by one of the seven types
of “close encounters” with monsters listed in the “monster
scale” adapted from Hynek's hierarchy.
Labels:
abduction,
alien,
close encounters,
extraterrestrial,
Frankenstein,
J. Allen Hynek,
monster,
Rosemary's Baby,
scale,
star child,
vampire
Saturday, January 12, 2019
Voyeurism: Playing God
In voyeurism, the keyhole
is a symbol of spying. Intended for the introduction of a key by
which a door may be locked or unlocked, the keyhole is emblematic of
the means by which to ensure privacy. By locking a door, an
individual establishes a private space which is supposed to be
inviolate. Behind locked doors, in the privacy of one's home, whether
“home” is a house, an apartment or a condominium, or a hotel or a
motel room, one is supposed to be sequestered; what goes on behind a
locked door is supposed to be private.
The key phrase, of course,
is “supposed to be.” In reality, little is truly private anymore,
especially in an age of surveillance by camera, drone, and Internet
spying mechanisms. Nevertheless, we resent the violation of our
privacy, and one's peering through a keyhole, into our private space,
into our private lives, into our private behavior is not something
most people would accept. Voyeurism is a violation of the law because
it is a violation of personal privacy.
There is another reason
that voyeurism is, and should be, off limits, horror movies suggest.
Peering through a keyhole can violate not only the privacy of the
person or persons within the room, but also the voyeur's sense of
propriety, of rationality, or even of reality itself. As Hamlet
cautions Horatio, “There
are more things in heaven and earth . . . than are dreamt of in your
philosophy,” or, as the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche
warns us all, “If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes
into you.”
Most
horror movies which incorporate an element of voyeurism don't use a
literal keyhole as a plot device. Instead, as in Psycho,
Peeping
Tom,
and 13
Cameras,
the voyeurism occurs through a hole in the wall or a hidden camera's
lens, and the voyeurism as such, like the nudity (when nudity
occurs), is incidental; the central part of the story, its theme,
deals with the causes or the effects of such an invasion of privacy.
The cause, although it may be related, superficially, to the voyeur's
sexuality or lack thereof, is, on a deeper level, related to his or
her (almost always his) emotional state.
Insecurity,
a fear of women or of rejection, or a desire to know all and to be
all places, including private ones, is often the basis of the
voyeur's spying. In a word, whether the word is “omnipresent,”
“omniscient,” or “omnipotent,” the voyeur's sin is a
variation upon that of Adam and Eve: he wants to be like God.
However,
their desire to be like God is, of course, ludicrous, for human
beings are finite, fallible, and mortal; only God can be infinite,
infallible, and immortal. Such a desire, the height of arrogance, is
also a sin. God suggests as much to Adam and Eve when he warns them,
“Of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat
of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely
die,” but they, like the voyeur, prefer to believe, as Satan told
them, “Ye shall not surely die: For God doth know that in the day
ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as
gods, knowing good and evil.”
The
keyhole, the hole in the wall, or the hidden camera's lens allows the
voyeur to spy in secret, to know that which he is not supposed to
know, to learn that which, ordinarily, would be hidden from him, and
it allows him to violate his victims' privacy with impunity (as long
as he is not caught). Armed with such secret knowledge, he may
blackmail, kidnap, torture, rape, maim, or kill, as he chooses, crime
begetting crime, as sin begets sin.
The
keyhole is a modern-day equivalent of the Biblical forbidden fruit,
allowing secular filmmakers to tap into Judeo-Christian themes from a
perspective outside religious faith, transposing the external,
supernatural world of Satan and God with the internal, natural (i.
e., psychological) environment of the self.
The
temptation to be omnipresent, to be ominiscient, to be omnipotent,
begins long before one looks through a keyhole, drills a hole through
a wall, or hides a camera. In all likelihood, it is a desire that
develops over years, slowly, until it becomes an obsession, but it is
born of the inclination to know more, to be with, and to be more
powerful than one's victim.
Labels:
13 Cameras,
films,
Hamlet,
horror,
invasion of privacy,
keyhole,
movies,
Nietzsche,
nude,
nudity,
omnipotence,
omnipresence,
omniscience,
Peeping Tom,
playing God,
Psych,
Shakespeare,
voyeur,
voyeurism
Tuesday, January 1, 2019
Horror Movie Predators' Hunting Techniques: Chasing, Stalking, Ambushing, and Using Teamwork
Copyright 2019 by Gary L. Pullman, Author
“Predator
Facts” lays out four of the techniques many predators use to
attack prey. Not surprisingly, human predators use these same
methods, in both horror movies and in actual situations.
Many predators chase prey
in an effort to capture or exhaust them. This technique has been used
to good effect in many horror movies, one of which, I Know What
You Did Last Summer (1997),
contains a scene in which antagonist Ben Willis pursues Helen
Shivers.
After Willis kills the police officer who's arrested
Shivers, she seeks refuge in her sister's department store, evading
the pursuing predator and leaping from a third-story widow, into a
Dumpster, only to be killed, not far from the safety of a nearby
crowd.
Since the audience identifies with the damsel in distress,
rather than with the killer, moviegoers root for her; vicariously,
her fear becomes that of the audience, who shares it. Her gruesome
death shocks and saddens her well-wishers. Through her, the audience
experiences the flight and fright of the prey that the ruthless
killer's pursuit creates for Shivers—and for them.
Pursuing
prey takes both “time and effort” and can require a good deal of
energy. For predatory animals, the nutritional value of the prey must
warrant the time, effort, and energy the predator must expend in
pursuing its would-be meal. “This is one reason why the hawk tends
to eat more rodents and birds than grasshoppers. Grasshoppers
just don't provide enough food value to justify the effort it takes
to catch them.”
Unless
the pursuer is a cannibal (some are, but Willis is not among them),
the “nutritional value” of the prey is apt to be emotional,
rather than physical. The act of chasing and killing the victim must
deliver emotional satisfaction superior to the time, effort, and
energy, the killer uses to accomplish these tasks. (Wills must
really have wanted
Helen dead.) Otherwise, the antagonist is apt to use another means of
attack, one requiring less time, effort, and energy.
Some
predators stalk, rather than pursue, prey. By following prey at a
distance or by remaining motionless and observing prey, a predator
can lunge, at the right moment, and capture or kill its quarry. A
stalker can also make do with smaller
prey than a pursuer needs. Stalking has the advantage of
conserving energy, but it requires time to effect.
Stalkers populate
thrillers
more often than horror films per se, as their appearances in such
movies as Fatal Attraction (1987),
The Crush (1993), The
Fan (1996), and The
Boy Next Door (2015), among
others, show. However, stalkers also appear in full-fledged horror
movies. Halloween
(1978), Scream (1981),
and Cyberstalker
(2012) come to mind.
In
Halloween,
on October 31, 1963, twenty-one-year-old Michael Myers escapes from
Smith's Grove Sanitarium in Warren County, Illinois, where he's been
confined since killing his older sister Judith when he was six years
old. Now, he returns to his hometown, Haddonfield, to stalk a high
school student, Laurie Strode.
Scream
combines a murder mystery of sorts with horror, as a stalker murders
one victim after another and police seek to discover the murderer's
identity. Is it Billy Loomis? Neil Prescott? Stu Macher? Randy Meeks?
Cotton Weary? All of the above? None of the above?
As the audience is
kept in the dark as to the question of the stalker's identity, which
makes the situation all the more tense, the number of the gruesome
murders continues to rise, along with the movie's suspense.
Cyberstalker
capitalizes on a relatively new twist to stalking: the use of the
Internet to hunt victims. Animals, of course, lack the capability of
using technology to develop and extend their natural hunting
abilities and must rely upon the physical senses and weapons, such as
claws and teeth, with which God or nature has equipped them. (As
William Blake's “Tyger” suggests, such weapons are formidable,
indeed.) However, were lions and tigers and bears able to enhance
their powers to hunt through technology, they'd be using the Internet
to stalk their victims, too.
Human beings' ability to do this is
another reason that we are the deadliest species by far. It is the
increased ability to watch and follow his quarry, courtesy of the the
Internet, that makes the stalker in this movie potentially deadly as
well as highly disturbing.
Other
predators rely upon their ability to ambush their prey. In the animal
world, the alligator is one example of such predators. Ambush is the
technique of choice in such movies as Wrong
Turn (2003)
and Wrong Turn 2: Dead End
(2007).
In
the first movie (in which stalking also occurs), college students
Rick Stoker and Halley Smith are ambushed as they reach the top of a
rock they're climbing.
In the sequel, a series of ambushes occur, as
the family of cannibals who live in the West Virginia forest attack
contestants during the live filming of a survivalist reality
television show.
According
to “Predator
Facts,”
This
method of hunting requires little effort, but chances of getting food
are low. The cold-blooded alligator has minimal energy requirements.
It can get by with infrequent meals.
Presumably,
this technique works well for the cannibal family because, when
they're not hunting, they seem to lie about their cabin much of the
time, thereby conserving their energy. It appears that, like the
alligator, they can get by on “infrequent meals.”
The
fourth technique that predators use to hunt their prey, that of
teamwork, is frequently used by human marauders in horror films as
well. In the Wrong Turn
movies, The Hills Have Eyes
(1977), and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre
franchise, cannibal families work together to locate, attack, and
subdue or kill the victims they devour as their food. Hillbilly
families also slay together in Mother's
Day (1980),
Just Before Dawn
(1981), Backwoods
(2008), House of 1,000 Corpses
(2003), and others.
Although
more food is needed to sustain those who routinely hunt in groups,
this
technique provides such benefits to the team as allowing them to
“pursue larger and sometimes faster prey” while protecting their
offspring “from other large predators.” Being hunted by a pack—or
by a family—of merciless or crazed hunters with a need to feed or a
simple taste for blood or human flesh makes a horror movie all the
more horrific—and terrifying.
Labels:
Ambushing,
Chasing,
Cyberstalker,
fiction,
Halloween,
horror movies,
Hunting,
I Know What You Did Last Summer,
Mother's Day,
predator,
prey,
Pursuit,
Pusuing,
Scream,
Stalking,
Teamwork,
wrong turn
Friday, December 28, 2018
Characters + Twist = Outcome
Copyright 2018
by Gary L. Pullman
It's
possible to analyze the plot dynamics of horror fiction, whether a
particular narrative or drama takes the form of a novel, a short
story, a narrative poem, or a movie), in a variety of ways.
In
the scheme proposed in this post, two (occasionally, more) characters
are involved in a relationship of some sort, and an unknown, unusual
or extraordinary twist causes or facilitates a significant outcome,
which may or may not be catastrophic.
Movie:
Hide and Seek (2005)
Characters: Dr. David Calloway and Emily Calloway
Relationship: Father and daughter
Twist: David is schizophrenic; he has an alter ego called "Charlie"
Outcome: Charlie is killed after he attacks Emily (murder and attempted murder)
Movie:
The Exorcist (1973)
Characters: Father Damien Karras and Regan MacNeil
Relationship: Father Karras, an exorcist, exorcises demon-possessed Regan
Twist: The demon possesses its true target, Father Karras
Outcome: Father Karras commits suicide, but Regan is delivered (deliverance)
Movie:
The Others (2001)
Characters: Grace Stewart, Anne Stewart, and Nicholas Stewart
Relationship: Grace is the mother of Anne and Nicholas
Twist: Grace and her children are ghosts
Outcome: Grace discovers that she is in Limbo after having killed Anne and Nicholas and murdered herself (discovery of truth)
Movie:
The Sixth Sense (1999)
Characters: Malcolm Crowe and Cole Sear
Relationship: Malcolm is a psychologist; Nathan is one of his patients
Twist: Malcolm discovers he is a ghost (discovery of truth)
Outcome: Malcolm is able to rest in peace (acceptance)
Movie:
Psycho (1960)
Characters: Norman Bates and his “mother”
Relationship: Norman is a motel owner; he lives with and takes care of his mother
Twist: Norman is schizophrenic; “Mother” is Norman's alter ego, who kills a motel guest
Outcome: “Mother” completely takes over Norman's mind (destruction of personality)
Movie:
The Most Dangerous Game (1924)
Characters: Sanger Rainsford and General Zarof
Relationship: Rainsford is Zaroff's guest
Twist: Zaroff hunts Rainsford
Outcome: Rainsford survives, after killing Zaroff (implied) (survival)
Labels:
catastrophe,
cause,
characters,
effect,
fiction,
Hide and Seek,
horror,
movie,
novel,
outcome,
relationship,
short story,
The Exorcist,
The Most dangerous Game,
The Others,
The Sixth Sense,
twist
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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:
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:
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.
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.
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.
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.












