Why Are Readers So Hungry for Horror?
Why Are Readers So Hungry for Horror?
What is it about a good horror story that sends chills of fear
and delight up our spines? Why is it that, even as we
double-check to be sure the locks are locked, we tune in to the
fright fest of fearsome flicks on cable TV as Halloween
approaches? What causes us to peek from between the very fingers
that wisely cover our eyes as we cringe in terror? And what is
it that compels the intrepid hero or heroine - or the hapless,
not-so-bright supporting cast member - to climb those blasted
stairs despite the scary music and the fact that even an idiot
would know the slasher is hiding in the bedroom closet?
In "A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the
Sublime and Beautiful," Edmund Burke wrote, "When danger or pain
press too nearly, they are incapable of giving any delight, and
are simply terrible; but at certain distances, and with certain
modifications, they may be, and they are, delightful, as we
every day experience."
Aristotle, in Poetics, proposed that "Tragedy, then, is
an imitation of an action that is serious, complete, and of a
certain magnitude; in language embellished with each kind of
artistic ornament, the several kinds being found in separate
parts of the play; in the form of action, not of narrative;
through pity and fear effecting the proper purgation of these
emotions." Or, put another way, by moving the audience to fear
and pity, they would be purged of these emotions and capable of
experiencing pleasure.
This is catharsis. The purging of fear and pity, by
reminding us that we have it so much better than the characters
in the story. By tricking us into thinking we are so much
smarter than the wide-eyed innocent tromping up the stairs. Read
and be terrified, watch and feel smug, then go out into the
sunlight and be joyful.
Some might argue that it's not catharsis so much as it is
schadenfreude - taking pleasure in others' misfortunes.
But I think that is more likely in the realm of comedy than
horror. Horror allows us to feel terror for a little while, and
then realize the pleasurable relief of realizing that our own
reality is something brighter and finer. Some might sum it up by
whispering, There but by the grace of God go I...
That said, if anyone can figure out why our wannabe victim is
still climbing the stairs to certain doom, please clue me in. I
have no answer to that one.
The Gothic Novel
The Gothic novel was the precursor to the modern horror story.
Characteristics of the Gothic novel include strong supernatural
elements and superstition; sensational, passionate emotions;
decay and death; crumbling castles or other old, ruined
buildings; madness and hereditary curses; and a dark, foreboding
atmosphere.
The Castle of Otranto, by Horace Walpole, published in 1754, is
generally considered to be the first novel of this genre. Mary
Shelley's Frankenstein, and Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights are
two of the best known and most popular of Gothic novels.
Where today's horror often relies on similar fantastic elements
and blatant shock value, novels like Frankenstein combined
horror with deeper themes. In Frankenstein, Viktor beholds the
fruit of his labors to bring the dead to life, and grapples with
the uglier side of playing God:
It was on a dreary night of November, that I beheld the
accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted
to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I
might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay
at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered
dismally against the panes and my candle was nearly burnt out,
when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the
dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a
convulsive motion agitated its limbs.
How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how
delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I
had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had
selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! - Great God ! His
yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries
beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his
teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a
more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of
the same colour as the dun white sockets in which they were set,
his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.
Ahh, be careful what you wish for. Could there be any greater
horror than to stand before the hideous, visceral reality of a
re-animated corpse - the crowning achievement of your dedication
to science and study? Doesn't this just beg the question: Is
God ever so repulsed by us?
Who, in fact, is the monster? Viktor, or his creature? When
confronted by such thorny questions, we are forced to look
inward and consider horrors even greater than zombies and giant
bats and vampires.