stephbg | A brief reflection on horror

In the last couple of years I've been reading more horror short fiction than before, usually via the path of delving into a particular author's catalogue. I'm also inclined to buy anthologies from publishers/editors that have a proven track record in choosing stories that I enjoy reading. Here I just ramble a bit about nothing particularly startling.

Not being a natural horror fan I found myself more than a little surprised by my disappointment at a particular anthology I finished recently. There was nothing wrong with the writing, and certainly plenty of gore, rotting flesh, and nightmarish visions on offer, but I found myself singularly unhorrified.

Finding myself thus unhorrified was faintly horrifying, and this got me thinking I must have a pretty high tolerance for squick, because that was what most of these stories featured. This in contrast to the horror writing I *have* found downright disturbing, which was far more cerebral in nature. Moral dilemmas, fear of losing one's mind/personality/sanity/self control/etc were far more likely to provoke Feelings.

None of this is new in the scheme of things, but not being a habitual consumer of the genre it's new to me. Grossness is not horror. Being chased by monsters is not horror (unless there's a twist as in Forbidden Planet). Fear does not make horror. Despair needs special handling to qualify - hope is far more horrifying than the relief of giving in to despair. Hospitals are places of horror not because of the blood and guts, but because of the losses that occur within their walls.

So I'll accept horror writing with standard blood, guts, bad smells, and scary homicidal children, as long as those features are there as a mere backdrop to the real action, to chip away at characters' ability to cope with the real horrors inside their own minds.

And clowns. Doesn't matter what you do with them, clowns are horrific.

(By all means enjoy whatever version of horror you like. Hack and slash at zombies 'til the mutant vampire cows come home trailing putrescent guts everywhere. No really, be my guest.)