The lure of horror
School Library Journal
New York
Nov 1997
Author: Annette Curtis Klause
Volume: 43
Issue: 11
Pagination: 38-39
ISSN: 03628930
Subject Terms: Childrens novels Science fiction & fantasy
When a horror story works for us it does so on a purely visceral level-it is an emotional and spiritual response.
Since the infancy of humankind we have been afraid of the dark, and that fear lingers still. For ancient people, this was a practical fear-the dark contained the unknown. To run afoul of something in the dark meant death, so dark represented death, and death was the ultimate fear, for no one knew what lay beyond. To cope with these fears, humankind invented stories to put order into them and to be prepared for what might be out there. Those stories became our mythology and folklore.
We are still prey to the same fearsthey are deeply rooted within us. According to The Penguin Encyclopedia of Horror and the Supernatural (Viking, 1989; o.p.), in a sense those fears are worse, since we now live in cities, apart from the wild; hygiene and medicine have both postponed death and made it less familiar in the home; and we have gotten rid of the many rituals that helped us accept death. In these times our oldest fears emerge in modern tales of terror, yet the images that are the staples of horror fiction spring from folklore, and are still effective.
Modern children thrill to urban folktales told around a campfire, or consume library copies of R.L. Stine's Monster Blood (Scholastic, 1992) with the same delight that I'm sure ancient cave children felt when huddled with their parents around the clan fire listening to the shaman's tales of ghosts. I, however, didn't stop at reading and listening: I wrote my first horror tale when I was 10 years old-The Bloodridden Pool of Solen Goom-and, when I read it to the class, was convinced I would win admiring friends. But no, I had revealed I was different. Afterward, on the school yard, I was taunted mercilessly.
When I think about that incident now, I realize that intolerance comes from a fear of not fitting in, and so not surviving-a primitive fear. Perhaps that fear of being aberrant is why some of us are driven to find out what happens to monsters. But, ironically, sharing the thrill of horror, when it's a mutually agreed upon activity, can help kids fit in. "Spooking each other at a slumber party with stories of the supernatural...or watching a horror video together is a kind of initiation rite that gives a sense of belonging," says Dee Shepherd-Look, a psychology professor quoted in a Parenting article called "Fright Delights." Somehow that sharing validates our fears and, by exercising them in the open, lessens their power.
Many people feel that books are a safe way for kids to enjoy the thrill of being frightened-but how long children can tolerate that experience, and to what extent depends upon their age. Even preschoolers like a monster story as long as the monster's teeth are pulled by humor or its appearance is brief and quickly followed by a reassuring conclusion. In spooky series for primary graders, such as "Scaredy Cats" (Aladdin) and "Eek! Stories to Make You Shriek" (Grosset & Dunlap), the horror aspect is, again, de-emphasized in favor of humor.
By fourth grade a child is ready for more sustained scariness. In "Fright Delights" Stephen Garber, author of Monsters under the Bed and Other Childhood Fears (Random, 1993), says "Preteens are looking for excitement and stimulation." He compares the chills that come from indulging in a creepy book or movie to the rush of riding on a roller coaster, an analogy R.L. Stine also used in Publishers Weekly, "They tease you," he says, but they "let you off safe and sound at the end, and you know-no matter how scary it is, or how thrilling, or how exciting-you know that you're safe the whole time." You can close a book if it scares you too much, he says in a biography by Jill Wheeler. You can control the situation. Stine says that he wants kids to feel safe reading his books. Nobody dies in "Goosebumps" books (Scholastic)-he's careful to keep issues like divorce, drugs, and child abuse out of them, and the scares are often mixed with humor-a quality his fans admire and love.
Even when writers try to keep reality out of their work, reading horror fiction can be a way to practice handling real-life horrors. Given the many cases of abducted children in the news along with reports of children shot down in the streets and at school, the world can be a terrifying place for young people. "But it's all fear, isn't it?" said author Robert Cormier at a panel discussion reported on in a 1995 Publishers Weekly. "Will they like me? Will I flunk the test? I'm afraid they'll say no. I'm afraid they won't invite me to the party." By reading a scary book, children can project their everyday fears into a monster and confront them in an environment they control. This power gives them strength, especially when characters in books for younger readers defeat evil all by themselves. This is a reassuring message.
Some people worry that frightening books are damaging to children, but "Most kids can separate fiction from real life," says Lenore Terr, a child psychiatrist and author of Too Scared to Cry (Basic Books, 1992) when interviewed for an article in U. S. News & World Report. Terr, like other experts, says not to worry about kids reading horror books unless a child starts having nightmares or acting out as a monster. In the opinion of Jerome Singer, a professor of psychology and child study at Yale University quoted in "Fright Delights," books in the genre provide preteens with a healthy way to explore their feelings and let off steam at a time when they are learning how to control their emotions and behave appropriately.
There are those who consider the drool and slime of "Goosebumps" quite tame compared to the original Grimm's fairy tales in which ugly sisters lop off their own toes and impostors get dragged to their death in naillined barrels, and indeed there is a built-in limit to the extent of horror in books for elementary aged children. In an essay in Children's Books and Their Creators (Houghton, 1995), Stephanie Loer writes, "In the long run, bizarre, gratuitous, and offensive violence would end the trend's popularity, due to objections from parents, librarians, and critics."
"The higher up the reading level you go, the more graphic you can be," advises George Stanley in a Writer's Digest article. Even so, while murder is generally allowed in young adult books, as Loer puts it, "Readers are spared bloody details, explicit violence, or any sort of twisted sexual element." Of course there are exceptions, such as Robert Cormier's Fade (Dell, 1991) or M.T. Anderson's Thirsty (Candlewick, 1997). My new book, Blood and Chocolate (Delacorte, 1997), may certainly challenge that perception.
Reviewers and librarians, especially those who tar all horror with the same brush, sometimes seem genuinely surprised when a horror book appears to have some literary merit, an attitude that makes me vacillate between amusement and exasperation. But it is true that the appeal of horror is not to the intellect. As stated in Betty Rosenberg's Genreflecting: A Guide to Reading Interests in Genre Fiction (Libraries Unlimited, 1991), when a horror story works for us it does so on a purely visceral level-it is an emotional and spiritual response. The Penguin Encyclopedia agrees that horror is not ultimately enjoyed for the style, ideas, medium or message, but for it's myth: the primordial images it mysteriously evokes. And, because stories of the supernatural often make fewer demands on the intellect than on the sensibility they are more accessible to average readers.
Familiarity goes a long way in enticing reluctant readers to pick up a book. The most effective horror is that which takes place in the everyday world. The juxtaposition of the banal with the gruesome makes the story more believable. Additionally, young adults have become familiar with the conventions and the physical thrill of horror through viewing movies, which they gobble up, either at the theater or on video.
"They're never, ever boring," says 14year-old Sue about horror movies in a Redbook survey. And Jeff, 16, says, "They're movies to take a girl to-a guarantee that she'll hold your hand." "Elm Street is my favorite," says a 10 year old. "What I like about Freddie is that he kills people." In other words, they fulfill the needs of an adolescent with a body developing quicker than her mind to experience sensation, for a young man to act out and confirm his gender identity, and for the young and powerless to identify with a powerful figure.
When fans cheers for Freddie, they are identifying with the aggressor, a common psychological response, but a 1987 article in Seventeen points out that there is often strong identification with the victims as well. We know the danger before they do but we cannot warn them. Adolescents on the verge of independence often feel just as helpless. The Redbook article states that teens can identify with monsters because they sometimes fear that they themselves have shameful, monstrous impulses. As they struggle for independence, their feelings toward their parents might swing between love and anger; at times they might have murderous fantasies that engender guilt. Seeing these film images helps them to sort out their ambivalence. Various writers including Stephen King have suggested that horror caters to the rebellion that adolescents feel. Horror movies are a rejection of adult values, of rules for proper behavior says Redbook.
But all the above aside, maybe the lure of horror is as simple as writer Elizabeth Bowen says: "Can there be something tonic about pure active fear in these times of passive, confused oppression? It is nice to choose to be frightened, when one need not be." For, in the end, those of us who enjoy the vicarious thrill of horror are often healthy, safe, and well fed so we can afford to tease ourselves. It's a perverse luxury for the well adjusted that makes us appreciate even more our warm, cozy lives. We're a selfindulgent lot, aren't we?
Sources
Alderdice, Kit. "R.L. Stine: 90 Million Spooky Adventures." Publishers
Weekly. July 17,1995. Davidson, Margaret. "Fright Delights and Tasty Terrors."
Parenting. Vol. 10, No. 8. Oct. 1996. p. 170. Dunleavey, M.P. "Children's
Writers Plumb the Depths of Fear." Publishers Weekly. March 27, 1995. Farber,
Jim. "Blood, Sweat, & Fears: Why Are Horror Movies Such a Slashing Success?"
Seventeen Vol. 46, No. 7. July, 1987. pp. 108-109, 140-141, 149.
King, Stephen. Stephen King's Danse Macabre. Berkley, 1981. pp. 66-67. Silver, Marc. "Horrors! It's R.L. Stine!" U. S. News & World Report. Vol. 119, No. 16. Oct. 23, 1995. p. 95. Smalley, Barbara and Alan W Petrucelli. "Are Horror Movies Too Horrible For Kids?" Redbook. Oct. 1990. Vol. CLXXV, no. 6. pp. 36, 38. Stanley, George Edward. "5 Keys to Writing Scary Kids' Stories." Writer's Digest. Vol. 76, No. 9. Sept. 1996. p. 30.
Wheeler, Jill C. R.L. Stine. Abdo & Daughters, 1996.
Annette Curtis Klause is Head of Children's Services for the Aspen Hill Community Library in Rockville, MD. Blood and Chocolate (Delacorte, 1997) is her latest book for young adults.
// Top
