Archive for haunted

Halloween Dreams

Posted in Dark Musings, Halloween with tags , , , , , , , , on October 1, 2017 by smuckyproductions

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For the past few years, I’ve made it a tradition to reread “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” on October 1st. It’s standard to the point of being tedious, in some ways, but Irving’s prose is iconic for a reason: it perfectly captures the silent, ephemeral exhilaration of an autumn morning for me. As he states in the story’s opening, the enchantment of Sleepy Hollow calms and lulls the mind, so much so that it allows dreams to take on the sheen of reality. While this is an extreme example of the harvest season’s charm, it rings true. The blue-sky air is so clear on these mornings, almost fragile. It seems possible that anything might materialize within it, because it’s so empty – there’s an expectation that something has to happen.

Waking up on a calm autumn morning, when the mind has a moment to reflect on the uncanny stillness, is an unparalleled sensation. The air is so quiet that it demands reverence – this is a time for ritual and transgression, for crossing the boundaries into the unreal. It fuels the imagination, but sometimes in a morbid sense; mythology and religion have embedded themselves in our subconscious workings deeply enough to make us apprehensive. We are taught that these spiritual states of calm, of reverence, are something to fear; because they can’t stay quiet for long.

That’s what makes the October season so perfect for horror film viewings – there is extremely slim possibility that those stories hold truth, but the chance is still there, enough to make fairy tales and ghost stories more viscerally effective. Horror films require a suspension of disbelief, as they’re all built on superstitions or paranoia, unlikely worst-case scenarios becoming reality. The danger is thrilling – especially because we know that those forces don’t really exist, it’s just fun to imagine the what-ifs. Until suddenly they are real, and they aren’t so much fun.

The stillness of the October season allows for dreams, pretending, to lose incredulity – it isn’t so strange to consider that reality is bent, that spirits are waiting just beyond the veil, where metaphysical impossibilities are commonplace, rather than simple imagination. It drapes a shroud over logic and replaces it with wonder. But concealing the truth does lead to danger. That’s why we indulge in safeguarded fear, to tread with the possibilities and see the horrors that they lead to. You can always back out and return to calm reality, grateful that it was all a dream.

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Forbidden Tomes: HAUNTED

Posted in Forbidden Tomes with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 17, 2015 by smuckyproductions

Short stories were arguably the first great American literary tradition, with Washington Irving, Herman Melville and Nathaniel Hawthorne contributing groundbreaking tales that still resonate. It is no question that many of these stories at least dabbled in the Gothic. This tradition has lessened over the years, but there are some contemporary authors who have not forgotten. Joyce Carol Oates is one of them, and she contributes to this tradition brilliantly with her collection HAUNTED.

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I talk about Oates a lot. That’s because I think she’s a genius. These stories showcase her ability to render a typical American scene – dollhouses, Christmas dinner, and Thanksgiving shopping, to name a few – in visceral prose that makes them disturbingly wrong. Her detailed and ruthless eye skewers the everyday with macabre observations, warping things until they are almost beyond recognition. Almost. Her stories are all the more chilling because they rarely stray into the supernatural, drawing all of their horror from things that could – and have – happened.

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With these details Oates explores a number of themes that may, in another author’s hands, be commonplace – but not here. There are four sections of stories, and each deals with a broader, recognizable topic: aging, birth, sex, and finally, death. Oates handles these with just the right touch of grotesque, avoiding the garish, and brings them to light in a way that feels revelatory. In the title story, a girl’s childhood ends abruptly with a nebulous trauma and her friend’s death; “Extenuating Circumstances” and “Don’t You Trust Me” both display the horror to which mothers are subjected; and “Martyrdom” makes us question the nature of humanity in the most horrific way.

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In Oates’s beautiful but glaring prose, the above topics become magnified. Her vivid rendering is what makes her ‘normal’ environments so disturbing. Because Oates is also the master of the unreliable narrator, these worlds become even more unreliable. But, like the best horror fiction, their extremes bring out truths that would otherwise be lost.

On a very specific note, the penultimate story – “Accursed Inhabitants of the House of Bly” – presents a delight for horror fans in its reimagining of “Turn of the Screw.” Seen from the perspective of the ghosts themselves, who cannot reconcile their place between life and death, and instead taunt the children whom they loved. This story alone is reason to explore Oates’s collection.

Take these grotesque visions of a world we all know and plunge into them. On cold evenings, the rotted truths that Oates presents will make a particular mark.