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Book Review: Monster, She Wrote: The Women Who Pioneered Horror & Speculative Fiction by Lisa Kroger and Melanie R. Anderson

Monster, She Wrote: The Women Who Pioneered Horror & Speculative Fiction by Lisa Kroger and Melanie R. Anderson.

Quirk Books, 2019

ISBN-13: 978-1683691389

Available: Hardcover, Kindle edition, audiobook

 

For anyone claiming to be a horror fan, this is an essential. Women have long been a force in horror and speculative fiction, yet the majority of readers are only familiar with Shirley Jackson, Mary Shelley, and a few others.  Yet, there are dozens more, and it’s doubtful most horror readers are aware of them, much less tried one of the tales by the authors highlighted by Kroger and Anderson.
While I’m somewhat embarrassed to not recognize many of the names in this book, I’m also thrilled by it. After meeting Lisa Kroger, I was wowed by the breadth of the insight both authors had into the importance of women writers in the horror canon.

“Mad Madge” Margaret Cavendish took 1666 by storm (that’s a long time before Frankenstein was written). She was a storm herself, described here as a “Kardashian” of her times (yet one who had a purpose). Her The Blazing World was a science fiction tour de force. In the nineteenth century, Elizabeth Gaskell won the admiration of Charles Dickens and spurred a unique relationship with him. Her ghost tales changed views at the time, while she took societal ills head on– rare for women to do successfully at that time. Amelia Edwards predated Indiana Jones by more than a century, and unlike the famed iconic figure, was real. This lady lived adventures that would have made Indy blush– and then there was her writing. For all her wild excursions, she became a power in quiet horror in the world of Victorian ghost tales. Many others follow, but they’re best discovered while reading the book.  The authors here have captured the stories of each writer as a person first, then as a writer. Kroger and Anderson know their material, yet steer clear of academic jargon. They have penned a highly readable book that one could tear through in a single sitting, although it’s unlikely that that will happen. Most readers will stop from time to time and check libraries, used bookstores and online sources for the stories of the writers detailed within.

This is a treasure trove of amazing tidbits and histories of women who shaped the genre as we know it. From pure adventure to Gothic romance, from science fiction to all-out horror, Kroger and Anderson school the reader on what’s crucial to filling in the holes in readers’ learning about what makes horror what horror truly is. Dive in and enjoy– you’ll want to track down these authors’ works before you even finish reading. Five stars isn’t enough here– this book is crucial, essential to the history of the genre for any true horror fan (as well as or fans of women who bucked the system and challenged what was accepted). You will NOT be disappointed. My interview with the authors will be posted on Monster Librarian soon. Check it out– these two women know their histories and explain it well. They’ve hooked me. Highly, highly recommended.

 

Reviewed by David Simms

Editor’s note: As has been noted in the past, many reference books on horror authors include relatively few women. Librarians and academics focused on related topics will want to consider this as a complement to other biographical reference books on authors of horror and supernatural fiction. 

Posted on August 30, 2019 by , 1 comment

Musings: The Dark Fantastic: Race and Imagination from Harry Potter to the Hunger Games by Ebony Elizabeth Thomas

The Dark Fantastic: Race and Imagination from Harry Potter to the Hunger Games by Ebony Elizabeth Thomas

NYU Press, 2019

ISBN-13: 978-1479800650

Available: Hardcover, Kindle edition

 

In today’s networked world, much of children’s and young adult literature isn’t limited to one reader’s immersion in the pages of a book. Authors’ worlds are reimagined in other media formats, and re-enacted, discusses, and reinvented in communities of fans of the stories. Yet, even within these imagined worlds, not everyone can find a mirror that reflects their experiences, and characters of color are often stereotyped and marginalized instead of centered. Ebony Elizabeth Thomas calls this the “imagination gap” and suggests that this may be one reason children of color may choose not to read.  In The Dark Fantastic, Thomas takes an intersectional approach, using”critical race counterstorytelling” to center four girls of color from television and movies based on children’s and young adult fiction that have developed fandoms: Rue, from The Hunger Games, Bonnie, from The Vampire Diaries; Gwen, from Merlin; and Angelina Johnson, from Harry Potter. Thoma uses an autoethnographic approach to explore her perspectives on these as an academic, a participant in fan communities, a reader, a watcher, and a person of color, at a variety of ages.

Thomas explains that the role of darkness in speculative fiction, or the “fantastic” is to disturb and unsettle. Even if initially there was a different reason why darkness represented a frightening or monstrous unknown Other, it’s now inextricably bound up with our thinking about race.  She defines the cycle of the “dark fantastic”, which can always be found in fantastic and horror fiction: spectacle, hesitation, violence, haunting, and, finally, emancipation. It is rare to see a dark-skinned hero, or emancipated character, meaning readers of color looking to identify with characters like themselves get the message, at least on some level, that they are the monster. Centering characters that are the “dark other” in the fantastic and placing them in unexpected roles leads to readers and fans challenging or rejecting the representations, especially once the story has been been reimagined on the screen where everyone can see what before was just in one person’s imagination.

Thomas chose to center her narratives on characters that are not centered in the texts they appear in . She explored the representations of these characters onscreen and in the texts the screen versions were based on, and the reactions of fan communities, like the outrage at the casting of mixed-race actress Amandla Sternberg as Rue in The Hunger Games, despite author Suzanne Collins indicating in the text that Rue had dark skin, or at the casting of mixed-race actress Angel Coulby as Guinivere in Merlin, since according to many, she didn’t have the “legendary beauty” expected of Arthur’s queen.  The “imagination gap” here is pretty clear. Too many people simply weren’t prepared to accept these mixed-race actresses as innocent or beautiful, and missed out on the essential meaning of these characters or enjoyment of the story.  The exploration of the treatment of Bonnie Bennett of The Vampire Diaries is interesting, because in the books, the character is named Bonnie McCullough and is a redheaded Irish witch from a line of druids who has a relationship with a major love interest.  On the television show, her background was completely revised and she ended up as a much less sympathetic character, taking a much smaller role. Even in horror, with vampires as major characters, a girl of color still ended up as the “dark other”.

Thomas argues in favor of consciously intervening to change culture. Publishers, reviewers, booksellers, librarians, educators, and marketers need to recognize the parts they do play and can play in bringing new stories and diverse talents to readers and audiences in order to close the “imagination gap” and open up what Thomas calls “infinite storyworlds”.

The way Thomas linked literature to other media and both individual and networked fandom has given me a new way to think about fantastic literature and media adaptations, and the way fans and fan creators connect with them– or don’t (This essay by Laurie Penny, which I just discovered, gives additional context and dimensionality to Thomas’ ideas). It also provides lot of food for thought as regards centering characters that are usually on the margins, and the way the construction of darkness in fiction may be affecting reading motivation.  As Thomas notes, things in the world of children’s and young adult transmedia are changing faster than they were, in part due to the spread of technology that allows more input from collective audiences and fandoms, and diversity is increasing. I look forward to the time when we will start to see the imagination gap lessen, and more minds open to opportunities for storytelling that reflect multiple representations.

This is essential reading for scholars of children’s and young adult literature and media, but Thomas’ cycle of the dark fantastic applies across all fantastic literature and media, and if you are interested in how race, technology, and imagination are intersecting and playing out in our culture, this does a very good job of providing a framework for understanding.  While she didn’t read it cover-to-cover, my 11 year old daughter is still talking about ideas she encountered in this book, which says a lot about its relevance, originality, and accessibility. Highly recommended.

 

Posted on August 29, 2019 by , Reply

Musings: In The Uncanny Valley: Oddity by Sarah Cannon and Small Spaces by Katherine Arden

The “uncanny valley” describes the effect of the almost-but-not-quite-human-seeming creature or object on certain people. It was first used to describe humans’ reactions to different kinds of robots, but it also suggests why clowns, masks, dolls, puppets, and even scarecrows show up so often in horror film and fiction. Two very different middle grade books that have come my way this summer take advantage of the uneasiness and ever fear caused by the inhabitants of the uncanny valley.

 

Oddity by Sarah Cannon

Feiwel & Friends, 2017

ISBN-13: 978-1250123282

Available: Hardcover, paperback, Kindle edition

 

In Oddity, Sarah Cannon describes a town of the same name in New Mexico,  where the bizarre and out-of-place have become commonplace. School safety drills include attack leopards, pizza explodes, and there are infestations of little aliens and zombie rabbits. Ada and her friend Raymond, have taken the new kid from Chicago, Cayden, under their wing.  They are Nopesers, participants in a secret wiki that shares information about Oddity’s dangers… except that instead of using it to avoid them, Ada uses them to plan expeditions, with a reluctant Raymond and nervous Cayden, to learn Oddity’s secrets.

Oddity is run by the Protection Committee, a literal puppet junta that consists of life-size, living puppets.  150 years ago, they battled the invisible Blurmonster,  and now the puppets protect the town to keep it from entering the city limits. A few people, like Cayden and his family, move in, but nobody leaves. Every year the puppets hold a sweepstakes, which all adults have to participate in, and the chosen winners disappear. Last year Ada’s twin sister Pearl was the first child to win a Sweepstakes, and Ada and her family haven’t seen her since. Only Cayden, who hasn’t grown up surrounded by menacing living puppets as town heroes and protectors, can sense something is off.

Oddity veers between absurdity, adventure, mystery, and terror. On one level, it’s a tale of family, friendship, acceptance, and the ways we deal with grief; on another, it sends a strong message about complicity and alternate world views; and on a third, it’s incredibly creepy. It’s also completely silly and off-the-wall– it’s incredible how much Cannon stuffs between the covers without shortchanging anything!  The puppets, with their awkward movements, sneering expressions, and silent puppeteers are situated right there in the uncanny valley, leaving many readers unsettled and uneasy even before they know things are more than just odd in Oddity, they are sinister, too. Recommended for ages 10+

 

Small Spaces by Katherine Arden

G.P. Putnam’s Sons Books for Young Readers, 2018

ISBN-13: 978-0525515029

Available: Hardcover, paperback, Kindle edition, audiobook

 

Small Spaces by Katherine Arden takes a deep dive into the uncanny valley from a different direction. Like Ada, Ollie is dealing with intense grief, in this case after the death of her mother, but instead of having a large family for support, Olivia just has her dad, who is a great dad, but has his own grieving to do. Instead of sustaining friendships, Olivia has become withdrawn, and just wants to spend her time alone. When she goes to her favorite hideout, a nearby swimming hole, she encounters a terrified woman about to throw a book in the water, and, appalled, grabs it away. The woman warns her that since she’s taken the book, she should remember to “keep to small spaces, or see what happens to you”.  Luckily, Olivia is an avid and curious reader, and immediately starts reading what appears to be a diary by one Cathy Webster titled Small Spaces, written 125 years ago for the author’s daughter, as a warning to stay away from her family home in order to avoid being caught in a deal her father made with the “smiling man”.  Intrigued, Ollie takes the book with her on a school field trip to a nearby farm. On the way, she learns that the farm her class will be visiting is the one described in the book she’s reading, that the story really happened, and that since then a schoolhouse on the farm property has burned to the ground, with no evidence of survivors.

When she arrives at the farm, Ollie discovers it is covered in scarecrows on stakes, with garden tools for hands, and that it is owned by the woman she met at the swimming hole. On the way home, the school bus breaks down and the bus driver mutters to the students that “they’ll come for the rest of you at nightfall”. Olivia is able to get the bus driver to tell her that they’ll all be taken by the servants of the “smiling man” to complete his bargain unless they leave the bus, run into the woods, and hide. The smiling man’s servants can only move at night, so during the daytime, she can travel safely. Looking out the window as the sky darkens, it seems to her that there are more scarecrows than there were, and that they are getting nearer.

Ollie decides to leave the bus, and when she tells the other students, only two others choose to go with her, running into the forest and looking for a small space to hide as they see the scarecrows descend on the school bus. Lost in the woods and cornfields in freezing October weather, running from scarecrows and ghosts, Ollie and her classmates Brian and Coco have to find their classmates and break the smiling man’s hold over them before they’re caught themselves. The next day, as the three try to figure out what to do, Coco and Brian conclude that the scarecrows are like robots or puppets, and the smiling man must be the puppet master. Malevolent scarecrows, especially in a bleak October cornfield, are actually more uncanny, in my opinion, than puppets are. The mental image of a crowd of scarecrows spearing the ground with their stakes, with garden forks for hands, grabbing at sixth graders crowded into a small space, or corralling an entire class silently across the forest, is creepy and dread-inducing.

Ollie, Brian, and Coco are not friends when the story begins. Coco is a clumsy city kid with pink hair who is ignored and bullied, Brian is a popular hockey player, and Olivia has no interest in learning more about them. Her only connection with them is that she threw a rock at Brian for picking on Coco the previous day.  For Ollie, both turn out to have unexpected depths: Brian isn’t a dumb jock– he’s an avid reader (namechecking Narnia and Alice in Wonderland) with a strong imagination who feels real anguish over what has happened to his friends. Coco is a klutz on the ground, but graceful and fearless as a climber, and fascinated by chess. I really liked the depiction of these two characters, especially Brian’s, as it’s rare to see a “popular jock” character with any more dimensionality to it, especially a boy. Ollie’s father was also an enjoyable change from father stereotypes that often appear in fiction, and even though Ollie’s mother is no longer alive during the time the book takes place, she is a vivid presence in the book. It’s easy to see how deeply Ollie feels her grief and the effect it has had on her: her confrontation with the smiling man and the choice she has to make at the end of the book, while somewhat predictable, is wrenching. Recommended for ages 10+

Both Small Spaces and Oddity have well-developed settings that are almost characters themselves, stories from the past that have strongly influenced the present, and uncanny creatures that create a sense of unease, dread, or even fear. Ghost stories are popular with middle-grade and middle school readers, and while they are enjoyable, these two books are a refreshing change.

 

Posted on August 27, 2019 by , Reply
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