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Book Review: Searching for Sycorax: Black Women’s Hauntings of Contemporary Horror by Kinitra D. Brooks

Searching for Sycorax: Black Women’s Hauntings of Contemporary Horror by Kinitra D. Brooks

Rutgers University Press, 2017

ISBN-13: 978-0813584614

Available: Hardcover, paperback

 

In Searching for Sycorax, Kinitra Brooks argues that horror has excluded black women except as an “absent presence” (such as the witch Sycorax from Shakespeare’s The Tempest, who has shaped the characters through her prior actions but does not appear in the play) and must allow black women a space that historically they have not been granted.  Brooks contends that black women characters in horror are constructed problematically to further the character development of other characters, especially white women, through an examination of the characters of Selena from 28 Days Later and Michonne from The Walking Dead. Brooks notes that much critical examination of horror is focused on the experiences of white men and their binaries (white women and black men). Black women, then, are unseen in a great deal of critical horror theory simply because they fall outside these binaries.

Brooks then examines how black feminist literary theorists, in their work to have black women writers included in the canon, have excluded genre fiction and authors (such as Octavia Butler) from critical examination, even though there are horror elements in many classic works of black women’s writing. While black feminist literary theorists have often chosen to examine black women’s writing through the lens of trauma theory or a magical realist framework, Brooks makes an argument for using a critical horror studies approach to black women’s literary works, carving out a place specifically for black women’s genre fiction which she calls “fluid fiction”, using it to explore the works of Nalo Hopkinson. Brooks defines fluid fiction as fiction by black women writers that blurs the boundaries of speculative genres and challenges mainstream genre limitations. It centers black women, reflects the intersections of their oppressions,  and is grounded in African religious practices and folkloric elements.

Brooks then suggests that the flowing nature of black women’s fiction, music, and art, can be used to redefine the horror genre using the framework of “folkloric horror”. Folkloric horror highlights and centers traditional African religions, such as Vodou and Santeria, treating them with respect; includes an acceptance of spirit possession; focuses on a young woman’s spiritual journey and discovery of the self, under the guidance of elders; and celebrates the black spiritual feminine. Many works by black women writers (such as Toni Morrison’s Beloved and Gloria Naylor’s Mama Day) explore horror tropes such as ghosts and curses in the context of the folkloric horror framework.

I have seen a lot of people recently saying that anybody should be able to write from any point of view. Searching for Sycorax argues that black women have a unique view that until recently has not only been unappreciated but has actually been unseen, despite its influence on genre writing. As I’m currently reading a companion collection of short stories I will say that I am finding the stories of black women writers of horror that I have read overall are fresh, genuine, and original in a genre that often depends on tired tropes without challenging them. It is difficult for me to imagine someone else writing them. Since Brooks’ book was initially published there has been work done to make the horror genre more inclusive, but it’s necessary to move beyond the argument that quality work will naturally rise to the top, and make a specific effort to seek out and promote quality work by black women to both widen the audience for horror and bring it to the attention of members of the horror community who may not be aware of it.

This is an academic book and the writing reflects that. Also, because Brooks is wide-ranging in the texts she covers, including some titles that may be more familiar to people in the horror community and some that may be more familiar to black feminist literary critics and readers, it requires some patience and work to read it through and understand (it is not easy to read literary criticism even if you are familiar with the texts being discussed). It is worth the effort to read this, as a continued effort is made for the horror community to grow as an inclusive space. This is an original and thoughtful exploration of a topic that has received little attention; it is the only book I have been able to find that focuses critically on the work of black women writers of horror fiction, and belongs in the collection of any academic library, although I hope it will find a much wider audience. Very much recommended.

Book Review: 100+ Black Women in Horror Fiction by Sumiko Saulson

100+ Black Women in Horror Fiction by Sumiko Saulson

Iconoclast Productions, 2018

ISBN: 9781387587469

Available at Lulu.com in hardcover, paperback, and premium paperback, and on Amazon as hardcover, paperback, and Kindle edition.

 

February is both Women in Horror Month and Black History Month, and in 2014, author and blogger Sumiko Saulson compiled interviews and biographical sketches of black women writers who have written in the horror genre, composed for and shared on her blog, into a book titled 60 Black Women in Horror Fiction. Saulson published 100+ Black Women in Horror Fiction as an expanded edition in 2018. It includes additional, very brief entries on black women horror writers that Saulson uncovered after 2014. Entries are listed in alphabetical order and each is accompanied by website addresses for the author. Following the entries are interviews of 17 black women authors profiled in the book. Poet Linda Addison, Africanfuturist Nnedi Okorafor, and horror writers Lori Titus and Eden Royce, among others, are included in the interviews section of the book, and David Watson shares a short essay on L.A. Banks and Octavia Butler.

The book is clearly a labor of love, and even a list of black women writers of horror is needed, but unfortunately, the majority of entries do not include typical biographical information like date and place of birth, family members, and  background information. They do include a list of the author’s publications, specifically those related to the horror genre. I examined the Kindle edition, and the website links do work, but not all of them are current: a few of them are no longer in existence (unfortunately, one of them is a resource Saulson cited as using in researching and writing the book: darkgeisha.wordpress.com). It is clear that this is an expanded version– that is, new entries have been added– and not an updated one, after reading the introduction, but this is really a starting point for exploring these women’s work rather than a detailed biographical reference. There are unfortunately a number of typos and punctuation errors in the book, but they don’t interfere with the ability to understand and use what is still a unique book for reader’s advisory and for readers wanting to diversify their experience of reading horror fiction.

Saulson’s original work can also be found on her blog at sumikosaulson.com, and I highly encourage you to visit and explore her resources. There are more black women writers of horror than there were when Saulson started this project on her blog in 2013, but their writing, and recognition for it, is a part of the horror community that needs to continue to grow.

Saulson has also edited a companion volume of original short fiction by 18 black women writers of horror whose profiles are included in this book, which also came out in February of 2018, called Black Magic Women: Terrifying Tales by Scary Sisters. Stay tuned for a review later this month!

 

 

Book Review: Dread Nation by Justina Ireland

Dread Nation by Justina Ireland

Balzer + Bray, 2018

ISBN-13: 978-0062570604

Available: Hardcover, paperback, Kindle edition, audiobook, MP3 CD

 

 

Editor’s note: Due to its topic and content, Dread Nation contains racial slurs and outdated language. I’m using “Negro” in this review as it is the term used throughout the book.

 

In this alternate history, the Civil War ended after the dead rose at Gettysburg, forcing the Union and the Confederacy into a truce while they fought off cannibalistic “shamblers.” A law passed shortly after required all Negro and Native children, starting at age 12, to be trained to fight the shamblers in single-sex combat schools, for the protection of white Americans (Ireland writes in an author’s note that she got the idea for the schools after reading about the Carlisle Indian Industrial School, a boarding school intended to erase Native American culture and language and assimilate the children). Just as before the war, there are opposing movements regarding the treatment of Negroes: the Egalitarians, who believe they should be treated equally, and the Survivalists, who believe they are naturally inferior to white people.

Sixteen-year-old Jane McKeene, the biracial, dark-skinned daughter of a white woman married to an absent Kentucky plantation owner, has been training at an exclusive combat school that trains girls as Attendants, bodyguard companions for wealthy white women and girls who are trained not just in combat but in social skills and etiquette. Intelligent and talented in combat, Jane is rebellious when it comes to conforming to society’s demands and has more interest in helping others survive than in good manners, good looks, and appropriate conduct. Her frenemy, Kate, is not only talented in combat but attractive, well-dressed, well-mannered, and light-skinned enough to pass for white– enough to earn Jane’s enmity– and stubborn enough to eventually earn her respect. Jane’s insistent ex, Jackson, comes to her in secret to ask for help in discovering what happened to his younger sister, Lily, who lives with the Spencers, a prosperous white farming family of Egalitarians, passing for white. The family has disappeared, and he’s afraid they’ve been taken by shamblers. Jane, Kate, and Jackson sneak out to the family’s farm to discover that the family has disappeared, and that the mayor, a Survivalist, is covering it up.

In the meantime, Jane and Kate save the lives of the attendees of a lecture about a vaccine to inoculate people from becoming shamblers when bitten, including the mayor’s wife, and are invited to attend a dinner party at his house. They use the opportunity to sneak Jackson in so he can search for evidence about the mayor’s involvement with the disappearance of his sister and the Spencer family. but are caught and sent to a remote Survivalist utopian communty, Summerland, where white people live in relative luxury, protected from shamblers by cruelly treated and poorly armed Negroes. Jane is able to convince the authority figures of Summerland that Kate is actually white, saving her from the deadly labor of protecting Summerland from shamblers, and giving her a set of opportunities and problems that come along with attempting to pass as an attractive white girl in a community built on unabashed white supremacy.

I suppose what technically qualifies Dread Nation as a horror novel are the “shamblers,” who, while we aren’t certain by the end of the book, are probably carriers of an infectious plague that turns them into mindless, uncoordinated, cannibals with an endless urge to feed. But the zombies merely illuminate the true horrors that take place in the book, those grounded in arrogance and vicious white supremacy. The sheriff and the preacher are truly cruel men who use every opportunity to punish the Negro characters and establish their superiority, but even the overseers are casually brutal, and the white townspeople are willfully blind. Even before the girls are sent to Summerland, it turns out that characters who are supposed to care for them are absolutely horrible under their genteel surfaces. Every time Jane attempts to save lives by stepping in between another person and a shambler, she is punished for overstepping her place.  Ireland demonstrates that even sympathetic white characters are complicit in the preservation of what they know is an unfair and cruel system.  Mr. Gideon, a white scientist and engineer who wanted to provide electricity to frontier communities using natural resources, is an ally in many ways, but is trapped in Summerland, forced to use shamblers’ “manpower” to run the town’s generator, which preserves the image that all is going as it should and perpetuates the racist system the town is built on.  Jane and Kate are both aware of how they can use negative stereotypes to manipulate white characters, and Kate is very conscious of how she can use her “whiteness” to her advantage, as well as how vulnerable she is.

In this #OwnVoices novel, Ireland portrays shifting vulnerabilities and loyalties as marginalized individuals attempt to navigate the racist system they are forced to function within are evident here in a way they might not have been if a different person had written this book. The Lenape character Daniel Redfern is somewhat of a mystery. One might think he and Jane would be natural allies, but while he saves her life early in the book, he is also responsible for her getting caught and sent to Summerland. Jane’s relationship with her mother, told in flashbacks and in bits and pieces, ends up putting a surprising light on what you think her story actually is. Jane’s relationships with both her mother and Kate contribute to a nuanced portrait of the damage, as well as the advantage, of colorism and “passing.” The other Negroes Jane works with in Summerland are more than a mass of victims– Ireland gives those that Jane interacts with names and personalities, and their agendas and fears sometimes set them against each other. The way the difficulty of being female intersects with the difficulty of surviving as a Negro is amply illustrated, not just through one set of eyes but through the experiences and stories Jane shares with many of the other characters. In addition to race and gender, while it isn’t an emphasis of the story, Jane expresses interest in both women and men, and Kate is pretty solid that she has no interest in romance or a relationship with either sex. As this is the first book in a series, it will be interesting to see how (or if) Ireland develops that further.

Dread Nation is a great read as a YA horror novel, and if that’s all you want from it, you can certainly read it that way. But it’s also a really intelligent, well-plotted book with great characters that has the ability to appeal to a widespread audience (including people who do not traditionally read either YA literature or horror) due to its nuanced exploration of race and white supremacy, character development, world building, approach to the past, relevance to the present, and its just generally fantastic writing. I have sold so many people on trying this book who would never in a million years have picked up a straight zombie novel. It’s not short, so I don’t know that reluctant readers will jump on it, but for the YA reader who likes independent-minded female protagonists, alternate histories, doesn’t mind a little gore, and can handle the racial slurs, this is an outstanding choice that more than deserves its place on the final ballot for the 2018 Stoker Award. Highly, highly recommended.

Contains: Gore, violence, murder, torture, slavery, racial slurs, references to sexual violence.

Reviewed by Kirsten Kowalewski

 

Editor’s note: Dread Nation is on the final ballot of the 2018 Stoker Awards in the category of Superior Achievement in a Young Adult Novel.