What's in a Name?

There’s really no denying that names have a lot of power. How many times have you picked up a book for no reason other than it had an interesting title? How many times has the name of a book actually impacted how you feel about the book as a whole? How many times has just hearing a powerful name inspired you?

Rather than discuss why this is, I’d actually rather just talk about a few of the best book titles out there, as well as what makes them so meaningful.

Tell me, friends: What are some of your favorite book titles? What makes them so interesting/powerful/meaningful to you?

So then, for a very short list of only a few of the best names I've encountered:

If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things by Jon McGregor

This is absolutely the most amazing name ever conceivable for a book. (Okay, maybe that’s a bit hyperbolic, but still…) Really, though: this is the very very most amazingest book title I’ve ever come across. I read the book once some years back, and remember feeling that the book itself didn't quite live up to how wonderful the title is. That said, though, I'd like to give the book another shot in the near future and see if my feelings on it have changed.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safron Foer
Not only is this one of the greatest book titles I've seen, it's also one of the greatest books I've read. I read it too long ago to be able to write up a fair review for you now (unless I read it again, which is likely), but trust me when I tell you: the book is extremely great and incredibly beautiful.

Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis
This is a great example of a book that I read largely because of the title. Sure, I'd already been a fan of C.S. Lewis before reading Faces. But reading the back cover, this book really didn't appeal to me that much - it truly was the title that sold me on it. What exactly the title means though - and where it appears in the text - makes it even more powerful. What a profound phrasing, which you'll only fully understand once you read the book. (And you definitely should read it.) (Oh, and though it's not a full review, you can read a couple of my thoughts on the book here, if you'd like.)

What We Talk About When We Talk About Love by Raymond Carver
I haven't even read this book (yet). I just think it's a truly fantastic title, which is practically a story on its own. Really, the implications of this one phrase are mind-bending. (When we talk about love, we're not really talking about love? - cosmic.) In fact, I'm not the only one who's noticed how great of a title this is - it's been blatantly repurposed at least twice so far that I know of: once by Haruki Murakami for his book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, and then later by Rob Bell for his book What We Talk About When We Talk About God.

If You Feel Too Much by Jamie Tworkowski
First of all, if you're not familiar with the works of To Write Love On Her Arms, you should get familiar with them, because they're wonderful. Aside from this, If You Feel Too Much is a lovely name that perfectly addresses Tworkowski's audience and exemplifies the overall mood and heart of the book. I might even go so far as to say that, of all the books on this list, it's the most intimately connected to the content of the book itself - which is certainly to Tworkowski's credit.

(I see now that apparently I like book titles that start with "If..." I hadn't noticed before. Interesting...)


Now it's your turn!

Point of View, pt. 2: the Narrator's Role

In the first part of this discussion on point of view, I said:

If Suzy is the main character - most of the scenes include/follow her, the narrator shares Suzy's thoughts with us, etc. - there's no very good reason to suddenly jump into Bob's head just to show us what Bob is thinking - especially when Suzy is standing in the room with Bob. Rather, a less lazy approach would be for the narrator to continue following only Suzy, and make Bob's thoughts or feelings evident by his words, his expressions, his actions, etc. - you know: "show instead of tell" and all that. 

When this happens, I wonder Who is the narrator, exactly? How does s/he know what all of these different people are thinking?

It's an interesting question, one which, frankly, not enough writers ask as they're crafting their books. Who is the narrator? 

Often, when a story is written from the third-person perspective, the narrator isn't meant to be a character from the book. (Of course the narrator is likely going to be a character for first-person stories, but we're not going to focus on that for now.) 

It's fine if the narrator isn't a character. Generally speaking, there's no reason the voice telling us the story has to be involved in the story.

Then again, we've all read plenty of books in which the narrator intrudes upon the story, responds to it, expresses their own emotions and subjectivity on the happenings. And when this happens, there's no way around it: we're reading the words of an individual personality. And an individual personality can't know what everyone in town is thinking.

These intrusions by the narrator can be small, subtle, overdrawn, exaggerated, or anything in between. Sometimes they can be as minute as a punctuation mark or as big as a monologue.

To give some examples of this, I'm going to pick on Jane Austen. Largely this is because she's already been solidified as a classic, so it's not as though I'm going to harm her reputation by saying anything bad about her. Also - let's call it what it is - she wasn't great about all of this POV business.

In the second chapter of Pride and Prejudice, we have this line: 

Mrs Bennet deigned not to make any reply...

So Mrs Bennet doesn't say anything. That's fine. But if we think about the word choice here, Austen actually took it just a step further: Mrs Bennet deigned. What this means is that Mrs Bennet felt it would be beneath her dignity to reply. 

In this case, the narrator doesn't just tell us that Mrs Bennet didn't speak - which could have been an easy, objective thing to say - the narrator goes a step further and tells us what was going on inside Mrs Bennet's head. It's a subtle difference which hinges on just one word, but it's important. 

On its own, this isn't a problem. On the very next page (at least, on the next page of the edition I read), though, we then have this line:

Mary wished to say something very sensible, but knew not how. 

Once again, we have an example of the narrator knowing what is going on in a character's head - this time, Mary: Mary wished to do something, but didn't know how. 

In the space of two pages, we have the narrator knowing what's going on both in Mrs Bennet's head and in Mary's head.

Now then. On their own, there's nothing wrong with these two sentences. It seems this book merely has an Omniscient Third Person Narrator (that's your fancy English term for the day). And as long as the narrator doesn't have any sort of personality on her own, there's nothing inherently wrong with this.

Once the narrator intrudes and displays any sort of personality traits or opinions, though, suddenly we have a problem. Then we're not just dealing with narration; we're being exposed to another, unnamed character with her own distinct ideas. 

Let's look at a subtle example of this from the very next chapter of Pride and Prejudice:

What a contrast between him and his friend!

("Him" is Mr Bingley; "his friend" is Mr Darcy.)

As you'll know from reading the book, Bingley and Darcy have highly different personalities. This statement, then, can be seen as objective enough on its own. (There is a hint of the narrator's judgement in the sentence, but since the statement is so obviously clear to any reader - and to any other character in the book - I'll call it objective enough.)

What about that exclamation mark at the end, though?

The narrator didn't want to simply tell us that Bingley and Darcy are different. Rather, she pointed it out excitedly or emphatically. In other words, suddenly the narrator is bringing her own emotions into the mix. Not only are the two characters different - the narrator feels something about their difference.

And we can see this because of one punctuation mark.

Do you see the contradiction here?

It is okay for a narrator to know what multiple characters are thinking/wishing/feeling/etc. (The Omniscient Narrator.)

It is okay for a narrator to feel something about the events or characters of the story. (The Personal Narrator.)

It is NOT okay to have both of these - an omniscient narrator AND a personal one.

This simply doesn't work. If the narrator has a personality, then suddenly she has been characterized. And if she's characterized, then - even if she isn't named or directly addressed or anything else along these lines - she can't know what any of the other characters are thinking or feeling. She can only be inside her own head - not everyone else's. 

What do you think, though, friends? Have you noticed these sorts of things in your readings? What are some examples of books that have been handled particularly well - or particularly unwell - along these lines?

a Few Thoughts on Point of View, pt. 1

For some reason which I can only begin to guess at, an author's use of Point of View seems to be the thing I'm the pickiest about while reading a book. Of all stylistic elements an author might play with in their writing, their POV is the most noticeable - and, often, the most irksome - thing I come across.

I don't mind whether a book is written in first-, third-, or even second-person perspective - certainly all have their place; I've written in all of them plenty of times myself. How these perspectives are handled, though, can just about make or break a book.

I touched on this briefly in my review of Robert Cormier's The Chocolate War, where I said:

My personal preference is that a book - even one written from the third-person perspective, such as Chocolate - only follow the point of view of one character throughout the book's entirety. I say this, though, freely acknowledging how subjective it is. There's nothing, per se, inherently wrong with switching between characters. Many authors do it, and there's not necessarily any very concrete reason this should be disallowed.

(Before I continue, let me make one thing clear: There's a difference between a book switching POV between various characters, all of whom are partaking of the same story, and a book which alternates between two stories, each with different characters. Some examples of the first type - the type I'm focused on right now - would be The Chocolate War or One of Us Is Lying; an example of the second would be Good Morning, Midnight.)

There have been plenty of books I've liked well enough that have included multiple POV's. Just last week, I read and reviewed No Country for Old Men, which did precisely this (and you'll notice I didn't comment on it in my review). Almost every manga I've read switches POV constantly. Sci-fi and fantasy tend to do this with high frequency as well. (Just look at The Lord of the Rings, for a famous example.) You'll also notice that almost every movie ever does this. (Can you even think of an example of a movie which includes the main character in every single scene? - I can think of maybe two, if that.)

This isn't my preference, but it's passable. Sometimes - particularly when a story is spread geographically - there's not much of a way around this, at least not without stretching feasibility.

If the story all revolves around a cast of characters whom are closely connected and whom often occupy the same pages, though, shifting the POV can begin to feel rather lazy on the author's part.

If Suzy is the main character - most of the scenes include/follow her, the narrator shares Suzy's thoughts with us, etc. - there's no very good reason to suddenly jump into Bob's head just to show us what Bob is thinking - especially when Suzy is standing in the room with Bob. Rather, a less lazy approach would be for the narrator to continue following only Suzy, and make Bob's thoughts or feelings evident by his words, his expressions, his actions, etc. - you know: "show instead of tell" and all that.

When this happens, I wonder Who is the narrator, exactly? How does s/he know what all of these different people are thinking?

(Of course, the narrator of a story very often isn't meant to be a character in the book. This will be the focus of part 2, though, so I won't go into that thought for now...)

When it all comes down to it, if I can't think of a very concrete, specific reason for the narrator to jump inside a different character's head, it usually just feels like the author is taking the easy way out.

Again, I know this is at least partly subjective - so what do you think, friends? Is this something you notice in your readings? How do you feel about it?

Enjoying the Classics, pt. 2

(Be sure to start with pt. 1 before treading into this post.)


...but, subjectivity aside, there must be a reason that classics are...well, "classic," right?

Sure, we all have different tastes. There are plenty of people who sincerely love the Beatles and 1984. Even above this, though, there must be something that qualifies a book (or a song, a movie, etc.) to be considered "classic."

To make it perhaps a bit overly simple, I suppose we can break it down in three ways, only the first of which I've discussed so far:

We can rate a book based on how much we enjoy it,
how well-crafted it is,
and how important it is.

No, I'm not enjoying 1984 so far. But is it well-written? Is it culturally significant?

The answer to these two questions are "yes" and "very much yes." And sometimes that's enough to rise a piece of art into the zone of "classic."

Not every book is merely meant to be enjoyed, is it? Some are written because the author has some sort of idea or message to impart, and believes that a novel is the best medium for conveying it. Perhaps the author wishes to explain, highlight, or even oppose some sort of zeitgeist in his/her world. There is no doubt that fiction has always been used as a means to this end - surely it always will be (barring some sort of Fahrenheit-451 scenario from happening, God forbid).

Of the three ways of judging a book, I put them in that order for a reason: specifically, I was thinking of them from most subjective to least subjective.

Whether or not a book is enjoyable is 100%, through and through a matter of opinion. What I enjoy might come off as downright garbage to you, and vice versa. After all, I can't stand the Beatles, and I'd bet you probably enjoy them. (Personally, I've never met anyone who doesn't like them; I suspect I may be the only one.)

Whether or not a book is well-crafted is still partly subjective, though I would argue there are at least a handful of measures we can discuss a bit more objectively. (Is the author's word choice appropriate for the subject matter, without being too limited or too wild? Is there variation in the sentence length and structure? Is the setting fully established? Are the characters internally consistent? etc.)

Whether or not a book is important is really not very debatable. This question is something that can be quantified with reasonable objectivity. How have people responded to it? What sort of impact has it had on the culture into which it was introduced? Does it have a timely message?

In fact, of each of these three judgments, we realize that whether or not a book is enjoyable is actually the least determinant factor regarding whether a book is considered a classic.

It's for the best this way. If classics were just based on what's popular and sells well - and on what people merely enjoy, regardless of literary merit or significance - then we run the risk of Fifty Shades of Grey being considered a classic in another 50 years. And that's just not a world any of us would want to live in.


What do you think of all of this, friends? Are there any classics which you don't enjoy, but which you appreciate for their value? Let's hear about them! 

Enjoying the Classics, pt. 1

Let's just clear the air of something right off the bat. This might mortify you, and I'm sorry about that. But here it is:

I can't stand the Beatles.

I know, I know. Maybe there's something wrong with me. I've mystified - and even downright offended - some people by saying this. But it's true. Their music just rubs me the wrong way.

That said, I understand why they're important. Their influence is enormous; they paved the way for future generations of pop music; etc. They absolutely deserve to be looked back upon fondly, and to be as seminal as they are. I understand and accept and agree with all of that.

But I don't actually enjoy their music in the least bit.

So then. If I haven't scared you away yet, I'm sure you can already guess where this is going:

What about "classic" books? Do we have to like them just because they're "classic"?

Based on my Beatles analogy, you can no doubt guess my answer to this question:

Of course you don't have to like a book just because it's a classic! Forget what your English teacher and your snooty friends and that strange guy at the bookstore said. It is okay to not like a classic. There have been plenty of classics along the way that I haven't enjoyed. In fact, I'll tell you the reason I'm thinking about this topic now:

I recently started reading 1984 by George Orwell. (...yes, for the first time. ahem...*mumbles incoherently*)

I'm about a quarter of the way in, and...well...it's really not my cup of tea so far. I haven't exiled it to the land of no return (at least not yet), but I'm really not enjoying it at all. Yesterday I told my wife that if this book were written today (instead of being a "classic" from yesteryear), I definitely wouldn't be reading it.

Much like I said about the Beatles: I understand why 1984 is important. I can see why it has been so influential. I recognize that the ideas were simultaneously both a product of their time and ahead of their time. I'm glad it exists. But none of this adds up to me actually liking it.

(Now that it's come this far, I imagine I'm probably stepping on all kinds of toes with this post - haha. Oops.)

Of course there are plenty of classics that I've read and loved along the way, for one reason or another. And there have been a fair share that - much like 1984 - ultimately weren't for me.

And that's okay.


What are some classics that you've read but haven't actually liked, friends? And what are some that you've read and do enjoy?

the Seasonal Cycle of Media

I'm not sure if this is just me - or if everyone is like this - but I've noticed something about myself: my media interests seem to be somewhat cyclical, based on the time of year.

To give a few examples...

• In May, I'm especially interested in spirituality books (such as Rob Bell's books, and of course the writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson), as well as manga, anime, and/or video games that take place in modern day Japan.
• In late July and August, I lean towards American and European media - BBC tv shows, Cormac McCarthy books, etc. Asian media still makes an appearance here and there (such as a large concentration on Psycho-Pass last year) but it's not as predominant in the late summer like this.
• Unsurprisingly (and as I spent the entirety of the month discussing), October features a lot of horror stuff - whether books, movies, or video games. In addition to this, though, October also features a come back to an emphasis on Asian media. 
• November and December are really the only times of year I'll partake of fantasy - again, whether books, movies, or video games. I also enjoy more colorful things around this time - for example, it's the only time I'm likely to play Nintendo games (Mario, Zelda), as opposed to PlayStation games. Correspondingly, it's also the time of year I'm most likely to read children's books.

Anyway. Time to go into a more concrete example.

Recently I’ve been thinking about 47 Ronin. You remember that horrendous 2013 movie starting Keanu Reeves? - yeah, you're right; it was pretty terrible.

One fateful November day two years ago, I happened upon a used copy of the novelization of the movie. I hadn't yet seen the movie - and so didn't know how bad it was - but of course the premise interested me. You'll notice above that October brings me back to Asian media, and November is when my interest in fantasy kicks in. Considering that 47 Ronin is a Japanese fantasy, the timing was perfect.

So then. I decided to give the book a shot. And it was incredible.

Weird, I know. 

Again, this is a novelization - meaning it came after the movie. And the movie was unforgivable. Yet somehow Joan D. Vinge managed to take atrocious source material and turn it into a beautiful epic about honor and the things we cherish. 

This was two years ago I read it. And, like clockwork, last November I started itching to read it again. So I did. 

Sure, this second reading may have been a little too soon - I remembered the story quite well from the year before - but it's still a magical book. 

And here we are, November one year later, and - surprise! - I'm itching to read it yet again. Granted, this time around, I've decided to skip it. I don't want to overdo the magic; I'll wait another year or two until my memories of the book fade a bit more. But let's call it what it is: next time I read it, it will probably be in a November.

Is this just me? Or do you do anything like this, friends? Does your interest in media follow any sort of seasonal cycle like this? 

In the Mood for Horror

Now that Horror Month is drawing to a close, it's time to take one last foray into a horror topic which would be nigh unforgivable for me to neglect any longer.

I've already told you about the most unsettling book I've read, my top recommendation for a literary Halloween, and my favorite modern horror book.

Over the past several years especially, I've noticed one other thing about my enjoyment of - and experiences in - the horror genre, though, and I want to share it with you:

Though he doesn't necessarily write all my favorite horror stories - nor even what I would call the scariest stories out there - no other writings puts me so squarely in the horror mood than the works of Edgar Allan Poe. At first pass, this may sound a bit cliche; I hope I can rise this explanation at least a hair above this surface triteness.

I have a very vague memory of reading The Cask of Amontillado in high school. (Or perhaps it was read to me in class? Maybe not read at all, but merely discussed?) The reason it's so vague, though, is because I remember not particularly enjoying it all too much. I'm sure I also came across The Raven at one point or another, and probably The Tell-Tale Heart, at least in passing.

It wasn't until I sat down one day to begin writing my own horror novel when I realized that - for all my love of horror - I wasn't quite sure how to establish the mood just right. I pored over it for awhile, attempted several false starts, but ultimately couldn't decide on the right pieces, the right words, the right way to bring my images together. I would have to read some horror, then, to get inspiration.

I was feeling antsy to get started on my own book, though; I didn't want to waste too much time getting buried in a full novel. As fate would have it, an old, beat-up paperback of the completes work of Poe was sitting on my shelf. (I must have picked it up for cheap somewhere along the way, though I no longer remember when or where.) This seemed like the perfect fit - I could read just one or two of his short stories in no time flat, then get right back into my own writing.

Only it didn't work out that way. No, I still haven't actually read all of his writings, but I devoured a sizable chunk of his complete works over the next day, maybe two. And even when I wasn't fully immersed in the stories, I was still constantly opening up the book for reference - to recount a certain image or passage, or remind myself of how Poe would handle one situation or another in his writing.

If I recall, I believe I started with The Fall of the House of Usher (possibly still my favorite Poe story). I also read - and re-read several times, right away - The Masque of the Red Death (my other favorite of his stories). The Tell-Tale Heart was in the mix, as was The Assignation, Hop-Frog, and The Oblong Box, as well as at least 12 or 15 others, and a bunch of his poems (of which I particularly loved The Raven, The Conqueror Worm, and The Haunted Palace). I've also enjoyed The Imp of the Perverse a number of times, though it's not as much of a story as the others - more of a philosophical treatise.

It's no secret that, even nowadays, a lot of writers claim Poe as an inspiration for their writing. And yet, none of these authors write like Poe anymore, do they? None of them sport the bountiful vocabulary, the oftentimes labyrinthine sentences, the intense focus on mood over plot or characters, the totalism of imagery and detail.

Back when I first really dove into Poe's works, it certainly worked as an inspiration for me - not only for establishing the right mood and atmosphere in my own writing, but also for putting me in the right paradigm for the season, the feelings, the experience I most want to get out of horror. This mindset is something I've returned to countless times over the years since my first true experiences with Poe, and it's something I have every faith I will continue in throughout the coming years.

Happy Halloween, friends!

Illustrations in Horror Literature

It’s too bad that more books aren’t illustrated. Images can truly bring an entirely new mood and idea to a book, deeply altering the way you experience it - especially when the pictures are poignant, beautiful, or unsettling.

This idea is no less true in the horror genre. Of course an illustration will never jump out at you like something on the movie screen will,* but they can certainly cause a sense of dread, and add to the already eerie, foreboding atmosphere that the written words produce.

That monster that's stalking the innocent townfolk at night? - it's one thing to read about it and know it's there and form a mental image of it. It's another thing entirely to actually see it on the page right in front of you, lurking in the darkness; ravenously eyeing its prey with its too-deep yellow eyes; baring its horrible, gangrene, gnarly fangs moments before the pounce.

(Ironically, do you see what I'm doing here? I'm using words to create an image in your mind, in order to show you how illustrations do this. Very meta, I know.)

Neil Gaiman, for example, has been re-releasing a string of his books and stories in illustrated formats (most of them illustrated by Chris Riddell) that add to the unsettling nature of his already unsettling books. (If you're curious, Barnes and Noble's page for Neverwhere has a selection of illustrations from the book that are delightfully creepy.)

Similarly, this is one thing that makes horror manga so particularly effective. Yes, reading about the girl with long, black, scraggly hair covering her face while crawling out of the TV can certainly be disturbing enough,** but actually seeing her right there in front of you is a whole different beast - something that a non-illustrated book can't quite match for thrills. (In fact, if you look at my manga shelf, you'll see the horror manga outweighs the non-horror selection about 5:1.)

Recently, I discussed The Strange Library by Haruki Murakami, as well as Witches! by Rosalyn Schanzer, both of which are fantastically - and highly effectively - illustrated. (I've got a couple more such books/reviews lined up for you before the end of the month, too, while I'm at it. 😉 ) The manga version of Yukito Ayatsuji's Another is incredible as well - one of my favorite manga out there.

Yikes and a half, am I right?

Even if you don't know what's going on here, this is a pretty dang unsettling image.

What do you think of this, friends? Are there any illustrated horror books you've read, in which the images added to the overall tension and fear of the book? Let's hear about them!

*I guess an exception to this would be pop-up books, but I'm not really thinking about those right now. Then again, I'd be highly interested in the pop-up book The Babadook...

**You probably know I'm referencing The Ring here. Ironically enough, though, this doesn't actually happen in the book - it was merely added to the movies. Yes, there's a sinister girl behind a lot of the horror, but we never have a scene of her crawling out of a TV. 

Asian Horror v. American Horror

Really, this topic could easily be a book. And I don’t think I’m qualified to write that book. Despite this, there are plenty of observations I’ve made along the way – and things that make me tend to enjoy Asian Horror more than American – so there’s clearly something there worth discussing.

And, I hope it goes without saying that I’m speaking in broad strokes here – of course there are exceptions to the ideas I’m about to discuss. I’m sure there are plenty of Asian authors/film directors/video game designers who create their medium in a more “American” way, so to speak, and vice versa.

Aside from these exceptions, though, I tend to prefer horror media that comes out of Asia (especially Japan) more than that which comes from our own shores. Why is this? 

The easiest way to answer this question is to begin with my earlier post The Four (Main) Types of Horror. The last of the four sub-genres that I discussed there - and the one I identified as being my favorite - is Psychological Horror. 

That said, the most direct way I can explain why I enjoy Asian Horror more than American is to say this: 

Asian Horror tends to be more psychological than American. 

It's really as simple as that. 

If you think about the horror/thriller media that is produced in the U.S., you often see tales of gratuitous serial killers; violent monsters; evil, megalithic corporations; etc. We have Stephen King, the Hannibal Lecter series, and the Saw movies. 

To sum it all up - admittedly in a very general way - we tend to produce highly violent clashes of external, opposing forces, which are most often solved by the use of power. In a word, our horror is often

BIG 

Of course all of this has its place. Sometimes, this sort of media is exactly what I'm looking for. Though the Resident Evil movies don't contain a fraction of the quality of their video game counterparts (their Asian-made video game counterparts, I should add), dang it if I don't have a blast watching them anyway. (Guilty pleasures, for sure.)

Asian horror, though, tends to focus much less on these bombastic power plays and more on the psyches of its key players. Gone are the enormous explosions, set pieces, and over-the-top violence, all replaced by the tiniest details that add up to an overwhelming sense of dread. In a word, Asian horror is often very 

small

- in all the right ways, though.

Rather than Asian horror focusing on an archetypal hero (or group of heroes), we are usually given an everyday person who must wrestle with his or her own demons just as much as - in fact, usually more than - whatever dark force is at the center of the plot. Of course seeing Bruce Willis kick @$$ is fun, but there's something much more psychologically, intrinsically gratifying in seeing someone overcome their fears and their past and their inner darkness.

We might even say that American horror tends to be like a huge painting, full of color and gunfire and monsters, which we can absorb all at once. Even before finishing it, we can already see that the hero(es) will overcome The Evil - which is always Someone/Something Else.

Contrasted to this, Asian horror tends to be more of a puzzle, the gray-shaded pieces of which we're only handed one at a time, each of which ratchets up the tension more and more all the way up through the end, when we ultimately realize that this was never a painting, nor a Something Else - it was always a mirror. 

What Horror Is Really About

When you’re trying to discuss the horror genre with someone, you may discover that is has a unique problem which it shares with only one other genre*:

Smarmy McGee: What’s your favorite horror movie?

Me: Hmm…probably Let Me In.**

Smarmy McGee: Psh. Whatever. That’s not even scary at all.

Well…yeah. Actually I agree. It’s not that scary. But you didn’t ask me about the scariest horror movie - you asked me what my favorite horror movie is.***

It’s the same with books, of course: I already explained that I don’t think books are scary, but that the scariest book I’ve read is I’m Thinking of Ending Things by Iain Reid. But Ending Things is a far cry from the best horror/thriller book.****

You don't see this problem with, say, sci-fi or fantasy or literary fiction. Can you imagine telling someone that your favorite sci-fi series is Asimov's Foundation series, and then that person replying that those books aren't "roboty" enough? Or that The Fellowship of the Ring isn't really that fantastical? It's ludicrous, right?

And yet we find people very often judging horrors/thrillers based on how scary they are. Yes, of course the idea is that these books/movies unsettle us, but does it really mean they're somehow inferior if they aren't that scary or disturbing? Is scare factor the only thing that sets these genres apart from others?

Not really, no. Though horror media usually tries to unsettle, frighten, or disturb us, it also shows us things: the darkness and the light that we all wrestle with; how people react in the face of the worst possible scenarios; how we overcome our fears, our past, our demons, ourselves.

This is what good horror is all about. Scares and thrills are, actually, merely the byproduct of this.

What do you think about this, friends? What do you think makes a good horror book (or movie)?

*Comedy, if you’re wondering.

**This is true. It’s probably my favorite horror movie. And yes, I like it just a hair more than the European original, Let the Right One In (though I sometimes feel alone in thinking that way).

***If you’re curious what the scariest horror movie is, it’s probably The Babadook.

****Which, obviously, is Dracula. Does that even need to be explained? 😉

Are Horror Books Actually Scary?

It's an interesting question, actually. I mean, we assume they're meant to be scary. But do they succeed?

I've told you that I love horror.

What I haven't yet told you is that: no, in fact; I don't think horror books are scary. Further, I don't really think they can be scary - at least not in most ways.

Surprising, I know.

Luckily, scare factor is not what I enjoy about horror (if it were, October would be a very different month for me - in this blog, as well as in my general media consumption throughout the month).

But why is that? Why is it so difficult for a book to be scary?

Actually, that question already includes the answer: to me, a book can't be scary precisely because it's a book.

When I'm reading a book - no matter what book it is, what time it is, where I'm at, what's happening around me - my brain never fully gets past the fact that I'm sitting in a room, holding a book in my hands, reading black words on white paper. No matter what happens in the book, I am always acutely aware that it is happening... well, in a book.

Movies are all about the visual and auditory elements. You actually see the monster, the mutilated corpses, the shadows creeping along the wall. There are crashes and clatters and whispers and panted breaths and scratches on the window. Things can jump out at you, catch you off guard, literally show you the palpable fear.

A book, on the other hand, is a bunch of papers glued together and imprinted with letters and words.

Obviously books are incredible - hence this blog. If I had to pick between having access to one type of media for the rest of my life - books, movies, video games, or music - I would pick books in the blink of an eye. No questions, no regrets.

But that doesn't automatically mean they always accomplish what they mean to do - especially if what they mean to do is scare me.

That said, though, surely there are some things books can do to impart scares, right?

Well, I've never been so scared by a book that I suddenly dropped it or threw it across the room or made sure it was never behind a locked door with me. I've never jumped out of my seat, screamed out loud, or clutched on to my wife while reading a book.

But books can most certainly cause tension. They can make my heart beat faster and faster as I race through the pages, wondering what's going to happen, hoping things will work out. They can leave me in complete shock about by the events and twists and the pervading evil. They can cause me to feel repulsed, squeamish, horrified (at least in a sympathetic way), anxious, and glad that I'm not in the same situation as the protagonist.

Do these things add up to being scary, though? It's hard to say, I guess. But I've never felt especially frightened while reading.


I know this opinion may not be very common. So what do you think, friends? Do you find books to be scary? 

The Four (Main) Types of Horror

Now that we’ve discussed the differences between the Horror, Thriller, and Mystery genres, it’s time to go a little more in-depth and talk about the ways in which Horror can be subdivided: the different types of horror, the typical elements of each, the types of scares each utilizes. And, of course, I’ll pepper each with a few examples.

Personally, I tend to break down horror into one of four categories. Keep in mind, these labels and definitions are partially my own, but should – at least hopefully – more or less follow the general consensus on the matter. And, it should go without saying that even though we may generally assign a book (or movie or video game) to one category, of course it’s entirely possible that it may share elements of another category.

So then…

Monster Horror

Likely the most obvious/easily identifiable type of horror is Monster Horror – and it is precisely what it sounds like: vampires, werewolves, golems, demons, etc. Usually the monster is evil (though not 100% of the time), and the story will ultimately revolve around a battle against it. Ghosts can qualify as monsters in this case, but usually only if they’re malicious, antagonistic, and/or must be confronted or battled. (If they don't fit this description, they're more likely to be found in Psychological Horror.)

Typically, the thrills and scares of Monster Horror come from the evil acts the monster performs, as well as from the seemingly underdog status of the heroes. Where did the monster come from? How can it be defeated? Are the heroes strong/capable enough to get the job done?

The main types of scares that Monster Horror utilizes are suspense and action.

A few examples from literature and film:

• Dracula by Bram Stoker
• Frankenstein by Mary Shelley (a rare example of the monster not actually being particularly evil)
• The Resident Evil movies (which are zombie movies, but much too action-y to count as Body Horror)
• The Alien franchise of movies, books, and video games

Grind Horror

Grind Horror seems occasionally to go in and out of style. It’s not actually too terribly common in literature – typically, the visual element is simply too vital to its execution, and so is more often found in film.

The thing that separates Grind Horror from the other types is that it is over-the-top grotesque, visceral, revolting, obscene, etc. Very commonly, Grind Horror involves either a serial killer or a monster which butchers its victims in absolutely repulsive ways, and which is shown/described in explicit detail. These are the gruesome stories that often make you feel more nauseated than scared. In fact, Grind Horror often doesn’t bother that much trying to put together a meaningful story – the so-called “plot” is often just an excuse for trying to shock/disgust its consumer.

The main types of scares that Grind Horror utilizes are being shocking and disturbing.

A few examples from literature and film:

• The Saw movies (likely the most intellectual of the category - but still Grind)
• Anything Rob Zombie lays his fingers on
• Select parts of the Hannibal Lecter series by Thomas Harris (On the whole, I actually classify the Hannibal series as Thriller, not Horror. That said, though, there are definitely a few scenes – especially in the third book, Hannibal – that were of the Grind persuasion. If more parts of the books had been written along these lines, they could have feasibly ended up in Grind territory.)

(A personal note: Grind Horror is easily my least favorite type of horror. Too often it substitutes actual intelligent thrills for the mere shock value of the grotesque. Grind is sort of the “low-brow” of the Horror genre.)

Body Horror

Though I most often refer to this category as Body Horror, I admit the name could be slightly misleading. Body Horror focuses on science/medicine, abnormalities – and possibly exploitation of – anatomy, etc. There’s a lot of room for overlap between Body and Grind, but usually Body Horror won’t take things to quite as obscene of a level – and is, ideally, more story-driven. In fact, one of the elements that particularly sets Body Horror apart from the others is that it often goes out of its way to attempt to explain the science/medicine/abnormalities at the core of the story.

Stories about zombies tend to fall into this category. Most zombie stories give us an explanation for – or at least a glimpse into the beginning of – the story’s zombism: in Brooks' World War Z, it’s a variation of rabies; in Jones' Zombie Apocalypse it’s a mutation of the Black Plague that’s been lying dormant underground for several centuries; etc.

The main types of scares that Body Horror utilizes are being macabre and maybe even believable.

A few examples from literature and film:

• World War Z by Max Brooks (the book more than the film)
• Spiral by Koji Suzuki (the sequel to The Ring – which, interestingly, is more Psychological than Body Horror)
• Parasite Eve by Hideaki Sena (as well as the video game of the same name)

Psychological Horror

And, of course, I’ve saved the best for last – my personal favorite: Psychological Horror.

These are the stories that don’t bother as much with the shocks, the monsters, or the grotesque, and instead focus on the cerebral side of things. These stories often unfold more slowly than other types of horror – but the unfolding itself is highly important to the overall tone and evolution.  Psychological Horror is generally more mysterious than the other categories, and works the hardest to bring you into its world.

Psychological Horror tends to be the most focused on setting. In other types of horror, it is the elements inside of the world that create the scares. In Psychological Horror, though, the world is often one of the key sources of the story’s eeriness. Houses and buildings that may or may not be haunted; rural villages where all the villagers seem to share some sinister secret; boarding schools in which the students go missing one by one - these are all settings ripe for Psychological Horror. 

The main types of scares that Psychological Horror utilizes are emphasis on an unsettling mood, tension, and mystery.

A few examples from literature and film:

• The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson (likely the very best Psychological Horror novel in existence)
• Most of the short stories of Edgar Allan Poe
• Black Swan (Darren Aronofsky movie)
• A Tale of Two Sisters (a fantastic Korean horror movie)

Tell me, friends: of these four categories, which is your favorite?

What are some examples of books or movies that you like in one of these particular branches of horror?

Let me know!

(Oh, and also: is there a book or movie you're having trouble assigning to one of these categories? Ask away, and I'll try to help you sort it out if I'm familiar enough with it.)

Horror v. Thriller v. Mystery

In order to get started on what's going to be our very best month for literary scares, let's first take a few minutes to talk about the difference between HORRORS, THRILLERS, and MYSTERIES. There can certainly be quite a bit of overlap between the three, but they're all markedly different. So let's make sure we're clear about them.

There are many questions we can ask to guide us in the right direction, and plenty of great books we can look to for examples.

• Is there anything supernatural about the book?
• What sorts of imagery does the book contain?
• What is the overall mood of the book?
• Is there any sort of imminent threat or danger in the book?
• Is the book meant to be scary/suspenseful/dreadful?

There are plenty of well-read people out there who might disagree with these descriptions I'm about to impart. And that's okay. But this is how I, at least, view the genres, and, therefore, this is how I will be using these words throughout this blog.

MYSTERY

Perhaps the easiest of the three genres to define is Mystery. No doubt the most common examples of Mystery that we come across are murder mysteries, though of course murder doesn't have to be at the heart of it, nor does it have to be the main/only thing that is trying to be unraveled.

Unlike Thrillers and Horror, Mysteries will often only focus on one or two individual crimes - or a series of crimes - which have already been committed (or are committed in the early pages of the book), rather than an ongoing threat throughout the book. By and large, the focus is on figuring out the who, why, and/or how of the ordeal. Mysteries could theoretically be scary or unsettling, but it's not at all a requisite - in fact, I would say it's not altogether that common.

Mysteries will usually not have anything supernatural, nor are they likely to feature a particularly dreadful mood.

A great example of a Mystery (which I'll be reviewing for you very soon), is The Tokyo Zodiac Murders. At the core of the book is a series of eight murders, all of which happened decades ago. Now, our protagonists are trying to solve the crimes out of, frankly, idle amusement. There are no imminent threats, no deadlines, no reason our heroes must solve the crimes (or else risk the murders continue, etc.). They're just a couple of guys who want to solve these unsolved murders. Zodiac is a great mystery, but there's really nothing scary about it.

THRILLERS

Thrillers are sort of a mixed-breed of the arena, and perhaps the most difficult/subjective to define of the three.

A common type of Thriller that we find is the serial-killer murder. These often include many of the same tropes as Mystery, but with the added element of imminent danger: the hero must discover who the killer is, otherwise he'll kill again soon.

A highly popular series of such Thrillers is the Hannibal Lecter series by Thomas Harris. Each of the books (okay, okay - I only read the first three, so I can't say much about Hannibal Rising) deals with a different serial killer - each quite gruesome, in fact - who is on the loose and who poses an immediate threat to society if he isn't stopped. Not only is there a mystery to unravel, it must be done imminently.

Aside from this type of Thriller, books in the genre can also be more focused on psychological dread, rather than merely solving a crime. There's almost inevitably a sense of deep mystery, but it doesn't necessarily need to be about any sort of crime - just the sheer unsettling nature of the situation as a whole. Also, though a Thriller can include supernatural elements, more often it won't.

A fantastic example of this sort of Thriller is Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane. An inpatient on an island-bound mental facility suddenly vanishes one day, and two detectives go to the island to investigate. A runaway? A murder? A conspiracy? The book is positively dripping with psychological dread, uncanny occurrences, and mystery upon mystery about what exactly is going on in the facility. (And my goodness, it's an amazing book - definitely one you should check out this month.)

HORROR

Of the three genres discussed here, Horror has a few key elements that really separate it from the pack. There are lots of sub-genres of Horror (which I'll go into in a later blog), but there are a few tropes that most all the sub-genres have in common.

For one, though a Horror story doesn't require any sort of supernatural element, it's the most likely of the three to contain the supernatural. Sometimes this is in obvious ways, such as monster horror: vampires, werewolves, zombies, etc. Sometimes, the supernatural is more subtle - in fact, one of the plot points may be that we're not entirely sure if there really is anything supernatural in play. Can the cult actually perform black magic, or is it all parlor tricks? Is it really a ghost in the attic? Is the girl possessed by a demon, or suffering from a mental illness?

As well, though Thrillers generally contain more dread than Mysteries, Horror will almost always up the stakes even more. (Now you can see why I decided to describe the three in this order. 😉) And, like Thrillers, most Horror will contain some sort of imminent danger for the heroes - if not for the community, or even the entire world.

The overall mood of a Horror will generally be much darker, scarier, more unsettling, and more foreboding than a Mystery or Thriller, and will usually contain the most grotesque - and sometimes even downright repulsive - imagery and settings.

There are certainly many great Horrors we can look to for examples of the genre: Dracula, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, most of Stephen King's and H.P. Lovecraft's writings.



Of course it's very likely you already knew all of this. But just in case you were wondering - even if only occasionally - why I will label a book one way instead of another, I hope this little reference helps.

Guilty Pleasures, pt. 1.5 / REVIEW: DEATHNOTE: Another Note - The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases - NISIOISIN

• Year first released:  2006 (Japanese), 2008 (English)
• ISBN of the edition I read:  9781421518831
• Publisher of the edition I read: VIZ Media LLC
• My rating (out of 5): 4.5-ish. or maybe 2ish. hmm... 

Now I want to explain to you one of the reasons I’ve been thinking about guilty pleasures recently:

Just last week, I read the Japanese light novel DEATHNOTE: Another Note - The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases by NISIOISIN. As usual, after reading it, I sat down to write a review of it for you. I found that I was rather stuck, though.

First of all, I absolutely LOVED the book. But when I tried to discuss the book’s style, I had to admit that it’s, frankly, pretty badly written. (I believe that some of this was bad translation, but definitely not all of it.*) It had a constantly shifting POV that was more than a little distracting. To add to this, the first-person narrator played a rather confusing role in the story, one that I don’t think I can definitively explain for you. This is largely because I don’t think I fully understood who the narrator was supposed to be – in fact, to be even more blunt, it felt like the author made a mistake in who the narrator, as a character, is in the overall DEATHNOTE universe. Oops. 

Perhaps, then, I loved the book because it had such great content (even though the form was bad) …right?

Well, partly yes. The plot was great, and had a killer ending. (No pun intended – I mean, it’s a serial-killer mystery, after all.) But what I certainly loved most about the book was the character L (who you’ll know if you’ve read the DEATHNOTE manga or seen the corresponding anime). Revisiting his character – and in prose, instead of only manga or anime form – was an absolute delight. He’s every bit as fantastic and hilarious and genius here as he was in the manga/anime. Very possibly my favorite character to have come out of the genre as a whole.

So then. When I tried to give a numerical score to the book, I wanted to give it a 4.5.

I realized, though, that this score is actually rather misleading. This book doesn’t really deserve a 4.5, for many of the reasons I already described (amongst several others). 

Yet I totally loved the book. It was an absolute blast for me. And so calling it anything less than a 4.5 feels wrong, too.

It turns out that the book is great, but it's not actually good.

Weird, I know.

Another Note was not high-quality. But dang it if it wasn’t one of the funnest books I’ve read recently – and, therefore, worth every minute I spent with it.**

* * * 

*This is actually the second book I've read by NISIOISIN in the past couple weeks. Each had a different translator. Both translations were fine - nothing entirely remarkable or entirely egregious - but overall I think the other book, Decapitation, flowed a little better as far as the translation is concerned.

**By the way, if you’re thinking of reading this book, it’s highly advisable that you read the original DEATHNOTE manga or watch the anime first. This is because:

1. Even though this book is a prequel to the manga/anime series, it actually contains spoilers for the series. 
2. The series is a better “jumping-off-point” to getting a grasp on L’s character. This book itself doesn’t do much of anything to help you understand his personality; it’s better to come to the book with a good feel for it already. (And, again, since L is my favorite part of the book, approaching the manga/anime first will almost certainly increase your enjoyment of this book.)

All that said, if you are familiar with the tropes of DEATHNOTE and are considering this book: Yes. Absolutely. Read this - just know that it's not as "high-quality" as many other great books you could be reading. (In fact, I might even say it's not as "high-quality" as the manga itself, even though it's still totally worth it - especially if, like me, you realize how amazing L is.)

Guilty Pleasures, pt. 1

(Don't worry; this will only be a one-and-a-half part series, not five like The Art of Translation. 😏)

It had to come up sometime.

What’s up with so-called “guilty pleasures”? Is that even a real thing? Is it okay to read them? Is it okay to admit that you read them?

You may have noticed from this blog that I’m rather into literature of a “higher quality,” so to speak: classics, award-winners, literary fiction (instead of genre fiction*), foreign literature, etc. This is what I spend most of my time reading. I’m careful to analyze a book’s form (more than its content), will praise all sorts of aspects of writing (not just “Yeah, the book was fun/cool/clever, I guess.”), often sprinkle my thoughts with references to other books and writers, etc.

Despite this, though, the answer to all of the above is: yes, they exist; yes, it’s okay to read them; and yes, it’s okay to admit that you read them. Of course it is! Gotta do what you love, right?

As I’ve stated once or twice before, if I’m not reading to learn, I’m reading to be entertained or inspired. And dang it if “guilty pleasures” aren’t entertaining. Sometimes all I’m in the mood for is a fun book that’ll make me smile or laugh without requiring any sort of depth as I approach it. In fact, odd though it may sound, sometimes it's great to read for fun as a break from reading for analysis. 

Crazy, I know.

So what qualifies as a “guilty pleasure,” anyway?

I suppose the easy answer to this is: a book (or movie, video game, song, etc. though I’m not really thinking about those right now) which isn’t really “high-quality,” so to speak, but is highly enjoyable anyway. Or we could say it's a book that we like more than it, per se, deserves to be liked.

Of course there can be exceptions to that description (and some people might take offense to it, though I promise none is intended), but it’s close enough for us to work with for now.

For sure guilty pleasures can go too far sometimes. Fifty Shades of Grey should never be read by anyone ever, even if you're only approaching it as a "guilty pleasure." No no no. Please read anything else in the history of ever. Ever. I mean: ever. Like, EVER. No really.

But on the whole, taking a break from the depth and the analysis and the captivatingly intellectual can be refreshing, right?

I'll give you an overarching example (then a couple specific examples).

Though I haven't yet discussed it in this realm, I love horror. (I'll be sure to share LOTS of thoughts on the matter in the future. Hehe...) That said, there are very very precious few horror books that I (or most people, I would argue) would actually consider to be "high quality." The overwhelmingly vast majority of horror novels are really nothing more than...well, guilty pleasures. There are plenty of exceptions, of course, especially amongst the classics: Dracula, Frankenstein, the works of Edgar Allan Poe. But these days, most horror is more enjoyable than it is intellectually gratifying.

(By the way, I could actually say the same thing about Sci-Fi, Fantasy, and Mystery; I merely decided to focus on Horror for a moment there.)

And that's okay.

I'm also a sucker for novelizations of video-games - or, at least, books that are based on/take place in video game universes. A couple favorites are Bioshock by John Shirley and Darksiders: The Abomination Vault by Ari Marmell. Are they going to win awards? Were they written exceptionally well? Absolutely not. But they sure as heck were fun. And even though I know a lot of these aren't going to be good, I still can't help but pick them up when I go to Barnes & Noble.


What about you, friends? What are some guilty pleasures that you read/enjoy? (But please don't tell me if it's Fifty Shades of Grey.)

* * *

* This may surprise you, my claim that I read more general literary fiction as opposed to genre fiction (mystery, sci-fi, etc.). If you look at the number of my reviews for genre fiction, they add up to more than the general fiction, at least as of the time I'm writing this. That said, though, I'll ask you to keep a couple things in mind:

1. I'm trying to give you a good variety of reviews. I'd hate to only give you one type of review, or reviews for only one type of book.
2. I'm not posting the reviews for every single book I read, nor even in the order I read them. In fact, I've only reviewed for you a little over half of the books I've actually read since I first began this blog several weeks ago. (I'm sort of working on some of the others, but these things take time, you know.)