Victor Hugo and Company

When I was twelve and playing Authors with my friends, Victor Hugo was a major literary figure, but so too were Stevenson and Longfellow. After many years in the study of literature, Hugo (and Stevenson and Longfell0w) were moved to a lesser rung and received that academic curse that relegates them to the wire rack down and the drugstore .. popular writers. Many people rebel against this somewhat subjective (but hardly permanent) designation: there are good reasons why Stephen King is not dominating the Freshman syllabus in the English Department at the University. Unfortunately too many readers blame the academics for not recognizing the wealth of literary excellence to be found in Harry Potter. I’m certain I could find a dozen readers who would insist that Fifty Shades of Gray be taught in an honors seminary at the university (in the English Department, not Health Sciences). Fifty or a hundred years from now if Anne Rice is still remembered, her works just might be read, studied, and overanalyzed by academics … but a safer bet would be that no one will remember Anne Rice.

Continue reading “Victor Hugo and Company”

The Cool Ghoul Abides

For whatever reason, I have never responded to Horror genre fiction (at least not since Zacherley’s Midnight Snacks). When we stayed up to watch Chiller Theater on Saturday nights, those classic Universal horror movies were fresh and downright scary. Of course after seeing The Mummy for the sixteenth time, it loses some of its fright factor. It’s interesting that I once found movies scary but it never seemed to work in literature. The last book I read that had me in a sweat was James Dickey’s Deliverance which was almost as scary as James Dickey.

So is it any wonder that I don’t find anything of value in Stephen King? He’s boring and not good enough a writer to make me forget how silly his narrative is.  I did read the first Anne Rice—Interview with the Vampire— with some interest. But then I made the mistake of assuming the author was onto something and agonizingly slugged my way through the first half of her second vampire novel before fighting off the horrid writing and casting it into the pit under the sink. I haven’t done a scientific study but I believe Rice mentions blood more than Rowling mentions quidditch … but it’s close and could go the either way.

I have read and reread the standards of horror—Frankenstein, Dracula, House on Haunted Hill, Tales of Cthulhu, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Rosemary’s Baby, The Day of the Locusts, and various copies of the Fortean Times—all without a shudder or a grimace. They all remind me of a very silly joke that went around when I was in fourth grade:  “Do you want to hear a dirty story?” [the audience moves in close and begins to pant] … “A boy runs around the corner and falls in a mud puddle.” [groans of disappointment]. Horror stories have a similar effect on me.

So I’m trying to make a list of the books I read that I found even moderately scary. Did I mention Deliverance? I’m stuck … any ideas?