Horror Literature through History

by Matt Cardin

  Much of the horror in the novel comes during the interstitial episodes, as when Durtal recounts the crimes of Gilles de Rais. In Chapter XI Durtal describes how, after a particularly shocking episode, de Rais stumbled through a Brittany forest. The vegetation seems to mutate in the most horrible manner: “It seemed that nature perverted itself before him [de Rais], that his very presence depraved it” (Huysmans 1972, 106). This hallucinatory experience is among the most terrifying in the book. Another disturbing subnarrative is in Chapter IX, when the astrologer Gévingey conveys chilling details regarding incubi and succubi.

  Durtal’s seduction by the “femme fatale” Chantelouve becomes a metaphor for his spiritual corruption: “‘For this, basically, is what Satanism is,’ said Durtal to himself. ‘The external semblance of the Demon is a minor matter. He has no need of exhibiting himself in human or bestial form to attest his presence. For him to prove himself, it is enough that he chooses a domicile in souls which he ulcerates and incites to inexplicable crimes’” (106).

  Durtal becomes convinced he has been cursed by the leader of a local satanic cult, the defrocked abbot Canon Docre. He turns to the mysterious Dr. Johannès, a “Doctor of Theology,” for supernatural protection. The novel climaxes in Chapter XIX with a horrific description of a Black Mass, “a madhouse, a monstrous pandemonium of prostitutes and maniacs” (249).

  The novel is autobiographical: its three sequels document Huysmans’s conversion to Catholicism. This is foreshadowed at the end of Là-Bas when the bell ringer says: “On earth all is dead and decomposed. But in heaven! . . . The future is certain. There will be light” (287).

  Steven J. Mariconda

  See also: Devils and Demons; Incubi and Succubi; Lovecraft, H. P.

  Further Reading

  Baldick, Robert. 1955. The Life of J.-K. Huysmans. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

  Cevasco, George A. 1980. J.-K. Huysmans: A Reference Guide. Boston: G. K. Hall.

  Huysmans, J. K. [1928] 1972. Là-bas (Down There). New York: Dover.

  Ridge, George Ross. 1968. Joris-Karl Huysmans. New York: Twayne.

  THE DARK DOMAIN

  In 1986, Miroslaw Lipinski, a Polish American translator based in New York City, published a home-printed journal, The Grabiński Reader. It contained translations of two stories by the early twentieth-century Polish writer of the fantastic, Stefan Grabiński: “The Area” and “Strabismus.” These were the first translations of Grabiński’s work into English. Over the next few years, Lipinski published more Grabiński translations in further issues of The Grabiński Reader and in small press anthologies. Then, in 1993, Lipinski’s Grabiński translations were collected in The Dark Domain, published by UK-based independent press Dedalus.

  The Dark Domain contains stories from a number of Grabiński’s collections, all from his period of peak productivity and acclaim between 1918 and 1922, including some from his themed collections: three from The Motion Demon (1919), which collected his railway stories, and one from The Book of Fire (1922).

  “In the Compartment,” which is from The Motion Demon, shows Grabiński’s fusing of Henri Bergson’s theory of élan vital—the idea that there is an internal vital impetus behind life’s processes—with scientific theories of motion. It is a story of Godziemba, ordinarily timid, a day-dreamer and a sluggard, who, when riding on locomotives, is transformed by “train neurosis” into a man of dynamism, pugnacity, sexual prowess, and murderous impulse.

  Another story, “Saturnin Sektor,” deals with Bergson’s notion of time as continuous and indivisible. A mad watchmaker seems to split his personality to argue with himself about the nature of time—in his new persona, for perpetual duration; in his old, as Saturnin Sektor, for the division of time into hours, minutes, and seconds. The tale ends with the watchmaker dead, possibly a suicide, and all the clocks in town stopped at the moment of his passing.

  In the tale “The Area,” Grabiński formulates a fictional counterpart, an obscure visionary writer, Wrzesmian, whose work, unlike that of other authors, which is always tied to the real world, is totally fantastic, disunited from reality, and free of influences, allusions, and allegories. But even this leaves him unsatisfied, and, led by a theory that any thought or fiction, no matter how audacious or insane, can one day be materialized, he abandons words as a creative medium and turns to projecting his psyche onto an abandoned mansion across the street from his rooms. He calls forth from the eerie house frail figures, who, when he crosses over to investigate, demand his blood and tear him apart. This story can be read as an allegory of Grabiński’s own approach to composition, and perhaps also of his fear that his writings would somehow cause him harm.

  Lipinski’s original journal and small press translations of Grabiński were favorably noticed by writers such as Robert Bloch, Colin Wilson, and Thomas Ligotti. The Dark Domain received extremely positive reviews, especially in the weird fiction scene. Prominent admirers of the collection include China Miéville and Mark Samuels. Grabiński’s influence continues to grow, and more translations, from Lipinski and others, have resulted.

  Timothy J. Jarvis

  See also: Bloch, Robert; Grabiński, Stefan; Ligotti, Thomas.

  Further Reading

  Lipinski, Miroslaw. 2005. Introduction to The Dark Domain by Stefan Grabiński, 7–12. London: Dedalus Books.

  Lipinski, Miroslaw. 2012. The Stefan Grabiński Website. January 9. http://www.stefangrabinski.org.

  DARK FANTASY

  Dark fantasy is a loose designation for fiction that mixes elements of the fantasy and horror genres. While this much is clear, any attempt at a stricter definition will run into difficulties. The proportions may vary, with the “dark fantasy” label encompassing both fantasy stories with horrific aspects and horror stories with fantastic aspects, but overall the tendency in the genre is toward a blending of wonder and horror, beauty and ugliness. It might be said that writers of dark fantasy are indifferent to the question of whether their work should be considered horror or fantasy.

  There are a number of avenues critics can follow in a search for a more exact definition. For example, they may think about the importance of story outcomes in both genres. As most fantasies seem to possess uplifting endings, it may be that dark fantasy could be defined as fantasy of a more tragic variety, tending toward depressing or bittersweet endings. Some horror stories have more or less happy endings, in which evil is vanquished, yet this does not induce critics generally to regard them as belonging to any special or separate category like dark fantasy. Such stories are simply “lighter” horror stories.

  The importance of dreams in both genres is also marked, so critics in search of a definition may look to dreams for a clue. Dreamlike horror fiction is, however, not typically considered dark fantasy either, as delirium and hallucination are common elements of horror fiction properly speaking; however, if the dream has some concrete or consistent aspect, such as locations, place names, and objects, and if that dream is not a vision of any preexisting other world, such as the conventional hell or a familiar, clichéd version of the afterlife, but something original to the tale, then it would be more appropriate to consider it dark fantasy. The otherworld of the Cenobites in Clive Barker’s The Hellbound Heart (which inspired the Hellraiser films) might be close enough to a realization of the religiously canonical hell to push the story out of the genre of dark fantasy. George MacDonald’s 1858 novel Phantastes, on the other hand, is a haunting vision of a psychedelic pastoral England. While it resembles some earlier works, the dreamlike, pagan landscape MacDonald creates is more an aesthetic idea than a religious convention, and, since horror is secondary to wonder in Phantastes, it is probably more appropriate to label it dark fantasy rather than horror.

  Setting, another important aspect for both genres, is also sometimes used to help define dark fantasy. Dark fantasy may be defined as fantasy fiction with a Gothic setting, or with a setting with at least a few Gothic features that play a significant role in the story. Since Gothic hor
ror is already its own genre, dark fantasy might be defined as more modern horror fiction that nevertheless reaches back to Gothic settings.

  While dark fantasy is often associated with antiheroes, the mere presence of an antihero is not enough in itself to make a story dark fantasy. It is not clear, for example, that John Gardner’s 1971 novel Grendel, a retelling of the story of Beowulf from the point of view of the monster, would be called dark fantasy. It might be more correct to think of dark fantasy as fantasy in which the storytellers themselves have taken up an antiheroic point of view. The attitude of the writers of dark fantasy may be the most distinctive feature of the genre, as most dark fantasy stories reflect a skepticism or pessimism about fantasy that is not typical of the nondark style.

  Michael Cisco

  See also: The Dark Tower; Dreams and Nightmares; The Drowning Girl; Gaiman, Neil; Grant, Charles L.; Kiernan, Caitlín R.; New Weird; The Night Land; Smith, Clark Ashton; Vathek; Wagner, Karl Edward.

  Further Reading

  Hoppenstand, Gary. 2004. “Francis Stevens: The Woman Who Invented Dark Fantasy.” Introduction to The Nightmare and Other Tales of Dark Fantasy by Francis Stevens, edited by Gary Hoppenstand, ix–xxv. Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press.

  Kaveney, Roz. 2012. “Dark Fantasy and Paranormal Romance.” In The Cambridge Companion to Fantasy Literature, edited by Edward James and Farah Mendlesohn, 214–224. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

  Roberts, Caryn G. 2000. “Dark Fantasy.” In The Prentice Hall Anthology of Science Fiction and Fantasy, 31–32. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall.

  DARK GODS

  In addition to his singular novel, The Ceremonies (1984), T. E. D. Klein has garnered fame as a horror writer from the reputation of Dark Gods, his 1985 collection of sinister short stories. Though these tales, on the surface of it, are wholly unconnected, some of their pervading themes are interestingly drawn together by the volume’s title, which hints at the existence of monstrous deities. In each of these stories, their is the ominous sense that the Christian God (or indeed a benevolent god of any kind) is nowhere to be found; instead, it is gradually suggested—or revealed—that humans are at the mercy of darker, more malevolent, and ancient forces.

  The stories in this collection vividly illustrate why Klein is considered a “master of the horror genre” (Mariconda 1986, 28). Moreover, they serve to highlight some of his favorite and most recurrent themes. In each, he masterfully interweaves primordial horrors with the mundaneness of modernity—hinting, darkly, that people are naïve to assume that their more ancient superstitions are today outmoded. Klein has stated that he believes horror literature is, or should be, “a tradition-conscious genre” (Tibbetts 2011, 51), and his love and knowledge of the field ensures a consistent intertextual quality to his work. Just as The Ceremonies is an homage to Gothic literature, and most especially to Arthur Machen, Dark Gods pays tribute to many of the literary masters of horror and is most consciously indebted to the works of H. P. Lovecraft. Klein’s own style is distinguished by the deliberate vagueness of his horror; there is very little overt violence or monstrosity, as instead he delivers his own brand of the macabre through a series of ominous hints and portents. For the most part, he consciously withholds his monsters, giving only vague and horrible outlines, which readers must then color in themselves with their most personal anxieties. His specialty lies in what Mariconda has called “atmospheric tension” (20); he masterfully creates, in each of these tales, a haunting and tangible ambience of dread.

  The collection is comprised of four stories in total. The first of these, “Children of the Kingdom,” centers on the filthy—and supernatural—underbelly of modern-day New York. The narrator, who is interestingly named Mr. Klein, has just placed his grandfather in a rest home. Through his grandfather, he comes to know Father Pistachio, an elderly priest who harbors strange and sinister notions about the origins of humanity. This priest believes, vehemently, that we all originated in Central America, where we lived happily until the sudden arrival of the “Xo Tl’mi-go,” or “usurpadores”: a monstrous race that is part human, part tapeworm. He claims that humans only left America and spread out across the earth as a result of trying to flee these creatures and their lust-driven violence. Slowly, the reader is presented with evidence to suggest these monsters’ continued existence. It transpires that they dwell just beneath us, in the sewers below the cities, and emerge only in the darkness to commit their atrocities. In the climax of the story, there is a citywide blackout during which the usurpadores horrifyingly emerge en masse. When the light returns, no one can describe exactly what has occurred in the darkness, though several of the women in the city have been impregnated in the night. These monsters are merely glimpsed—the reader knows only that they are cold, white, wet, and webbed—and consequently, they are all the more terrifying.

  The second tale, “Petey,” follows the story of George and Phyllis, a young couple who have just purchased a huge, isolated, and mysterious home. The story unfolds on the evening of their housewarming party. It transpires that the property was purchased, at great reduction, through underhand means: its previous occupant, an unstable recluse, was forcibly evicted to enable its sale. When he was dragged from his home, this recluse, who had no family at all, screamed repeatedly for his “son,” as he was certain that “Petey” would come to his aid. Who or what “Petey” is, is only gradually revealed by fragmented and unnerving details: the reader discovers the nature of this monstrous entity primarily through a fairy tale and a tarot deck. The fairy tale tells of a lonely farmer who grows a companion—the “Petit Diablo,” or “Little Devil”—who is born with the harvest. Meanwhile, one tarot card, which is out of place in its deck, shows a strange, shapeless entity from behind. This card is repeatedly shown, and the reader discovers, to his or her horror, that its subject gradually turns toward its percipient. The tale ends with George seeing that the monster on the card has now turned to face him fully . . . at the exact same moment that there is a sudden and thunderous knocking at his door. It is implied that the insidious monster, “Petey,” is now born and has now arrived to exact his “father’s” revenge. This is the monster from the fairy tale, and the screams of “Petey” were in fact of “Petit” as the wronged recluse summoned his creation.

  The third tale, “Black Man with a Horn,” centers on an old man and the interest he takes in the evil ways of an ancient Malaysian tribe, the Chauchas. His interest is sparked by a meeting with a stranger, the Reverend Mortimer. Mortimer, who is returning from Malaysia, believes he has been targeted by this ancient tribe, who have set a demon on him—the titular Black Man with a Horn, or “shugaron” in the native tongue. Soon enough, the reverend mysteriously disappears—leaving only a few fragments of lung tissue behind him—and the protagonist sets out to discover the reverend’s fate. He studies the history of the “shugaron” and discovers that it is not, in fact, a “black man with a horn,” but a monster with a horn-like mouth, designed to violently suck its victims and turn their lungs inside out. Once again, the reader does not see this monster directly, but increasingly fears its proximity. The protagonist realizes, by the end of the tale, that he is the demon’s next intended victim.

  “Nadelman’s God,” the final tale in the collection, won the World Fantasy Award for Best Novella in 1986 and is heralded by many as Klein’s greatest piece of horror fiction. The story follows the protagonist, Nadelman, and his interactions with a young man named Arlen Huntoon, who reads one of Nadelman’s poems and becomes obsessed with its content. Huntoon believes that the poem, which is about an alternative and wholly malignant god, is no work of fiction; to his mind, it is a “cookbook” for creating hideous disciples to serve this monstrous divinity. Consequently, he follows the poem’s “instructions” and builds his very own terrifying effigy. Huntoon is soon killed and then Nadelman is haunted by this hideous statue. It is uncertain, even at the end, if Huntoon is simply mad, or if his twisted religion is in some w
ay real: in other words, the reader has no idea if Nadelman’s god—a truly monstrous deity we never actually see—is in any way real. This eerie little tale preys, hauntingly, on the dreamer’s paranoia: what if, asks Klein, in imagining monsters, we are truly creating them?

  Dark Gods illustrates the terrifying vagueness of horror for which Klein is renowned. In each of these tales, he posits truly frightening entities, each of which is merely glimpsed peripherally—and consequently embeds itself all the more deeply in the reader’s subconscious. With each story, it becomes increasingly apparent that humans are now devoid of an omniscient and benevolent deity: they are all at the mercy of dark gods indeed.

  Elizabeth Parker

  See also: The Ceremonies; Klein, T. E. D.; Machen, Arthur; Monsters.

  Further Reading

  Mariconda, Steven J. 1986. “The Hints and Portents of T. E. D. Klein.” Studies in Weird Fiction, Vol. 1 (Summer), 19–28.

  Tibbetts, John C. 2011. “Certain Things Associated with the Night: T. E. D. Klein.” In The Gothic Imagination: Conversations on Fantasy, Horror, and Science Fiction in the Media, 51–54. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

  THE DARK TOWER

  The Dark Tower is a series of books by Stephen King comprising eight volumes published between 1982 and 2012. The main narrative comprises The Gunslinger (1982), The Drawing of the Three (1987), The Waste Lands (1991), Wizard and Glass (1997), The Wolves of the Calla (2003), The Song of Susanna (2004), and The Dark Tower (2004). In addition, there is the novel The Wind Through the Keyhole (2012).

  Drawing on Robert Browning’s epic poem “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came” (1855), King’s story tells of Roland Deschain, a gunslinger in a dying land called Mid-World, who is on a quest to find the Dark Tower, the nexus of all creation. Around the tower coalesce a series of beams that bind an infinite number of parallel universes. Those beams are dying, which will make the Tower fall and mean the end of everything. Roland is aided by a group of fellow travelers, known as ka-tet, drawn via mystic doors from New York City as it exists in various worlds and times. They are Eddie from the 1980s, Susanna from the 1960s, and Jake from the 1970s. With them is Oy, a raccoon-like creature from Mid-World.