The Strange Pleasures of
Obsessive Dread- Victorian and Contemporary Horror
By Catherine Stine
I love
horror, more and more. I blame it on my father who read me Edgar Allen Poe
stories for bedtime when I was only eight or nine. Thanks, Dad. No, really!
Edgar
Allen Poe, Mary Shelley and Christina Rossetti—these were some of the greatest
Victorian masters of horror. They wrote during a time of extreme suppression of
the passions. Ironically, this repressive mood inspired a huge outpouring of
dark, gritty, evocative literature. Passions manage to burst out of people no
matter how buried.
In 1818,
Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein, the quintessential
misunderstood antihero. He was hideous and committed murderous acts, yet he had
a human, breakable heart and sadly, understood how hideous he was. Shelley is
credited with being the very first science-fiction author. Quite impressive for
the time period when women were trussed in girdles and long, cumbersome skirts,
and rarely had jobs much less illustrious careers.
Edgar
Allen Poe is another master of mounting dread, with his ticking clocks, ghastly
secrets, and moldering corpses in walled up sections of cellars. In his short
stories The House of Usher and The Black Cat Poe wrote of an alcoholic’s
nightmarish visions that might make even sane men murder cats and move crusty
houses to snap to life.
Christina
Rossetti’s brilliant poem The Goblin Market is a favorite dark Victorian gem.
At first the plump little goblins selling fruits seem spunky and cute, but
later, when the young women turn down their offers of treats, they become quite
nasty. Many determine that the goblins’ aggressive behavior was a Victorian caution
to women against considering sex with strange men. Here are some lines. See
what you think:
No longer wagging, purring, but
visibly demurring,
Grunting and snarling. One call’d
her proud,
Cross-grain’d, uncivil; their
tones wax’d loud,
Their looks were evil.
Lashing their tails, they trod
and hustled her,
Elbow’d and jostled her, claw’d
with their nails,
Barking, mewing, hissing,
mocking,
Tore her gown and soil’d her
stocking,
Twitch’d her hair out by the
roots,
Stamp’d upon her tender feet,
Held her hands and squeez’d their
fruits
Against her mouth to make her
eat.
So, in
Victorian times, people shared a dread of lurid, passionate sex,
alcoholic-fueled visions, and creeping lunacy. In my young adult horror, Dorianna, I examine a very contemporary anxiety
that emerged from social media: the dread of never having enough followers,
enough Likes on Facebook, enough people Friending and following your Instagrams
and Pinterest boards. It is also the hollow feeling that comes with sensing that
the real problem lies way underneath—a psychological horror of alienation,
loneliness, being left out of the party. With Dorianna, the problem also lies
in what happens when she actually gets followers—a
mega-ton of them—but those rampaging followers
have a very different agenda than she ever imagined. Here’s a snippet from Dorianna where she’s talking about her
next party, organized online:
I
spoon in a hunk of chocolate and let it slide luxuriously down my throat.
Lately, I’m so famished. For food, for clothes, for fans. Nothing ever seems to
fill me up.
“Can’t
wait to hear.” Bailey licks whipped cream off her spoon. “How many RSVPs do we
have now?” she asks. The evite went out a week ago.
“This
morning we had three hundred sixty-two yeses.”
“Holy
Moly!” Bailey’s jaw drops. I study the oozy chocolate blobs floating on her
tongue. “How will we cram all those people in my loft?”
“It’s
a good problem, right?”
“Uh,
yeah, if we had a stadium. Seriously, Mom will freak, and she’s normally very
mellow. Where are they all coming from?”
“Mostly
from a friend who goes to a school in Fort Greene.”
“Dorianna,
we need to shut this thing down—take it offline.”
“We
can’t do that.” Five thousand fan page followers and three hundred sixty-two attendees
is not enough. No way. I can’t wait until the third event, where I’m going to
bust it wide open.
As Simon Cowell of American Idol judge fame
said: The
ratings come in, you’re happy for five minutes, then the insecure madness comes.
What
modern obsession or dread do you think would make a good theme for a horror
novel?
***
DORIANNA
Catherine Stine
Contemporary/Paranormal Teen Romance
Released October 24, 2014
Internet followers, beauty, power. It all sounded good. Until
it transformed into a terrifying reality Dorianna couldn’t stop.
When her father is jailed, her mother ships Dorianna to her
aunt’s house. Dorianna yearns to build a new identity, but the popular Lacey
bullies her—mostly for getting attention from her ex, Ander.
Ander takes Dorianna to Coney Island where Wilson, a videographer,
creates a stunning compilation of her. She dreams of being an online sensation,
tired of being plain and lonely, and vows she’d give anything to go viral.
Wilson claims he’s the Prince of Darkness and offers her the beauty and fame
she's dreamed of—warning her that a pledge has its downsides. Dorianna
has no idea of how dire those consequences might be.
Buy links: Evernight Teen Amazon
Excerpt:
On the way to my new school, I catch a glimpse of my face
in a shop mirror. Even though I hate mirrors, I force myself to look. No one
needs to remind me I’m plain.
Leaning forward, I examine my pale skin with its tracery
of blue underneath. It looks like granny spider veins. And I never smile all
the way. That would expose my wonky teeth—one front tooth slightly over the other.
My hair’s limp, but it’s auburn with peachy highlights.
I’ve got that going for me, at least. Lifting up a lock, I admire its warm glow
in the September sun. And there’s still a hint of eagerness in my eyes––they
haven’t knocked that out of me. It’s hope, whispering, “Maybe this place will
be different. Maybe they won’t walk past me as if I’m floating dust.”
I’ve been here in Brooklyn for four days, shuffled away
from family chaos to my Aunt Carol’s house. She’s nice so far, but I don’t
really know her. It’s too bad we could never afford to fly east for family
reunions. I do know she’s a fundraiser for a public radio station, and owns one
floor in a brownstone. And that she eats vegetarian, and neatly folds the
nubbly throws on her earth-tone Pottery Barn couch.
And she’s the sister of my screw-up father.
I’m not sorry I left Wabash. School there was a train
wreck. It got so lonely, watching the reigning couples kissing their way down
the halls. I wanted someone’s arms around me, too, or at least another good
friend after Jen. But it wasn’t meant to be, after gossip spread that my father
was sent to jail for committing moral turpitude. My mom took to her bed, and I
took over. We were struck with loss and horror and shock all at once. Mom
needed me last spring. I tried to help in any way I could, until she insisted
that I needed a total break from the family. Or was it Mom who needed the
break?
I’m going to suck it up. I am. If she needs
the break, she can have it. Maybe I need one, too. I’m determined to pump
myself up to face a different army of kids.
Ambling down Montague Street, past the cute boutiques, I
soak in the balmy September sun and survey my new stomping grounds. These
Brooklyn streets are as delicious as strawberry shortcake. The narrow shops are
a wonder of necklaces, handmade with glass bits and bottle tops, and leafy
bracelets fashioned from green computer chips.
The caffeine-laced scents wafting from the cyber café draw
me in. As I walk by, I sneak looks at the lean, fox-quick boys with scruffy
hair, low-slung belts, and tees that read Neon Pandas and Oubliettes
of Onyx. Bands I’ve never heard of, since out in Hoosier Land they mostly
play country music.
I smile, picturing myself talking to a slinky boy who
makes me my very own playlist—he’d call it Songs for a Brooklyn Beauty. A
girl can dream, right?
Turning down Court Street, a woman breezes past me in a
black jumpsuit. Another dramatic beauty in thigh-high boots floats by, with two
dachshunds tugging against their pink leashes. As I glance back at her, I
imagine her working as a Broadway actress, dancing across a stage in those fancy
boots.
Just then, one of her dogs works free of her grasp, and
streaks into the street. “Hey!” I call. “Hey, pup!” I dash after it, grab the
pink leather strap, and coax it back toward the curb as a bakery van careens
around the corner, the driver pounding on his horn.
The booted lady runs over to me. “Thanks so much!” she
says, breathless.
“Happy to help. Couldn’t let your sweet dog be hit.” Our
eyes meet as I hand her the leash, and her smile touches me. I watch for
another moment as she walks demurely on.
Everything here vibrates with possibility, if I block out
my dread of school. It’s my chance to figure out who I want to be, which I
couldn’t quite do back home. I can’t wait to let my old, stale-kernel life rot
on the vine, and start over.
Reading the sign on a red colonial stone building, I sway
with sudden trepidation: School. Ivy sprints up its scholarly walls, and its
walkway is marked with marble planters. Each one bursts with purple
chrysanthemums, as if this is the cheeriest high school ever. I’m here, no
turning back. Look, you’re smart, I tell myself, you tested in and
even got a scholarship here. Maybe private school kids are easier on new
students. Unlikely, but I’ll give it my best.
Author Bio:
Catherine
Stine’s YA novels span the range from science fiction to dark fantasy to modern
horror. Her futuristic thriller, Fireseed One was a
finalist in YA and SF in the USA News International Book Awards and an Indie
Reader Approved notable. Its companion novel, Ruby’s Fire was
a finalist in the Next Generation Indie Awards. She also writes new adult
fiction as Kitsy Clare, and her Art of
Love series (Model Position and Private Internship) is about Sienna’s
artistic perils in NYC. Her YA paranormal, Dorianna is her new YA horror from
Evernight Teen. Catherine’s love of
dark fantasy came from her father reading Edgar Allen Poe to her when she was a
child. She was also addicted to science fiction as a teen. The freakier the
better! She teaches workshops in writing speculative fiction and is a member of
RWA, SFWA and SCBWI.
Media links:
Subscribe to Catherine’s
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Twitter: https://twitter.com/crossoverwriter
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/kitsy84557/
Blog: http://catherinestine.blogspot.com/
Website: http://catherinestine.com
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1018139.Catherine_Stine
Amazon author page:
http://www.amazon.com/Catherine-Stine/e/B001H9TXJC/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1412807948&sr=8-1
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