In defense of dark fiction

I started this series out of a sense of frustration. There were all these stories that were lovely, and dark, and haunting, and I couldn’t articulate very well why it was that I liked them. So I wrote about a whole variety of topics connected to the issue, all avoiding the main and most important question: why do I like dark fiction? And finally, as I first started to really think about this post, I came to a conclusion: that’s kind of a silly question.

If you follow the question all the way back to the start, it becomes way too broad. Why do we like anything? Is it indeed personality based? Life experience? What we read as kids? The alignment of the first full moon after the third Columbus Day after your birth? Maybe all, and maybe none.

Getting into the specifics isn't very helpful either. Maybe it's because I read some dark fiction as a child. Or maybe it's because of a wide variety of personal reasons - much to personal for the internet to read. 

In examining those broad and narrow reasons as to why I like what I like, I came across a more important question: why am I even writing this series? For one, I did just want to write about what I loved, and I wanted to explore my own interests. But perhaps there was another reason: I wanted to convince other people that they should be liking dark fiction more.

And that is the truly silly idea here.  Reading about why someone loves something is fun. Reading someone trying to convince you what to like is annoying. 

And so, why do I like dark fiction? Alas, I have to go with the same answer I gave at the beginning: because I do. Because I appreciate any story that can evoke emotion in me (sorrow is actually easier to evoke than joy, in my opinion). And because even dark fiction can be beautiful, in its own way.

To finish this series, I’ll share a few more of my favorite dark stories we published at FFO, because good stories speak for themselves. These are the truly dark ones, by the way, not to be read unless you’re willing to be more than a bit depressed.

Normalized Death, by Sue Burke 

I take a few steps into the room. Everyone said the hospice had a wonderful staff and a pleasant, normal setting because death is normal, completely normal. The reception area looks like a living room, with soft green sofas and house plants on the windowsill, decorated a with few small American flags. Tomorrow is the Fourth of July.

Hungry, by Tree Riesner

Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. That’s what they keep saying while they pour each other drinks. They’re the grown-ups and they should know. But they say everybody at your new school really likes you, they’re just teasing the new kid, when you know everybody hates you to hell and it won’t ever stop until you’re dead.

Blood Willows, by Caroline M. Yoachim
The bleached-white cottonbones stretched up into the clouds. Scattered among them were the smaller blood willows, with branches sagging down to the ground instead of reaching to the sky. Bright red blossoms dotted the branches like a troupe of ladybugs.

“Will Mommy bloom too?” Natasha asked, noticing the flowers.

“We’ll see,” he answered.

When do sad endings work?

When I started this series, I got briefly distracted by talking about dark themes in fiction rather than what I’d originally intended to talk about: stories that are dark and depressing through and through, sad endings and all. For a lot of people, that sad ending is a deal breaker. I’m saving why it works for me to next week (partly because I’m still figuring it out). But for this week, I want to talk about when those sad endings can work.

There is an inherent difficulty in talking about endings in that it guarantees spoilers for those not familiar with the material. To at least minimize the spoilers, I’m discussing things that have been published/released more than ten years ago (except for the Flash Fiction Online stuff, but I’m not sure how much you all read the ‘zine anyway). Feel free to avoid this entirely if you don’t like any spoilers. I won’t be offended.

  

It’s not done for cheap emotional reasons

Of course, not all sad endings work for me. There are the ones that just seem to be done to provoke emotion in the reader. To prove a point, maybe. Like the theme of Cold Mountain, which is “it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” Okay, that’s great. I even agree with it. But by making that the theme of the story, it cheapens the hero’s journey. He went through all of that hardship, all of that struggle to reach his girl, just to get killed off. It seemed less like a natural outgrowth of the plot and more of the author twisting the story to get his point across. And speaking of twists…

It’s not a random twist ending

I can’t recall any examples of this at the moment. Perhaps because it’s something I mainly see in slush. You know, everything’s going hunky dory, the main character is suddenly struggling toward some goal, and then WHAM, car accident. Or serial killer, zombies, dragons, robots, sudden and inexplicable desire for suicide (not making that last one up). If you want to do a twist ending right, see MaryAnn’s excellent post from a while back.

It’s a natural outgrowth of the story

This, of course, is the opposite of the other two. It’s a natural direction the story takes, either by the skill of the author, or because of the theme of the story. For any of these, there is always hope of that the characters will prevail, but it’s clear from the subject matter that it’s likely that things will not end happily for the characters. For example, the film Requiem for a Dream is about drug addicts. It’s a wonderful, well done film that I’m not sure I’ll ever watch again. It ended rather poorly all around. I had hopes that the characters would escape their struggles, but I wasn’t shocked when they didn’t.  

And then there’s the internationally recognized Most Depressing Book Ever, “A Fine Balance,” by Rohinton Mistry.  I give it this label because I was talking to Sarah about this series, and I mentioned that I wanted to talk about the most depressing book ever, and she right away said, “Is it A Fine Balance?” and I said “HOW DID YOU KNOW???”  For me, it beats other depressing novels like 1984 and The Bell Jar, no contest.

Anyway, A Fine Balance works for much of the same reasons that Requiem for a Dream does: the quality of the prose, and the setup. The novel is never anything but bleak, though the ending chapters really do make you want to curl up in a corner because the world is a terrible, terrible place and there’s nothing you can do about it. (How I could possibly enjoy that book is again a subject for next week, though wild zombies couldn’t force me to ever read it again.)

Perhaps other people would find those to be the author trying to make a point, either about drug addiction or the casual cruelty of life. But for these two works, the quality of the presentation sets them above that, in my opinion.

There is beauty and wonder mixed in with the sorrow

I come across this story most often when I read for FFO. For example, take this absolutely gorgeous piece we published a little while back, and one of my all-time favorites. Go on, read it. It's fewer than 1000 words! And I promise it's not hideously depressing. Just a little sad.

Brass Canaries

For this sort of story, the ending is sad, but the imagery and the prose are so lovely that I can't help but fall in love with it.  As another example, this story has less of the lovely imagery, but is still emotionally compelling. I have to say, I think it'd be even better without that last paragraph, but I'm picky like that.

The Times that Bleed Together

Best of all, these stories have impact. Even though they're short, they stick with you - not like pine sap that never washes off your hand no matter how much soap you use, but something that stays with you emotionally, that makes you think. And that, in any category of fiction, is something worth reading.

And does anyone have another entry for the Internationally Recognized Most Depressing Book Ever?

Writing dark fiction - addendum

I’ve been reading fantasy and dark fantasy since I was a kid. And those have always been the stories I've most wanted to write. Since my focus has been on fantasy, I've spent the most time reading and learning about fantasy writing. But occasionally, I decide to turn my stories more toward horror than dark fantasy. 

And then, when I was researching my previous post, I came across this quote. It captured my attention so thoroughly I felt it deserved its own post. (I can’t find the original quote anywhere, so here’s the blog I found it on.”)

To quote the critic David Aylward, “Writers [of horror fiction], who used to strive for awe and achieve fear, now strive for fear and achieve only disgust.” 

The quote certainly describes a certain type of horror, particularly the Lovecraftian model, where the characters constantly slip into unfamiliar (and terrifying) worlds. I’m not sure awe is always the way to go… but it certainly is easier to end up with disgust. Think of all those serial killer villains whose minds we really didn’t need to linger in, even though they do make really evil villains.

But I have to say, I’ve… never even thought about it that way. So much of the advice I come across is straightforward, designed to rescue words from excessive obscurity, and to bring themes and motivations to the front rather than to the back. It makes me wonder, how could I write the horror elements in my new dark fiction story to be awe-inspiring rather than just aiming for scary?

What do you all think? And have you ever come across anything like this, where in attempting one thing, you end up with something different and better? And when is subtlety the way to go?

Writing dark fiction

When I started this series, I posed two main questions. Why do I like to reach such depressing fiction? And why do I like to write it? I’ve chipped away at the first question a bit, but not yet touched the second. Originally, the only reason I could come up with was, “because that’s where my ideas come from.”

Seems sort of obvious, but there is a bit of depth to that. One possible explanation is that I hide a dark nature deep inside. I’d like to think that’s not quite it. Sure, I have my cranky moments – especially those torturous minutes between when my alarm goes off and when coffee is ready. But overall, my life is pretty good.

The second explanation is that I read a lot of dark fiction, and where I read, I get inspiration for ideas. And I do read a lot of dark fiction, but that can’t be all. Right?

As I often do when I’m having trouble explaining myself, I sought out why others like to write dark fiction.

I write horror because it’s horrible. I want to bring light to what has happened in the real world. I can’t do that by becoming a politician or a civil rights activist, because that’s not who I am. I am a writer. I write… There’s a lesson. Sometimes you have to dig for it, but it’s always there. I write to make you think. And if I can make you think, then maybe I can make you talk. And if I can make you talk, well…maybe then I can make a difference.http://themidnightnovelist.wordpress.com/2012/05/02/why-do-i-write-horror/

I like that thought, but it doesn't match my reasons. 

These next two are very far off:

Why is it so fun to write horrible/terrifying things into a book? I think the main reason (for me) is catharsis. There is something so cleansing about putting a character (even one you love) through the ringer. I find it easier to dump the stresses in my own life onto their fictional shoulders in the form of monsters in the darkness and painful injuries than it is to carry it around myself. They cannot suffer like a real person of flesh and blood, and for those moments as I write, I can forget my own suffering.    http://beyonddragonsandwizards.blogspot.com/2011/09/why-i-find-enjoyment-in-writing-dark.html

 

I think the first, and possibly most obvious reason, is people are consumed by death. The fact that we are mortal, that our time here is finite, haunts us daily. And perhaps the only thing more haunting than the idea that we will someday die is the fear that we may one day die a brutal, violent, tortuous death—or maybe that’s just me.The entertainment is the catharsis involved, the ability to give ourselves over to our greatest fears in a safe environment where we know we’re not going to die. This point, I believe, is also true for why I write dark fiction, as it gives me an active role in working out some of my own deepest, darkest fears, exorcising them on the page and leaving them to haunt the imaginations of my readers.http://www.thecreativepenn.com/2012/03/30/violence-brutality-death-fiction/

When I was first writing, I would indeed tell dark stories as a way to take these ugly emotions inside me and turn them into something whole, something beautiful. That’s not so much the case now. I will write about situations that I find scary, but I don’t really have the desire to “haunt” anyone either.

I certainly don’t exult in torturing my characters or in designing Bad Guys. On the contrary, I get a little bored of serial killer stories, particularly those short stories about serial killers and scenes from their POV. I get it. You’re crazy. You think Evil Thoughts in overly dramatic and excessively foreshadowed style.

  

One reason was a little closer: 

In real life, you would never want to endure watching people die around you, fight in a horrible battle, or crawl through a slimy hole in the ground filled with terrifying creatures, just to feel like you succeeded at something... In fiction, the characters can endure such things, and their success is almost as fulfilling to the writer as if they had done it themselves. Seeing your character grow, knowing that they are becoming more and more real is a point of great pride and pleasure to a writer. The same can apply to the reader.
http://beyonddragonsandwizards.blogspot.com/2011/09/why-i-find-enjoyment-in-writing-dark.html

This is close. I do like to write stories where characters overcome tough obstacles. But I wouldn't say I had pride in their achievements, being that they are created and controlled by me.

When I wasn't able to find anyone whose reasons perfectly matched mine, I stared at the ceiling for a while. I even had to turn off my music (sorry, Yo Yo Ma) to avoid any distraction. Finally, I wondered if I'd been thinking about the question in the wrong way. I started this out thinking about why my ideas for stories were always dark ones. But maybe that was the wrong way for me to look at it, because inspiration is a nebulous thing that occasionally defies description. But why do I keep working on those dark ideas I get? That's a little easier. Since I read a lot of dark fiction as a teenager, I was inspired by the stories of characters who overcome terrible situations. And that's my goal every time I sit down to write a dark fantasy story: someday I might inspire someone to overcome their problems the way I was inspired to overcome mine.

And okay, maybe I also like to come up with cool and original demons. I blame my biology background for that.

Our own little dystopias

Last week, I shared a few thoughts by YA authors on why dark fiction is so popular. One article, however, made me pause. It contained a sentiment I’ve come across a few times before. The idea has always bothered me. 

The question of why these dark novels appeal to teenagers has been around awhile, and there’s a pretty standard response. It tends to be some variation of “these are dark, pessimistic times with the economy and culture; the darkness of the subject matter reflects those fears.”  

My thoughts on that? Ha and double ha. I don’t believe it.

In my experience, the teenagers who are loving the dystopian themes are generally the ones who don’t have to face it. Would we be so enamored with dystopian fiction if we lived in a culture where violent death was a major concern? It wouldn’t be escapism.

Well, of course not. When reading the Hunger Games, I don’t think “Oh man, I hate it when my dystopian dictator takes on a personal vendetta against me!”

So indeed, dystopias and dark fiction in general don't reflect the outer world of the American teenager. But maybe they reflect the inner world of a teenager. Maybe the average teenager doesn't live the danger of apocalyptic events or war. A lot of teenagers can have moments when they feel like their world is ending.  In terms of the suffering of the world, that could be considered quite small. But is that comparison really fair? Your pain is the only pain you know. Comparing your own suffering against the troubles of the world isn't really the key to erasing your sorrow.

The point is, my world doesn't have to be a dark, terrible place for me to identify with dark fiction. Reading a character who shares the same type of sorrow (no matter the world they live in) can be very heartening. Finding out the kind of sorrow you feel as a teenager isn't unique can make you feel less alone. 

At least, that's how it was for me.

The appeal of dark fiction

Over at the magazine, there’s an ongoing discussion. Some of the staff are a little weary of all the dark and depressing fiction we get. Why, they wonder, does no one ever write a story with a happy ending? And some other staff, like myself, can’t get enough of those dark stories.  In some way, it seems like an easy answer. Shouldn’t we all prefer happy, wonderful stories (as long as they’re not sappy)?  And yet, I never seem to tire of dark stories, no matter what my mental state. So why have I never tired of dark fiction?

In my case, I’ve been reading dark stories since I was quite young. I used to collect all the Lurlene McDaniel stories, which always involved someone with a terminal illness. 

My love of these baffled my mother, who has a strong aversion to dark stories. 

Writer Charlotte English does a great job of explaining why she’s tired of seeing dark stories in magazines:

I’m not sure why [dark fiction is] so universally popular. Are these magazines responding to an overwhelming preference among readers? If so, why are readers so taken with the darkest of the dark? Why do we want to spend our reading hours wallowing in misery, and anxiety, and danger and shadow? Is it because it makes the real world seem brighter in comparison? Frankly my inner world is dark enough as it is: I like to be laughed out of it rather than descend even further in.

It's an excellent point. So why don't I agree? What makes a person more predisposed to like dark stories? Is it personality type? Class? One’s own personal history of tragedy?

Silly me thought that I could cover this in one blog post, but as soon as I started researching, I realized it would work much better as a series of posts. So until I have answers for why I read dark fiction (better than “because I like it) and why I write it (better than “those are the kind of ideas that come to me”), I'll leave you with a few quotes.  They're from a fantastic New York Times article that interviewed seven YA authors about why they think teenagers like dark fiction.

Unfortunately, the truth of the world around us is changing, and so the literature is morphing to reflect it. Teens want to read something that isn't a lie; we adults wish we could put our heads under the blankets and hide from the scary story we're writing for our kids. - Paolo Bacigalupi 

Schools are places where teens are subject to dress codes, have few free speech rights, and are constantly surveilled, where they rise and sit at the sound of a bell. Is it any wonder that dystopian novels speak to them? - Scott Westerfeld

Many teens feel “gamed” in this way…  The adult world has them in its cross hairs, wishing to separate the sheep from the goats, and they will do so, whatever it takes.  They feel trapped, forced into a world of tests that humiliate and unnerve them. -Jay Parini

Here's my theory: our world is getting increasingly complex. Teenagers face a huge number of choices and an almost paralyzing array of expert opinions on what constitutes right and wrong. In a culture defined by shades of gray, I think the absolute black and white choices in dark young adult novels are incredibly satisfying for readers. - Maggie Stiefvater

And finally, my favorite explanation:

No different from that quintessential literary adolescent Holden Caulfield, we want to hold on to the joy in life we felt as children. We want to hold on to our individuality, our humanity, our ability to love and connect to others. We have always wanted to hold on, but in today’s global communications network we can’t avoid facing overwhelming obstacles. The more we understand how small and powerless we really are against the immense forces that control our existence, the more we yearn to feel meaningful.

And so we read again and again about the child of dystopia who makes us feel hope for humankind, even if, in the case of M.T. Anderson’s futuristic “Feed,” it turns out that the society is beyond repair. All the protagonist can do in that failed world is begin to understand and care about where we went wrong — which is exactly what the reader needs to do now to prevent a dystopian future. -Lisa Rowe Fraustino

I hope you'll share your thoughts about the appeal of dark fictions, in blog posts or by commenting here. I've already got three or four ideas for blog posts to come.