Recently I had the pleasure of talking with fellow New Zealand author, Lee Murray. She asked questions - I responded, oh yes, that's right, it was an interview! And here it is (please make sure to check out Lee's great blog and subscribe). Thanks for reading.
Welcome William! Give us your personal definition of horror.
How would you describe it: blood curdling spatter, or through the
looking glass, darkly?
I’m not sure my personal definition of horror is different than
standard definitions, but here goes: Horror, in its many guises ‒
fiction, cinema, real events ‒ is a highly subjective phenomena directly
related to the individual’s own interpretation of things that inspire
fear in the imagination. Fear is the greatest component of horror as an
experience. The fear of losing one’s life, the fear of someone close to
you losing their life, the fear of a threat that borders on the
incomprehensible . . . and so on. Horror is an experience that builds in
the mind with the enormity of its potential effect on the individual.
It is apprehension that builds terror in the imagination, to the point
where madness threatens to eclipse the fear with the suffocating and
sublime realization that our greatest fear is real and present. The
imagination is a huge determining aspect of the scope of the horror
experience; and an essential ingredient that must be considered when
writing horror or portraying it [horror] cinematically. If the author
cannot engage the reader’s imagination, to the point where the reader
can visualize and emotionally trigger their own fears in response to
what is in front of them, then the author cannot hope to instill fear
and thereby ‘horror’ in their writing. As Arthur Conan Doyle suggested:
“Where there is no imagination, there is no horror.”
My view is that good, well-crafted, horror must create an emotional and intellectual
response in the
reader that both engages and entertains. It is not enough to bombard the reader with ‘gore for gore’s
sake’ or gross depictions of violence without basis or necessity as part
of the story – horror, must build to the point where it is inescapable,
where the reader has not become desensitized to the point where at the
intersection of plot, action and narrative, they feel nothing. It is in
the apprehension and the emotional interplay of fear where the best
horror lurks. It is a rare skill for an author to be able to build an
experience of horror, which gains purchase via the reader’s subjective
experience of fear; that triggers a deep intellectual response which,
whilst frightening, also provides an element of resolution or
satisfaction in the experience.
The confrontational aspect of horror
fiction (and film) can either harm or heal depending on how it is done.
For example, I distinctly remember, after reading Stephen King’s The Shining,
the thrilling but exhaustive feeling that coursed through me as I put
the book down for the last time. The story replayed in my mind and my
heart beat rapidly as I marveled at the effect that the book had on me.
Tied in with my emotional response was a sense of accomplishment: that I
had got all the way to the end of this massive book, that I had
confronted all the terrible ghosts that haunted the Overlook Hotel, that
I had battled the demonic hedge-maze monsters and that I had survived
the worst monster of all, the frightening and all-too-human monster,
Jack Torrance. It wasn’t a quick read, it didn’t have an abundance of
gore and gross-out violence, and the horror experience wasn’t completely realized until the final chapter where it seems as though everything
has worked out well for Halloran, Wendy and Danny after the tragic death
of Jack and the destruction of the hotel. There is that lingering sense
that beneath the surface, beyond the brightness of those who ‘shine
on’, the darkness threatens to return.
So, in light of my own personal
opinions about horror, you have probably guessed by now that I prefer
‘quiet horror’, the kind that creeps up on you for maximum sublimity. I
also like reading more visceral and extreme horror by authors like
Edward Lee and Jack Ketchum, but I don’t get the same response to it as I
do with more subtle and intricately crafted works like King’s The Shining, Susan Hill’s The Woman in Black, or Ghost Story by Peter Straub.
In many countries, genre fiction is considered the stepchild
to mainstream literature, and horror even more so. Do you think this
true of New Zealand? [And what can we do?]
Mention NZ Horror and most people would cite Peter Jackson as being
its main proponent. Indeed, the history of NZ Horror is evident in a
relatively short film history dating back to the late ‘70s, but not so
in the history of our literature. Examples of works exhibiting various
tropes and themes found in international mainstream horror fiction can
be traced back through select works by some of NZ’s leading writers of
their day. The likes of past (and present) NZ literary notables: Maurice
Gee (Under the Mountain, and Firestarter), Ronald Hugh Morrieson (The Scarecrow), and Katherine Mansfield (The Daughters of the Late Colonel).
All had elements of the horrific in their work, usually of the
quasi-gothic variety with dark and ghostly romanticised scenes. Indeed,
many of New Zealand’s leading fiction authors have been noted as having
various ‘dark’ themes, a synchronicity shared with our cinematic
productions. Much has been made of the Kiwi Gothic, but usually only in
reference to film in this country:
The Kiwi Gothic constructs New Zealand not as a place of some pastoral idyll but rather as an environment where danger and horror lurk everywhere. The Antipodean gothic is generally considered to be an expression of the settler anxiety that derived from the confrontation with a hostile and alien environment, such as the native New Zealand bush. Unlike the European gothic, which often tells ghost stories set in old castles, the Kiwi version of the gothic often deals with alienation, family traumas and uncanny experiences in very familiar places.
The concept of Kiwi Gothic in NZ cinema can be quite easily aligned
to our fiction. The same characteristics and tropes are readily
available in most contemporary NZ fiction. Unfortunately, the best and
brightest of New Zealand authors of dark genre fiction have found more
success overseas than here in our own country. I don’t even think that
the literary elite of this country even consider horror to be a literary
genre, let alone a part of the NZ literary canon and in some ways they
would be correct. We don’t really have a firm tradition of
stereo-typical horror fiction being written in this country (or at least
being set here in NZ). I can’t recall ever reading or seeing a book
written by a New Zealander about werewolves, zombies or vampires,
roaming about our green countryside.
