Cosmic Horror Appreciation - First Official Post
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| From the movie "Annihilation" |
For anyone who knows me personally, you probably could have seen this coming. As my mother would say, when I like something I really like it. In recent years, starting in my film school years, I've been writing down story ideas that get progressively more and more strange and less and less "satisfying." That is, I have been writing stories whose endings reveal precious little about the mystery at hand, emphasizing instead the journey we took to get to the end, rather than the end itself. I've realized that sometimes not getting the answers you desire the most, though frustrating, can be desirable. It gives us a feeling of unease, terror, bittersweet longing, and this can be a rush. As H. P. Lovecraft once said, "the oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."
As for the "strange" part, I have been finding that the things that inspire me, that I find intriguing or even terrifying, are things that are so beyond my understanding and so alien to me that neither I nor any of my earthly brothers or sisters could ever hope to understand them, nor their motives or desires (or lack thereof, in some cases). Imagine coming face to face with some horrible monstrosity, perhaps some creature that decimates anything in its path in some strange way. Lets say, it's 100 feet tall, lacks eyes, has hundreds of tentacles, and walks onward without care. Any creature that approaches it falls to the ground, dead, and out of its eyes, mouth, and nose comes a black liquid, and out of that black liquid, a smaller, black, similarly tentacled creature crawls out.
Imagine the terror you would feel in seeing this creature. The horrid appearance is part of the fear, but often the appearance of the creature/threat is beyond description, and to describe it would only drive you further into madness. The fear goes deeper than appearances. Imagine trying to understand this creature's motives. You hide in fear, struggling to decipher whether or not this creature has motives at all. You feel insignificant, like a cockroach to a much larger creature. The creature probably doesn't even acknowledge you. Suddenly you're coming face to face with your own humanity, your own shortcomings, your own insecurities. Who are you in relation to this creature? Why is this creature even here? How important is my own life? Is there anything I can even do to protect myself? Does it even matter? This uncertainty, this inability to comprehend is what terrifies me. This is cosmic horror.
This is why an ending without an answer is so appealing to me. Audiences today are used to having their shorter attention spans and simpler tastes appealed to. This is certainly not a problem, since we sometimes need to just turn our brains off and enjoy ourselves. We're used to having a neatly wrapped story, with all questions answered, all conflicts resolved, and heroes that win the big battle. When we encounter a story that ends with more questions than answers, we tend to feel cheated, but this shouldn't be the case.
The lack of answers is indeed a part of the experience. As Lovecraft mentioned, we are universally afraid of the unknown. Once we answer the main question (what does the monster look like? What does it want? How do we stop it?), it ceases to be the unknown and instead becomes familiar. In other words, we're no longer afraid of it. If the terror ends and we're still clueless as to what just happened or whether or not we're safe, that is true fear. The fear lingers. The story has ended but you're left with a noticeable sense of unease and terror. Your desire to know more leads inevitably to multiple viewings/readings of the story in question, and you learn a bit more every time. We discuss the story with our friends, trying to piece together the pieces of a puzzle that is very likely incomplete.
The important parts are all there, though. Take the movie "Annihilation," for example. This recent example of cosmic horror has a main character by the name of Lena, who suffers from depression. Her character arc touches upon self-destruction and self-hatred. The nature of "Area X" and all of its genetic mutation and horror ties in directly with her arc, creating a literal and metaphorical crucible that forces Lena to confront that which haunts or frightens her. Lena is able to resolve her depression and self-destruction, literally and metaphorically, in the final scenes of the movie. The ending may leave the average audience feeling like they've been left hanging, as the physical threat of Area X is never explained, but attentive audiences will notice that the unanswered questions weren't the point. Lena has been able to deal with her depression and even though her fate is questionable, we've learned what we've needed to. Life has many unknowns, but what we can be almost certain of is our own insignificance in a vast, cold, uncaring universe. This is the point of cosmic horror.
This genre, pioneered by H.P. Lovecraft, and kept alive by modern storytellers like Jeff VanderMeer, deserves much more appreciation, in my opinion. I know that it's never likely to attain worldwide appreciation, but that's alright. It makes sense, because most people aren't willing to question their own mortality and worth like this. It makes them feel uncomfortable, and most of them don't appreciate feeling that way. For the few who don't mind the discomfort, however (like myself), this genre offers a new way to look at the world that leads to great self-reflection. For horror fans, this genre delivers scares on a much deeper level that I feel stays with you and disturbs you much longer than the cheap thrills of a teen slasher or haunted house flick.
This is why I've become so enthralled by this genre, and why you are likely to see many stories like this from me in the future. Even the playlist that I have posted in the sidebar of this blog (if it's still there in the time that you are reading this) was made to help inspire me as I explore this world of cosmic horror. I thought that I was alone in my appreciation of stories that challenge us to accept that sometimes we don't have the answers, but as it turns out, I'm not. Sometimes a mystery remains forever so, and that, though terrifying, is okay. All the unanswered questions in the world don't change how meaningful and wonderful life is when we're experiencing it. Fear is a useful emotion, when dealt with and learned from in the right way, and there's no need, funnily enough, to be afraid of it. So crack open a copy of Lovecraft's greatest and jump straight in. You'll be glad you did.
~ Danny (DarylOnABarrel)
As for the "strange" part, I have been finding that the things that inspire me, that I find intriguing or even terrifying, are things that are so beyond my understanding and so alien to me that neither I nor any of my earthly brothers or sisters could ever hope to understand them, nor their motives or desires (or lack thereof, in some cases). Imagine coming face to face with some horrible monstrosity, perhaps some creature that decimates anything in its path in some strange way. Lets say, it's 100 feet tall, lacks eyes, has hundreds of tentacles, and walks onward without care. Any creature that approaches it falls to the ground, dead, and out of its eyes, mouth, and nose comes a black liquid, and out of that black liquid, a smaller, black, similarly tentacled creature crawls out.
Imagine the terror you would feel in seeing this creature. The horrid appearance is part of the fear, but often the appearance of the creature/threat is beyond description, and to describe it would only drive you further into madness. The fear goes deeper than appearances. Imagine trying to understand this creature's motives. You hide in fear, struggling to decipher whether or not this creature has motives at all. You feel insignificant, like a cockroach to a much larger creature. The creature probably doesn't even acknowledge you. Suddenly you're coming face to face with your own humanity, your own shortcomings, your own insecurities. Who are you in relation to this creature? Why is this creature even here? How important is my own life? Is there anything I can even do to protect myself? Does it even matter? This uncertainty, this inability to comprehend is what terrifies me. This is cosmic horror.
This is why an ending without an answer is so appealing to me. Audiences today are used to having their shorter attention spans and simpler tastes appealed to. This is certainly not a problem, since we sometimes need to just turn our brains off and enjoy ourselves. We're used to having a neatly wrapped story, with all questions answered, all conflicts resolved, and heroes that win the big battle. When we encounter a story that ends with more questions than answers, we tend to feel cheated, but this shouldn't be the case.
The lack of answers is indeed a part of the experience. As Lovecraft mentioned, we are universally afraid of the unknown. Once we answer the main question (what does the monster look like? What does it want? How do we stop it?), it ceases to be the unknown and instead becomes familiar. In other words, we're no longer afraid of it. If the terror ends and we're still clueless as to what just happened or whether or not we're safe, that is true fear. The fear lingers. The story has ended but you're left with a noticeable sense of unease and terror. Your desire to know more leads inevitably to multiple viewings/readings of the story in question, and you learn a bit more every time. We discuss the story with our friends, trying to piece together the pieces of a puzzle that is very likely incomplete.
The important parts are all there, though. Take the movie "Annihilation," for example. This recent example of cosmic horror has a main character by the name of Lena, who suffers from depression. Her character arc touches upon self-destruction and self-hatred. The nature of "Area X" and all of its genetic mutation and horror ties in directly with her arc, creating a literal and metaphorical crucible that forces Lena to confront that which haunts or frightens her. Lena is able to resolve her depression and self-destruction, literally and metaphorically, in the final scenes of the movie. The ending may leave the average audience feeling like they've been left hanging, as the physical threat of Area X is never explained, but attentive audiences will notice that the unanswered questions weren't the point. Lena has been able to deal with her depression and even though her fate is questionable, we've learned what we've needed to. Life has many unknowns, but what we can be almost certain of is our own insignificance in a vast, cold, uncaring universe. This is the point of cosmic horror.
This genre, pioneered by H.P. Lovecraft, and kept alive by modern storytellers like Jeff VanderMeer, deserves much more appreciation, in my opinion. I know that it's never likely to attain worldwide appreciation, but that's alright. It makes sense, because most people aren't willing to question their own mortality and worth like this. It makes them feel uncomfortable, and most of them don't appreciate feeling that way. For the few who don't mind the discomfort, however (like myself), this genre offers a new way to look at the world that leads to great self-reflection. For horror fans, this genre delivers scares on a much deeper level that I feel stays with you and disturbs you much longer than the cheap thrills of a teen slasher or haunted house flick.
This is why I've become so enthralled by this genre, and why you are likely to see many stories like this from me in the future. Even the playlist that I have posted in the sidebar of this blog (if it's still there in the time that you are reading this) was made to help inspire me as I explore this world of cosmic horror. I thought that I was alone in my appreciation of stories that challenge us to accept that sometimes we don't have the answers, but as it turns out, I'm not. Sometimes a mystery remains forever so, and that, though terrifying, is okay. All the unanswered questions in the world don't change how meaningful and wonderful life is when we're experiencing it. Fear is a useful emotion, when dealt with and learned from in the right way, and there's no need, funnily enough, to be afraid of it. So crack open a copy of Lovecraft's greatest and jump straight in. You'll be glad you did.
~ Danny (DarylOnABarrel)
this english is soo gooder that i doesnt understand. it is much nice
ReplyDeleteyou is the because
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