A new answer to "Paradoxes of the Heart."
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."
- Stephen Crane
I reread Noel Carroll's "A Philosophy of Horror; or, Paradoxes of the Heart," of which I've frequently blithered on before (though not always with very good sourcing). It's criticism of the horror genre has greatly affected my own stabs at critical analysis of furry art. For instance, Carroll talks about the "interstitialness" of horrific monsters; i.e. that they often represent two or more antithetical, or at least separate, states of being, a state I usually write as liminal (because it sounds cooler). For instance, a werewolf is human/animal while a zombie is dead/alive.
Now, the point of Carroll's essay is to answer the "paradoxes of the heart," i.e. how can we emotionally respond to that which isn't real, and how can we derive pleasure from 'negative' emotions? The point of my essay is to respond to Carroll's answer to the second paradox, which, I'm sorry, the guy flubbed. I'm okay with his answer to the first paradox, even though it basically boils down to "you don't have to believe in something to be moved emotionally by it," which makes me think philosophers would probably find my "essay" prose breezy. But his answer to "why is disgust/fear in horror not a bad thing?" can be boiled down to "because monsters are so cool!"
First, it may be in order to take a look at his definition of horror, or the "emotion of art-horror" as he phrases it. In a nutshell, fear and disgust as caused by a supernatural monster. First of all, I'll take issue at the use of the word "supernatural." He notes the interstitialness of horrific monsters, and says they break the rules of nature. If a movie features a scary or disgusting aspect, but the "monster" is just, say, a psycho, it's not actually horror. Because there are such things as psychos.
Carroll published his essay in 1990. Historically, since that time, the supernatural in horror has literally taken a gut punch. In fact, it is popular among certain quarters to deny the supernatural any place in horror, to say it weakens the "horror." It's harder to "believe" in the supernatural. However, as Carroll argues, "belief" has jack all to do with emotional response, and in this I am in agreeance with him. That being said, more recent horror fair has backed away from gaudy monsters to straight up human on human atrocity. And, personal tastes aside, these are accepted fairly universally as horror.
Still, Carroll's definition of horror requires only a minimum of tweaking. To be "supernatural," a monster need only break the laws of nature. This rule-breaking is, I think, the key component of a "horror monster," besides the fact that they are scary and/or disgusting. So, a monster need not break the rules of nature; he (or she or it) can also break the laws of man. Okay, maybe something a bit more hardcore than jaywalking is required. I'm talking about unspoken laws, unspoken because they are unspeakable. The supernatural monster sickens by breaking the very rules of nature; the non-supernatural monster sickens by breaking our cultural norms in disturbing and dangerous ways. So, what Carroll calls "art-horror" is can be redefined as fear and disgust caused by a monster that breaks "unbreakable" rules; i.e. natural laws that are literally impossible to break, or human laws that only a depraved monster would ignore (or, frequently, both at the same time).
Before I leave here, one interesting example of this "rule-breaking." Many (positive) critics of Eli Roth's "Hostel," note a late scene in which the hero, while escaping from death by torture, meets a man who is unaware that he is a victim, and assumes he is another torturer. This scene didn't really "do it" for me, but lots of critics have found this character just as disgusting as the graphic scenes of torture preceding and following it. And I believe I can understand why. What disgusts them about this guy is how all-American he is. He's a man who has paid money to torture and kill another human being, but he's, well, excited about it. His reaction is somewhat like a man with a new car; he can't wait to take it for a drive! He is about to do something that causes a gut reaction of horror; the fact that he is so blithe about it is horrible in itself. In a way, the disgust is almost a meta-reaction; the unspoken rules of horror say the monster must act horrifically. The fact that this guy is so "normal" outwardly (despite the fact that he is, most certainly, a monster) is a breaking of a rule.
But, enough of that. The reason I dispute Carroll's definition of horror is because it is essential to his answer to the "paradox of horror." He argues that a fascination with monsters is the root cause of fascination with the horror genre. This fascination diminishes the fear and disgust of the genre. In other words, he dodges the paradox; we don't like being scared, after all. We just really like monsters so much, we're willing to let them scare and disgust us.
Carroll argues that most horror fans are in fact monster fans; the same people who watched "The Howling" and "An American Werewolf In London" in 1981 were also lining up for the original "Clash of the Titans," which managed more monsters than the 2010 remake. Probably true, and also, from a personal perspective, an obvious appeal. I am, after all, a furry fan. I like impossible monsters.
But, history, once again, has not been kind to Carroll's theory. Since the turn of the millenium, interest in the horror genre and fantasy monsters have seen and upswing, completely independently of each other. Since the amazing success of Peter Jackson's "Lord of the Rings Trilogy," fantasy epics have been a staple of the summer and winter "blockbuster" seasons. Superheroes are still popular (and, in a nutshell, a superhero is oftentimes simply a monster that switched sides). And even more traditionally horrific monsters, well, hello "Twilight." Meanwhile, horror, as previously stated, has gone the opposite direction; less monsters, more fear and disgust.
By way of example, a couple of years back two movies featured very misleading trailer campaigns. The very unsentimental, realistic kid's book "The Bridge to Terebithia" was fairly faithfully adapted, with a few scenes that showed the child leads imaginings of their fictional magical kingdom. Guess what the trailer showed? It was presented as a Narnia or Harry Potter ripoff. If Carroll's theory is correct, horror movies should have made similar misleading trailers. But, the horror movie "Primeval," about a giant killer crocodile (a perfect example of a "monster movie" monster if there ever was one), had an ad campaign that went out of its way to avoid letting anyone know there was a crocodile within a hundred miles of the story (which was annoying, because I just about missed a decent giant killer crocodile movie). What I'm getting at here is that these ad campaigns show that "fascinating monsters" is not in the least what motivates horror fans to see horror movies. Perhaps some fans, yes, but not all, or even most.
But really that was an example I didn't need, because it basically proved something I already knew. I, personally, like to be scared. Yes, I would prefer if the monster doing the scaring was fantastic, but I don't require it. But Carroll argues that horror is more than just fear, it's also about disgust. His pointing this out was one of those moments when something repressed that you already knew, but didn't really admit, finally breaches your consciousness. It was bizarrely not unlike Freud's definition of "uncanny." I mean, I'd read Stephen King's "Danse Macabre," where he famously stated he wasn't proud, he'd go for the gross out, but I still didn't really get it until Carroll's text pointed it out. And disgust is a very different emotion from fear. Fear is a negative emotion, but disgust is a whole new level of negative.
As previously stated, I knew I liked fear. But did I really like being disgusted? Well, on reviewing my favorite horror moments, well, yes actually. For instance, the reiteration in Lord Dunsany's "Two Bottles of Relish" that "Yum-Yummo is for meats and savories" caused me to put the book I was holding down in pure nauseous revulsion. And I loved it. Not only is it upsetting in a disgusting manner, it is also pure disgust; no fear is involved.
But, then, if Carroll is wrong, and I like to be sickened, whether or not a monster is truly fascinating me, am I, well, sick? In another essay, I was quite literally ready to concede the point; after all, I am a furry. But, now, I'm not so sure. (And, heck, I don't even really think being a furry makes me "sick," either.) I think I might have it, now, the answer to the paradox of the heart, and, ironically, Carroll covered it before dismissing it, in, of all places, a discussion of Lovecraft's "cosmic awe" theory.
See, in consuming fictions and experiencing the (very real) emotions they cause, we gain the benefits that these emotions engender (and all emotions, even "negative" emotions, produce helpful chemicals that our bodies need) while avoiding their price, say, being chased by disgusting monsters. Carroll, as I said, covered this contingency, but rejected it as "too general" to only apply to horror; it applied to all fiction, which is true.
But in the "uncanny" reveal of the disgusting aspect of horror, I was reminded of another "uncanny" experience; in this case, the revelation that "spicy" or "hot" flavor of foods such as Mexican cuisine flavored with lots of jalopenos are a result of pain receptors in the mouth. In other words, eating very spicy food hurts. And yet, people not only enjoy "spicy" foods, they enjoy the "spiciness" of the food; in other words, they enjoy the pain. Perhaps these people are culinary masochists, but I doubt it. If my theory is correct, they simply enjoy the food, which their mind doesn't (consciously) even register as pain, even though it is.
A less drastic example might be people who enjoy sour or bitter foods, despite the fact that these tastes are designed to warn the consumer of a possible poisonous substance. This is literally a case of personal taste; if the person knows the food is not poisonous, he can enjoy a taste that is normally a warning. In fact, he can even seek these tastes out preferentially. After all eating any food is (to a certain extent) is preferable to eating no food; what it tastes like has no real effect on this, so a person can easily learn to like or even prefer sour or bitter.
Similarly, the fan of horror enjoys the adrenaline rushes of fear and disgust; certainly, there are "positive" emotions that can just as easily fulfill this rush, but, when taken out of context (as in perusing fictions) one emotion is just as good as another. So, obviously, disgust and fear can, and often do, become preferences. Not as frequently as joy, for example, just as sour will never surpass sweet as the "all time favorite" flavor, but it's not sick.
So, there you go. I humbly present the "taste theory" of horror.
Maybe it even makes sense.
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."
- Stephen Crane
I reread Noel Carroll's "A Philosophy of Horror; or, Paradoxes of the Heart," of which I've frequently blithered on before (though not always with very good sourcing). It's criticism of the horror genre has greatly affected my own stabs at critical analysis of furry art. For instance, Carroll talks about the "interstitialness" of horrific monsters; i.e. that they often represent two or more antithetical, or at least separate, states of being, a state I usually write as liminal (because it sounds cooler). For instance, a werewolf is human/animal while a zombie is dead/alive.
Now, the point of Carroll's essay is to answer the "paradoxes of the heart," i.e. how can we emotionally respond to that which isn't real, and how can we derive pleasure from 'negative' emotions? The point of my essay is to respond to Carroll's answer to the second paradox, which, I'm sorry, the guy flubbed. I'm okay with his answer to the first paradox, even though it basically boils down to "you don't have to believe in something to be moved emotionally by it," which makes me think philosophers would probably find my "essay" prose breezy. But his answer to "why is disgust/fear in horror not a bad thing?" can be boiled down to "because monsters are so cool!"
First, it may be in order to take a look at his definition of horror, or the "emotion of art-horror" as he phrases it. In a nutshell, fear and disgust as caused by a supernatural monster. First of all, I'll take issue at the use of the word "supernatural." He notes the interstitialness of horrific monsters, and says they break the rules of nature. If a movie features a scary or disgusting aspect, but the "monster" is just, say, a psycho, it's not actually horror. Because there are such things as psychos.
Carroll published his essay in 1990. Historically, since that time, the supernatural in horror has literally taken a gut punch. In fact, it is popular among certain quarters to deny the supernatural any place in horror, to say it weakens the "horror." It's harder to "believe" in the supernatural. However, as Carroll argues, "belief" has jack all to do with emotional response, and in this I am in agreeance with him. That being said, more recent horror fair has backed away from gaudy monsters to straight up human on human atrocity. And, personal tastes aside, these are accepted fairly universally as horror.
Still, Carroll's definition of horror requires only a minimum of tweaking. To be "supernatural," a monster need only break the laws of nature. This rule-breaking is, I think, the key component of a "horror monster," besides the fact that they are scary and/or disgusting. So, a monster need not break the rules of nature; he (or she or it) can also break the laws of man. Okay, maybe something a bit more hardcore than jaywalking is required. I'm talking about unspoken laws, unspoken because they are unspeakable. The supernatural monster sickens by breaking the very rules of nature; the non-supernatural monster sickens by breaking our cultural norms in disturbing and dangerous ways. So, what Carroll calls "art-horror" is can be redefined as fear and disgust caused by a monster that breaks "unbreakable" rules; i.e. natural laws that are literally impossible to break, or human laws that only a depraved monster would ignore (or, frequently, both at the same time).
Before I leave here, one interesting example of this "rule-breaking." Many (positive) critics of Eli Roth's "Hostel," note a late scene in which the hero, while escaping from death by torture, meets a man who is unaware that he is a victim, and assumes he is another torturer. This scene didn't really "do it" for me, but lots of critics have found this character just as disgusting as the graphic scenes of torture preceding and following it. And I believe I can understand why. What disgusts them about this guy is how all-American he is. He's a man who has paid money to torture and kill another human being, but he's, well, excited about it. His reaction is somewhat like a man with a new car; he can't wait to take it for a drive! He is about to do something that causes a gut reaction of horror; the fact that he is so blithe about it is horrible in itself. In a way, the disgust is almost a meta-reaction; the unspoken rules of horror say the monster must act horrifically. The fact that this guy is so "normal" outwardly (despite the fact that he is, most certainly, a monster) is a breaking of a rule.
But, enough of that. The reason I dispute Carroll's definition of horror is because it is essential to his answer to the "paradox of horror." He argues that a fascination with monsters is the root cause of fascination with the horror genre. This fascination diminishes the fear and disgust of the genre. In other words, he dodges the paradox; we don't like being scared, after all. We just really like monsters so much, we're willing to let them scare and disgust us.
Carroll argues that most horror fans are in fact monster fans; the same people who watched "The Howling" and "An American Werewolf In London" in 1981 were also lining up for the original "Clash of the Titans," which managed more monsters than the 2010 remake. Probably true, and also, from a personal perspective, an obvious appeal. I am, after all, a furry fan. I like impossible monsters.
But, history, once again, has not been kind to Carroll's theory. Since the turn of the millenium, interest in the horror genre and fantasy monsters have seen and upswing, completely independently of each other. Since the amazing success of Peter Jackson's "Lord of the Rings Trilogy," fantasy epics have been a staple of the summer and winter "blockbuster" seasons. Superheroes are still popular (and, in a nutshell, a superhero is oftentimes simply a monster that switched sides). And even more traditionally horrific monsters, well, hello "Twilight." Meanwhile, horror, as previously stated, has gone the opposite direction; less monsters, more fear and disgust.
By way of example, a couple of years back two movies featured very misleading trailer campaigns. The very unsentimental, realistic kid's book "The Bridge to Terebithia" was fairly faithfully adapted, with a few scenes that showed the child leads imaginings of their fictional magical kingdom. Guess what the trailer showed? It was presented as a Narnia or Harry Potter ripoff. If Carroll's theory is correct, horror movies should have made similar misleading trailers. But, the horror movie "Primeval," about a giant killer crocodile (a perfect example of a "monster movie" monster if there ever was one), had an ad campaign that went out of its way to avoid letting anyone know there was a crocodile within a hundred miles of the story (which was annoying, because I just about missed a decent giant killer crocodile movie). What I'm getting at here is that these ad campaigns show that "fascinating monsters" is not in the least what motivates horror fans to see horror movies. Perhaps some fans, yes, but not all, or even most.
But really that was an example I didn't need, because it basically proved something I already knew. I, personally, like to be scared. Yes, I would prefer if the monster doing the scaring was fantastic, but I don't require it. But Carroll argues that horror is more than just fear, it's also about disgust. His pointing this out was one of those moments when something repressed that you already knew, but didn't really admit, finally breaches your consciousness. It was bizarrely not unlike Freud's definition of "uncanny." I mean, I'd read Stephen King's "Danse Macabre," where he famously stated he wasn't proud, he'd go for the gross out, but I still didn't really get it until Carroll's text pointed it out. And disgust is a very different emotion from fear. Fear is a negative emotion, but disgust is a whole new level of negative.
As previously stated, I knew I liked fear. But did I really like being disgusted? Well, on reviewing my favorite horror moments, well, yes actually. For instance, the reiteration in Lord Dunsany's "Two Bottles of Relish" that "Yum-Yummo is for meats and savories" caused me to put the book I was holding down in pure nauseous revulsion. And I loved it. Not only is it upsetting in a disgusting manner, it is also pure disgust; no fear is involved.
But, then, if Carroll is wrong, and I like to be sickened, whether or not a monster is truly fascinating me, am I, well, sick? In another essay, I was quite literally ready to concede the point; after all, I am a furry. But, now, I'm not so sure. (And, heck, I don't even really think being a furry makes me "sick," either.) I think I might have it, now, the answer to the paradox of the heart, and, ironically, Carroll covered it before dismissing it, in, of all places, a discussion of Lovecraft's "cosmic awe" theory.
See, in consuming fictions and experiencing the (very real) emotions they cause, we gain the benefits that these emotions engender (and all emotions, even "negative" emotions, produce helpful chemicals that our bodies need) while avoiding their price, say, being chased by disgusting monsters. Carroll, as I said, covered this contingency, but rejected it as "too general" to only apply to horror; it applied to all fiction, which is true.
But in the "uncanny" reveal of the disgusting aspect of horror, I was reminded of another "uncanny" experience; in this case, the revelation that "spicy" or "hot" flavor of foods such as Mexican cuisine flavored with lots of jalopenos are a result of pain receptors in the mouth. In other words, eating very spicy food hurts. And yet, people not only enjoy "spicy" foods, they enjoy the "spiciness" of the food; in other words, they enjoy the pain. Perhaps these people are culinary masochists, but I doubt it. If my theory is correct, they simply enjoy the food, which their mind doesn't (consciously) even register as pain, even though it is.
A less drastic example might be people who enjoy sour or bitter foods, despite the fact that these tastes are designed to warn the consumer of a possible poisonous substance. This is literally a case of personal taste; if the person knows the food is not poisonous, he can enjoy a taste that is normally a warning. In fact, he can even seek these tastes out preferentially. After all eating any food is (to a certain extent) is preferable to eating no food; what it tastes like has no real effect on this, so a person can easily learn to like or even prefer sour or bitter.
Similarly, the fan of horror enjoys the adrenaline rushes of fear and disgust; certainly, there are "positive" emotions that can just as easily fulfill this rush, but, when taken out of context (as in perusing fictions) one emotion is just as good as another. So, obviously, disgust and fear can, and often do, become preferences. Not as frequently as joy, for example, just as sour will never surpass sweet as the "all time favorite" flavor, but it's not sick.
So, there you go. I humbly present the "taste theory" of horror.
Maybe it even makes sense.