Nonfiction
de•crypt•ed—Flanagan on VanderMeer
Screenwriter and author Jamie Flanagan discusses the impact of Jeff VanderMeer’s works on their own writing, with a special emphasis on Veniss Underground and Annhilation.
Screenwriter and author Jamie Flanagan discusses the impact of Jeff VanderMeer’s works on their own writing, with a special emphasis on Veniss Underground and Annhilation.
The best horror stories are a gateway to another world, another life. You are no longer just reading, but feeling that dread alongside the main character. Your skin is crawling, your chest feels tight.
I’ve always loved gothic romances and horror. Darkness, melancholy, and intense emotion have long been my siren calls, and I gravitated to these genres like a werewolf to a full moon much before I became a functional reader.
Of all the classic urban legends, the story of the babysitter sharing a building with a murderous caller has always been my favorite. That punchline at the end is the perfect descriptor for an endless array of horrors, because a house can stand in for so many other things.
For me, characters, more than anything else, have always driven my appreciation of fiction. When I, the conduit, manage to portray my characters authentically when they tell me their stories, it leaves an indescribable feeling of satisfaction; job well done, Nuzo.
Are you ready for Silver Nitrate, the new novel from Silvia Moreno-Garcia? Let horror expert Emily Hughes tell you why it’s a must-read this summer!
I spend about a third of my life in a fire station, which is about as close as I can imagine to a haunted house. It’s a lot like a home, with a kitchen and living space, except at unpredictable moments the peace is interrupted by noises and lights followed by experiences which can be genuinely ghastly. So, my real home is as different from that as I can manage. We grow veggies, we raise chickens, we cuddle with dogs. Nurturing other living things is the only bulwark I’ve found against real horror.
Like many a ’90s kid, my first true foray into horror was R.L. Stine, with his Goosebumps and Fear Street series. The first book I picked up was Who’s Been Sleeping in My Grave?, about a boy named Zack who takes on his ghostly teacher. To say I was entranced was an understatement: Zack was an outsider, someone I could connect to and see myself in. There was a link I just couldn’t explain then. It wasn’t until a few years into reading Stine that I learned he was Jewish.
Those early years of my life have given me a deep appreciation for a genre of fiction you might call “Financial Horror.” Stories in this genre start with bills in the mail or a leaking roof and end with big, grim consequences, especially when financial difficulties slam up against supernatural disasters. Our two full-length short stories this issue land squarely on the “Financial Horror” side of the ledger.
The kernels of this story began with a few interlinked ideas: capitalism as a devouring force; the commodification of identities and the commodification of trauma (especially as they manifest in publishing and entertainment industries as fads and trends); the physical and psychological cost on those who tell their stories; how we consume—and are encouraged to consume—these stories, often as a performative act.