Horror Cuisine by Peter Straub

Genre fiction comes in various grades. Most of it is "fast food," tasty and quick but ultimately utilitarian. Some of it is "junk food," total crap that's barely worth reading. In terms of horror I'd put somebody like Stephen King in the first category -- he writes novels whose substance is basically a set of well-disguised plot vehicles -- and in the latter category is Dean R. Koontz, an author of carbon-copy books meant to be read on airplanes.

But there are some writers whose substantial style transcends the genre they write in, and I'm mainly talking about Peter Straub.

Straub's best books are weird human dramas that happen to have horrific elements to them, and for that reason they come across as both rich and confusing. Books like "Ghost Story" and "Shadowland" have enough depth to cover hundreds of trashy horror novels; the relationships and events have a purpose outside of the plot, some scenes simply provide "colour" instead of advancing the story, and inexplicable things happen that are never ultimately explained...just like real life.

The thing is, Straub never seemed to be able to TOTALLY fuse his literary style with the plots of his horror novels, maybe because his heart wasn't entirely there or because such a thing is impossible to mass-market. Straub's books, while wonderful and enriching, are also maddening. They're schizophrenic. They ramble.

When "Floating Dragon" came out in 1983, my sister and I were already avid Straub fans...and both of us HATED the book for reasons we couldn't articulate; it just seemed STUPID, especially the climax, in which the heroes defeat a monster by singing "when the red, red robin goes bob, bob, bobbin' along."

A few weeks ago the book was staring me in the face at a used bookstore, and I decided to give it another chance. I can appreciate it more now, though I still think it's a failure, and at last I can tell you WHY.

Half the book is Straub at his best, giving us a huge cast of multi-dimensional characters whose personalities evolve over time. When the wife-beating character who we've grown to hate finally dies, the book doesn't jump immediately into the expected celebration; instead, the characters sit around and talk about him, wondering what made him tick, gradually exposing the small piece of worthwhile humanity that may have been buried inside. This turns into a meditation on the wife's own character and history, and some thoughts about gender and politics, and suddenly...geez, the dead man stops being "the wife-beater" and becomes an actual PERSON. He has leaped off the page to become somebody we know, even if we still hate him.

Straub does this often in "Floating Dragon," expanding on his characters even after (or ESPECIALLY after) he's killed them off...to the point where you suspect that he cares more about the drama than he does about the killer bats and shape-shifting murderers...and so do us more mature readers, no longer eleven years old.

For a horror novel, "Floating Dragon" contains very few thrills, and the thrills it DOES contain tend to be in Straub's weak "phantasmagorial" style: bleeding earth, shambling corpses, skull-like moons, cackling demons. In his introduction, Straub defends these touches as a "love-letter" to horror (because he had decided to leave the genre), but love-letters still need to make sense. A love-letter that says "Smooch kiss hug sweet mush-mush winsome cuddle forever" does not make a good read, and neither do endless passages about motivationless corpses who creep up on people through pools of imaginary blood.

This book would have made an excellent creepy drama if 50% of it were removed, all the repetetive boo-weirdness-hallucination stuff. Some of the ideas are brilliant -- the "leakers" are particularly creepy -- and only Peter Straub would try to pull off TWO unrelated malevolent forces at once, and then refuse to explain any of it in the end. But ultimately this is like a collection of the worst parts from "The Talisman," where random spooky-boo stuff happens because it's "nightmarish."

One thing I learned in writer's groups is that nobody wants to read a transcription of your nightmares. And that's what "Floating Dragon" feels like.

To make matters worse, Stephen King released "It" a few years later. I don't know if Straub ever accused King of plagiarism, but he might have had a case. Except that "It" was a good book, and "Floating Dragon" wasn't.

PS: The "Red red robin" ending sounds better to me today than it did back then, but it's still pretty silly. In his introduction, Straub calls it a "climactic moment of outright lunacy." I call it "being stuck for an ending."

Yeast Saves the Window-Washers

"My work calls for steady nerves," said Mr. R. Royce Wilson in the September 1, 1928 issue of The New Yorker.

"RECENTLY I formed my own window cleaning business. I work on the job all day, and in the evening attend to the details of management--taking on helpers and getting new business.

"I am also keen on dancing. But pimples and blackheads embarrassed me and I felt below par from stomach trouble.

"My doctor advised Fleischmann's Yeast. It drove all the poison out of my system and completely cleared my skin. I come home with plenty of pep left over for dancing. What's more, the girls seem glad to dance with me."

Mr. Wilson comes across as a bit of a moron in this letter but I can't exactly pinpoint why. Maybe it's because, instead of using a scaffold or suspension rig to wash windows on, he's just hanging out of the sill like a trained monkey.

The Strangeness of Cats

I've long been confused by my cat's refusal to sit where I want her to. My mother bought her a luxurious blanket to lie on, but she'll walk right past it in favour of a ratty green towel awaiting sorting.

I used to think she was just being stubborn, but then I noticed that she liked to lie down on my clothing. I discovered that if I put one of my old T-shirts on that luxurious blanket...she'd lie on it!

Maybe this means that my cat is so offended by my odour that she is trying to eradicate it with her own. I wear only unscented deodorant, since I get headaches and an urge to flee when I'm around people who wear obtrusive perfumes, so as a result my clothes might smell too much like me (you know, human).

Or...maybe she loves me? Maybe she likes to sit in places where she can be reminded of me? That's an awful sweet thought, and knowing my cat it's probably true.

From Breeze to Wind to Gale

Now, in the middle of winter, I am sick of wind.

What GOOD has wind ever done? Windpower is not particularly viable, so it hasn't earned its keep in that way, not like water (against which I have nothing). I'm sure it helps scatter pollen and seeds...but isn't that what insects and birds are for? Besides, I'm sure both birds AND insects would be happier without wind. There are a LOT of insects so their opinions do matter.

I've been wracking my brains and all I can think of is: wind blew Columbus to the New World in 1492, but that was very much a bitter-sweet thing.

Has wind been an inspiration to anybody? I've never read "Wind in the Willows," and I've never liked Bob Dylan's "Blowin' in the Wind." Woodwind instruments don't actually rely on wind at all, and usually when you see the word "wind" it's actually referring to its homonym ("to wind something up") so if anything it CONFUSES language and art.

I'm tired of wind. Can we stop it?

Gravol

I've been having an awful time getting to sleep lately. I was at the end of my rope and about to have a nervous breakdown when Tanzi suggested the obvious: maybe my sleeping schedule had simply gotten out of whack and I needed to reset it by conking myself out with medication?

She suggested Gravol and I was willing to try anything.

REAL Gravol -- not the herbal stuff -- is now kept behind the drug store counter, either because it's being abused or because people are stealing it. In front of a bunch of elderly people I admitted that I was using it as a sedative, which is not what Gravol is generally used for, and I felt mighty embarassed until I realized that most of those old people were probably buying erectile aids and extra-strength laxatives.

My only previous Gravol experience was ten years ago, when I was spending a week's vacation with a friend in Toronto. Stricken by the flu the night I arrived, she gave me Gravol so I could get through a shopping trip, and I vividly remember standing in the middle of the Eaton Centre saying "I don't know where I am, I can't see anything properly, please lead me to a safe corner somewhere." It was a strange drug experience that I only now understand is the effect of taking TOO MUCH Gravol, which some folks do for fun. This is probably why it's kept behind the counter.

Anxious to avoid hallucinations, I took only one pill at 9pm last night. By 9:30 I was feeling disconnected and sleepy, but I'd spent the last two weeks feeling that way so I'm not sure how much of that was the Gravol. I got into bed and read until 10pm, by which time I felt ready to sleep. I was calmly unconcerned about the growing numbness in my extremities, ready to sacrifice a finger or a toe for a good night's sleep. I dozed off immediately and slept like a total log, not dreaming, until 5am when I woke up for a bathroom break.

As though compensating for the seven hours without dreams, my last two hours of sleep were jam-packed with bizarre, vivid imagery. By 7:30am I was fully awake, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to go to work with all of my toes intact.

I feel much better today and hopefully this has done the trick. As for the efficiency of Gravol, either it really does give you a powerful drowse-on or I suffered one heck of a placebo effect. I hadn't gambled on the hand-and-foot pins-and-needles, but my circulation is worse than normal so most people shouldn't have a problem with it. Still, I have to say that if you're going to take it, see your doctor and don't blame me if you die.

Thanks, Tanzi!

"Playing the Game" Is Now Online!

Hurray!

Last summer I took part in the filming of Steve Hutton's latest project, a Web-TV series of interrelated shorts called "Playing the Game." After meticulous post-production the show is now going online with a new episode available every week.

You can see high-quality versions of the first two episodes here.

To put things into honest perspective, I'm only in episode seven ("Wolf") and I have a non-speaking role...though nobody speaks in that particular episode anyway (except for the narrator). It was a particularly bizarre shoot and I can't wait to see how it turns out!

Fat Ankles Again

Last year I blogged about a 1920s hosiery company who constantly poked fun at the "fat ankles" of famous statues.

It seemed obvious to me that statues generally HAD to have fat ankles to prevent them from falling over, but in any case it was a silly thing meant to highlight the "ankle slenderizing" designs of the latest stockings; a desperate advertising meme and nothing more.

Now, one year later in real time (and almost three years in "New Yorker time," September 1st, 1928), it's the editors making the jibes:

"Across the street from Sherman and his golden horse is a good statue--the lady in the fountain. It is not the best statue we have ever seen (the lady has fat ankles..."

I'm AMAZED that people ever noticed the ankles on statues. I'm even MORE amazed that intelligent people thought that statues should physically conform to real human bodies. It truly is no lie that folks WERE obsessed with ankles in the 1920s.

Toss and Turn

Sleep has always been difficult for me at the best of times, but I go through phases when it's downright maddening. Some nights I'll lie there for two hours or more and still be wide awake.

I've learned that there is a physical "sleep zone" that I need to reach. In this zone I feel mentally drowsy and comfortable, the real world starts to retreat, the images in my head take on a hazy quality. Once I'm in that spot I can happily congratulate myself and be unconscious in a few minutes.

GETTING to that zone has always been the trouble, because there are "things" in the way. Sometimes these things are physical -- like a high energy level, an uncomfortable sleeping area, or blood sugar that's out of whack. But most of the time the obstacle is a mental one. I have "things on my mind" and my mind won't let them go without a fight.

One technique I've used for a long time is to let each mental "thing" appear in front of my eyes -- like a future task that's worrying me or an activity I'm looking forward to -- and then I mentally burn them in a quick flash that instantly disappears. If I can do this fast, for all those things, then there are no mental left-overs. But the difficulty is that the very mental process of imagining these flashes is ANOTHER "thing," and I must make sure not to dwell upon it in any way: just let the flash happen and instantly forget it happened.

When that doesn't work I try something I discovered last year: I visualize a bright white "square wave" -- a blocky line with a few 90-degree angles in it -- accompanied by a deafening, clean, unmusical tone. My brain instantly starts to whip around to concentrate on those other things," and each time it starts to grasp one I intensify the tone and bring the square wave in again. This works for more bothersome "things" but is easy to get tired of...if it doesn't work after ten minutes or so it just won't work at all.

For the past two weeks I've had A LOT of trouble sleeping, because I'm experiencing this burning creative urge: a need to devise new projects and consider old projects. I'll go to bed and instantly start writing blog entries in my head, or considering musical possibilities, or sketching out storyboards. When this happens I start to lose more and more sleep, which is ironic because if I actually GOT enough sleep I'd have the energy to follow THROUGH with all those plans.

All these visualization things I've mentioned are ways of turning abstract mental "things" into nearly physical objects, because physical objects can be destroyed or ignored or -- even better -- turned off.

So now, in this time of sleep-crisis, I've been trying out a new technique. I imagine a little cave full of filmstrip machines -- remember those? -- and each one is showing a different basic TYPE of "thing." Rather than projecting SPECIFIC things, like "I can't believe I said that thing to so-and-so last year" -- as I've always done before -- I now lump all those "things" into categories -- like "regrets," for instance. I let them play for a while and then, one-by-one, turn the filmstrip machines off until finally the cave is dark.

Besides "regrets" I commonly have an "anticipated worry" machine, and a "reruns" machine for all those times I obsessively re-run recent events in my head. I have a "chores" machine devoted to the things I haven't done yet (like clean out the litterbox) and a "work" machine for stuff I've neglected at work. I have a "self worries" machine for agonizing about my own shortcomings and another machine for "grudges."

Not all of them are negative. There's a "creativity" machine for all the projects I'm working on, and an occasionally-active "state of the world" machine that speaks for itself. There's one for "worrying about others" and one for "remembering neat things," and of course a "song in my head" machine for those pop songs that just won't let me sleep.

The one problem I've had with this new routine is that, as I'm walking around turning off these machines, I'm often thinking "I'll need to blog about this activity I'm doing," which is a sort of inconceivable meta-machine that can't be conceptualized and can only be ignored. Now that I HAVE blogged about it, I hope that hurdle can be overcome and that I'll sleep like the dead tonight.

ZAngband, My Guilty Pleasure

Every few years I dust off the old Roguelike and spend some time obsessively playing it. For the last eight years my personal favourite has been ZAngband, and I've spent a week joyfully hacking away at it.

What's so nice about a Roguelike? You can play it on any platform. The vibrant development base makes for frequent updates and tweaks. With no attention paid to spiffy graphics -- as you can see above -- all the code can go toward providing balance, interest, and surprise. At the best of times it's like playing randomized chess. At its worst it's an endless tapping out of the same command codes ("m4b*t, m4b*t, m4b*t...").

The BEST thing about playing a Roguelike, though, is that it provides a good opportunity to just sit and listen to a CD at the same time. Each time I sit down to play the game, I put in a CD I haven't properly listened to and then play along with the CD. When the CD's over I force myself to quit the game, because nothing kills your character like general game fatigue.

Another nice thing about it is the "code of game ethics" which states that when your character dies...that's it. Game over. You don't do anything tricky -- like back up your save file -- to resurrect it. This leads to a lot of reflection during the game and a reduction of potentially suicidal choices. It also leads to intense frustration when eight hours of your life go down the toiled due to "Yet Another Stupid Death."

What's so nice about ZAngband? It's the only Roguelike with a huge randomized wilderness full of towns, ruins, and themed dungeons. Its magic system is unparalleled. It also has a good sense of humour, having strayed from the traditional Tolkein influences to bring us Robin Hood and -- jeez -- Barney the chaos-spewing dinosaur.

ZAngband has so many character options -- race, class, magic types -- that it can be a bit daunting to the beginner. So I have only one (nerdy) thing to say: Mindflayer ranger with Death magic. You'll spend the first hour or so running away from everything, but once you hit your stride...

Simple Things That Make Me Happy, Off The Top of My Head

1. Strangers who smile and nod when they walk past you.
2. Suddenly remembering something that I've spent hours trying to remember.
3. A comfortable chair, an afghan, a book, a lap-cat.
4. Creating something and deciding that "it is good." Extra happiness if other people say "it's good" too.
5. Drivers who pull too far ahead into the intersection, then thoughtfully back up to let me walk past.
6. Untroubled sleep.
7. Clothing that fits perfectly.
8. The anticipation of starting a new project which I fully understand.
9. A complete collection of something.
10. Animals doing whatever it is they do.
11. Being part of an efficient process.
12. A big, shared Indian meal.
13. Anticipating free time, with many options for filling it.
14. Meeting strangers in a strange city.
15. Looking around a corner and seeing something I hadn't expected.
16. Epiphanies.
17. That drunken state when everybody seems perfectly wonderful, including myself.
18. An epic thunderstorm.
19. Easy face-to-face conversation.
20. Halva.