Guest Blog Post: Comforting the Disturbed by Tony Del Degan

During the Q&A segment of the launch event for my fourth novel In River Cardinal, I was asked a question something along the lines of “what makes a horror story scary?” I believe I quoted Stephen King and his “three types of horror” mantra and then elaborated by talking about tension and how horror lives there, and not in the actual payoff. (That’s mostly true). My new addition to that philosophy is a sentiment that I staunchly believe in with regards to art in general–you’ve likely heard it before. Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. 

We live in a time of stark contrasts. There’s a push for conformity and conservatism, with outlandish and risqué ideas and pieces of art falling victim to the sweeping blade of those who wish to control the masses. This is a story that has played out with cyclical idiocy since humans first decided to build societies. And still, after thousands of years, we haven’t caught on.

 But at the same time we see a rise in the proliferation of that outlandish art, because if there’s something artists are certainly not known for, it’s conforming. Splatterpunk novels and extreme horror fiction are seeing a resurgence. I stopped into a local horror bookstore in my city and found a whole shelf specifically dedicated to it. Woom, Cows, Gone to See the River Man, and Playground are a few of the more notorious pieces making the rounds in young popular culture. Some of these stories have deeper meanings to them and a bit of metaphorical irony, while others are torture porn brain vomit with a barely coherent plot and a mission to do nothing but describe the most grotesque imagery they possibly can. It’s fascinating–at least to me–that content like this is exploding among young people. That and dark romance novels where the female protagonist is beaten and molested by the love interest to the point where she just has to enjoy it. I wonder what that says about our society.

 But are those things true horror? Depending on who you ask, the fact that people are reading it is certainly horrific. But as they say, horror and comedy are the most subjective genres, and no two people will be scared by the same thing in the same way. Jumpscares in films frighten most people, but those are cheap and tickle our monkey brains. And you can’t jumpscare someone with the written word.

 Horror in literature typically comes from implication, and from the building of tension. The only times I’ve personally been scared while reading is when the author masterfully constructs a scenario that implies and never reveals. Your own mind will generate far more dread than a blunt hammer-over-the-head description. Making the reader care about the characters is another vitally important step. That’s something most slasher stories and cheap horror media seems to fail at.

 Writing horror is incredibly difficult, and even when you manage to conjure up a passage that utterly freaks you out, someone else will read it and give you the chance to watch it gracefully drift up and over their head. You can imply and create tension until the cows come home, and have it all fall flat through a stranger’s eyes. Conversely, you can write something that seems benign, maybe in an effort to set up a larger scare later on, and have a stranger give you glowing reviews about how that benign setup was the scariest thing they’ve read all year and the big payoff seemed anticlimactic.

 So what makes a horror story scary? It should disturb you as the writer. Don’t cater exclusively to mass appeal and end up with something that makes you fall asleep. No great artist ever made a masterpiece and came out the other end with their soul unexplored and their deepest thoughts never pulled into the light. And never be afraid to disturb yourself. Never ask for permission.

 When I write a novel, I like to think I shed a piece of myself. Most of the time I don’t know what that piece is until I stumble across it somewhere along the line. When I write the final sentence, I’ve confronted that piece, examined it from all angles, and let it go. It now exists in the book. My desires, beliefs, and most importantly: my fears. When an author bares their soul and shows you what they fear–tries to make you fear it too–that’s what makes a book scary. Because the horror, in some sense, is real.

Tony Del Degan is a Calgary-based author. His short story, Depthcrusher, appeared in our first issue. Learn more about him at https://tony.deldegan.ca/.