Hell House, or Your Napoleon Complex has Really Gotten Out of Hand

Not to be confused with Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House, Richard Matheson's Hell House is an entirely different beast (and I will admit to confusing the titles more than once—I am ashamed).  While it wasn't clear if Hill House was truly haunted or it was lonely and just wanted a friend, there is no doubt that something's rotten in the state of Hell House. Let's start with the name. The Belasco Mansion has such a perverted history that it became known as Hell House. Even if the house wasn't haunted, the history has power. When alive, Emeric Belasco filled the house with every imaginable debauchery, and the knowledge of this history leaves an impression on those who visit Hell House. Former residents of Hell House fell into an animalistic state and Belasco reigned over his base kingdom as "The Roaring Giant".

Yet, Hell House is haunted. Rather than the house itself generating the hauntings from residual energy, visitors of the house experience violent apparitions and attacks from entities. What struck me about these apparitions was how they chose to attack their victims. Two men and two women are visiting Hell House. Only one of the men is directly attacked by being locked in a steam room and is eventually killed. The other man—a physical medium—manages to separate himself from being attacked. Both women, one a mental medium and the other the wife of the man who dies, are attacked sexually. The medium is not only killed, but she is also raped by a ghost and sexually assaulted multiple times leading up to the rape. The other woman is possessed by an entity that causes her to attack both men in the pursuit of sex and cast doubt onto her sexuality.

When reading these attacks, I was taken aback by the actions the entities took on the women—how both women had the control over their bodies taken from them in different ways. But after separating myself from the initial reading and thinking about the story, I couldn't help but wonder what Matheson was saying by only having the women be victims of sexual abuse. Maybe the time the novel was published had an influence, but given what supposedly happened in the house, homosexuality isn't far-fetched. The violent apparitions were all male, yet they chose not to exhibit their power over the living men the way they did over the women.  

The only reason I don't speculate why there couldn't be a female entity to go after the men is the ending. Turns out the paranormal activity was all controlled by a single entity: the ghost of the Roaring Giant himself, Belasco, who had found a way to live after death. Now, this is all fine and dandy, but the rest of the ending I had to read it multiple times through tears of laughter to make sure I understood correctly. Turns out ol' Belasco was no giant. He was a tiny man with a Napoleon complex who’s motivation for everything was to convince others he was tall. Please, if I’m missing something about the ending, tell me. I'm at a loss for an alternate interpretation. Although at a towering 5'3", I now have a whimsical motivation to haunt and terrorize the living.

Hell House had elements I enjoyed. I liked the in-your-face aspect of the hauntings—Belasco wasn't a power to be dismissed. I enjoyed the constant pull between the logical and the unexplained that carried throughout the story. Yet after gaining distance from the story, I'm not sure if I like that only the women were the victims of violent sexual assault. And the ending… well, it only emphasized what I've always said: don’t mess with short people.

Now There Be Ghosties: The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

Last term there were beasties. Now there be... well, ghost-ies.

When I saw Shirley Jackson on the reading list this term, I was excited. The only thing of hers I’d read until now was The Lottery, the granddaddy of dystopian short stories and what I sense was a major influence behind The Hunger Games. I’d heard of The Haunting of Hill House, but hadn’t had a chance to read it until this class. I’m a fan of The Lottery. It’s one of those stories that made me stop in my tracks, so I had high hopes for The Haunting of Hill House.

Yet while I didn’t hate it, Hill House didn’t fill me up with the same dread I was expecting thanks to The Lottery. Yet what happens to protagonist Eleanor Vance comes close.

The spirits of Hill House have a special interest in Eleanor. After receiving the invitation to Hill House as an assistant in an experiment to prove the existence of ghosts, Eleanor leaves the reluctant charity of her disapproving sister and steals the car in an attempt to go on her first real adventure. Not only is Eleanor intent on seeking an escape from her quiet and dull life, but she is also socially stunted and seeks the companionship she’s never truly had.

Of those who are visiting the house during this experiement, Eleanor is the weakest and the most easily influenced out of the group—the most susceptible to believe that the house is haunted, whether she realizes it or not. She sees manifestations that others don’t, and she receives personal messages from those long gone who still haunt Hill House’s halls. Through this attention, Eleanor begins to feel a kinship with the house unlike anything she'd felt with another person. It’s forgotten and unwanted, like her, and she opens herself up to the house so much the spirits override her senses and drive her to the roof where she can jump to her death to be morbidly united with the house forever.  Even when she is forced to leave, Eleanor finds her way to remain at Hill House and drives into a tree, killing herself.

Eleanor is whoI found to be the most interesting aspect of The Haunting of Hill House. She is not a strong protagonist. If anything, most of the action happens to her rather than her seeking out the action. She becomes puppet-like—consumed by the energy of the house so much that it controls her.

This loss of control I find to be the most chilling aspect of Jackson’s novel. While it’s the dark moodiness of the setting that helps contribute to the Victorian Gothic feel of the novel as a whole, it’s how the spirits warp Eleanor’s senses so completely she’s deluded into believing she must die in order to remain at Hill House that takes the novel beyond Gothic into horror. Because there is nothing particularly special about Eleanor as a heroine, she easily slips into the role of the every-man. This reminds the reader while their disbelief is suspended that they too could be susceptible to supernatural influence.

What happens to Eleanor also represents a loss of control that most people fear. When she arrived at Hill House, she sought only an adventure, and before she was possessed wanted to seek out her own life separate from her family. Yet she loses control over her actions and her thoughts to seek death as a means of remaining at Hill House. This loss of power to an unseen supernatural entity is the recurring fear that drives forward all ghost stories I’ve either read or seen, and while this fear is presented more quietly than some, it delivers.

While it might not have been my favorite story read to date, The Haunting of Hill House has rightfully earned its place among the ranks of ghost story heavy-hitters. Just because a protagonist might be conventionally weak doesn’t mean that their story can’t send chills down readers’ spines.

Week 12: Snow

I’m not sure about all of you, but it seems fitting that this week the book in question is Snow by Ronald Malfi—I haven’t been warm in a week and I’m still in denial over the first snow of the season. I finished the book under piles of blankets with a fleece zipped up to my chin, and I still couldn't get warm. The reading material didn’t help the cause.

I know I've mentioned in past blog posts that I’m not a fan of snow, or winter, or being cold in general. I’d rather be too hot than too cold any day. Snow was the third piece this term that was set in an extremely cold setting—first 30 Days of Night set the stage in Alaska, followed by The Thing in Antarctica, before finishing up in Woodson, Minnesota with Snow. 

The setting of Snow pulled double duty in this week’s book, and this was the first and only of the term that’s done so. Not only is the setting enough to make your skin crawl (literally, goose bumps abound) but the setting is the monster. Snow itself is the beastie that goes bump in the night.

If I didn't have enough issues with the cold…

It all starts with Todd traveling cross-country to visit his son. However, all flights are cancelled due to a freakishly intense snow storm. Todd decides to rent a car anyway and drive the rest of the way to his son. At this point, it was like watching a bad horror movie when screaming, “DON'T GO IN THERE!” at the TV starts. One of the worst snow storms in history and we’re going to drive in it. Insert face palm here.

But how else are the hero and the people he picks up at the airport going to encounter the monsters? It’s clear something strange is afoot after picking up a hitchhiker with vertical slashes over his shoulder blades. Turns out he's been possessed by the Snow. The Snow, or skin-suits as they’re later called, are these near-formless beings that need a host to become solid and feed. They attach and insert themselves through the shoulder of their hosts by means of scythe-like limbs in place of hands. Any trace of the host is gone. Even though the bodies can be destroyed, the Snow will only be damaged. Fire is their only vulnerability, as the heat gives them solid form and strips them of defense.

The most unsettling thing about the Snow is what they do to children. For whatever reason, the Snow can't inhabit a child-host without erasing all facial features. It’s like “The Idiot's Lantern,” the episode of Doctor Who when Rose loses her face. There's no explanation as to where the Snow came from, but it's implied they're aliens. 

While I did find the faceless children both disturbing and sad, I was underwhelmed with these monsters. Aliens have popped up now three times this semester, and so many of the monsters this term were reliant on a host. The hosts in Snow become zombie-like, and I'm starting to tire of zombies. While the book was a fast read and I enjoyed aspects of it, these monsters did nothing for me. It was three hundred pages of the main characters running away from the Snow. Yes the Snow were active monsters, which I enjoy, but there was a profound lack of backstory for them. Lack of backstory isn't always a bad thing, but they weren't the most interesting monsters I've read about. I had a hard time getting invested in the quest to defeat the Snow.

Also, the end of the Snow was predictable. It was made clear around the middle of the book that they could be defeated by fire, so it felt like a long while before a big enough explosion came about to wipe them out. Yet the ending is left open. It's revealed that Woodson wasn't the only city plagued by the Snow, so the beastie-alien are free to run around the country looking for a bad enough snow storm to ride in on. 

What I enjoyed about this book was the dialogue and the setting. The dialogue was fast paced and read how people talk. I appreciate a well-placed juicy expletive because it’s real (or maybe my perception is warped because I work with a bunch of sailor-mouths), and let’s face it. If someone’s running away from the Snow with its scythe-hands of doom, “Oh fudge” probably isn’t what would come out of most mouths.

I also liked that the setting was both a setting and a monster. I've read books where the setting absolutely contributed to the scare-level, but I liked that Malfi took this a step further and had the snow become a perversion of nature. I think it had more of an impact because it’s so cold right now. Might not have thought about what’s riding on the cold wind so much if it was a balmy 80 degrees out.

Let's just say, this book didn't change my opinion about snow, but I’m not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

Week Eleven: Relic

This week it’s out of the cold and into the museum in the novel Relic by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child.

First, let’s talk about the monster. The bad beastie in this novel is called Mbwun, which translates into “He Who Walks On All Fours.” The name itself is an indication of the rich history Preston and Child gave their monster, which I don’t always need, but almost always enjoy when it’s given to me. Mbwun is an ancient creature. The son of a demon who’s the South American equivalent of the Devil. Part primate, part lizard, all intelligent killer. A clear image of Mbwun is never given, which reminds me of how the audience isn’t given much of a chance to look at the Alien.

Flash forward (or backward) to the nineties, and an artifact bearing Mbwun’s image in a crate full of egg-like pods and unusual plant fibers is sent from the Amazon Basin to the New York Museum of Natural History. But no one expected the stowaway….

Dear Mbwun hitched a ride with the crate to the museum, and he has an addiction to hypothalamus glands in human brains. He is able to live quietly for years eating the plant fibers in the crate, because these fibers have a genetic makeup that mimics hypothalamus glands. But once his access to the plant fibers is cut-off, our monster must find sustenance elsewhere.

With this, the brutal killings start.

Overall, I liked Mbwun as a monster. He’s not merely a killing force of nature who only acts on instinct. He is highly intelligent in an almost human way. He knows to remain out of sight and only started the killings after his plant source ran out, which I think is interesting. He’s practically indestructible with a thick hide that bullets can’t penetrate, but his weakness is a bit cliché: the eyes. Ah well.

What I didn’t like was how this particular monster came into being. Throughout the entire book, everyone keeps focusing on the egg-like seed pods, which left me assuming they weren’t seeds at all. There were a couple mentions of Whittlesey—the head of the exhibition that went to South America and brought back Mbwun—disappearing, but it doesn’t seem too far-fetched because there’s a monster on the loose. Yet in the epilogue it’s revealed that Whittlesey became Mbwun by eating the plant fiber. I had to read the explanation a couple times before resigning myself to an “Okaaayyy…” It bothered me that I’d been led through this book to believe that Mbwun had hatched, when on the last couple of pages the rug was pulled out from under me. I now have some trust issues with this book.

Anyway, another thing I enjoyed was the setting. I love museums, and some of the exhibits lend themselves to letting imaginations run wild. Not only are there plenty of places in the museum itself for the monster to hide, but the museum is built over an elaborate tunnel system. And while the museum is large, it becomes a prison if locked with Mbwun sneaking around inside looking for tasty morsels.

Now, even though there were aspects of the book I liked, I had an issue with pacing. The probably impacted my perception of the pacing, but for whatever reason, this almost 500 page book was 959 pages on my Nook. One flip of a “page” might have counted for three pages, but there’s no denying parts of this book were slow. A lot of time was focused on the technology used to analyze what Mbwun was, and these parts dragged. Even though the search to find out more about the museum monster was a constant throughout the entire story, I felt there was a lot of down time between when I got to see the monster in action.

Overall, not my most favorite book, but parts of it I enjoyed. Not sure if I enjoyed it enough to want to see the movie, though. But I might just be more careful of the shadows next time I go to the museum.

Week Ten: The Thing

This week it’s back to alien horror goodness in the 1982 movie The Thing directed by John Carpenter.

I’d like to preface by saying I’m not easily grossed out or disturbed. I’m the person who tells everyone it’s okay to look when a particularly graphic, gory scene is over or laughs when the Alien bursts out of Kane’s stomach. However, I lost count the number of times I asked myself “What the f*ck am I watching?” during The Thing, and asking myself that question is a first for me.

The Thing was the first monster I had a hard time watching do its bad beastie routine. I wasn't sure what to expect from this movie, which might have contributed to reaction of the monster. I had nothing in mind, and my imagination likes to run rampant when filling in details. Let’s start with the setting. The movie opens with a shot of a flying saucer headed towards earth, which immediately brought Alien to mind. But the setting for this movie was isolated Antarctica rather than deep space. I've got issues with being trapped in the cold, which is a huge reason I found 30 Days of Night to be off-putting. It’s isolated, and there’s the very real chance of freezing to death. Turns out, the flying saucer in the opening scene crashed in Antarctica 100,000 years before the story takes place. The ship and its inhabitant are buried beneath layers of ice and are frozen in a sort of suspended animation.

Fast forward to 1982, and a group of Norwegians are trying to shoot down a dog belonging to the American research team. It didn't take long for me to figure out something was up with the dog, but the bad taste was already in my mouth. While I’m the person with the iron stomach when it comes to gore, I’m also the person who gets upset when the dog dies. However, I supposed the Norwegians had a good reason to go after the dog.

The alien Thing is a shape shifter who can perfectly mimic any living organism after a short period of isolated time with them. The American research team finds the burnt figure of a creature that appears to be a conglomeration of multiple animals, yet the dog the Norwegians were after is the first victim the audience is allowed to see change. The only word I have to describe the dog transformation scene is ewwwww. Eloquent, I know. What makes the transformations so disturbing is that animal characteristics are easily recognized, but it doesn't look like any particular animal. Parts of it might be dog-like, others spider-like, still others almost human.

 

As a monster, The Thing takes the prize this term for freaking me out. It also takes the prize for causing the most psychological turmoil within the characters. I find the most successful monsters to be the ones who are constantly on the minds of their prey, but the Thing takes it a step further. Not only is it constantly on the minds of the research team, but it could be anyone on the team. No one can trust anyone. At least the other monsters throughout the term so far were distinct entities, and the people fighting them knew what they were after. The monsters were obviously monsters. Yet the Thing can mimic the face of anyone—it’s only easily recognized when it’s between forms. Not only is there the fear of the Thing itself, there’s also the fear that it could literally be anyone. I think that’s more disturbing than the fear that the monster could be anywhere.

If given the chance, the Thing could eventually assimilate to every person in the world. Worldwide trust issues? That's almost as frightening as the Thing itself. This distrust seeps into the audience, because the ending is unclear whose face the Thing was wearing last. The open ending forces audiences to wonder if the Thing was actually killed or it survived as one of the remaining crew members to freeze to death. It leaves the audience wondering if the monster was truly defeated or if it will eventually become dormant under the ice, just like it was in the beginning.

Despite every squirm and every expletive uttered while watching this movie, I enjoyed it because it made me uncomfortable. That doesn't mean it’s on my list of favorite movies. All I ask is that we never talk about the spider head…. Nightmare fuel, that is.

P.S. Happy Halloween!

Week Nine: The Wolfman

For this week’s reading, we’re leaving the alien future for the Victorian past in Jonathan Mayberry’s novelization of the movie The Wolfman. I saw the movie back when it came out in 2010 with high hopes. But the movie left me feeling rather… meh. I’ve seen worse, but I've seen far better, and I expected more. When I saw the book on the reading list, my first thought was that the movie was based on the book. After discovering this wasn't the case, I was hesitant. The movie wasn't anything to write home about, and the novelization would be the movie in paper form.

I was pleasantly proved wrong. Author Jonathan Mayberry fleshed out the somewhat flat story of The Wolfman and made it an enjoyable read. Yes, the plot of the book exactly followed the plot of the movie, but isn't that the point of a novelization?

Werewolves are some of the classic bad beasties, but recently—like pretty much all monsters—they've turned into brooding heartthrobs with washboard abs who aren't evil, just misunderstood. I don’t mind a sexy werewolf every now and then (and there are some sexy times thrown into the book), but it’s refreshing to get back to basics. Werewolves represent the most base, primal, violent urges of mankind that (hopefully) lay dormant in most, but are exaggerated and acted upon when in the wolf state. They don’t represent, well, puppies.

Lawrence Talbot, the Wolfman, is a true werewolf, and unlike the movie, I was better able to get inside his head. While I watched Benicio Del Toro who played Talbot turn into the Wolfman on screen, I felt Talbot turn into the monster on the page, and it was a cringe-worthy experience. Every bone in the body broken to be reshaped, every tooth pushed free by a fresh set of fangs.

Ouch is an understatement.

The Wolfman is his own creature, with no hint of the man he used to be. Mayberry makes a clear distinction between Lawrence and the Wolfman by giving them their own POVs and not using their names interchangeably. While I found myself looking at the monster in the movie to try to figure out how they did the makeup, I was right there when it was completely lost to instinct and went on its killing spree when I read the same scene.

I watched the horror of realization spread over Del Toro’s face when Talbot understands he’s the monster, but I experienced the horror of this realization with him as I read. I’ve always been a fan of werewolves, but never really thought about how terrifying it would be to completely lose control and commit horrible acts, then later comprehend the extent of what happened because of that loss of control. Not to mention the fear of what would happen if control was loss again, but in the presence of a loved one.

I loved this full access into the monster’s head that I didn't get while watching the movie. It isn't a werewolf reinvented, but a werewolf examined as a monster rather than a tortured soul. There is some tortured soul action, but from Lawrence’s point of view instead of the Wolfman's. And the reactions to being a werewolf are compared and contrasted between Lawrence who hates what he is and his maker who fully embraces the monster within.

Overall, the novelization took the story to the next level, which the movie failed to achieve. Instead of being just another monster story, The Wolfman novelization helped the reader to participate in what it could be like to be a werewolf by engaging the imagination, which isn’t the most glamorous way to portray these monsters in most books on the shelves. But this was the first time I've cringed during a werewolf transformation, book or otherwise, and there’s nothing wrong with that. 

Week Eight: Alien

This week, we’re leaving the earth-dwelling zombies behind and looking upward to the stars in the 1979 Ridley Scott movie Alien.

This was my first time watching Alien, and I honestly wasn’t sure what to think going into it. I have a bad track record with horror movies—either I laugh at parts I should be cringing at, or I can’t suspend my disbelief. The former typically happens with older horror movies, the latter with more recent releases. Now I will readily admit to laughing at an inappropriate part of this movie because something must be wrong with me, but I was able to suspend my disbelief. Maybe the sci-fi setting helped me to do so, but no matter the reason, I truly enjoyed this movie.

The plot is a basic predator hunts prey story. A crew of seven on the mining ship Nostromo is on its way home from a routine ore mining trip, when the main computer, Mother, detects an alien signal. By law, the crew is required to respond. They land on the alien planet and damage Nostromo in the process. While the ship undergoes repairs, some of the crew explore their new surroundings, and it all goes downhill after that. I’m sure just about everyone has already seen this movie, or at least know enough about it to guess the rest. If not, go watch it.

Since this is a class on monsters, let’s look at the monster itself. The Alien is a creature unhindered by a conscious that can adapt to almost any climate and has many natural defenses from egg to adult. In order to develop, it must become a parasite and latch on to a host via a facehugger. This is the second instance in this class where the fear of pregnancy and birth is explored. It’s ‘born’ by ripping free from one of the crew member's abdomens, and its birth kills it’s host. The violent birth and parasite/host relationship between the crew member and the Alien reminded me of Breeding Ground. This birth sets the tone for the Alien for the rest of the movie by introducing it through violence and good old fashioned ick factor.

Much of the movie after the Alien’s birth is spent trying to determine where it is and how to kill it as it slowly picks off the crew one by one. While the Alien is monstrous in the sense that it acts upon its desire to kill, it’s generally off-screen during the movie. Most of the fear comes from the dread of anticipation the Alien causes. However, it’s not a passive monster, like the monsters from the beginning of the class. Even though the Alien isn’t in every scene, it’s always on the crewmembers’ minds, which I liked. How monstrous is a monster when no one’s scared of it?

Overall, I’m glad I saw this movie. It’s been on my to-watch list for a while, and while aspects of it are a little corny because the special effects are outdated, I understand why it’s a cult classic. The Alien invokes fear from its victims before it attacks, and it’s this fear and the anticipation of the next attack the drives the film. For me, that’s absolutely necessary for a monster to be frightening, whether it’s on the screen or on the page.

On a side note, I love how all the Alien seems to want is some quality time with the cat. Maybe my cat-lady bias is clouding my judgment, but I a part of me just wanted to see what the Alien would do when left alone with Jones. I’d like to think after a stressful day of human hunting, Alien would have come home to snuggle the cat.