Showing posts with label bikini. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bikini. Show all posts

Friday, April 17, 2020

The Means to an End, or Catch and Release

 Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman


In plotting horror fiction, as in other genres, it helps to think of the phrase “a means to an end.”

The “means” are the means that the writer employs to encourage the reader to continue to read the story.

The “end” is the theme, or the “meaning,” of the story of film, the point of the narrative or the drama, what it is all “about.”


Here is a simple illustration: an attractive young woman in a bikini is the “means”; the reason for her being a part of a story about a serial killer who preys upon attractive young women in bikinis is the “end.”

We can think of the means as a series of hooks. The writer hooks the reader, but releases him or her; hooks the reader again, and releases him or her a second time; hooks the reader yet again, and releases him or her a third time; and so on, until, at last, the writer releases the reader for good, at the end of the story.


Too often, writers think of not a series of hooks, but of a single hook: the hook that lands the reader, that succeeds in getting him or her to read the rest of the story. However, the idea that even a short story has but a single hook does not work, and it does not work for a novella or a novel, either. (It also doesn't apply to a feature-length film—and what we say here, in this post, about written stories also applies in general to filmed ones; simply substitute “screenwriter” for “writer,” “film” or “movie” for “story” or “novel,” and “audience,” spectator,” or “viewer” for “reader.”)

We might also note that every hook leaves behind a question which is answered either sooner or later. The hooks (usually actions) generate questions; the questions generate suspense. Once the suspense is satisfied—temporarily—the next hook is set.


Let's take, as an example, H. G. Wells's short story “The Red Room.” Here are the hooks:

Hook 1: Castle caretakers warn a young man who has recently arrived not to spend the night in the Red Room, which, they say, is haunted.
Question: Will the young man be dissuaded?
Hook 2: The warning is repeated.
Question: Will the young man be dissuaded?
Hook 3: The warning is repeated again.
Question: Will the young man be dissuaded?
Hook 4: The young man proceeds upstairs to the Red Room.
Question: Will the young man continue to the room or change his mind and depart from the castle?
Hook 5: The young man locks himself inside the room.
Question: Will he stay in the room?
Hook 6: Having secured himself inside the room, the young man inspects the chamber for any signs of secret entrances or hiding places.
Question: Will the young man find any secret entrances or hiding places.?
Hook 7: A candle goes out.
Question: Why?
Hook 8: The young man suspects a draft, but he cannot find a source of an air current.
Question: What caused the draft that blew out the candle—or was it a draft that extinguished the flame?
Hooks 9-12*: One by one, additional candles are apparently snuffed.
Question: What caused the drafts that blew out these additional candles—or were they drafts that extinguished the flame?
Hook 13: The fire in the fireplace is abruptly extinguished.
Question: What caused the fire to go out? (Here, the reader may draw a tentative conclusion: a draft of air certainly could not have extinguished the fire!)
Hook 14: The young man panics, running through the room, and is knocked out.
Question: Did ghosts attack him?
Hook 15: The castle's caretakers ask him whether the room is haunted, as rumored?
Question: What will the young man answer: is the room haunted?
End: The room is haunted—by the young man's own imagination, which ran away with him.

*The numbers are invented, as the exact number escape me at present.

While the incidents of a plot must be linked by cause and effect, they should also be related through actions, or hooks, that cause questions, generating suspense, until, at the end, all is explained.

But must stories be explained? Isn't ambiguity best, in some cases? That's a question for a future post.


Monday, August 4, 2008

Sexing It Up, Part II

copyright 2008 by Gary L. Pullman

With few exceptions, horror fiction has a reputation for being puerile and jejune. One might add that this reputation, hard won, is well deserved. However, the same charge may be leveled accurately at any other genre of fiction and, indeed, has been leveled at many classics in mainstream fiction as well by the critics and contemporary authors of the day in which these literary classics made their debuts. It may be interesting to some to review the plots of a few of the more brazenly irrelevant examples of what might be termed erotic films. In doing so, it should be apparent to any that the flimsiest excuse for a model or an actress to doff her clothing was regarded as reason enough for her to do so. What is good for the goose of the sexploitation movie, one may argue further, should be good for the gander of the horror story. Violence and, indeed, gore needs no more persuasive or socially redeeming reason for being than erotica disguised as--well, let’s look at the rationales, suggested or stated directly, for the sexploitation films of the past and see just what reasons they do offer for their existence.


2069: A Sex Odyssey: Venus’ females (who, as it turns out, resemble the most beautiful women that planet Earth has to offer) visit our planet to fornicate with men so as to preserve their own species. Reason for being: Species survival.


The Beautiful, The Bloody, and the Bare: Behind Closed Doors: A nude photographer--no, he’s not nude; his models are--takes fine glamour shots unless the color red appears. The color of blood drives him to lust--for blood--and, therefore, to murder. Reason for being: Art for art’s sake.


Philosophy of a Knife: A documentary (kind of) concerning the Japanese version of Nazi Germany’s Dr. Mengele. (Okay, so this one does have a little real reason for its gratuitous displays of nudity, which make such displays no longer gratuitous, just nude.) Reason for being: Documentary of human villainy.


Bikini Airways: Sexy stewardesses find a way to earn their pay after their airlines seems to be going belly up financially: they rent their aircraft as a flying forum for wild bachelor parties. Reason for being: Financial survival.


Brigitta: Swingers’ fantasies about swinging. Reason for being: Uh, Brigitta?


Curse of the Erotic Tiki: A talisman sold at a bikini shop causes whoever wears it to lose her sexual inhibitions. Reason for being: Magic and enchantment.

Okay, now that we’ve taken a squint at some of the lamer sexploitation flicks and their reasons for being, let’s look at a few horror movie plots to see whether the excuses that they offer for their existence are any less lame.


Species: An alien female mates with Earthmen to avoid her species’ extinction. Reason for being: Species survival.


The Picture of Dorian Gray: Due to his sins, Dorian’s portrait ages while he stays young. Reason for being: Art for art’s sake.


Ed Gein: A transvestite killer wants his mom back--from the grave. Reason for being: Documentary of human villainy.


Hostel: An entrepreneur’s inn of supposed pleasure turns out to be a not-so-public house of pain. Reason for being: Financial survival.


The Abominable Dr. Phibes: The doctor is a rabbi, maybe, who uses the same sort of amulet that Moses apparently used to stir up the plagues in ancient Egypt, because he’s doing the same thing now, in modern America, using a set of his own similar charms. Reason for being: Magic and enchantment.

Wow! It looks like a tie, proving that other film genres--in this case, sexploitation films--offer excuses for their existence that are just as flimsy--in fact, identical at times--as those of the weak excuses that horror films advance for their existence. In fact, at times, it’s hard to tell the two genres apart, since many horror films are made to exploit the adolescent crowd, as are sexploitation films. Sex and violence both sell, and, with the former, as with the latter, there is often the added bonus of bikini-clad girls or actual nudity. What does a little prurience matter, along with the puerility or a little jiggle along with the jejunity? It’s all harmless fun until someone gets an eye poked out.

Monday, May 26, 2008

Julie Bell: "Hard Curves, Soft as Steel"

Copyright 2008 by Gary L. Pullman

According to the existentialists among us, by themselves, neither objects nor people mean anything. We invest them, as we do the world itself, with whatever meaning we assign to them, even if this meaning changes from time to time and from place to place. Nature is our mask and costume, the many disguises we wear. We are protean, and our spirits possess all persons, places, and things. Although she's primarily a fantasy artist, former bodybuilder and present wife of fellow artist Boris Vallejo, Julie Bell sometimes includes the grotesque, the monstrous, and the horrific in her work, showing her fans these possibilities within existence, human and otherwise.

Pertaining to the nature and role of women in such a context, what lessons may we glean from Bell’s art?

First, the women in her art are invariably glamorous and beautiful. They are often scantily clad or nude, a state of dress (or undress) which emphasizes their feminine attributes.

Second, Bell’s idea of womanhood is not maternal; she is not interested in depicting woman as Madonna. Woman, according to Bell, is not a worker, nor is she a servant. She is not here to cook, to clean, or to serve in a subservient position to men.



She is sometimes a warrior, incongruously attired in a bikini and armed with a sword (her true weapon, and her real armor, are her womanly charms); more often, she is a force of nature who is seen in the company of predatory beasts or birds of prey, such as snakes, hawks, or tigers, and she is unperturbed, even in the presence of monsters. At times, she is seen as having domesticated dragons or other grotesque beasts.


Third, Bell's woman embraces the otherness of the male and of male sexuality. In Bell’s art, the snake, a phallic symbol, has a terrible aspect to it (or its head, as the repository of its reptilian intelligence, does, at least). Nevertheless, the serpent is also often depicted as being not only without the armor of its scales, with an utterly smooth hide, but it is also depicted as golden (and, therefore, valuable, since gold suggests value). In its presence, Bell’s woman is not frightened, but is positively at ease with this symbol of masculine potency.

Bell’s femme fatales are at ease with nature, too. They’re able to bait their own hooks and to fish alone for their supper. They can be deadly. They can even be muscular, or buff, but they remain feminine and lovely, despite their hard bodies and their willingness to injure, destroy, or kill. They are, in a word, androgynous--physically, they are feminine, but spiritually, they are masculine--a man’s spirit (but with greater emotional sensitivity than is common among males) living, as it were, in women’s flesh. The titles of a pair of books concerning Bell’s art, Hard Curves and Soft as Steel, sum up the image that the artist’s work projects of womanhood. In the art of Vallejo and Frank Frazetta, men are often heroic figures whose daring deeds and fantastic feats include, more often than not, the rescue of a damsel in distress. In Bell’s work, such a woman rarely, if ever, exists. Women are well able to take care of themselves, thank you very much.


Sometimes, Bell’s woman is even merged with nature, as when she is portrayed as a bare-breasted female centaur or as a mermaid. In most of her work, men are absent altogether, but when a man is shown, Bell’s woman is his equal.

In fantasy art, Bell’s women anticipate the feminine heroes such as Alien’s Lieutenant Ripley, Xena the Warrior Princess, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and the slasher film’s last girl (the sole survivor who manages to defeat the monster after it has killed everyone else, males included).


Her message--and the message of Ripley, Xena, Buffy, and the last girl--seems clear. The new feminine icon is still curvy, sexy, glamorous, and lovely, but her spirit is more masculine than feminine (as gender is understood in traditional, or sexist, terms). Having forged her own independence as an individual, woman, Bell’s art insists, is entitled to become all things that males have always been: adventurers, explorers, hunters, fishers, rescuers, scouts, warriors, and, in short, heroes--or, rather, heroines. They have developed a protean nature, if not a protean form. After all, despite all the traditionally male attributes of spirit, heart, and mind, Bell’s woman remains quintessentially feminine. Contemporary horror, like contemporary fantasy art, suggests that there is a little more “man” in today’s woman, but this increased masculinity does not equate with a decrease in femininity, as it is represented physically. There is the outer woman and the inner woman, and the two need not be the same.

A Note on Bell's husband and fellow artist, Boris Vallejo:


Peruvian artist Boris Vallejo, who often signs his work simply “Boris,” draws and paints art that is similar in theme and execution to that of his wife and model, Julie Bell, and to the work of their fellow fantasy artist, Frank Frazetta. Much of Vallejo's work, in other words, is of a fantastic or an erotic nature (sometimes both), although, at times, it touches upon the supernatural and the horrific as well.

After emigrating to the United States in 1964, Vallejo became well known for his illustrations of Conan the Barbarian, Tarzan, and Doc Savage, successes which led to further commercial art assignments, critical acclaim, and a wide following of fans. His work includes many movie posters, advertising such motion pictures as Barbarella (1968), National Lampoon’s Vacation (1983), and many others.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Everyday Horrors: The Atomic Bomb

Copyright 2008 by Gary L. Pullman


When we see or hear the word “bikini,” we tend to think of--well, not death and destruction, certainly. However, it was upon the Bikini atoll, in the Pacific Ocean, that the first several nuclear bombs were tested. After detonating the bomb, the U. S. government relocated natives back to the atoll, from which they’d been evacuated, but the levels of radioactivity within their bodies suggested that they should be relocated again, so they were moved to Kili island, where they remain, wards of the federal government.

It was a Bikini atoll test that awakened the Japanese monster Godzilla. However, the U. S. was involved in far more sinister activities than those precipitated by the awakening of the fictitious Godzilla.

One of these activities was Project 4.1, a medical experiment that the government conducted in secret upon Marshall Island residents who had been exposed to radioactive fallout as a result of the government’s Castle Bravo nuclear test, which took place upon the Bikini atoll. The experiment, which began within a week of the Castle Bravo test, was known, officially, as “Study of Response of Human Beings Exposed to Significant Beta and Gamma radiation due to Fall-Out from High Yield Weapons.” (The powers of many of the Marvel Comics characters, including the Hulk and Spider-man, are results of radioactive experiments. Perhaps Stan Lee knew more than he’s saying?)

The Department of Energy stated the threefold purpose of the project: “(1) evaluate the severity of radiation injury to the human beings exposed, (2) provide for all necessary medical care, and (3) conduct a scientific study of radiation injuries to human beings.” The study showed significant effects from the Marshallese’s exposure to the radioactive fallout, including hair loss, skin damage (“raw, weeping lesions”), miscarriages, stillbirths, cancer, and neoplasms.



As bad as the fate of the test site’s human guinea pigs was, that of the Japanese at Nagasaki and Hiroshima were even worse. Those victims of the atomic bombs designated as Little Boy (which took out Hiroshima on August 6, 1945) and Fat Man (which took out Nagasaki on August 9, 1946), who survived the attack experienced severe burns, radiation sickness, and a variety of diseases, including cancer. As many as 140,000 people in Hiroshima and 80,000 in Nagasaki were killed by the explosion of the bomb. The cities themselves were leveled, with only a few, burned-out structures remaining. Had Japan not surrendered, ending World War II, the U. S. had planned to drop several more atomic bombs on the island nation, as more of the weapons were in production and were expected to be completed during the next few months.

The atomic bomb was the product of the Manhattan Project, headed by J. Robert Oppenheimer.

During the 1950’s and 1960’s, many B horror films were made that featured monsters (often Bug-eyed Monsters) created by the effects of the atomic bomb or radiation in general, including:

  • Amazing Colossal Man, The
  • Attack of the Giant Leeches
  • Beast from 20,000 Fathoms, The
  • Bride of the Monster
  • Creature from the Black Lagoon, The
  • Damnation Alley
  • Day the Earth Caught Fire, The
  • Day the earth Ended, The
  • Fiend without a Face
  • Godzilla
  • Hills Have Eyes, The
  • Incredible Shrinking Man, The
  • It Came from Beneath the Sea
  • Killer Shrews, The
  • Omega Man, The
  • Rocket Ship X-M
  • Them!
Even more novels, more science fiction than horror per se, resulted from plots involving atomic bombs or radiation:
  • Airship Nine
  • Alas, Babylon
  • Amnesia Moon
  • Arc Light
  • Ashes Series
  • Brother in the Land
  • Canticle for Leibowitz, A
  • Children of the Dust
  • Chrysalids, The
  • Commander-1
  • Dark Tower Saga, The
  • Dark December by Alfred Coppel
  • Dark Mirrors
  • Day They H-Bombed Los Angeles, The
  • Dr. Bloodmoney, or How We Got Along After the Bomn
  • Domain
  • Doomday Wing
  • Down to a Sunless Sea
  • Dune
  • Earthwreck!
  • End of the World, The
  • Farnham's Freehold
  • Gate to Women's Country, The
  • Hostage
  • Last Children of Schewenborn, The
  • Last Ship, The
  • Level 7
  • Light's Out
  • Long Mynd, The
  • Malevil
  • Not This August
  • On the Beach
  • Outward Urge, The
  • Postman, The
  • Red Alert
  • Resurrection Day
  • Riddley Walker
  • Pre-Empt
  • Pulling Through
  • School for Atheists, The
  • Seventh Day, The
  • Small Armageddon, A
  • Solution T-25
  • Swan Song
  • Systemic Shock
  • Road, The
  • This Is the Way the World Ends
  • This Time Tomorrow
  • Tomorrow!
  • Triton Ultimatum, The
  • Warday
  • When the Wind Blows
  • Wild Shore, The
  • World Set Free , The
  • World Next Door, The
  • Worldwar
  • Z for Zachariah
  • Zone, The

However, when one considers the U. S. government’s irresponsible testing and use of human guinea pigs, to say nothing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the films featuring monsters pale in comparison to the horrors unleashed by the feds. It’s as is, in seizing the power of God, humanity has become not divine, but demonic, a destroyer rather than a creator.

More horrible yet may be the proliferation of atomic weapons around the world. According to the Federation of American Scientists, these nations have nuclear weapons capabilities:

  • China
  • France
  • India
  • Israel
  • North Korea
  • Pakistan
  • Russia
  • United Kingdom
  • United States


“Everyday Horrors: The Atomic Bomb” is the first in a series of “everyday horrors” that will be featured in Chillers and Thrillers: The Fiction of Fear. These “everyday horrors” continue, in many cases, to appear in horror fiction, literary, cinematographic, and otherwise.

Paranormal vs. Supernatural: What’s the Diff?

Copyright 2009 by Gary L. Pullman

Sometimes, in demonstrating how to brainstorm about an essay topic, selecting horror movies, I ask students to name the titles of as many such movies as spring to mind (seldom a difficult feat for them, as the genre remains quite popular among young adults). Then, I ask them to identify the monster, or threat--the antagonist, to use the proper terminology--that appears in each of the films they have named. Again, this is usually a quick and easy task. Finally, I ask them to group the films’ adversaries into one of three possible categories: natural, paranormal, or supernatural. This is where the fun begins.

It’s a simple enough matter, usually, to identify the threats which fall under the “natural” label, especially after I supply my students with the scientific definition of “nature”: everything that exists as either matter or energy (which are, of course, the same thing, in different forms--in other words, the universe itself. The supernatural is anything which falls outside, or is beyond, the universe: God, angels, demons, and the like, if they exist. Mad scientists, mutant cannibals (and just plain cannibals), serial killers, and such are examples of natural threats. So far, so simple.

What about borderline creatures, though? Are vampires, werewolves, and zombies, for example, natural or supernatural? And what about Freddy Krueger? In fact, what does the word “paranormal” mean, anyway? If the universe is nature and anything outside or beyond the universe is supernatural, where does the paranormal fit into the scheme of things?

According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word “paranormal,” formed of the prefix “para,” meaning alongside, and “normal,” meaning “conforming to common standards, usual,” was coined in 1920. The American Heritage Dictionary defines “paranormal” to mean “beyond the range of normal experience or scientific explanation.” In other words, the paranormal is not supernatural--it is not outside or beyond the universe; it is natural, but, at the present, at least, inexplicable, which is to say that science cannot yet explain its nature. The same dictionary offers, as examples of paranormal phenomena, telepathy and “a medium’s paranormal powers.”

Wikipedia offers a few other examples of such phenomena or of paranormal sciences, including the percentages of the American population which, according to a Gallup poll, believes in each phenomenon, shown here in parentheses: psychic or spiritual healing (54), extrasensory perception (ESP) (50), ghosts (42), demons (41), extraterrestrials (33), clairvoyance and prophecy (32), communication with the dead (28), astrology (28), witchcraft (26), reincarnation (25), and channeling (15); 36 percent believe in telepathy.

As can be seen from this list, which includes demons, ghosts, and witches along with psychics and extraterrestrials, there is a confusion as to which phenomena and which individuals belong to the paranormal and which belong to the supernatural categories. This confusion, I believe, results from the scientism of our age, which makes it fashionable for people who fancy themselves intelligent and educated to dismiss whatever cannot be explained scientifically or, if such phenomena cannot be entirely rejected, to classify them as as-yet inexplicable natural phenomena. That way, the existence of a supernatural realm need not be admitted or even entertained. Scientists tend to be materialists, believing that the real consists only of the twofold unity of matter and energy, not dualists who believe that there is both the material (matter and energy) and the spiritual, or supernatural. If so, everything that was once regarded as having been supernatural will be regarded (if it cannot be dismissed) as paranormal and, maybe, if and when it is explained by science, as natural. Indeed, Sigmund Freud sought to explain even God as but a natural--and in Freud’s opinion, an obsolete--phenomenon.

Meanwhile, among skeptics, there is an ongoing campaign to eliminate the paranormal by explaining them as products of ignorance, misunderstanding, or deceit. Ridicule is also a tactic that skeptics sometimes employ in this campaign. For example, The Skeptics’ Dictionary contends that the perception of some “events” as being of a paranormal nature may be attributed to “ignorance or magical thinking.” The dictionary is equally suspicious of each individual phenomenon or “paranormal science” as well. Concerning psychics’ alleged ability to discern future events, for example, The Skeptic’s Dictionary quotes Jay Leno (“How come you never see a headline like 'Psychic Wins Lottery'?”), following with a number of similar observations:

Psychics don't rely on psychics to warn them of impending disasters. Psychics don't predict their own deaths or diseases. They go to the dentist like the rest of us. They're as surprised and disturbed as the rest of us when they have to call a plumber or an electrician to fix some defect at home. Their planes are delayed without their being able to anticipate the delays. If they want to know something about Abraham Lincoln, they go to the library; they don't try to talk to Abe's spirit. In short, psychics live by the known laws of nature except when they are playing the psychic game with people.
In An Encyclopedia of Claims, Frauds, and Hoaxes of the Occult and Supernatural, James Randi, a magician who exercises a skeptical attitude toward all things alleged to be paranormal or supernatural, takes issue with the notion of such phenomena as well, often employing the same arguments and rhetorical strategies as The Skeptic’s Dictionary.

In short, the difference between the paranormal and the supernatural lies in whether one is a materialist, believing in only the existence of matter and energy, or a dualist, believing in the existence of both matter and energy and spirit. If one maintains a belief in the reality of the spiritual, he or she will classify such entities as angels, demons, ghosts, gods, vampires, and other threats of a spiritual nature as supernatural, rather than paranormal, phenomena. He or she may also include witches (because, although they are human, they are empowered by the devil, who is himself a supernatural entity) and other natural threats that are energized, so to speak, by a power that transcends nature and is, as such, outside or beyond the universe. Otherwise, one is likely to reject the supernatural as a category altogether, identifying every inexplicable phenomenon as paranormal, whether it is dark matter or a teenage werewolf. Indeed, some scientists dedicate at least part of their time to debunking allegedly paranormal phenomena, explaining what natural conditions or processes may explain them, as the author of The Serpent and the Rainbow explains the creation of zombies by voodoo priests.

Based upon my recent reading of Tzvetan Todorov's The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to the Fantastic, I add the following addendum to this essay.

According to Todorov:

The fantastic. . . lasts only as long as a certain hesitation [in deciding] whether or not what they [the reader and the protagonist] perceive derives from "reality" as it exists in the common opinion. . . . If he [the reader] decides that the laws of reality remain intact and permit an explanation of the phenomena described, we can say that the work belongs to the another genre [than the fantastic]: the uncanny. If, on the contrary, he decides that new laws of nature must be entertained to account for the phenomena, we enter the genre of the marvelous (The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre, 41).
Todorov further differentiates these two categories by characterizing the uncanny as “the supernatural explained” and the marvelous as “the supernatural accepted” (41-42).

Interestingly, the prejudice against even the possibility of the supernatural’s existence which is implicit in the designation of natural versus paranormal phenomena, which excludes any consideration of the supernatural, suggests that there are no marvelous phenomena; instead, there can be only the uncanny. Consequently, for those who subscribe to this view, the fantastic itself no longer exists in this scheme, for the fantastic depends, as Todorov points out, upon the tension of indecision concerning to which category an incident belongs, the natural or the supernatural. The paranormal is understood, by those who posit it, in lieu of the supernatural, as the natural as yet unexplained.

And now, back to a fate worse than death: grading students’ papers.

My Cup of Blood

Anyone who becomes an aficionado of anything tends, eventually, to develop criteria for elements or features of the person, place, or thing of whom or which he or she has become enamored. Horror fiction--admittedly not everyone’s cuppa blood--is no different (okay, maybe it’s a little different): it, too, appeals to different fans, each for reasons of his or her own. Of course, in general, book reviews, the flyleaves of novels, and movie trailers suggest what many, maybe even most, readers of a particular type of fiction enjoy, but, right here, right now, I’m talking more specifically--one might say, even more eccentrically. In other words, I’m talking what I happen to like, without assuming (assuming makes an “ass” of “u” and “me”) that you also like the same. It’s entirely possible that you will; on the other hand, it’s entirely likely that you won’t.

Anyway, this is what I happen to like in horror fiction:

Small-town settings in which I get to know the townspeople, both the good, the bad, and the ugly. For this reason alone, I’m a sucker for most of Stephen King’s novels. Most of them, from 'Salem's Lot to Under the Dome, are set in small towns that are peopled by the good, the bad, and the ugly. Part of the appeal here, granted, is the sense of community that such settings entail.

Isolated settings, such as caves, desert wastelands, islands, mountaintops, space, swamps, where characters are cut off from civilization and culture and must survive and thrive or die on their own, without assistance, by their wits and other personal resources. Many are the examples of such novels and screenplays, but Alien, The Shining, The Descent, Desperation, and The Island of Dr. Moreau, are some of the ones that come readily to mind.

Total institutions as settings. Camps, hospitals, military installations, nursing homes, prisons, resorts, spaceships, and other worlds unto themselves are examples of such settings, and Sleepaway Camp, Coma, The Green Mile, and Aliens are some of the novels or films that take place in such settings.

Anecdotal scenes--in other words, short scenes that showcase a character--usually, an unusual, even eccentric, character. Both Dean Koontz and the dynamic duo, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, excel at this, so I keep reading their series (although Koontz’s canine companions frequently--indeed, almost always--annoy, as does his relentless optimism).

Atmosphere, mood, and tone. Here, King is king, but so is Bentley Little. In the use of description to terrorize and horrify, both are masters of the craft.

A bit of erotica (okay, okay, sex--are you satisfied?), often of the unusual variety. Sex sells, and, yes, sex whets my reader’s appetite. Bentley Little is the go-to guy for this spicy ingredient, although Koontz has done a bit of seasoning with this spice, too, in such novels as Lightning and Demon Seed (and, some say, Hung).

Believable characters. Stephen King, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, and Dan Simmons are great at creating characters that stick to readers’ ribs.

Innovation. Bram Stoker demonstrates it, especially in his short story “Dracula’s Guest,” as does H. P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, Shirley Jackson, and a host of other, mostly classical, horror novelists and short story writers. For an example, check out my post on Stoker’s story, which is a real stoker, to be sure. Stephen King shows innovation, too, in ‘Salem’s Lot, The Shining, It, and other novels. One might even argue that Dean Koontz’s something-for-everyone, cross-genre writing is innovative; he seems to have been one of the first, if not the first, to pen such tales.

Technique. Check out Frank Peretti’s use of maps and his allusions to the senses in Monster; my post on this very topic is worth a look, if I do say so myself, which, of course, I do. Opening chapters that accomplish a multitude of narrative purposes (not usually all at once, but successively) are attractive, too, and Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child are as good as anyone, and better than many, at this art.

A connective universe--a mythos, if you will, such as both H. P. Lovecraft and Stephen King, and, to a lesser extent, Dean Koontz, Bentley Little, and even Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child have created through the use of recurring settings, characters, themes, and other elements of fiction.

A lack of pretentiousness. Dean Koontz has it, as do Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, Bentley Little, and (to some extent, although he has become condescending and self-indulgent of late, Stephen King); unfortunately, both Dan Simmons and Robert McCammon have become too self-important in their later works, Simmons almost to the point of becoming unreadable. Come on, people, you’re writing about monsters--you should be humble.

Longevity. Writers who have been around for a while usually get better, Stephen King, Dan Simmons, and Robert McCammon excepted.

Pacing. Neither too fast nor too slow. Dean Koontz is good, maybe the best, here, of contemporary horror writers.


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