Women in Horror: Part Eleven
Today we have something a little different, Leigh M Lane covers a few of the theories surrounding the whole role women have i Horror Fiction…
Women’s Roles in Horror—Playing the Victim?
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about roles versus expectations in horror writing. There are many who deny that there continues to exist gender bias in horror, and to those people I must ask: Then why is there a Women in Horror Month? If there were no problem, we’d also have a Men in Horror Month … or would we?
I don’t want to foster any false accusations that these people are either blind to their biases or simply chauvinist pigs, so I’ll focus on alternate theories on why the ratio of men to women in horror writing is so extreme.
Theory #1: Men and women write differently
I remember sitting in a college English course, listening to the professor go on and on about the differences between men’s and women’s writing. She asserted that one’s writing compared directly to one’s ability to orgasm; men built slowly toward an explosive climax while women built and receded in waves, experiencing smaller but recurring peaks until finally reaching that final release. She observed that writing often reflected these varying peaks, causing marked differences in stylistic choices. I’ve heard others claim men’s writing is more visceral while women’s is more cerebral—or that men’s writing more often exhibits more violence, physical and sexual, toward its female characters. Is this true (and does such violence add something to a story that makes it somehow a better or scarier read)?
If it were, then perhaps it might explain why women’s horror is much less prominent. Could it all come down to such black-and-white stylistic differences? I don’t buy it. Structure is structure, and I can’t say I’ve found any particular patterns that are either male- or female-specific. I’ve written stories with explosive climaxes. I’ve written ones that are so visceral I cringe when I re-read them. Style and gender are not mutually exclusive … unless, of course, Poe was actually a woman dressed as a man. I think not.
Theory #2: Women just aren’t as interested in horror as men
This seems to be the most popular theory, and maybe it’s true. I’ve seen numerous claims made by editors that women submit in significantly lower numbers than men. If this is the case, indeed, no real bias exists. I would consider many of these editors to be reliable sources, so I’m hesitant to debunk their claims. So, let’s say fewer women than men submit horror stories. Why might that be?
What first comes to mind is the possibility that women don’t feel as welcome to submit. This may not be true, but if it is, the bias lies at least partially on our side of the line. Just the same, we must ask why this might be. Has history paved a wider path for men in horror? If so, what can we do to change that?
Theory #3: Readers (including editors) have preconceived expectations
These expectations, obviously, would be that a burly or wild-eyed man might be more adept at writing horror than a tiny, sweet-looking young woman. I don’t think this theory is entirely farfetched, although I could be way off base with my assumption. Is it at least possible that we (or at least many of us) prejudge authors on appearances alone? With that, I challenge each person reading this blog post to seek out an unfamiliar female horror writer. Find the sweetest, prettiest headshot you can. What are your expectations of this author?
More importantly, did she meet said expectations?
None of these theories might prove viable under the scrutiny of objective testing. Perhaps there is a sliver of truth in each. Whatever is correct, it is our responsibility—as not men or women but writers—to do all we can to contribute as best we can to the genre we all love so deeply. Whatever our differences, isn’t it time we scrap all the theories about our differences and concentrate on all we share in common?
Excerpt from The Private Sector:
She took the first hit, and her body relaxed immediately with the inhalation of silver smoke. She felt herself go limp against the sofa, feeling grateful for the moment but fully aware that it would only last a few minutes. Still, this was a potent batch. Fireworks exploded before her in her mind’s eye as the satisfying high filled every inch of her body. It was soothing and electrifying all at once, and a light moan escaped past her slightly parted lips as her eyelids fluttered in perfect pace with her racing heart. She heard the flick of the lighter and the bubbling of serum in the pipe with Greg’s long pull, and he coughed violently when he exhaled. A massive cloud enveloped her mind, and she ran into it, hoping that this time she might escape forever into its silver depths.
Music began to play, and she swayed her hips with its entrancing rhythm. Colors swirled all around her. She could see the notes, each claiming a different color, and she laughed at the unexpected sight as they spread out before her in time with a brilliant symphony she had never before heard. “Do you hear it?” she asked, barely able to speak.
“It’s beautiful,” Greg’s voice echoed from some distant land.
Her mind took her to a world of color and wonder, one that held vague similarities to the room in which she and Greg sat. The air whirled in visible eddies, as though the room had become submerged somewhere deep in the ocean—or perhaps high into the atmosphere. She felt her lungs slow, forcing her to make a conscious effort to keep them going. Everything around her spun for a moment when they seemed hesitant to heed her any longer, and she sucked in a heavy breath of air in a quick and panicked gasp. The clouds overtook the room, cool and invigorating, and the music reverberated through her body. As usual, the experience was nothing short of sublime.
She floated through the clouds, wondering if she had finally reached heaven, when the hell suddenly hit her. Tiny demons came from all directions, climbing her body like a swarm of insects, vomiting caustic waste on her skin and suffocating her with their presence. She scratched her arms in an attempt to relieve herself, but that only made it worse. The tiny creatures’ laughs replaced the brilliant harmonies that had only a moment ago filled her spirit with hope and delight, and they crawled into her ears, nose, and mouth, so that she might not be able to reach them with her restless fingernails.
In every direction, all she could see was the silver smoke and more tiny demons flying like little bats, reaching, clinging to her body with their sharp talons. There was no stopping them. There were too many. She felt certain they would consume her, and she cried out with another attempt at scratching them away.
She knew this was the true reality, that all she perceived when she was sober was simply an illusion. If she couldn’t fight them now, there was no telling what they would to do her when the serum ran out. They poked and prodded, scurrying across every inch of her body and into every crevasse, stinging her with their little pitchforks and laughing in her head. They made her skin crawl and her thoughts cry for reprieve.
Soon … very soon.
She shrieked, wishing death might take her before she had to endure another moment of their torment; then, just as suddenly as they had come, they were gone. She found herself on the sofa, her body limp from the high, a light stream of drool dripping from the corner of her mouth. She turned to Greg, watching him stare straight ahead with childlike fascination, his pupils reduced to pinpoints and the pipe and lighter abandoned on his quivering lap.
The high left her, and she felt an overwhelming sense of relief that she was still alive. Never again—I’m done with this shit!
But only a moment later, she snatched the pipe and lighter from Greg’s lap and took another hit.
Leigh M. Lane has been writing for over twenty years. She has ten published novels and twelve published short stories divided between different genre-specific pseudonyms. She is married to editor Thomas B. Lane, Jr. and resides in the outskirts of Sin City.
Her traditional Gothic novel, Finding Poe, was a 2013 EPIC Awards finalist in horror. Her other novels include dark allegorical tale, Myths of Gods, erotic horror trilogy, The Darkness and the Night, and dystopian thriller, World-Mart, for which she is currently shopping both a sequel, Aftermath, and a loose prequel, The Private Sector.
Tomorrow we have the lovely Carol MacAllister joining us!
