Horror Studies - Current Issue

With its awkward generic shifts, odd repetitions, confusing spatial dislocations, unstable characters and inconclusive supernatural horrors, I here argue, bilingual Danish author Isak Dinesen’s The Angelic Avengers weirds our experience of living in a familiar, predictable and rule-governed universe. In my analysis, I especially foreground Dinesen’s use of West Indian voodoo, which is a prominent weirding device largely overlooked by the novel’s relatively few critics. Dinesen, I argue, wrote her novel amidst a widespread international voodoo and zombie vogue, tapping into popular representations of Caribbean witchcraft in nonfiction, pulp fiction and film. In The Angelic Avengers, I argue, Dinesen appropriates voodoo themes and characters, to conjure the presence of ominous agencies that trouble enlightened reason’s ability to explain and master the world.

This article locates a connection between Arthur Machen’s The Great God Pan and J. M. Barrie’s Peter and Wendy beyond the texts’ focus on the mythic and malevolent Pagan god. Both Machen and Barrie express interest in the brain as a physiological region that can be explored, mapped and manipulated. This interest, I argue, emerges from late-nineteenth-century neurological experiments, especially the psychosurgical procedures performed by Gottfried Burckhardt in the 1880s. Although Burckhardt’s operations were widely criticized, and his results generally discredited, the practice of psychosurgery continued to be debated in medical communities. In The Great God Pan and Peter and Wendy, forms of psychosurgery unleash murderous monstrosities, thus implicating, to varying degrees, Dr Raymond and Mrs Darling, the surgeons of this horror.

This article concerns the representation of scientists, doctors and other agents of reason in Cold War horror comics. Such figures, we demonstrate, are typically represented as misguided, blind to the dangers of their creations or knowingly malevolent. The manifestation of this trend in the 1950s can be understood as a facet of the larger programme of post-Second World War social criticism found in the genre. When horror comics returned after the revision of the Code in 1971, some aligned with the anti-psychiatry movement. These comics portray scenarios in which the discovery of things man was not meant to know extends beyond weapons of war to the human psyche and where psychology as a discipline serves as a repressive apparatus interested primarily in the preservation of social norms rather than the emotional health of patients.

Although written before the COVID-19 pandemic, Amy Seimetz’s She Dies Tomorrow is widely regarded as speaking to collective social anxiety. In the film, Amy is convinced that she will die the next day. She tells her friend, Jane, who becomes convinced that she too will die. Everyone that Jane tells catches the conviction and it spreads like a virus. This article offers an alternative reading, analysing the film as a meditation on (horror) cinema as a vehicle for affective bodily contagion. Filmic images and sounds are intangible and do not physically touch viewers yet can nevertheless carry affect that makes bodies respond to and sometimes replicate what is shown on screen. Similarly, in She Dies Tomorrow, an intangible idea causes affective response and mimesis, as well as audio-visual hallucinations. The article explores how contagious anxiety might be spread through cinematic objects, drawing from affect, phenomenology and object-oriented ontology (OOO). Finally, it explores the film’s engagement with both Derrida’s spectrality of cinema and the nature of the horror genre.

Reza Abdoh’s The Law of Remains (1991) is a play replete with violence, cruelty, murder and gore. While many critics view the playwright’s horror-inflected plays as reflective of an Artaudian philosophy that attempts to uncover the essential human ‘truth’ underlying societal ills, I view The Law of Remains as an exercise in dialectical horror. That is, a play that harnesses the grammar of gore and excess to critique capitalism’s disempowering and rapacious qualities while highlighting how consciousness of such qualities could galvanize positive opposition to oppression. In this article, I examine some of the play’s key moments of horror through a Marxist lens to uncover an anti-capitalist structure of feeling that lay in stark opposition to dominant neo-liberal forces in the early 1990s.

The following article examines the portrayal of Indigenous peoples and traditions in modern horror fiction written by non-Indigenous Euro-American authors. While the figures of the noble savage, beautiful maiden and victim of white progress are some of the most enduring stereotypes associated with indigeneity, in this article I demonstrate how in modern horror Indigenous characters and traditions serve as the embodiment of evil, which the White protagonists need to defeat to ensure their own survival. If any Indigenous characters appear in these narratives, they do so mostly in the roles of helpers, which contributes to the marginalization of Indigenous characters in the genre. To illustrate these problems, I draw examples from a number of horror stories ranging from classic to pulp fiction in order to expose the genre’s latent colonial rhetoric, which reinforces the simulation of Indigenous presence in contemporary culture – a phenomenon analysed by the Anishinaabe scholar, Gerald Vizenor, whose work will provide a theoretical background for my investigation.

This interpretation questions the standard critical assumptions about Hammer Studios’ Dracula that despite its transient improprieties, Dracula offered audiences temporary refuge from the strains of contemporary British life by having absolute good (vampire hunters) triumphing over (absolute evil) vampire. My reading explores the film’s agency through its self-conscious relation to its pre-texts in novel and films, showing how its plot conspicuously alters former cultural expectations and assumptions about the ‘rules’ of vampirism. This deliberate slippage in the stability of prior conventions generates tension between two modes of reading Dracula – as a conventional horror movie about the melodramatic struggle between good and evil – or a depiction of domestic life as a tissue of improvisations that highlight the instabilities and contradictions of desire and gender, family organization, personal and class relations. This article shows how Dracula gradually shifts emphasis from the melodrama to agential improvisation, re-reading the horror movie and its pretensions in order to blur the distinctions between good and evil in both its imagined Victorian fiction and modern life.