258. “Flame,” Sula, & etc. } for Melinda M.

10/19/1993 

Of all the heavens of the Earth, I had to choose this one, the Earth spelled with a small “yes.” 

10/26/1993 

Tiffany’s work-study is at the [Emerson College] library. When I sleep there, I dream that I wake up & can’t get out of the library. Once, I woke up, weird, & I asked Tiffany, “Are you in my class?”

She said, “I made sure you were warm.”

When I next saw Tiffany she said, “It wasn’t until I talked to my roommates that I found out you knew I wasn’t in your class.”

I did think she was in my class & I said so. She doesn’t believe me.

I watch her catalog microfiche. Her hair is red. 

03/04/1994 

Melinda & I were married this past week. She bought a black dress & took two days off from school. The wedding was nice. Quaint. She said, “No priests because priests are men.”

Our honeymoon wasn’t great. Before we reached Niagara Falls we had a huge argument. I can’t recall what it was about, now that we’re divorced.

My new friend, a bunny, took me out drinking last night. I blurted the whole story. He said, “Chill out.” & said I “was boring” & that he wished I would “just shut the hell up & drink.” & added, “That’s what we’re here for.”

Thanks, Bunny.

[ photo: Melinda in basement of 96 Beacon Street, Boston, circa 1993 ]

257. Another glossary } of haunting.

 ——from Handbook of Autoethnography, eds. Jones, Adams, & Ellis: “A Glossary of Haunting” by Eve Tuck & C. Ree. An artist’s statement. An alphabet essay—a form I don’t like. I see the appeal—the alphabet is a fundamental tool, it’s a list… but… it’s easy. & not the best choice for an anti-colonialist essay. Tuck & Ree explain why they chose the form, “Glossaries can help readers pause and make sense of something cramped and tightly worded…” &, they see the glossary—rather, “this glossary”—as, “violating the terms of settler colonial knowledge….” That is to say their glossary is free from “its host.” 

Tuck & Ree warn that the story the glossary tells “seethes in its subtlety” & they insist we “Pay close attention…” because, “I am only saying this once. ”

A claim is made about American horror films—all American horror films. All American horror films are “preoccupied with the hero, who is perfectly innocent, but who is assaulted by monstering or haunting just the same.” &, “the hauntings [in ‘US horror films’] are positioned as undeserved, and the innocent hero must destroy the monster to put the world in balance again.” The only American horror films named in the essay are The Shining (1980) & Poltergeist (1982)—two films that obviously upset Tuck & Ree’s claim. Who is innocent in The Shining? The child, by virtue of being a child—& while he evades the monster (his father & the Overlook Hotel), it cannot be claimed that he destroyed either monster (as confirmed in King’s sequel Doctor Sleep). The family in Poltergeist isn’t innocent, either. While ignorant that their house has been built on a graveyard, they are willfully immersed in a culture that keeps people ignorant. Do they destroy the monster & “put the world in balance again”—absolutely not! They become homeless, living in a motel (i.e., they are forced off the land they wrongfully occupied).

But Tuck & Ree’s claim is about all American horror films—two American horror films made within two years of each other hardly qualifies as a representative sample. & when I think of American horror films—even the most mainstream—I am hard-pressed to think of examples in which the hero (if there is an identifiable hero) is entirely innocent or is able to destroy the monster. It’s far more typical for the hero to realize that they are complicit. They’ve trespassed, they’ve lied, they’ve put other people at risk, they’ve stolen, their parents committed a (sometimes horrific) crime in order to protect them. Let’s take a stupid & well-known film as an example: Friday the 13th (1980). The counselors are not punished because they’re sexually active / casual drug users—they’re punished because they’re bad counselors (or, at least it looks to Mrs. Vorhees as if they are bad counselors based on her past experience). They’re punished because of their negligence—negligence that led to the death of Mrs. Vorhees’ son. & while Mrs. Vorhees is beheaded by the “hero,” the monster is not destroyed & balance is not restored. Instead, that act awakens the real monster—who kills the hero.

According to Tuck & Ree, American horror films are naïve, while “horror films from Japan” acknowledge “the depth of injustice that begat the monster or ghost” & “the hero does not think of herself to be innocent….” This might be true, but once again, only two examples are given: Ringu (1998) & Dark Water (2002). Both were remade for American audiences by American studios (& thus, arguably, became American horror films). That Tuck & Ree use these as their representative examples of Japanese horror films raises the suspicion that a.) they know about these movies because of the brief vogue for J-horror in the States & may have first encountered both films as American remakes & b.) they don’t know a whole lot about Japanese horror films.

There are no examples of horror from other countries—not even other English-speaking countries.

As Tuck & Ree’s essay progresses, it becomes apparent that the only movie that’s relevant to their work is Dark Water. The work that spurred this glossary (the host), is “a series of art installations, in response to Hideo Nakata’s popular 2002 Japanese horror film of the same title….” The installations use drop ceilings—generally used to hide pipes, wires, & ducts—as sites of fear. The water stains that form on the tiles of these ceilings & the subsequent leaks are portents of inevitable collapse—& the installations are designed to collapse. Tuck & Ree write, “This anxiety about leaks is what I dwell on” &,

Our ruins are not crumbled Roman columns, or ivy covered [sic] abandoned lots. Our ruins lie within the quick turnover of buildings, disappearing landmarks, and disposable homes, layered upon each other and over again.

Tuck & Ree’s logic behind their installations is compelling. (That they see horror in water-stained ceiling tiles (& mildew & leaky pipes, & decay) is hardly innovative—these are staples of the horror genre—as they are staples of the gothics & folktales that preceded the horror genre.) Are the installations compelling? I can’t say, I didn’t see them. But the logic behind them is compelling. Extending that logic to haunting & specifically to what haunts America is also compelling. The leap they make to “all American horror films” is not.

256. Bill Knott } is a terrible poet.

On the back of Nights of Naomi (Barn Dream, 1971), a quote—attributed to “Bill Knott (1940 – 1966)” —declares: “I consider ‘Nights’ my first and only book. The other books (including ‘Auto-necrophilia’) with my name on them are, like the patent office, full of garbage.”

That would include The Naomi Poems, reprinted against Bill’s wishes, by Janaka Stucky’s Black Ocean.

To celebrate Janaka’s flagrant disregard for Bill’s self-loathing, he’s invited Darcie Dennigan, John Cotter, Elisa Gabbert, me, & himself to read poems from The Naomi Poems at Riff Raff this Thursday.

My copy of Nights of Naomi belonged to Paul Hannigan, who taught (briefly) w/ Bill at Emerson College. Paul’s marginalia identifies sources & typos.

Some of us knew Bill. He was my undergraduate advisor & I frequently ran into him at bookstores in Cambridge & Somerville. We’ve been invited by Janaka to share anecdotes. My favorite anecdote about Bill is so offensive, I’ll keep it to myself.

255. Great horror stories? } & Necronomicon.

 

What is Betty M. Owen’s 11 Great Horror Stories? Did human beings write the two Amazon reviews of this anthology? (“Eleven very good short stories of the horror titles which interest me” sez David from the U.K. who gives it 5 stars; “Bought this copy of book that I borrowed and it fell apart before finishing. Bought to finish the book and return a usable item to it's [sic] owner” reports Ted from the U.S.) It’s a Scholastic Book Services title—probably made for a school age market in 1969. Betty M. Owen “selected” the stories—but her choices are perplexing. Lovecraft’s “The Dunwich Horror” & Stoker’s “The Judge’s House” are good horror stories (not “great”—though both have much to recommend them); Poe’s “The Oblong Box” is wonderfully mysterious until suddenly it isn’t—Poe explains everything. I’m not sure it’s a horror story—it depends on how you interpret the last act of the artist who owns the box. John Collier’s “Thus I Refute Beelzy,” Anthony Vercoe’s “Flies,” & Fielden Hughes’ “The Mistake” are fun—B-stories, if you will (all could be made into A-stories if developed beyond the single idea that drives them). L.P. Hartley’s “W. S.” & E. Everett Evans’ “The Shed” are not good—but it’s interesting to me that both resemble (good) Stephen King stories (The Dark Half & “The Raft,” respectively). King could’ve read both when he was a boy. John Collier’s “The Love Letter” is science fiction/romance (& charming); Gerald Kersh’s “The Ape and the Mystery” is fantasy—but if you didn’t know anything about Leonardo DaVinci you might not notice. I enjoyed this story. A. E. Sandeling’s “Return of the Griffins” is also fantasy & good. I will send this book back out into the world, complete w/ my (very minimal) annotations.

I might leave it on the freebie table at Necronomicon, where I’ll be next weekend.

Friday, at 12:30pm, I’ll join a roundtable discussion w/ Mike Allen, Paula D. Ashe, Tiffany Morris & Sheree Renée Thomas about “the state of the weird”—hosted by The Outer Dark podcast. I assume the others will have a better handle on trends in the genre than I do; I look forward to their speculations re. weird fiction in the future. At 3:30 I moderate a panel on the fiction of the Joel Lane w/ Timothy Jarvis (a writer I don’t know), Billy Martin (a writer I do know), & editor Justin Steele. My prep was to reread The Lost District & some Lane miscellany—I have questions!

Saturday, at 11am, I’ll discuss Leonora Carrington w/ fellow panelists Victoria Dalpe, Anya Martin, Gabriel Mesa, & Jeff VanderMeer. Her body of work is small enough it was possible to read most of it before the con—though I’ll confess I skimmed “Little Francis” & have not read The Stone Door. A good thing about a panel: collectively, we may be able to fill in the gaps of individual panelists. At 3:30, I’m scheduled to read (from Stone Gods) w/ Khôra Martel & Paul Tremblay. My guess is you know Paul—I remember a time when he asked permission to sell copies of City Pier on the New Genre table at Boskone (sure!). I don’t know Khôra (I’m eager to!).

I’ll try to attend publisher John M. Thompson’s panels—although the first is at 8am on Friday. Scott Dwyer will be there, too. John will have copies of Mooncalves & Stone Gods for sale—I know this because two boxes of said titles currently dwell in my cellar.

254. Readercon } Horror into the Classics.

 “…pondering all this, the palsied universe lies before us a leper; and like the wilful travellers of Lapland, who refuse to wear colored glasses upon their eyes, so the wretched infidel gazes himself blind at the monumental white shroud that wraps all the prospect around him. And of all these things the Albino whale was the symbol.”

Friday, if I can make it, I’ll join a discussion at Readercon 33 called “Reading Horror into the Classics” (July 12, 3pm). It’s possible I’ve misinterpreted the panel—as described on the events schedule, it could be a jokey panel where any book that isn’t to our taste is recategorized as horror; it could also be about reimagining classics as horror (so, the racist, expansionist assumptions of the Ingalls family is visited upon them or they are recast as monsters). I interpret the panel’s subject to be classics that can be read (& mined) for horror—not as horror. I could easily be wrong, but that’s what I’ll bring the table. Of course, w/ a scant 60 minutes for our discussion, we may not get past the term “classics.”

At 9pm, I’ll read a story from Stone Gods.

I’m at Readercon, too, to attend the Shirley Jackson Awards. This year, NO Press’s Mooncalves is nominated for “edited anthology.” If it wins, I’ll accept on behalf of John WM Thompson. I’m glad to do this for John, but I do not look forward to the awards ceremony.

By the way, John & Glenn McDorman discuss “Distant Signals”—my contribution to Mooncalves—on the Elder Sign podcast. You can read the story for free at the NO Press site before you listen. I really enjoyed their conversation.

& an unrelated note: in a church basement I examined a copy of Robert Burns' selected poems (Penguin Classics, 1950) & found a cheerful note inscribed on the title page, “Merry Christmas, Dad! Bobbie Burns 4 life! Love, [name illegible]”—but, inscribed at the end of a short bio of Burns was another note, written in a different hand, of a decidedly different sentiment: “Feb 28 / Julian gave this to Mark on final visit to say goodbye.”

253. Libraries & } un-encampment.

 

[04–27–24] Leave the Richards Memorial Library b/c a woman, w/ a recent issue of Rolling Stone magazine, sits glowering & wheezing beside me.

Nearby, a white-haired woman walks a small white dog. Looks at her phone. She warns a family (?)—three women, one w/ a stroller—that her dog isn’t good w/ kids. Bites kids it doesn’t know.

There’s a pro-Israel rally outside the Rochambeau Library; the library’s manager is upset—she argues w/ the rally leader, asks that they not protest in the path of pedestrians. Roughly 15 protesters wave flags. The rally leader is obstinate & pleased & won’t move. Cars honk. Library staff summon the police; the police explain that the protesters can rally but can't block the sidewalk or they “could be removed.” The protesters decide to continue their rally at Brown.

[05–01–24] Brown’s encampment is gone but recalled by rectangular patches of pale grass & a fence. A group of roughly 30 faculty stand on the steps of the student union with little signs that read “Divest Now.” They listen to a speech (which I can’t hear). I approach, spot two poets I know; the group breaks up; I see a former colleague so I veer off toward the Quiet Green.

Where I speak w/ two of the student protesters I met last week at the encampment. I ask what they think of the faculty protest that just ended—it’s not clear they were aware of it at all.

When I tell them I’m a RISD professor, they ask what RISD students have been doing. I remind them of the November protest outside the Textron building, tell them about student-led protests in front of RISD buildings & point out that RISD students don’t benefit from the security a fenced-in campus provides. I show them a flier RISD students made & describe the enormous puppet a student of mine constructed to be used at protests.

At Brown’s Rockefeller Library is a very small display of “Free Mumia” posters. He’s been in prison since 1982.

Some of the notes for this post were written on my copy of Amy Herzog’s play After the Revolution.

252. Eye & } encampment.

Red “X” over “The First Baptist Meeting House”—& a red, crying eye over its spire.

Tired & jittery. Walk through Brown University encampment. Salvador Allende misquoted on the side of a tent, many bottles of Poland Spring water, many snacks—so many snacks, students discussing snacks, students urgently carry snacks—& a quarter of a watermelon, eaten w/ a white plastic spoon, vivid on the Main Green.

A woman picks up a megaphone—but the encampment is subdued. No drum, no chant. There’s a class in session on the grass nearby. Students paint signs. Students paint a map of Palestine, carefully copying a map of Palestine, circa 1945. Tupac’s “Keep Ya Head Up” misquoted on the side of a tent. On a blanket, for the moment unoccupied, are two books: Daniel Mason’s North Woods & Lizzy Goodman’s Meet Me in the Bathroom.

Students in orange vests—“marshals.” A marshal explains to me she’s not part of the protest, but there to ensure a peaceful protest. A suspicious student wants to know what I’m doing & I tell him I’m documenting the moment, ask, “How long have you been here?” “Since 6am yesterday”—he’s proud. “You slept here?” “Yes.” “Did you feel safe?” “Yes.” “When University police were here, did they bother you?” “They checked IDs, so we can be punished later.” The student with the black & white scarf in the photo below (taken by Dana Richie for the Brown Daily Herald) is the student I spoke w/.

All of a sudden, a few students start up a chant & bang on a blue, five-gallon bucket. I ask a group of four students seated on the grass why it's started up again. First I’m asked, “Can I ask why you’re asking?” Suspicious of a middle-aged man taking notes. I tell them I’m a RISD professor & I’m curious. That’s enough for them; they’re eager to tell me that the Brown University Community Council voted “to recommend that five student representatives… be allowed to present their case for divestment… before the Corporation.” & that the council also voted to recommend that charges be dropped against students arrested at the sit-in.” An empty gesture to mollify protesters?

When I leave the campus, I walk in front of the sole news camera there—WPRI Channel 12.