And He'll Return To Me, Aching To Be Hold, Aching To Be Loved.

“Why is it that one runs to one’s ruin? Why has destruction such a fascination?”

— Oscar Wilde, Only Dull People Are Brilliant at Breakfast

October is my empire. Terror is part of me. 一 Tamura Ryūichi

1. Alfonsina Storni, 2. Cy Twombly, 3. William Stanley Merwin, 4. Cy Twombly, 5. Virginia Woolf, 6. Jorge Albericio, 7. Gala Mukomolova, 8. Andrei Tarkovsky, 9. Czesław Miłosz, 10. Andrei Tarkovsky, 11. Thomas Wolfe, 12. Andrei Tarkovsky, 13. Louise Glück

2022 smells like success, healing, transformation, blessings and self love.

In short, how would you define 'gothic' ? for someone who has read some very basic gothic stuff but is trying to arrive at a good overarching descriptor.

This is difficult— I have yet to read a definition that encompasses the Gothic genre. Patrick Kennedy defines it as “writing that employs dark and picturesque scenery, startling and melodramatic narrative devices, and an overall atmosphere of exoticism, mystery, fear, and dread” but this doesn’t ring quite true— yes, the Gothic deals with dread, but it does not always have dark and picturesque scenery, and it does not always rely on exoticism. James Greaver and Ginna Wilkerson define it as “a style of writing that is characterized by elements of fear, horror, death, and gloom, as well as romantic elements, such as nature, individuality, and very high emotion” and while this comes closer, it doesn’t necessarily encompass all of Gothic. Enclyclopedia.com defines it as “a literary movement that focused on ruin, decay, death, terror, and chaos, and privileged irrationality and passion over rationality and reason, grew in response to the historical, sociological, psychological, and political contexts of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries” which isn’t wrong, but also is missing slightly.

So, I can’t really offer a good defintion, but I can tell you about issues the Gothic is concerned with.

the sublime : a combination of awe and terror. Poets.org has a good article on this concept. and in relation to the sublime:

the unexplainable : the Gothic was very much a response to the enlightenment’s attempt to realise and create explanation— the questions the Gothic poses are Are there things beyond science? How do we react to what cannot be explained with scientific and logical means?

excess : emotion and stakes are high. Consider the impassioned love confessions of Wuthering Heights (“You said I killed you— haunt me, then!”) the debauchery and decadence of Dorian Gray (see also: the decadent movement, which was intimately related to the Gothic). Gothic lovers are lovers who often have potential to destroy one another because of their excess of emotion and desire. It’s like opera: everything is heightened by the experience of the sublime surroundings. The human spirit is expanded, often until it bursts.

boundaries and trangression/violation of those boundaries : boundaries of death, boundaries of gender, boundaries of social class, boundaries of race, boundaries of desire, boundaries of mind and reality. In Frankenstein this might be Victor creating the creature; it may be Carmilla’s lesbian (and thus transgressive) desire for Laura: it may be Will Graham’s desire to enact violence as an independent agent rather than as an agent of the law. I mentioned the sublime before, and I want to note that the sublime itself is transgressive: it’s beyond normal human experience. and in this regard it’s also about:

setting : setting is never just setting: it’s also psychological, a reflection of the characters. Brontë compares Catherine to the landscape she inhabits;

the horror of imagination and the psychological interior : Emily Dickinson: “one need not be a chamber to be haunted”. Consider Freud’s idea of the unconscious mind. I don’t know if you’ve seen Stalker (a film by Andrei Tarkovsky) but one plot element it has is called the “Room” which grants the wishes of anyone who sets food inside. but it’s not about what you actually wish for— it’s about your innermost desire, one you may not even be conscious of. There’s the story of a man who went with his brother to the room, and his brother died along the way. And he entered the room, and then he inherited a lot of money, which led him to commit suicide. Why? Because it revealed that his greatest desire was not to bring back his brother, but to be wealthy. The horror of that realization compelled him to kill himself. The Gothic is very much about people confronting their interiors: the horrors they have committed (willingly or unwillingly), the horrors their family committed, the horrors they discover that reveal the darkness someone close to them (Bluebeard), the horrors of history (consider Toni Morrison’s Beloved), etc. The interior is often the historical, and the plot of Gothic novels can almost only end when it is confronted.

As for the difference between the Gothic and Horror, horror often deals with a concrete terror. In Gothic literature, the monster may be real, but the monster is not the sole source of terror: the source of terror is also often psychological. Horror is resolved by confronting an outside force: the Gothic is resolved by confronting ourselves.

So, okay, fun fact. When I was a freshman in high school… let me preface by saying my dad sent me to a private school and, like a bad organ transplant, it didn’t take. I was miserable, the student body hated me, I hated them, it was awful.

Okay, so, freshman year, I’m deep in my “everything sucks and I’m stuck with these assholes” mentality. My English teacher was a notorious hard-ass, let’s call him Mr. Hargrove. He was the guy every student prayed they didn’t get. And, on top of ALL OF THE SHIT I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH, I had him for English.

One of the laborious assignments he gave us was to keep a daily journal. Daily! Not monthly or weekly. Fucking daily. Handwritten. And we had to turn it in every quarter and he fucking graded us. He graded us on a fucking journal.

All of my classmates wrote shit like what they did that day or whatever. But, I did not. No, sir. I decided to give the ol’ middle finger to the assignment and do my own shit.

So, for my daily journal entries, over the course of an entire year, I wrote a serialized story about a horde of man-eating slugs that invaded a small mining town. It was graphic, it was ridiculous, it was an epic feat of rebellion.

And Mr. Hargrove loved it.

It wasn’t just the journal. Every assignment he gave us, I tried to shit all over it. Every reading assignment, everyone gushed about how good it was, but I always had a negative take. Every writing assignment, people wrote boring prose, but I wrote cheesy limericks or pulp horror stories.

Then, one day, he read one of my essays to the class as an example of good writing. When a fellow student asked who wrote it, he said, “Some pipsqueak.”

And that’s when I had a revelation. He wanted to fight. And since all the other students were trying to kiss his ass, I was his only challenger.

Mr. Hargrove and I went head-to-head on every assignment, every conversation, every fucking thing. And he ate it up. And so did I.

One day, he read us a column from the Washington Post and asked the class what was wrong with it. Everyone chimed in with their dumbass takes, but I was the one who landed on Mr. Hargrove’s complaint: The reporter had BRAZENLY added the suffix “ize” to a verb.

That night I wrote a jokey letter to the reporter calling him out on the offense in which I added “ize” to every single verb. I gave it to Mr. Hargrove, who by then had become a friendly adversary, for a chuckle and he SENT IT TO THE REPORTER.

And, people… The reporter wrote back. And he said I was an exceptional student. Mr. Hargrove and I had a giggle about that because we both knew I was just being an asshole, but he and the reporter acknowledged I had a point.

And that was it. That was the moment. Not THAT EXACT moment, but that year with Mr. Hargrove taught me I had a knack for writing. And that knack was based in saying “fuck you” to authority. (The irony that someone in a position of authority helped me realize that is not lost on me.)

So, I can say without qualification that Mr. Hargrove is the reason I am now a professional writer. Yes, I do it for a living. And most of my stuff takes authorities of one kind or another to task.

Mr. Hargrove showed me my dissent was valid, my rebellion was righteous, and that killer slugs could bring a city to its knees. Someone just needs to write it.

The world is entire, and I am outside of it, crying …  —

katrien de blauwer  /  edith sitwell  /  e. m. forster  /  anaïs nin  /  virginia woolf  /  h. g. wells

I've never heard silence quite this loud.

Martin Buxbaum