Deeper Than the Darkness

[j d worthington]

There's been a lot of discussion lately on "how dark is too dark" with fantasy; what constitutes "dark fantasy", and the value of fantasy (or sf, for the matter of that) that presents an extremely bleak or grim point of view. All this has got me wondering: which writers would you call "dark"? That is, which ones stand out in your mind as having made their largest impression with the darker themes and stories... and are all of them really so "dark"... or do they use such themes for more humanistic ends?

Which brings me to my title, and my first choice. The writer is Harlan Ellison, and the title of the thread is also the title of one of his early tales, so it seemed an appropriate title for a thread on such a theme that begins with comments on the man and his work.

Now, Ellison is a writer who, for the past four decades, has frequently been criticized as being "too dark", "pessimistic", "unrelentingly grim", "fostering hopelessness", "too violent", etc., etc., etc. And not entirely without some basis; after all, it's difficult to think of a story any "darker" than "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream" or "The Prowler in the City at the Edge of the World".

Ellison doesn't pull his punches, and from early on many of his protagonists were not particularly likable people. Take, for example, "Run for the Stars" (1957), and its protagonist, Benno Tallant, about which Ellison himself said the following:

Peculiarly enough, everybody in the following is a *******. Well, perhaps not a *******, exactly, but not very nice, either. The hero is a coward, a looter, a turncoat and in all ways a despicable little bounder. You'll probably like him; he's one of my favorite people. The good guys in this one are murderers, at least by action if not intent. The bad buys are just like you or me, except they're golden, and the basic situation is calculated to give you an extreme pain in the belly.

-- A Touch of Infinity (1960), p. 7

Even in his non-fantasy work, this is most often the case. The protagonist of his first novel (Web of the City [1957; originally published as Rumble])is Rusty Santoro, a street kid who was president of a gang, who decides to leave, but things don't go that easily... and throughout the novel, he finds himself sliding back time and again into the brutality and callousness of that way of life, either in order to survive, or sometimes just because it is what he is accustomed to. Yet these are not black-and-white caricatures, or people you can easily dismiss; and they (like even the worst of us out here in the real world) can sometimes show that thread of nobility no one would expect to see under such a tarnished exterior.

For example: About a third of the way through the novel, Rusty's younger sister -- arguably the only person he truly cares about -- is driven out of the house by his falling into such angry behavior rather than reasoning with her, and goes to a "club" dance, where she is murdered; leaving Rusty both to feel the guilt of pushing her into this (as well as introducing her to the gang in the first place) and the need to find the person who did it. As he pursues his search, he becomes ever more violent, finding this to be the only thing that works with the people he's dealing with. Yet along the way, while dealing with the shock of Dolores' death, he has a sexual encounter with a perfect stranger, whom he cons into bed, yet finds himself torn between indifference, compassion, a need for receiving compassion in turn. He is, essentially, looking for genuine contact with another human being. And, after what is bluntly (on the surface, at least) a seedy little one-night-stand, he prepares to leave while she's still asleep:

He moved rapidly, then, and paused in his dressing for only a moment, considering whether he should waken the girl and say goodbye, take her to breakfast. He decided not to do it. The nights were one thing, but the days were another. For a minute he stood watching her deep, even breathing, watching her small breasts rise and fall, half-covered by the not-quite-clean sheet. He felt terribly sorry for her, and for himself as well. He started to reach for his wallet -- perhaps a dollar would help her out -- then stopped his hand. She wasn't a whore, he berated himself sharply. She wasn't cheap although she was lonely. She wasn't a slut just because she was afraid.

He reached into his hip pocket and took out his wallet.

In an inner pocket he found the souvenir Spanish coin he had been given by his mother, many years before, to keep as a good luck piece.[...] The boy stared at it intently for a long second.

He laid it down on the soiled towel that lay across the bureau top as a doily.

He closed the door quietly behind himself.

-- Web of the City, p. 109

(Incidentally, I recommend this to aspiring writers as an example of how to individualize a character's actions. It has to flow out of who that character really is, yet pull the reader up sharply by presenting that character in a new light, making them stand out as a three-dimensional person.)

Yet Ellison very seldom allows a "happy ending" to his stories. Even those which are gentler in nature often have endings that are ambivalent, or which, though presenting the strength of character, compassion, and depth of human feeling, make the loss a part of that resolution. Such is the end, for instance, of "In Lonely Lands" (1959), "The Deathbird" (1973), or "Jeffty is Five" (1982). And, as previously noted, Ellison is widely known for tales fueled by anger, presenting bleak, grim, even hopeless landscapes and lives ("Alive and Well and On a Friendless Voyage" [1977], "Try a Dull Knife" [1968], and "Pennies, Off a Dead Man's Eyes" [1969] being excellent examples).

Ellison is an angry writer, whether it be his few stories of SF, his fantasies, his mainstream fiction, his television and movie scripts, or his essays; and he deals with the darkest parts of the human spectrum. Yet what fuels his work, I would contend, is not anger merely, but what what I've come to call "angry compassion" (most likely a formation unconsciously inspired by the title of his collection Angry Candy [1988]); a deep-felt compassion for human beings, yet tempered by anger at how often we allow our baser selves to triumph. Or, in the words he uses in "Delusion for a Dragon Slayer" (1966): "a man may truly live in his dreams, his noblest dreams, but only, only if he is worthy of those dreams".

Ellison's "darkness" is fueled by anger at how often we choose to not be worthy, and a plea (and a conviction) that we can... but only through pain, loss, and the wisdom and courage to be learned thereby.

For those who haven't read Ellison, and who like dark fantasy, he is a writer not to be missed.

EDIT: Sorry, folks, for the late addition. I was having problems technically, and had to leave the post half-finished the first time round....

 

[Urien]

I think dark fantasy merges into supernatural horror. I suppose most supernatural horror is ostensibly set in this world, whereas dark fantasy occupies some otherwhere. But that is not exclusively the case.

I've always thought of supernatural horror (as opposed to human horror, slasher, axe murderer), as a branch of fantasy. Hence "Darker than you think", "Dracula" and "The Stand" are dark fantasy.

 

[chopper]

not forgetting the laugh-a-minute funfest "a Boy and his Dog"

 

[The Ace]

Simon R Green's 'Blue Moon Rising,' is a bit like that, court intrigue against a backdrop of a demon invasion. The stories all have fallible and very human leads, which makes them very entertaining, if dark in places.

 

[D_Davis]

Ellison's "darkness" is fueled by anger at how often we choose to not be worthy, and a plea (and a conviction) that we can... but only through pain, loss, and the wisdom and courage to be learned thereby.

This is so true. Nicely said.

Ellison is angry, but he is not a misanthrope.

In many ways, he's like the opposite of Theodore Sturgeon. Where Strugeon used compassion and love to point out our dark sides and get us back on track, Ellison uses anger and hate to smack us upside the head so that we can get back on track.

I guess, to use the cliche, Ellison practices tough love.

I cannot imagine a story darker than I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream. It's a haunting tale of manufactured hate, perhaps the ultimate tale of a technological revolt. Will we be hated by the things we make, simply because of the limits of our humanity? If so, we should be dreading the post-singularity.

The story focuses on programmed hatred. And really, isn't all hatred programmed? How do children learn to hate? How do we learn to be racist?

 

[Grimward]

Sorry JD, hadn't seen this before my comment in other thread! You may bludgeon away!


On topic, then. I found Gibson's "Neuromancer" to be dark, and by "dark" for my post here I refer to a nightmarish setting that is all too possible (and getting more possible every day, if one looks around).

 

[j d worthington]

LOL... Well, as you also brought something with you... I'll withhold the cudgel -- for now!

And, as I noted at the beginning of the original post, I wished to open this thread with Ellison, as he seems to be an excellent example of what I'm talking about; but I'd also like others' thoughts not only about him (though that I would also enjoy), but about writers they think are dark, and whether that darkness serves a purpose in the work beyond "grittiness", "realism" (or verisimilitude), or to appeal to (or manipulate) the reader's emotions; hence the title of the thread....

 

[Montague]

I can't say I know Ellison, though a quick Wikipedia search reveals Don Johson stared in A Boy and His Dog, which may explain why he's a angry writer.

If I don't get shot for throwing in a different author, I'd suggest Mervin Peake as epitomising Dark Fantasy, but with a gloriously surreal cityscape that is somehow gritty and decaying (cf. Dark City?). All the characters in the Titus Groan arc are in some way a representation of manipulation, and yet the use of language lifts the story out of what could be a study in cynicism.

 

[Connavar]

In fantasy i would call Gemmell's fantasy dark. His worlds is very dark. In that there are alot bad things happening to normal good people. Even his heroes are dark characters. Almost so gray that they could be called villains if it was other fantasy subgenre like epic.


In Sf i find PKD gloomy dystopians dark in a very interesting way. Alot of tough love there too. The stories almost never end in a light tone for his characters. Many of his endings has made depressed and feeling sad for the characters.

For example in Do Android's dream the fact there arent any real animals was scary for me in way cause you have seen several documentaries saying in the near future this or that species will be gone. You felt as Rick and the other characters about their electric animals.

 

[Teresa Edgerton]

If I don't get shot for throwing in a different author, I'd suggest Mervin Peake as epitomising Dark Fantasy, but with a gloriously surreal cityscape that is somehow gritty and decaying (cf. Dark City?). All the characters in the Titus Groan arc are in some way a representation of manipulation, and yet the use of language lifts the story out of what could be a study in cynicism.

The language is very fine, and one reason why I keep going back to the first two books.

But along with all the manipulation and cynicism, there are unexpected moments of sacrifice, compassion, and courage. Nor does Peake wallow in the sufferings of his characters. He leaves something to the reader's imagination, instead of assuming we have to be hammered over the head to get the point.

 

[Montague]

But along with all the manipulation and cynicism, there are unexpected moments of sacrifice, compassion, and courage. Nor does Peake wallow in the sufferings of his characters. He leaves something to the reader's imagination, instead of assuming we have to be hammered over the head to get the point.

Yup, bang on, and that's where I think the balance needs to lie. I forget who it was, but someone said good horror always has a strong element of humour, which parallels your comments. There needs to be a counter balance, lest the story becomes a grind. After all, the text should be appreciated rather than endured.

 

[j d worthington]

On Peake... I find Titus Groan to be darker in tone in general than Gormenghast, though the latter portion of the second book most certainly becomes quite dark enough. However, as noted, it is by no means a study in cynicism -- from what I understand (and I would say these books, as well as his other writing, support this) he, too, was a very humanist writer, and a very generous writer, if you follow me. And yes, I think Peake is an excellent choice to discuss here.

Which leads me to another connection: Michael Moorcock. Moorcock was a friend of Peake's, and his early work (and even some of his later work, such as Gloriana) definitely shows the influence of the older writer. And, while Moorcock has written his lighter pieces, and even some fluff, a considerable amount of his work is quite dark, both in tone and in milieu -- not to mention occasionally in choice of character. Once again, this surfaces even with his earliest work, such as the novel The Golden Barge, which went unpublished for close to 20 years. (It was the first novel he completed -- he originally began The Eternal Champion and abandoned it, apparently -- and shows the faults of a young writer, but also many of his strengths as well.)

The list of Moorcock's darker works is rather sizeable: The Eternal Champion, Breakfast in the Ruins, Behold the Man, The Shores of Death, The Black Corridor, The Ice Schooner, The Brothel in Rosenstrasse, nearly the entirety of the Elric, Corum, and Erekosë cycles, as well as much of the Hawkmoon cycle; even his ironic comedies often have a very dark feel to them, such as the Pyat novels, or even some of the Cornelius books. And these are only a few which fit that description.

Yet he, too, uses this darkness to explore human frailty and strength, to plea for us to make the best moral and ethical choices, with an unflinching awareness of how often we allow our more venal side to triumph. Nor does this concern keep him from having his protagonists commit acts of barbarity and inhumanity... but it's always with a point, always with a moral firmly behind the inclusion of such.

Moorcock has often been cited as one of the mainstays of "dark fantasy" -- especially the Elric series -- but, again, what Moorcock does with that darkness is to show the varying shades of both dark and light, and to recognize them as part of the same continuum, and to celebrate the complexity and richness of life and experience in all its shades and colors....

Oh, and as for Johnson and A Boy and His Dog... iirc, Ellison's feelings on the film in general was rather positive (though he hated the final line, understandably, and I quite agree); and, having seen the film more than once, I can't say that Johnson's performance was something to complain about. This was early in his career, remember, and long before he gained the persona he has today. The film itself, despite flaws, is not bad, either....

 

[Who's Wee Dug]

I always found the White Isle by Darrell Schweitzer to be rather dark and a bit grim good book though.

 

[j d worthington]

I always found the White Isle by Darrell Schweitzer to be rather dark and a bit grim good book though.

You know, I've never read Schweitzer's fiction (other than a scattered short piece here and there); only his nonfiction. I really should look them up, as I've heard some quite good things about his work....

 

[Aleksei]

Dawn & Dusk from the Noreela series by Tim Lebbon is pretty grim. Grim enough for me to give up the series after book one.