An Open, Earnest Letter to People Who Like Gruesomeness in Books & Film
This is your brain on fear. As it turns out, Hippocampus isn't fat camp for Latin nerds.
Dear People,
I’m the pain in the ass who makes deciding on a movie en masse impossible. But is it violent? How violent is it, if it is? Do animals get murdered? Do children get murdered? Eventually we’ll decide on a bonehead comedy or a beautifully shot Icelandic film about rafts in the gloaming.
Fact: I was never desensitized to violence. I will flinch during commercials or crime shows that your grandmother watches. Is a fascination with or threshold for violence a thing like so many other things that can be traced to what we were exposed to as children? Are some people immune to desensitization? Because I read Less Than Zero once as a late adolescent, and then again, after some years had passed, and the second time around was more difficult than the first. And worse, I felt manipulated by it, cheated, and I don’t think I would have known to feel that way the first time, being young and quick to believe in authorial godliness. (I never bothered with American Psycho.)
But then, desensitization probably isn’t the point, is it? The point is to feel it, I’m guessing? In a safe way? Like the death-thrill of the roller coaster, maybe.
I wish I could borrow the mind of a horror/gore aficionado for one day.
Another fact: in 11th grade we were made to watch the “Miracle of Life” video. I spent the period in the library doing homework. A couple years ago, when I was pregnant and enrolled in a childbirth class, the nurse cheerfully announced that we’d be watching a labor and delivery video. It might’ve been the same one. I spent those 25 minutes wandering around the hospital eating a Skor bar. I was okay with what was going to happen, come go time. I just didn’t want to see it, or watch it happen to someone else.
My experience with and reaction to violence, on the page and on the screen, is multi-layered. First, I feel shock. No matter how far ahead I see it coming–and I usually see it from quite a distance, a time during which I feel genuine fear–I still feel at the very least surprised; at most, all-out assaulted. Then I feel puzzled–why did I need to see/read that? Was it essential? Was its gratuitousness essential? Then I feel mad, cheated (see above), by what seems to be a strenuous lack of imagination–well, couldn’t anyone dream up the ghastliest, bloodiest, most disturbing nightmare imaginable, and then describe it and call it a scene? Are people vying for the Gross Out Prize? And then I feel quiet, a little willing to believe that I’m missing something massive, a little foolish for not being able to distance myself from the thing, to recognize it as artifice or performance or–how embarrassing for me–art.
Mostly, I get scared, way deep in my body. I don’t like being scared. In the words of Zachary Schomburg, “No scary.”
I don’t believe that art is or “should be” devoid of violence. And I’m aware that the terms in this post probably should be qualified a dozen times over–there are so many small, even imperceptible violences. Form can be violence. Syntax can be violence. Many of my favorite writers have written violence in a way that inspires only my awe and admiration. And on the whole, I’m much more willing to read it than I am to watch it, although reading it can be more excruciating because I’m unable to skip ahead–in fact, I will read and re-read the scene until I have almost memorized it. I will force myself to plunge on, keep going, but invariably, I get stuck going back a second and third time, visualizing each detail as though I will be responsible for filming it afterward. It’s a trauma-response. With film or television, the details have already been realized by someone else–close my eyes and they’re gone. Well, not immediately, but a lot sooner.
So, to clarify, what I’m thinking about here is gore/horror/psychotic violence, let’s say. Don’t talk to me about Rimbaud and Faulkner and Hitchcock–I’m good with all that. But you who read and watch the gruesome stuff, and you who write it–the stuff that goes beyond intimation, the stuff that perverts subtlety, slits it throat–talk to me. What does it feel like to enjoy it?
Hugz,
Kristen
Tags: fear, Film, gore, horror, less than zero, letter, violence
i’m not much for gorey movies or horror stuff either. i think i just have like “blood and guts nausea,” basically, if it’s at all realistic-looking. i once broke into a cold sweat in a high school biology class.
guess i’m pretty ok with violence, though, as long as it isn’t like graphic. like that poor ginger gettin’ “effing capped in tha head” in that new MIA video was a bit graphic for me. but like most tarantino violence is entertaining or funny to me.
This is a pretty good description of how representations of violence are both real and not-real.
I’d say, even though I consume lots of things with violence inside, I still get affected by it. Reading Dennis Cooper’s Frisk made me feel pretty depressed about violence, but then it displays the real/not-real nature of the whole thing pretty well. This isn’t very articulate…
Interesting topic, and kudos to you for being so forthright.
I’m in the fraidy-cat camp on this one, too. I cannot stand to watch anything mildly gory and/or bodily-fuction related in film. I’m not kidding. In the past, this has even included puke takes from America’s Funniest Home Videos. (Kids puke, ha, funny, whoo, congratulations; what was the point of reminding us?!) Part of that may be my hard-wiring; I process sounds and textures differently than most folks, and seeing a thirty-second puke scene on TV can make me lose my appetite for days sometimes. It’s a thing. I’m a freak. I know.
But what’s bizarre about that (and more worthy of reading here, sorry) is that I adore high fear in books and literary circles. Lengthy fiction annoys me, romance novels make me nauseous, and I’ll watch the History Channel or jump online for my political commentary, thanks. But give me a good “True Story of Some Kid who Murdered His Parents”, and I’m totally game. Classic horror, suspense, blood, guts, rapists, psychopathic protagonists, I’m in, I’m in. And generally speaking, the worse, the better. Mindbending is everything.
I’m sitting here trying to think of some clever wrap-up statement about why this is so true for me in word, and so obliterating in film.. but I have absolutely nothing.
Now I have to know.
What the hell is the difference? Anyone?
This stuff for me, and I’m replying here because Cooper is an excellent example of what I’m trying to say, is that I am extremely impressed by a book or movie or play or anything that is not, i dunno, let’s say, a knife, that has the ability to produce very nearly the feeling of that knife. There are parts of Cooper’s work and work like this that is done well (maybe, that movie “Fronteirs? did anybody see that shit?) that while they’re obviously not the same feeling as somebody stabbing you, somehow succeed in producing the ill feeling of knowing you’re going to get stabbed, or remembering being stabbed. That a thing that is not another thing can produce so closely the feeling of that other thing, is amazing to me.
Me, I totally love gory horror movies, and I actually enjoyed American Psycho, book and film. (Though the book was…difficult at times.) But only if they’re fun…which I think American Psycho is supposed to be, by the way. Only if there’s joy and a little wink and a nod to the audience, like in the Howling, or Texas Chainsaw Massacre, stuff like that.
For me, if I read a book or see a movie (usually stuff from the 70s, grindhouse type gritty stuff with lots of boob shots, or some of the later Hammer horror films) and I get this creepy feeling all over and I don’t know WHY the movie was made or book was written other than to show me this girl getting stabbed again and again–erg. If it feels like a snuff film, I don’t want to watch it. It doesn’t make me ill, it makes me worried for the mental state of the director or the writer. And for my own safety with people like that in the world. That’s no fun.
Oh, and I should add, if I know an animal dies in a movie (especially horribly) I won’t watch it. If I didn’t know, it upsets me more than anything I could imagine. When I saw Sam Raimi’s newest and realized she was going to kill her kitten, I had a full-blown panic attack and made my husband turn the movie off. I can cheerfully handle any number of children being brutally murdered, but animals? I’m not sure what this says about me…hmmm.
I like this distinction, Amber.
I mean, the one between fun & snuff. My reply went to the wrong place, or I wasn’t quick enough. The animals v. children thing, I’m not sure what to say about, tho’ several friends have told me the same thing ;-)
I don’t mind gore or horror. I find it to be so excessive, so forced in horror movies like the Saw series, the Hostel movies, etc., that I feel immune to it. It’s farcical, that level of violence so it goes so far as to become comedy.
There are books and movies were extreme violence is horrifying but compelling. I think, first and foremost, of the film Irreversible which is one of the most amazing movies I’ve ever seen but also one of the most horrifying. There is a rape scene in that movie that defies… all decency and yet, it’s not gratuitous. Within the oppressive darkness of the movie, the scene is appropriate.
I also think of American Psycho or Saramago’s Blindness that include moments of extreme violence but they are necessary to those books (and movies).
I’ve often talked about how sex is a great catalyst for fiction; I think the same can be said for violence, about exploring the circumstances that bring people to commit unspeakable acts. The violence is a means to an end rather than the end itself and I am able to appreciate that both as a reader (or viewer) and a writer.
I absolutely agree re: the sex/violence connection.
and for nonfiction too.
And not only to explore the circumstances that bring people to commit “unspeakable acts” but also to explore what is generally accepted speakable and what is generally accepted as unspeakable.
Yes, very much so Joseph. Some of the best nonfiction I’ve ever read explores either sex and/or violence. The first thing that came to mind after reading your comment was this essay (http://www.thesunmagazine.org/issues/321/the_love_of_my_life) by Cheryl Strayed.
kristen,
what bothers you more: the act or the effect?
i think your innocence is good.
stay sensitive.
Oh shit, Roxane, I just read that thing. It’s real, real good. I don’t know that lady. Gonna google her. Thanks for that.
Oh, HTML Giant, why did you have to go all Michael Medved?
I agree that Blindness was much more terrifying than most horror movies would be. Success.
Not that it needs to be said, but the book was so much better.
The book was breathtaking. I just re-read it and loved it even more.
i’m not much for gorey movies or horror stuff either. i think i just have like “blood and guts nausea,” basically, if it’s at all realistic-looking. i once broke into a cold sweat in a high school biology class.
guess i’m pretty ok with violence, though, as long as it isn’t like graphic. like that poor ginger gettin’ “effing capped in tha head” in that new MIA video was a bit graphic for me. but like most tarantino violence is entertaining or funny to me.
This is a pretty good description of how representations of violence are both real and not-real.
I’d say, even though I consume lots of things with violence inside, I still get affected by it. Reading Dennis Cooper’s Frisk made me feel pretty depressed about violence, but then it displays the real/not-real nature of the whole thing pretty well. This isn’t very articulate…
I love dumb goriness, but anything close to the real can trigger panic attacks and actually depress me for days after. The “Faces of Death” videos I watched when I was too young to realize watching them was a bad idea was one. More recently, the Paul Greengrass film “United 93” was horrific. I started sweating in the theatre and should have left but felt nailed to my seat with primordial dread. I appreciate and can find fun in the first type, I have learned to steer clear of the second.
I don’t feel the same dread when I read. Reading American Psycho would be the closest thing to that deep dread, but even my experience reading AP doesn’t touch Faces or United 93. I suspect that when I watch a movie, I feel more out of control because it is not my images, but the director’s/cinematographer’s images that I see. When I read, the images come from the author, but they are mediated through my own brain. I can turn them down or cartoonize them (without even thinking about it, probably) if they get too intense. Which is maybe why violence in novels seems to be far more graphic than violence in movies (that aren’t made specifically to be violent). Recent case in point, The Lovely Bones.
Interesting topic, and kudos to you for being so forthright.
I’m in the fraidy-cat camp on this one, too. I cannot stand to watch anything mildly gory and/or bodily-fuction related in film. I’m not kidding. In the past, this has even included puke takes from America’s Funniest Home Videos. (Kids puke, ha, funny, whoo, congratulations; what was the point of reminding us?!) Part of that may be my hard-wiring; I process sounds and textures differently than most folks, and seeing a thirty-second puke scene on TV can make me lose my appetite for days sometimes. It’s a thing. I’m a freak. I know.
But what’s bizarre about that (and more worthy of reading here, sorry) is that I adore high fear in books and literary circles. Lengthy fiction annoys me, romance novels make me nauseous, and I’ll watch the History Channel or jump online for my political commentary, thanks. But give me a good “True Story of Some Kid who Murdered His Parents”, and I’m totally game. Classic horror, suspense, blood, guts, rapists, psychopathic protagonists, I’m in, I’m in. And generally speaking, the worse, the better. Mindbending is everything.
I’m sitting here trying to think of some clever wrap-up statement about why this is so true for me in word, and so obliterating in film.. but I have absolutely nothing.
Now I have to know.
What the hell is the difference? Anyone?
Roxane: I read Cheryl’s essay. Thank you for linking to that. I am decimated, and I need to go be somewhere else without people around.
for the romantics:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rnCdVH7UPAM
This stuff for me, and I’m replying here because Cooper is an excellent example of what I’m trying to say, is that I am extremely impressed by a book or movie or play or anything that is not, i dunno, let’s say, a knife, that has the ability to produce very nearly the feeling of that knife. There are parts of Cooper’s work and work like this that is done well (maybe, that movie “Fronteirs? did anybody see that shit?) that while they’re obviously not the same feeling as somebody stabbing you, somehow succeed in producing the ill feeling of knowing you’re going to get stabbed, or remembering being stabbed. That a thing that is not another thing can produce so closely the feeling of that other thing, is amazing to me.
Me, I totally love gory horror movies, and I actually enjoyed American Psycho, book and film. (Though the book was…difficult at times.) But only if they’re fun…which I think American Psycho is supposed to be, by the way. Only if there’s joy and a little wink and a nod to the audience, like in the Howling, or Texas Chainsaw Massacre, stuff like that.
For me, if I read a book or see a movie (usually stuff from the 70s, grindhouse type gritty stuff with lots of boob shots, or some of the later Hammer horror films) and I get this creepy feeling all over and I don’t know WHY the movie was made or book was written other than to show me this girl getting stabbed again and again–erg. If it feels like a snuff film, I don’t want to watch it. It doesn’t make me ill, it makes me worried for the mental state of the director or the writer. And for my own safety with people like that in the world. That’s no fun.
Oh, and I should add, if I know an animal dies in a movie (especially horribly) I won’t watch it. If I didn’t know, it upsets me more than anything I could imagine. When I saw Sam Raimi’s newest and realized she was going to kill her kitten, I had a full-blown panic attack and made my husband turn the movie off. I can cheerfully handle any number of children being brutally murdered, but animals? I’m not sure what this says about me…hmmm.
I like this distinction, Amber.
I mean, the one between fun & snuff. My reply went to the wrong place, or I wasn’t quick enough. The animals v. children thing, I’m not sure what to say about, tho’ several friends have told me the same thing ;-)
I don’t mind gore or horror. I find it to be so excessive, so forced in horror movies like the Saw series, the Hostel movies, etc., that I feel immune to it. It’s farcical, that level of violence so it goes so far as to become comedy.
There are books and movies were extreme violence is horrifying but compelling. I think, first and foremost, of the film Irreversible which is one of the most amazing movies I’ve ever seen but also one of the most horrifying. There is a rape scene in that movie that defies… all decency and yet, it’s not gratuitous. Within the oppressive darkness of the movie, the scene is appropriate.
I also think of American Psycho or Saramago’s Blindness that include moments of extreme violence but they are necessary to those books (and movies).
I’ve often talked about how sex is a great catalyst for fiction; I think the same can be said for violence, about exploring the circumstances that bring people to commit unspeakable acts. The violence is a means to an end rather than the end itself and I am able to appreciate that both as a reader (or viewer) and a writer.
I absolutely agree re: the sex/violence connection.
and for nonfiction too.
And not only to explore the circumstances that bring people to commit “unspeakable acts” but also to explore what is generally accepted speakable and what is generally accepted as unspeakable.
Yes, very much so Joseph. Some of the best nonfiction I’ve ever read explores either sex and/or violence. The first thing that came to mind after reading your comment was this essay (http://www.thesunmagazine.org/issues/321/the_love_of_my_life) by Cheryl Strayed.
kristen,
what bothers you more: the act or the effect?
i think your innocence is good.
stay sensitive.
Hi Jereme–thanks, I think. Sensitive, yes, definitely. But I’m not sure that my aversion amounts to ‘innocence,’ necessarily. Your question is good…the ‘act’ I have no comment about, and no problem with, really. As it exists or potentially exists out there in the world, it has nothing to do with me. And evaluating it suggests some kind of ethical or moral questioning that I’m not prepared or qualified to conduct.
But the ‘effect’–yes. Often, I will say that the effect bothers me. Viscerally, as I mentioned, and also because of the other thing I mentioned–the threat of diluted imagination masquerading as ‘boldness’ or vivacity.
And this might be as good a place as any for a post script: the genre of horror is, of course, very different than incidents of horror. Perhaps they should be addressed separately.
Oh shit, Roxane, I just read that thing. It’s real, real good. I don’t know that lady. Gonna google her. Thanks for that.
i think you are innocent.
innocence only comes with something new or unaffected.
an apathetic demeanor comes after many exposures to something. you lose your innocence in the exposure of the something.
the something here being violence.
at least that’s how i see it.
but anyways, in regards to your response:
have you come to terms with your mortality?
Oh, HTML Giant, why did you have to go all Michael Medved?
I agree that Blindness was much more terrifying than most horror movies would be. Success.
Not that it needs to be said, but the book was so much better.
The book was breathtaking. I just re-read it and loved it even more.
Probably not. I’m mostly trying to figure out how to be a human being.
And I don’t know if I agree re: apathy. I think it can come after many exposures to something. I think it can also be a state of mind, static, created by nothing. That is a maybe more interesting possibility. I think that I’ve been exposed to many violences. Which is part of what prompted me to write the post–why does it still grate, hurt, etc. But here violence again becomes a subjective thing.
being a human being is fucking difficult. i am shitty at it, i think.
isn’t experience the epiphany of fear?
i am trying to figure out how apathy could just be a state of mind & not a reaction to the banality & hopelessness of a repetition and can’t.
basically, you are saying you are afraid despite the static.
which falls in line with the question i already posed about mortality.
i guess i am curious to know what about the guise of violence frightens you if not your own death?
but you can ignore that question if it bothers you. i am just curious.
I love dumb goriness, but anything close to the real can trigger panic attacks and actually depress me for days after. The “Faces of Death” videos I watched when I was too young to realize watching them was a bad idea was one. More recently, the Paul Greengrass film “United 93” was horrific. I started sweating in the theatre and should have left but felt nailed to my seat with primordial dread. I appreciate and can find fun in the first type, I have learned to steer clear of the second.
I don’t feel the same dread when I read. Reading American Psycho would be the closest thing to that deep dread, but even my experience reading AP doesn’t touch Faces or United 93. I suspect that when I watch a movie, I feel more out of control because it is not my images, but the director’s/cinematographer’s images that I see. When I read, the images come from the author, but they are mediated through my own brain. I can turn them down or cartoonize them (without even thinking about it, probably) if they get too intense. Which is maybe why violence in novels seems to be far more graphic than violence in movies (that aren’t made specifically to be violent). Recent case in point, The Lovely Bones.
Roxane: I read Cheryl’s essay. Thank you for linking to that. I am decimated, and I need to go be somewhere else without people around.
Frontiers? Try Martyrs.
for the romantics:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rnCdVH7UPAM
Hi Jereme–thanks, I think. Sensitive, yes, definitely. But I’m not sure that my aversion amounts to ‘innocence,’ necessarily. Your question is good…the ‘act’ I have no comment about, and no problem with, really. As it exists or potentially exists out there in the world, it has nothing to do with me. And evaluating it suggests some kind of ethical or moral questioning that I’m not prepared or qualified to conduct.
But the ‘effect’–yes. Often, I will say that the effect bothers me. Viscerally, as I mentioned, and also because of the other thing I mentioned–the threat of diluted imagination masquerading as ‘boldness’ or vivacity.
And this might be as good a place as any for a post script: the genre of horror is, of course, very different than incidents of horror. Perhaps they should be addressed separately.
i think you are innocent.
innocence only comes with something new or unaffected.
an apathetic demeanor comes after many exposures to something. you lose your innocence in the exposure of the something.
the something here being violence.
at least that’s how i see it.
but anyways, in regards to your response:
have you come to terms with your mortality?
Probably not. I’m mostly trying to figure out how to be a human being.
And I don’t know if I agree re: apathy. I think it can come after many exposures to something. I think it can also be a state of mind, static, created by nothing. That is a maybe more interesting possibility. I think that I’ve been exposed to many violences. Which is part of what prompted me to write the post–why does it still grate, hurt, etc. But here violence again becomes a subjective thing.
being a human being is fucking difficult. i am shitty at it, i think.
isn’t experience the epiphany of fear?
i am trying to figure out how apathy could just be a state of mind & not a reaction to the banality & hopelessness of a repetition and can’t.
basically, you are saying you are afraid despite the static.
which falls in line with the question i already posed about mortality.
i guess i am curious to know what about the guise of violence frightens you if not your own death?
but you can ignore that question if it bothers you. i am just curious.
Frontiers? Try Martyrs.
Hmmmm…. Good question. I’m not really sure if I know my own particular answer to why I love to read, watch, and write violence so much. Maybe it has something to do with becoming aware of your own body through the representation of the destruction of other bodies. But that doesn’t make much sense. Aesthetically pleasing violence is my favorite. Like, for instance, in Claire Denis’s “Trouble Every Day” (only the French!) where the blood is so strategically splattered on the wall that it almost becomes a piece of artwork. Mindless violence and gore, however, is interesting to me only in movies. In books, mindless, “violence for violence’s sake” is rather boring after a while. Like Jack Ketchum for instance. Or Edward Lee where the violence is the equivalent of the gore in “Dead Alive”–just for comedic effect or the equivalent of a middle school “gross out” joke. Structured, “useful” violence in books is far more interesting. Like in Ellis, Cooper, Sade, and others.
But, for some reason, I feel as though the desire (on my part) to search out new “extremes” in this realm is an obsession and/or addiction. I guess I’m trying really hard to avoid being desensitized because, overall, I actually enjoy being shocked. I like to squirm. And the greatest respect I think I can give a writer or director is to actually feel nauseous. I think that takes a lot of work. However, I like to “think” along with feeling nauseous. The French film “In My Skin” is a good example. So, mindless, useless violence that makes me queasy only gets half of my respect if it isn’t intelligent. And, maybe I’m in the minority, but I think the over the top, “body horror” of movies like Hostel and Frontiers is an intelligent statement.
I think I write violent things because it’s a fast way to rip (haha) through the surface of the language and expose what’s underneath, the emotion. And, also, I think violence has a lot to say both emotionally, physically, and mentally. And, frankly, I write it because it gives me a rush. Also, it’s a nice “bouncer” in the sense that it is right in your face and if it bothers you then you quit reading. There’s also an element of sadism in it on my part.
That kind of stuff definitely isn’t for everyone. And I think that’s a good thing. I live with someone who can’t stomach it very well. She has no desire to become desensitized to it; she finds it horrific. So I don’t force it on her.
Maybe the real answer is that I was raised on horror movies by my mother and searched these things out at a relatively young age. I’ve had a long time to become desensitized. So, in order to get the rush, I look for new, more extreme things. Unfortunately, most of these things lack the intelligence that I think complements this subject matter well.
i’m the same. i’ve argued for years now that if a book involves the death of an animal, there should be a disclaimer in the masthead. why not?
Hmmmm…. Good question. I’m not really sure if I know my own particular answer to why I love to read, watch, and write violence so much. Maybe it has something to do with becoming aware of your own body through the representation of the destruction of other bodies. But that doesn’t make much sense. Aesthetically pleasing violence is my favorite. Like, for instance, in Claire Denis’s “Trouble Every Day” (only the French!) where the blood is so strategically splattered on the wall that it almost becomes a piece of artwork. Mindless violence and gore, however, is interesting to me only in movies. In books, mindless, “violence for violence’s sake” is rather boring after a while. Like Jack Ketchum for instance. Or Edward Lee where the violence is the equivalent of the gore in “Dead Alive”–just for comedic effect or the equivalent of a middle school “gross out” joke. Structured, “useful” violence in books is far more interesting. Like in Ellis, Cooper, Sade, and others.
But, for some reason, I feel as though the desire (on my part) to search out new “extremes” in this realm is an obsession and/or addiction. I guess I’m trying really hard to avoid being desensitized because, overall, I actually enjoy being shocked. I like to squirm. And the greatest respect I think I can give a writer or director is to actually feel nauseous. I think that takes a lot of work. However, I like to “think” along with feeling nauseous. The French film “In My Skin” is a good example. So, mindless, useless violence that makes me queasy only gets half of my respect if it isn’t intelligent. And, maybe I’m in the minority, but I think the over the top, “body horror” of movies like Hostel and Frontiers is an intelligent statement.
I think I write violent things because it’s a fast way to rip (haha) through the surface of the language and expose what’s underneath, the emotion. And, also, I think violence has a lot to say both emotionally, physically, and mentally. And, frankly, I write it because it gives me a rush. Also, it’s a nice “bouncer” in the sense that it is right in your face and if it bothers you then you quit reading. There’s also an element of sadism in it on my part.
That kind of stuff definitely isn’t for everyone. And I think that’s a good thing. I live with someone who can’t stomach it very well. She has no desire to become desensitized to it; she finds it horrific. So I don’t force it on her.
Maybe the real answer is that I was raised on horror movies by my mother and searched these things out at a relatively young age. I’ve had a long time to become desensitized. So, in order to get the rush, I look for new, more extreme things. Unfortunately, most of these things lack the intelligence that I think complements this subject matter well.
i’m the same. i’ve argued for years now that if a book involves the death of an animal, there should be a disclaimer in the masthead. why not?