by Ed Kurtz
I love bugs. Anyone who knows me knows this. And it’s funny, really,
because I grew up scared shitless of
anything with more than four legs or fewer than two (and quite a few in
between, but that’s a different story altogether). Hell, in the summer of 1987
my little neighborhood was plagued by a massive cicada invasion; I didn’t leave
the house until autumn. But something happened along the way, some switch was
flicked, and over a short period of time revulsion gave way to fascination, and
fascination gave way to outright adoration. There are few creatures on this
planet I love more than spiders, and when I find one in the house I usually
only pause to get a better look and say hello. I reckon if they’re in here,
there must be something good to eat. Bon
appétit, little buddy.
The same is true with me and horror—couldn’t stand the stuff as a kid.
The ghost librarian in Ghostbusters scarred
me psychologically. A poster for Creepshow
haunted me for months. But I grew up to become a bona fide horror fanatic
and, eventually, a sometime horror writer. And here’s where these two subjects
collide: I have a loose rule about writing horror, which is to avoid—whenever
possible—contributing to fears or phobias I find unnecessary or unhealthy. I
mean, if you’re genuinely terrified that a werewolf is going to murder you then
that’s your problem, hoss, but
arthropods are a different thing. Though there are certainly some species one
should be careful about, most folks’ manic terror of creepy-crawlies is just
silly to me. That said, I decided pretty early on that I’d never write anything
that made bugs the focus of fear in a horror tale. Which, generally speaking,
meant I was never going to write about any of my segmented, leggy pals.
Then I read about ophiocordyceps
unilateralis, the extraordinary—and damned creepy—fungus that infects
certain species of ants and alters their behavior to suit the parasite. That’s
real life horror right there, baby, and ideal for me since the bugs, in this
circumstance, are the victims rather than the aggressors. From that point most
of the core story in Control was
formed almost instantly: a heretofore unknown strand of the fungus making its
way Stateside through illegal means, and this one infects human beings, too. It
gave me the opportunity to explore the limits of control in a given human life,
as well as one my favorite themes in fiction, the circumstances that turn
erstwhile normal people into
monsters. And yes, there are bugs. Spiders, scorpions, ants, and others—the
protagonist’s specimens, his only friends, which are at every bit as much risk
as anyone else in the book. And wouldn’t you know early readers were quick to
tell me how much poor Leon’s bugs creeped
them out? Ain’t that a kick in the teeth?
Well. Perhaps it is not the business of a horror writer to strive
toward not giving readers the
heebie-jeebies. And perhaps those lovely, totally
innocent little insects and arachnids will make your skin crawl, too. I
won’t judge—Scout’s honor. I still can’t climb a ladder without getting
vertigo. I suppose we all have our phobias.
But yours is silly.
* * *
Oh, and by the way: if you review the new Nightscape Press ebook
edition of Control
on Amazon by October 12, you’ll
be entered to win a copy of the out-of-print, limited edition hardcover from
Thunderstorm Books. Just drop me a line on Twitter or Facebook and point me to
the review.
Ed Kurtz
2 comments:
We have a lot in common. One of the things that terrified me the most as a kid was the newspaper ad for Joan Crawford's last movie, TROG. I couldn't look at it for very long at a stretch. The difference between us, though, is that I enjoyed it. Heh-heh.
I have a hard time killing a spider. More than once I hand carry them outside and some of my family looks at me like I'm nuts. Now when I lived in Belize. Different story. Yeah, I tried to kill those mothers.
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