Genre History
James Francis, Jr.
Science fiction, fantasy, and the fantastic have been literary comrades since early literatures confronted issues like mortality in Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus (1818), mental health and wellness in The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886), and human annihilation in The War of the Worlds (1898). As we use the term “horror” in the contemporary, we often anachronistically recognize the inception of Gothic literature as the start of horror fiction, as well, most notably with Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto: A Gothic Story (1764) which features murder, an anthropomorphic painting, a ghost, and a death from a giant helmet falling from the sky. Furthermore, Gothic and horror genre elements date back to the oral tradition of storytelling in folk and fairy tales that were shared between adults before children and childhood were recognized as separate stages of life from adults and adulthood and the development of children’s literature as its own category of fiction. Although these formative texts and tales were not always recognized as science fiction, fantasy, Gothic, or horror stories—especially during their time of publishing—we have come to understand the structural and textual frameworks, literary tropes and motifs, and observations about real life that make them appropriately designated as narratives of the fantastic. The mainstays of such earlier works continue in classic, modern, and postmodern written literatures from H.G. Wells’ The Island of Dr. Moreau (1896), George Langelaan’s “The Fly” (1957), and Octavia E. Butler’s Clay’s Ark (1984) to Jeff VanderMeer’s Annihilation (2014), and visual texts from Them! (1954) and Altered States (1980) to The Human Centipede (2009) in theaters to TV series like The Outer Limits (1963-1965), The X-Files (1993-2002, 2016-2018), and Stranger Things (2016) on the small screen.
As much as the fantastic can exist in hybrid genres like SF horror, its foundational elements differ in the way they play with curiosity, fear, anxiety, enlightenment, and dread. Science fiction texts reveal the aforementioned sociocultural concerns to its readers and viewers. In Frankenstein, its contemporary audience came to understand their apprehensions to scientific and medical advancements; Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde informed Victorian society about its class prejudices; and The War of the Words uncovered British worries regarding nationhood stability and possible invasion. On the other hand, horror texts prey on established sociocultural misgivings held by its readers and viewers. If we examine the previous texts from a horror perspective, we might argue: Frankenstein heightened recognized audience fears of early 19th century medicine and technology by presenting an extreme experiment of creating a being from dead tissue and body parts; Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde exacerbated Victorian anxieties that everyone was one drink away or one dollar less toward regressing into a deviant or degenerate of society; and The War of the Worlds hyperextended the very real dread British citizens felt about continual emigration from the region to wonder who would remain when they were all gone. Both Frankenstein and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde feature protagonists whose curiosity about human existence leads them to a desire of personal, professional, and social enlightenment that destroys them in the end. Although science fiction and horror exist as separate genres, this is one way we might unite them in their focus on social and cultural conversations and simultaneously differentiate them in how they approach and deliver elements of the fantastic to various audiences.
The previous discussion of Frankenstein et al. further connects us to the Gothic tradition of literature. As an narrative aesthetic, we often immediately think of castles (architecture), fog-covered, desolate moors (location), stormy weather (environment), and candle-lit interiors in novels like Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897) and its various film adaptations or Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw (1898). Both texts feature supernatural elements (vampire and apparition) that toy with the imagination and human perception for what cannot possibly be real to their respective protagonists. We also understand the Gothic as narratives that harken to the past to consider injustices, wrongdoings, and other tragic happenings that call for revenge or a sort of reckoning with what happened that must be addressed in the present. The science fiction and fantasy aspect of the fantastic that governs the Gothic connects us to unnatural, monstrous beings (the undead [vampires, ghosts, zombies] and the transformed [werewolves and shapeshifters]) that defy what we recognize within our mortal realities and understandings of the boundaries of nature. “What was that noise?” “Are my eyes deceiving me?” and “This can’t be real!” represent common questions and declarations characters pose to themselves and others within Gothic stories. A burden of proof often sits at the base of the text to “get to the bottom of things” to decide if what’s happening is supernatural or just a figment of the imagination. The breakdown between perception and reality within the Gothic splits its representative narratives into those which contain unexplained supernatural elements and those which contain rational explanations for what is only thought to be otherworldly.
And the macabre adds an atmospheric layer to the Gothic, as most of the aforementioned questions posed by characters receive an answer that connects to some depiction of death and decay as the gruesome parts of nature we would rather not think about on a daily basis. Dracula is one of the most recognized examples of the undead, often depicted living in an ornate but old (think how so many people use the term “vintage” or “retro”) mansion or castle estate. Unless he feeds to stay looking somewhat youthful, death becomes him physically as the body typically becomes a representation of the emaciated and exsanguinated corpus postmortem. In The Turn of the Screw, the macabre exists in the possibility of ghostly haunting from the perspective of the governess: Have the dead somehow come back into the realm of the living to reclaim their place at the manor or steal away with the children? From the original novel to film adaptations like The Innocents (1961) and loosely-inspired-by productions like The Others (2001), the macabre inserts an atmosphere and mood of death into the Gothic aesthetic.
If we flip the Gothic and the macabre upside down, weird fiction falls out of the shaker, and no, it does not represent fiction people “just can’t get into because it’s so weird.” In a simplified description, weird fiction takes the established traditions of monster and supernatural representations and gives them a makeover. The subgenre reinvents characteristics, origin stories, and guidelines about the supernatural and the monstrous to revitalize what has come before in older tales; it also takes creative liberties to invent creatures that resonate with narratives beyond what an inverted tradition or revisionist tale type might accomplish. Vampire and werewolf stories through written literature and cinema give us some of the most effective ways to examine weird fiction through their portrayals of the infamous character types.
Lycanthrophy in fiction has undergone an evolution from German folk tales that focused on silver being a deterrent or cure for the affliction to real-life beliefs of lycanthropy as a medical condition. We have cinematic texts like George Waggner’s The Wolf Man (1941) in which Larry Talbot (Lon Chaney, Jr.), an innocent man trying to save someone from a vicious animal attack, turns into a werewolf after being bitten by one; he is able to keep the beast at bay through use of a spell and a talisman although later succumbs to death by silver cane. Literary texts like Gary Brandner’s The Howling (1977)–and its subsequent film franchise–depict the werewolf as a sinister member of society that only becomes more vile and monstrous through transformation. Talbot’s werewolf takes on the form of a half-human, half-animal hybrid, able to walk on two legs with human cognizance. Brandner’s novel, on the other hand, features transformations that have hybrid stages but ultimately mutate into complete wolf physicalities. And throughout time, we recognize the effect of weird fiction to take traditional narrative elements and reconstitute them: John Landis’ An American Werewolf in London (1981) presents a character slowly transforming into a werewolf who is granted visions of his undead best friend because they were both bitten by the same wolf; Mike Nichols’ Wolf (1994) allows audiences to witness Will (Jack Nicholson) transform Laure (Michelle Pfieffer) into a werewolf simply through the passion they share for each other; John Fawcett’s Ginger Snaps (2000) uses the bite of the werewolf and subsequent transformation to establish a metaphor for puberty; Len Wiseman’s Underworld (2003) plays with the idea of a vampire-werewolf hybrid “abomination”; Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight Saga (2005-2008) has shapeshifters that take on the appearance of wolves and are not guided by moon phases, but also the Children of the Moon as more traditional werewolves whose transformations are governed by moon phases ; and Nathalie Biancheri’s Wolf (2021) showcases clinical zoanthropy, a condition in which an individual believes they are an animal, can transform into an animal, or will become an animal through genetic configuration, an outside force, or other action beyond their control.
With werewolf and vampire tales often focusing on body transformation, the Gothic, macabre, and weird fiction also connect to the grotesque which zeroes in on disfigurement, distortion, and unique physical configurations and composition. These are just a few iterations of the werewolf that weird fiction has churned out to keep the character type alive and well in storytelling. The list of vampire narratives would be comparatively exhaustive to detail changes from traditional concepts (vampires are immortal beings; vampires need blood to live; vampires cannot go out during the day in sunlight; and vampires can be killed by wooden stakes through the heart) to weird-fiction reinventions (vampires are infected, diseased humans; vampires can exist without blood, but they become weak or need to hibernate; vampires can go out during the day in direct sunlight if they are wearing sunscreen, a spell-casted ring, or no protection at all because the original myth was incorrect; and vampires can only be killed by beheading, destroying their creators, or via broken heart). And let’s not get started on the depictions of zombies that walk versus run, moan versus talk, transform from a bite versus transform from genetic disposition versus transform through language systems, and eat brains versus eat vegetables. Weird fiction acknowledges tradition to pave new paths for literature and film to traverse.
Three additional constructs within the fantastic–magical realism, surrealism, and the carnivalesque–work together to question normative systems and logic against a backdrop of chaotic surroundings and incomprehensible humor. Per the graphic supplied at the start of this chapter, we understand magical realism as a style that situates elements beyond our known realities (magic) as normative within the story world. The term was coined by Russian art critic Franz Roh as a recognition of artistic works not bound by the framework of realism; however, its foundation in the Latinx literary tradition extends from indigenous populations that did not observe as clear-cut a distinction between the natural and the supernatural as European communities followed in their lives and literatures. Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967) represents one of the most influential texts of magical realism. Surrealism, on the other hand, exists in part as a contradiction to magical realism in that the narrative elements presented have no logical basis in reality, often working as a part of the unconscious mind or dream-logic dropped into a work of fiction with little-to-no explanation of who, what, when, where, why, or how. Its Eurocentric base developed post WWI and its effect as a movement spread throughout media, including photography, painting, cinema, literature, and theatre. Un Chien Andalou (1929), directed by Luis Buñuel and co-written with Salvador Dalí, exemplifies surrealism in its use of dream logic; the production is often a staple of film courses to introduce students to the art form. Furthermore, the carnivalesque–when added to a story–supplies an air of chaos and unexpected, unnerving levity as characters confront and react to various situations. Recognized by Russian philosopher and critic, Mikhail Bakhtin, the carnivalesque appears in works from 16th century French Renaissance writer, François Rabelais, to 18th century Russian novelist, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and beyond. Although the carnivalesque is easily recognizable in centuries-old stories that present a carnival, celebratory atmosphere, season, or event, its tumultuous nature lends itself to modern fiction, as well.
Toni Morrison’s Beloved (1987)--adapted into a Jonathan Demme film in 1998–exemplifies the magical-realism novel in that Sethe and her daughter, Denver, live with a spirit in their house; this is an everyday living situation neither of them questions because it is a natural, but magical, part of their livelihood. The carnivalesque becomes part of the story when the spirit becomes corporeal as Beloved, a physically-realized adult version of Sethe’s ghost-child spirit that formerly inhabited the house; thereafter, Sethe devotes all her time and energy to her own detriment to caring for Beloved and her life falls apart even though she seemingly takes joy in the upheaval and self-destruction. We witness Sethe’s delirium of happiness every time her eyes fall upon Beloved and she worships her presence akin to the coronation and crowning of a carnival king as a daily activity within the home. The acceptance of a magical-realist life of sharing a habitat with a ghost turns carnivalesque when the imperceptible lines holding natural and supernatural together become defined, separate, and crash into each other.
For surrealism, we might look to Jeff VanderMeer’s Annihilation (2014), a story of four scientific professional women who take on the task to investigate Area X, a strange region in which 11 previous investigative expeditions have all resulted in members disappearing, dying, or becoming physically and mentally unstable from their experience within the zone. While on the expedition, the different characters encounter unclassified plant life, read journals that reveal more than 12 expeditions have taken place at the region, stumble upon animals with human genetics, become tracked by an unknown beast in the wild, and discover that Area X has no real dimensions or borders to contain its geography. Through additional elements like doppelgangers, body transformation, and hypnosis, the story–once we access Area X–defies logical systems of reality and we are not offered any true explanations of how Area X came to be, what it represents, or what will become of it and humanity in the future. Although the carnivalesque often takes what is present in a narrative style and subverts it by incorporating chaos, it can also enhance and heighten what is already established, thereby strengthening the confusion of the surreal Area X with chaos bestowed upon all characters who enter the incomprehensible space.
As we can see, the fantastic is far-reaching into particular genres and subgenres, modes and styles, and aesthetics within science fiction and fantasy. Now let’s turn our attention to the fantastic with respect to narrative framing, story elements, and observations regarding humanity through a SF-horror-genre filter, a particular category of fiction to which many of us may have previously been exposed.
Genre History: Questions and Activities
- What text can be considered an early development of Gothic and horror fiction?
- Identify elements of the grotesque and a narrative that features those elements.
- How does Beloved exemplify magical realism in its story?
- Compare lycanthropy in a modern text like the Twilight Saga to one of the older narratives in the section above. What are some similarities and differences?
- Stories often represent blends of styles and modes with one leading more than the other. Is Frankenstein more Gothic or macabre? More surreal or magical surrealism? Support your choices with details from the story.
The Fantastic in Literature
- The Mummy! (1827)
- Carmilla (1872)
- The Metamorphosis (1915)
- “The Fall of the House of Usher” (1939)
- At Swim-Two-Birds (1939)
- Naked Lunch (1959)
- Psycho (1959)
- One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967)
- Salem’s Lot (1975)
- The Vampire Chronicles (1978-2018)
- The House of the Spirits (1982)
- Gyo Ugomeku Bukimi (2001-2002)
- Life of Pi (2001)
- Coraline (2002)
- Kafka on the Shore (2002)
- Ring Shout (2020)
The Fantastic in Cinema
- Le Voyage dans la Lune (1902)
- The Haunting (1963)
- El Topo (1970)
- Eraserhead (1977)
- House (1977)
- Society (1989)
- Tetsuo: The Iron Man (1989)
- Twin Peaks (1990-1991)
- Being John Malkovich (1999)
- Donnie Darko (2001)
- Corpse Bride (2005)
- Pan’s Labyrinth (2006)
- Enter the Void (2009)
- Crimson Peak (2015)
- Mandy (2018)
Attribution: Francis, Jr., James. “Genre History” In Marvels and Wonders: Reading, Researching, and Writing about SF/F. 1st Edition. Edited by R. Paul Cooper, Claire Carly-Miles, Kalani Pattison, Jeremy Brett, Melissa McCoul, and James Francis, Jr. College Station: Texas A&M University, 2022. Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
A non-human being given or having the characteristics of a human.
An oral tale meant to convey wonder (Volksmärchen).
A literary tale meant to convey wonder (Kuntsmärchen),
A commonplace theme, element, or visual cue that conveys figurative meaning.
A recurring concept or detail that provides narrative resonance.
When you emigrate, you leave your homeland.
A novel or other media that is a reworking of a previously existing story.
Any person or creature who can change shape.
Literally, after death; used colloquially to refer to something after-the-fact.
The backstory for how an ordinary, unremarkable character becomes the protagonist of a narrative; often assigned to the binary construction of a villain and hero.
The illness which afflicts those who become werewolves at the full moon.
An item with magical powers.
Wherein a person believes they are and acts like an animal.
Literature and art that focuses on the disruption or exaggeration of the human body.
Anything that upholds or reinforces a norm.
The logic of dreams, metaphor and metonymy.
A twin or copy of a person.