What is it about the creepy old house and its residents and secrets that turn pages, even after centuries of repetition?
I’m currently dabbling in the Gothic genre with my newest novel. I say “dabbling” because I’m not plunging into the classic aspects of a Gothic novel. I’m borrowing the house and playing with the fears of my main character as she dares to face what willingly lives within and what cannot die.
Some say the appeal is death, the bait of horror. Death is inevitable (unless you’re a vampire), but in our culture, a subject to be avoided. It only makes sense that like all other taboos, it is impossible to resist in storytelling. Any plot with a “life or death” decision engages the fear of that phenomenon we must face alone one day.
Many gothic novels deal directly with death, but the appeal of a Gothic novel to me is more in its questioning of our illogical fears that we swore we outgrew. What if there’s a monster under the bed? What if objects can take on a spirit? What if someone once became so sad or angry that they permanently stained their environment?
These repressed fears from our early nightmares never leave us completely. Yes, we know better, but what if we’re wrong? The past is over and done. The dead are buried. Secrets that are never told are never known. We can be sure of all of those things.
Well, except when we are isolated in a house with an overpowering presence of its own and inhabitants including someone so dark in their brooding, we may fall in love with them and become prey to this environment. It is as seductive as it is foreboding. Who can say no to that combination?
