Crime and Horror are Siblings, And Humor is Their Drunk Uncle (or That One Inappropriate Aunt)

Anyway, I recently published a new anthology (here’s a link and all that, cause commerce or whatever: theodorevanalst.com) so I’ve been doing the interview and press thing lately.

During one of those, someone asked me, “Hey. What’s going on with your work? What do you write?”

I had to think about that. Not too many folks ask that question, just read your stuff and ask you questions about the particular book you’ve just published, so it took me a second or three.

“Uh, lit fiction I suppose. Sometimes. But yeah, horror and crime, that’s the main thing. And humor, if I’m doing it right.”

They laughed a little nervously, made a note.

So that’s why we’re here today.

I’ll try to explain a little more.

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For me, crime and horror are the closest related genres out there. Let’s be real, crime is horrific and horrifying. It can be supremely violent, or quietly psychotic.

But in most instances, it can be, well, hilarious.

Its abruptness and inappropriateness to the everyday, the mundane, is like a good joke in the bar, or at the bus stop, or at the counter at McDonald’s. It’s unexpected, and if not always welcome, unless of course you’re the perpetrator, it takes you out of the routine drudgery most folks are slogging through on the regular.

Example — a young gangbanger stops into a liquor store in the neighborhood that he knows will sell him a pack of cigarettes, no I.D. required. As he dips through the door, he finds a robbery in progress — by a rival gang member.

Holy shit, this story just took a turn.

The owner of the store hands over the money from the register, but as the robber is making his way out the door with the loot, the hardworking owner pulls a pistol from under the register and shoots at him. His aim sucks, and the best he can do is wing the bill of the guy’s L.A. Kings baseball hat, spinning it off his head. That’s funny.

But then the incoming gangbanger senses an opportunity and shoots his rival in the face when he turns around to go after the owner.

Twice.

And once more in the back after he hits the ground.

Pulls out a stiletto and scalps him, stuffs his prize in his back pocket and wipes the knife on the back of the guy’s t-shirt, asks the owner for a pack of Camel shorts, throwing some cash on the counter.

That’s a crime turned into horror.

And it’s funny, ‘cause what the fuck, it just is.

Especially when he tells his buddies about it later, his phantom drunk uncle adding spicy bits in his ear to sauce up the tale.

And they all agree.

And laugh.

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Not unrelated, is Terror, and I would be remiss in not mentioning it, at least.

If you live out in the country and have a really good telescope, there’re occasionally things in the night sky that will be visible.

One of those is Mars, and its two moons, Phobos and Demos. From Classical Greek mythology, we know that Phobos is Fear (and occasionally Terror) and Deimos is Panic (or Horror, every now and again). There’s a well-known Hitchcock quote: “There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.” I’d add that horror is the bang.

Bangs are usually funny. How many videos have you caught of someone fucking up the lighting of fireworks? Drunkenly yelling and crossing the street toward the camera only to get hit by a car? Trying to get their mouth around a two-liter of pop full of Mentos? Those clips are horror, man.

And hilarious. You know you laughed.

I’m less interested in writing Terror, Mr. Hitchcock, but as I said, I felt the need to mention it here, a cousin of our topic at hand. That shit is hard, and not my bag. But Horror? That’s the goods. Crime, too. Not serial killer shit, but everyday mundane crime. That happens all the time, isn’t hard to find.

But if it doesn’t, it’s easy to imagine.

Because humans are horrible and horrifying creatures stalking this planet.

In a coffee shop? What if it got robbed but the crook ordered a half-caff skinny latte beforehand and gave her real name to the barista?

Library? Disgruntled patron shits in a towel and wipes it on all the computer terminals, gets shot down by the cops. Everyone cheers, but no one thinks about who’s going to clean it up. Enter custodial staff ruminations.

Taking the El? Someone sets the platform on fire during rush hour, but everyone trapped on the wooden planks pees on the flames trying to put it out and scorches their asses waiting for the fire department to show.

The possibilities are endless and horrible, but your drunk uncle will always find the funny in it all. And if he doesn’t, that one auntie will.

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