Horror vs Sci-Fi

Horror is designed to scare and make you hide under the bed covers, while science fiction is made to imagine and get you thinking beyond the world’s limitations. They have their differences, yet horror and science fiction are both interesting genres. But I would say that; they’re my favourites.

It might not always be obvious, but they do also have a lot in common, including the subjects they explore and the fact that they twist the familiar in order to achieve this. Of course, how they twist things and the outcomes reached can vary wildly.

Society

Society is one topic commonly explored, with horror often focusing on the more evil, destructive nature of it. This is the basis for books like William Golding’s Lord of the Flies, where a group of young children are stranded alone on an island. They organise themselves and begin with the best of intentions, but their small community swiftly dissolves into violence, chaos, and a fight for power.

Exploration of societies is a mainstay for sci-fi, either by the evolution of one we are familiar with or the introduction of alien cultures juxtaposed against our own. Many science fiction writers create entire universes, with planets and cultures spanning several books. In The Dispossessed Ursula Le Guin explores a 200-year-old utopian lunar colony through the eyes of a character who controversially chooses to return to the planet it orbits. Despite his disillusionment with the society he grew up in, the character learns the other culture is no utopia either.

Humanity

Humanity, with its notions of morality and its inevitable mortality, can be a meaningful subject to deal with. Horror is a genre so intrinsically linked with death, and that gives it an interesting perspective to offer on life. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde looks at the life of a man who remains young, attractive and hedonistic, as a portrait of him grows old. While Gray gains immortality he loses aspects of his humanity, which become trapped in the portrait. He loses sight of himself and we begin to wonder if there are things worse than death.

In the hands of science fiction, the nature of life and what it means to be human are often explored via technological advancement, the prevalence of machines and the development of artificial intelligence. This is the case with Philip K Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? which plays with the idea of androids developing beyond their AI, and the ethics of terminating such machines along with the repercussions for humanity of letting them live.

Gender

It’s fascinating to see society and humanity explored within both the sci-fi and horror genres, but even more interesting has to be gender. It’s apparently a tricky subject in fiction, with female characters often being reduced to stereotypes and secondary characters. No genres are immune to these pitfalls, but this is one area where horror and science fiction vary much more significantly.

Horror is notorious for its poor representation and mistreatment of females, focusing on their bodies for sex and slaughter and sin, either in service of the male villain or as the horror itself. Stephen King’s Carrie is an example of the latter, with the title character’s telekinetic powers triggered by the onset of menstruation. The horrific climax is the result of Carrie allowing herself to unleash her emotions, while literally drenched in blood. Because a hormonal young woman is a terrifying thing, according to some very male horror authors.

Science fiction, however, can be a much more empowering place to explore what it means to be a woman. Likely because there are a lot more women writing in sci-fi, compared to horror, with props to Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein, as the inventor of science fiction. The Female Man by Joanna Russ is a feminist novel which utilises sci-fi to share the stories of one woman, from four different universes. Each woman offers a different view; each world an alternative option. Marriage, conformity, independence, a world without men…

Ultimately both horror and science fiction present interesting views by picking apart the world as we know it and offering an alternative perspective in its place. Whether by imagining other worlds or critiquing our own, both genres give us important perspective on who we are, and who we could be.

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Why I Skip Straight to the Negative Reviews

For the longest time, I never read reviews. I was adamant that one stranger’s opinion on a book would never be helpful; I’d need to read it and make up my own mind, thank you very much. It goes without saying that I’ve read a lot of mediocre books.

Ironically, it was reading the love-it-or-hate-it reviews of The Bell Jar, having written a very average three-star review of it myself, that lead me to read reviews before reading a book.

A great book cover or blurb has always caught my attention, but what makes me want to pick up a book and start reading is its negative reviews. Does that seem counter-intuitive? The thing is, knowing how much someone loved a book is nice, but it’s rarely informative. And don’t even get me started on keyboard smash and gif-filled reviews.

This might be related to the fact that I get far, far more pleasure from writing about books I dislike than from writing about books I enjoy. The fact that I spent hours of my time reading a book that didn’t feel worthwhile makes writing about why a satisfying and cathartic experience. Negative reviews are motivated by the need to critique rather than simply praise, and that substantive content is why I find them more useful.

I generally find positive reviews hard to wade through, with too much time spent explaining the premise—I won’t need that if you can only convince me to read the book! Their enthusiasm can feel quite forced or seem like posturing, rather than a genuine appreciation for the material. Those kinds of unreflective remarks are not reviews—they’re histrionics.

So instead I find myself scrolling right past the epic and occasionally nonsensical praise. I filter for the one- and two-star reviews, and I bask in the bashing, the whining and the disappointment. When someone dislikes a book they don’t often spend paragraphs rehashing the plot (unless it’s to point out the holes); it’s straight to the things that bothered them.

And here’s the point—the reason I can trawl through a dozen negative reviews and still want to read the book by the end of it—what other people dislike, I might love! If someone moans about there not being enough description—great! I hate too much description. If a reviewer complains because there’s too much dialogue—fantastic! I thrive on dialogue. If a reader gripes over hating the characters for not being nice enough—brilliant! I adore morally grey characters.

Of course, negative reviews aren’t all wonderful. I can just as easily find one I agree with, which lists criticisms that are deal breakers for me. But such reviews are just as, if not more, appreciated—they save me from wasting my precious book-reading time on something I’d hate.

Ultimately I’m very grateful to anyone who, instead of simply tossing aside the books they don’t like, actually takes the time to review them. They could very well be helping me find the next book I love.