The Known and Unknown

Reading Angela Carter’s “In the Company of Wolves” and “The Lady of the House of Love” this week was a really great way to close a semester studying monsters, because they reflect two ways that ordinary people can protect themselves from the monster― and the anxiety or uncertainty it represents.

Little Red Riding Hood, Gustave Dore 

“In the Company of Wolves” is a pastiche which subverts the story of “Little Red Riding Hood”, featuring a girl who confronts and embraces (both physically and metaphorically) the werewolf who has consumed her grandmother. And my take-away from that as a reader is that though a monster may be threatening, and your culture or family may have stories about it that beg you to stay away, sometimes the best thing you can do is look a “monster”― or any issue― in the face and accept it for all of its disturbing traits. It’s the same way that in the Harry Potter series, the character of Dumbledore insists on saying the villain Voldemort’s name, stating that now oft-quoted phrase: “fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself” (Rowling, 298). This point, and I think Angela Carter’s as well can be interpreted as an acknowledgement that sometimes a subject becomes more frightening the more unknown they are, and that to make it more known takes away a large degree of its power. And I think this can also be seen in the gradual medicalization of monstrous births― the move away from viewing them entirely as “divine prodigies” to more “natural”, affected by conception results and practices as well as God (Park and Daston, Unnatural Conceptions, 1981).

Now obviously many monster stories play with the idea that the known is scarier than the unknown― and we see that in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, through both Jekyll’s terrible pursuit of scientific knowledge, and Dr. Lanyon’s death when he finally receives understanding. This is also the case in Frankenstein, though one could argue that Victor may have become less frightened of his creation if he had ceased to run away from it, and instead stared at its horrible visage and had a conversation.

Another element I think Carter plays with, this time in “The Lady of the House of Love” is that a monster can be resisted through a personal shield, or a kind of purity. This can perhaps explain why in Stephen King’s It, children are the only ones capable of defeating the monster― even when the characters return to Derry as adults, they revert to their childhood dynamics, habits, and memories to kill the creature. That is not to say all children are resilient; indeed, plenty of children have been sacrificed by authors to feed a monstrous appetite, so not all children are immune. 

But there is innocence, purity, and― in “House of Love”―specifically virginity that protects the soldier from the countess Nosferatu’s deadly appetite― making the conclusion of the story so much more poignant, as his leave for the war-front indicates an innocence that will be destroyed for an entire generation by World War I. Not to mention one has to wonder how many young (and perhaps legitimately virginal) men died in the war, having signed up through a childish naiveté. And their deaths, occurring before a proper transition to adulthood, would leave them frozen in youth forever to their families much in the way the countess has been.

The Teenage Soldiers of World War I (Getty Images)

And I think metaphorically in this story, the countess (and all the young men she consumes) stand as a metaphor for the war. Which is also perhaps why her innocent soldier is English, considering the enormous effort and sacrifice the English contributed to the First World War. Angela Carter herself was English and born after World War I, but before World War II, so it’s arguable that her pure, innocent, straightforward English soldier represented the barrier all British soldiers formed in their fight against frightening foreign powers.  And it was largely through their sacrifice, through the innocence and youth of all the allied powers that the wars were won.

Works Cited

Carter, Angela. "The Lady of the House of Love", and "In the Company of Wolves". The Bloody Chamber, 1979. PDF File. 

Little Red Riding Hood, by Gustave Dore. Digital Image. Owlcation. 7 March, 2019. https://owlcation.com/humanities/Angela-Carters-The-Company-of-Wolves-as-Folktale-Variation

The Teenage Soldiers of World War I. Digital Image. BBC News. 11 November 2014, https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-29934965

P 

Park, Katharine, and Lorraine J. Daston. “Unnatural Conceptions: The Study of Monsters in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century France and England.” Past & Present, no. 92, 1981, pp. 20–54. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/650748.

Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. New York: Scholastic Inc., 1998.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

Stay Out of the Woods! ...And Mountains, Swamps, and Deserts too.

After listening to a representative of the Stó:lo nation this week who spoke on indigenous monsters in our community, I was struck by the cultural crossover― that is, the way that monster stories around the globe can play on similar concepts. Perhaps that’s an easy point to make, but it is nonetheless compelling when you consider the origins of these stories; we are forced to ask how so many communities from around the globe have reported similar monsters despite radically different climates, cultural practices, and belief systems.

Bukwas Mask

For example, our indigenous speaker Alfred “Sonny” McHalsie discussed at length the Pacific North West’s familiar monster: The Sasq'ets, or Sasquatch as he’s become more commonly identified. Here in the Fraser Valley, particularly if you head closer towards Harrison and Boston Bar, you’ll see Sasquatch signs, statues, and even restaurants capitalizing on the monster’s image and rumoured locality. 

Harrison Hot Springs Tourism Ad

And as McHalsie explained, the Sasq'ets have been spotted by members of the Stó:lo nation for ages, some of whom claim to have photographs. But the belief isn’t new; as Edward Simon writes in his article, “Why Sasquatch and Other Crypto-Beasts Haunt our Imaginations”:

Since the 15th century, and possibly earlier, there have been accounts of hairy, nude, and tremendously strong people living in the more obscure corners of the Caucasus. Called “Almas,”… Across the sunbaked Eurasian steppe and high in the Himalayas, there is the white-furred Yeti, the abominable snowman of hikers’ accounts. Six thousand miles away, the socalled “skunk-ape” skulks among the swamps in between Florida strip-malls… Australia’s outback has the “Yowie”; in Indonesia, there is the jabbering, tiny, orangecolored “Ebu Gogo,” or the “Grandma who eats anything."

Now it’s too simple to say all these creatures are hallucinations, or misidentified animals. Maybe they are, but ultimately, like all monsters, they’re a stand-in for an underlying anxiety.

So what can they possibly represent to us? One might wonder if, before the boom of agricultural, globalization, and the foresting industry, the wild, untamed landscapes of these areas induced fear in the peoples of the regions. It is reasonable to assume that in the backwoods of the Pacific North West, where several apex predators such as bears and mountain lions roam, a reasonable person might be apprehensive every time they slipped among the trees. There’s also the fear of getting lost, or dying of exposure, all which have occurred undoubtedly countless times over the last thousand years. 

So perhaps that is what the Sasquatch and all its contemporaries symbolize: a fear of the unknown, the untamed. This could be why these creatures are always wild, hairy, and unnaturally strong too; as both inhabitants and representatives of an uncontrollable region which exists outside of ordered society, they must be more animal than man.  

As well, these fears are a natural deterrent; regardless of whether or not these creatures exist, the territories they are said to inhabit are statistically and historically dangerous. High mountains, deep woods, wild outback, swamps― could these monsters not, then, represent both a community’s anxiety about an area, and a desire to keep all but the most experienced away from it?

In this vein then, we must consider that the descriptions of the Sasq'ets appearing as a kind of ape-man, a humanoid creature who walks upright may be a result of those who have disappeared into the forest. Their meaning can be twofold: they exist both as a representative of one who becomes lost from their society, and also as a warning to be cautious and respectful when entering an untamed territory.

Works Cited

Harrison Hot Springs Tourism Ad. Digital Image. Tourism Harrison. 8 November 2014, https://www.tourismharrison.com/blog/newsletter/cat/Hiking/page/1

Simon, Edward. “Why Sasquatch and Other Crypto-Beasts Haunt Our Imaginations.” Anthropology of Consciousness, vol. 28, no. 2, Fall 2017, pp. 117–120. EBSCOhost, doi:10.1111/anoc.12072.

Tom Paterson Bukwas Mask. Digital Image. Cryptozoonews. 15 May 2014, http://www.cryptozoonews.com/sasqets-mask/

Monstrous Births and Modern Day "Freak" Shows

After watching Tod Browning’s 1932 film Freaks this week, in which actors with real disabilities portray characters in a circus, one is forced to consider why they are relevant in a discussion of monsters and metaphors. Of course, the fact that the movie poster exclaims, “Can a Fully Grown Woman Truly Love a Midget?” Is a clear indication that, at least at that time, those with medical dwarfism were not considered human in the same context that a person of regular stature would be. And if they were not considered human, then they would be perceived as inhabiting a separate category, or standing somewhere between humanity and the monstrous other.

"Freaks" Movie Poster, 1932

And unfortunately, this idea has historical roots, and hasn’t changed much even in our era― indeed, The Learning Channel (TLC) regularly produces reality shows around families of short stature, attempting to both normalize the condition while capitalizing on its modern “freak show” style. Undoubtedly the mystery of conception and birth, as well as cultural fears and anxieties around pregnancy― and its sometimes surprising results― claim partial responsibility for this phenomenon.

And though today the process of birth has become overwhelmingly medicalised, there are still things we don’t know or understand about it; even throughout the last century, the practice has changed drastically. The ideas and rules about pregnancy, delivery, and childcare are constantly shifting― what may have in your mother's time been considered safe, or even ideal, may in your own be seen as dangerously ignorant or neglectful. As a mother myself, I remember the often unsolicited advice I was given for what to eat, how much to move, which way to sleep, which vitamins to take, and countless other pieces intended to bring about a "healthy" child― the definition of which is also constantly changing.

What also makes birth so mysterious is that sometimes the very attempts to ground and medicalise it, to unpack the mystery or control the unknown have in themselves created frightening or monstrous consequences. In the 1950's and 1960's for example, the drug Thalidomide was given to women as a tranquilizer for morning sickness symptoms; it was advertised as “completely non-poisonous, completely safe” (Klausen and Parle, 735) but caused massive birth defects. Consequently, thousands of children around the globe were born partially disabled, often missing limbs. 

Thalidomide Advertisement, 1959

These “thalidomide babies” became an international phenomenon; as Klausen and Parle describe in their article “'Are We Going to Stand By and Let These Children Come into the World?' The Impact of the ‘Thalidomide Disaster’ in South Africa, 1960-1977”:

Descriptions of deformed infants and parents’ shock struck fear into the hearts of many about the prospect of having a severely disabled child. And at least in the USA, popular magazines like Time and National Enquirer published photographs of thalidomide babies; the latter peddled images and descriptions of the children as ‘freaks’ to be gawked at and feared. (746)

To me, this stands as another example of a parallel between birth, fear, and monstrosity. And while today, a routine pregnancy scan allows a technician to photograph, measure, and determine the health and gender of a child in utero, there is still a mystery there― both in the womb itself, and in the varied children it produces. It is one we will probably always be fascinated by, even if we were to enter an era in which babies were only produced in laboratories. Conception and birth are difficult for us to understand― we can't pin them down, and our attempts to do so are often disastrous. Consequently, as monsters are often both metaphorical representatives of cultural fears, associated with both the known and unknown, science and nature, and will “always come back” pregnancy and creation are a perfect vehicle for them.

Works Cited

Klausen, Susanne M. and Julie Parle. “‘Are We Going to Stand By and Let These Children Come Into the World?’: The Impact of the ‘Thalidomide Disaster’ in South Africa, 1960–1977.” Journal of Southern African Studies, vol. 41, no. 4, Aug. 2015, pp. 735–752. EBSCOhost, doi:10.1080/03057070.2015.1047181.

“Freaks” Movie Poster, 1932. Digital Image. The Original Underground. 2019. https://theoriginalunderground.com/products/freaks-movie-poster

Thalidomide advertisement, 1959. Digital Image. Developmental Toxicology. http://developmentaltoxicology.weebly.com/thalidomide.html