The Contemporary Nomad is where five authors talk with you, dear reader, about the important subjects of the day. Whatever we decide they might be. Read more 
W I G N A L L
I know Olen has an interesting post coming up, but I wanted to put this out there in the meantime, not least because it’s something that follows the path of my own writing. When Who is Conrad Hirst? was doing the rounds of London publishers recently, one common theme in the rejections was that the book was too dark. Let’s not kid ourselves, this paled into insignificance next to the grim truth of my sales history in the UK, but it was clearly an issue. For example, a publisher at Little Brown was concerned that my work was too dark to sell alongside Mark Billingham and Patricia Cornwell – anyone familiar with either author will know that they’re not exactly jolly escapists. Likewise, the charming Swedish publisher I met at Harrogate (who’d been told to look out for me) told me outright that my work was probably “too dark” for her imprint, though she still gamely plans to read all four books.
Now I don’t read much crime, but some of what I’ve read deals with very disturbing issues indeed. Simon Kernick is a gentleman and I can think of few friends with whom I would rather spend the evening, but the books of his that I have read dealt quite routinely with child prostitution (including snuff) and genital mutilation. Mark Billingham treads similar ground. I can see that my work is emotionally dark, in that it does not allow the reader the option of complete detachment from the actions of the protagonists, but I still don’t think it’s dark in the way that most crime is dark.
The irony is, I’m currently starting to think seriously about my next adult book, the first of my novels to fall within the general/”literary” sphere, and I think it’s the darkest book I’ve written in that it deals with something very controversial. Why ironic? Because I have no doubt that the very controversy of the issue (which involves uneasy questions of sexual attraction) will itself attract publishers who shied away from my “hitman” books.
But all of this comes back to my original question, how dark is too dark? I have read only one book in my life that I considered so disgusting and gratuitous that I refused to keep it in the house. That was “A Game We Play” by Simona Vinci and I hated it because it was slickly written snuff porn, nothing more. And anyone can produce that, just as anyone can add gratuitous violence to their work – after all, we use only words, and words come cheap. It baffles me that what I do, peer into the mind of the killer and show how he is only one step removed from you or me, is considered too dark, yet detached descriptions or torture or sexual mutilation are par for the course.
Any thoughts? How dark is too dark? And what is darkness anyway?
August 2nd, 2006 at 9:48 pm
I can answer as a reader if you like.
How Dark? I suspect that’s an individual thing. I can’t tolerate rape scenes (I’m a woman) and avoid books/movies if I know ahead of time.
I’m currently reading ‘King Leopold’s Ghost’ by A. Hochschild which is the history of the Congo and, quite frankly, the clinical delivery of horrific material is chilling. I guess it’s the contrast?
I prefer challenging material like mutilations be presented in short burst. I’ve read really long passages with too much detail and they bore me probably because the tension is too high, too long? Sometimes the details are excrutiating.
I recently read a short story by A. Proulx in which necrophilia is touched upon in a succinct manner. I could somehow manage the scenario because it was barely touched on–the author alluded to the act. In some ways, it was easier to deal with than 10 pages of extremely violent material.
Rea
August 2nd, 2006 at 10:09 pm
I ask myself this question all the time, because I’d like to think it’s something more than personal taste, and I’m not sure that it is.
Very dark authors I can read without being offended by: Mo Hayder, Simon Kernick, Martyn Waites, Kevin Wignall (naturally).
Authors who have crossed the line into what I consider lurid, unjustifiable, sadistic detail: James Patterson, Karin Slaughter, Boston Teran, Andrew Vachss.
Authors who sometimes offend me and sometimes don’t: Val McDermid and Joyce Carol Oates.
Where does the line fall? What’s justifiable? I think it comes down to purpose. At the point at which I feel like the author’s wallowing in darkness, or inviting us to get off on the violence, I quit.
It’s why I’ve never really been a big fan of Charles Willeford, though I know that’s heresy in some parts.
Clair
August 3rd, 2006 at 7:14 am
To me, complaints about darkness in crime novels (I got a few when I started) strike me as a little peculiar. I mean, the central subject of these books is murder, which is pretty much the darkest act in the human repertoire. I wonder if the extensive reading about fiction murders nullifies the horror after a while. I mean, simply saying that there’s a dead body in a room should be horrifying–dead bodies themselves are pretty scary–but no one’s scared by that. I suppose killing a cat or a child or engaging in mutilation is simply a way of reminding the reader that, hey, don’t forget we’re talking about murder…it’s really bad stuff.
August 3rd, 2006 at 12:49 pm
Darkness is relative, I think, and gratuitousness is a different kettle of fish. That’s (more or less) dark for dark’s sake, which is almost always a bad thing. Dark that’s important to the story should be fine.
Of course, it won’t be to everyone’s taste, but you can’t please everyone anyway.
And like Olen says, murder’s pretty bad to start with.
August 3rd, 2006 at 2:04 pm
I am not sure why people think your books are too dark Kevin. People Die did bother me a little because it seemed to communicate or approve of a sort of amoral-ism (is that a word?). For the Dogs didn’t strike me as dark so much as murky and slippery. You certainly force people to question their conception of morality and the line between normality and violence.
Perhaps there is an underlying discomfort with the questions you seem to be asking that people can’t really communicate so they just say “dark.”
A recent T.L. Hines novel made me uncomfortable in places because it dealt with child abduction and the perspective of the abductor, but the author felt it was important to, as you said, get in the head of this character.
I generally prefer understated to over-the-top. Too much sex and violence bores me. Particularly graphic or realistic portrayal of torture or rape I find offensive. As was noted above, there is a line somewhere that is hard to find but it has to be tied into the meaning and plot. If it doesn’t then it is just a celebration of violence and ugliness.
August 3rd, 2006 at 7:02 pm
I wouldn’t be the first person to point out that crime fiction is ultimately a conservative genre in that it’s about law and order. You can depict all manner of violence in meticulous detail provided that some measure of justice is meted out. “Darkness” comes into play when the book ends without a sense that the balance of the universe has been restored, when repercussions are still being felt – and will continue to be felt. By that measure, I’d say that For the Dogs is a dark book. Also a damn good one.
August 3rd, 2006 at 8:59 pm
Thanks, Clair, Kevin and Vince.
I think the conservatism of the genre is a particularly interesting point. It’s also easy to forget that it is an escapist genre, much as horror is, and that people expect their “darkness” to fall within recognizable parameters.
I suspect this is something I’ll come back to.
August 4th, 2006 at 6:24 pm
Some wonderful insights about the genre here. I think mysteries are not really different in that respect from all fiction. I agree that the level of reader tolerance shifts from person to person. I had no problem whatsoever with FOR THE DOGS. Strangely, I also had no problem with MERMAIDS SINGING, though I normally resent being bombarded with nasty detail. In that particular book, the nastiness was necessary and effective. However, there may be something to that “detachment” switch. We do detach from murder in mysteries, viewing the scene more like bystanders than victims. I think that is a good thing. As for emotions, well, those may be more difficult to detach from since the author generally won’t let us. At that point, readers may balk, thinking: I don’t want to go there and I shouldn’t be made to go there.
I’m not sure if that makes any sense. The question is an important one.