violence

Novels Are Read. Violence, It Grew

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Violence has always been part of literature, as it has always been part of life, but in recent decades authors have often depicted killings and other kinds of bodily harm more graphically than their writing predecessors did.

As with sexual situations, violence used to be significantly veiled in older fiction. Brutal acts would frequently happen “off stage,” or be shown in a not-too-bloody way. That sanitized carnage could still be very upsetting to read about, but most readers didn’t lose their appetites. These days, things in general are usually less subtle and more “out there.”

This was reinforced for me with the last two novels I read: Patricia Highsmith’s Ripley’s Game (1974) and Anthony Burgess’ The Kingdom of the Wicked (1985) — both written after violence in lit started to be depicted more explicitly.

In Highsmith’s novel — one of five psychological thrillers, including The Talented Mr. Ripley, starring the rather amoral Tom Ripley — murders of various Mafiaso are chronicled kind of graphically (such as strangulation with a cord, aka garroting). Interestingly, the retaliatory shooting of a sympathetic co-protagonist is described in a more euphemistic way.

The Kingdom of the Wicked — which chronicles all kinds of intrigue during the early years of Christianity two millennia ago — has myriad scenes of revolting violence (crucifixion, stoning to death, stabbings, etc.) amid the wonderful writing.

A living-author king of violence depiction is Cormac McCarthy, who has a high mayhem quotient in novels such as Blood Meridian (1985), No Country for Old Men (2005), and, to a lesser degree, All the Pretty Horses (1992). Blood Meridian may be one of the most violent literary novels ever written, but, then again, the 19th-century American West was often a brutal place that earlier authors had to sanitize to some extent when published in less-candid times.

In Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things (1997), a brutal law-enforcement murder of a likable, admirable “Untouchable” is heartbreakingly depicted. As intensely painful as it is to read, vividly showing the power structure’s violence against minorities gives readers a small sense of what the discriminated-against go through.

And how about the nightmare injuries Annie Wilkes inflicts on captive author Paul Sheldon in Stephen King’s Misery (1987)? And the excruciating Afghanistan-based scene in which Taliban guy Assef breaks several of Amir’s bones in Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner (2003)? And various horrific deaths in Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games trilogy (2008-2010)?

There’s also plenty of hard-hitting harm in Lee Child’s Jack Reacher series, with Reacher receiving and doling out violence — and a number of good and bad people dying along the way. (Think “pink mist” rising from heads exploded by bullets — yikes!) One can’t read the 20 Reacher novels (1997-2015) without getting a major adrenaline rush, for better or for worse.

What are some of the most violent novels you’ve read? Do you think reality demands that acts of bodily harm be depicted in a fairly graphic way, or do you prefer a certain amount of author restraint?

(The box for submitting comments is below already-posted comments, but your new comment will appear at the top of the comments area — unless you’re replying to someone else.)

I’ve finished and am now rewriting/polishing a book called Fascinating Facts About Famous Fiction Writers, but am still selling Comic (and Column) Confessional — my often-funny memoir that recalls 25 years of covering and meeting cartoonists such as Charles Schulz (“Peanuts”) and Bill Watterson (“Calvin and Hobbes”), columnists such as “Dear Abby” and Ann Landers, and other notables such as Coretta Scott King, Walter Cronkite, and various authors. The book also talks about the malpractice death of my first daughter, my remarriage, and life in Montclair, N.J. — where I write the award-winning weekly “Montclairvoyant” humor column for The Montclair Times. You can email me at dastor@earthlink.net to buy a discounted, inscribed copy of the book, which contains a preface by “Hints” columnist Heloise and back-cover blurbs by people such as “The Far Side” cartoonist Gary Larson.

These Days, More Explicit Lit Is Often What’s Writ

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It’s no revelation that a lot of recent literature is more frank, candid, and graphic than fiction of the distant past — with sex or violence often spelled out rather than implied. But while this blog post’s theme might be unoriginal, I’m going to give my take and then ask for yours.  🙂

Despite the queasiness that blunt treatment of sex or violence can elicit on occasion, I’m glad overall that recent lit tends to be more forthright. It’s real life, and it can be psychologically healthy to have things out in the open and straightforwardly addressed.

Of course, one hopes the explicit stuff is not too over the top, and that young readers aren’t exposed to it until they’re ready. And there’s a part of me that does prefer mature content being presented with some mystery and subtlety — which explains part of the appeal of classic novels. Heck, it can require a heap of writing skill to effectively hint at things rather than be totally direct.

I thought of this topic when juxtaposing two recently read books — Elizabeth Gaskell’s Cranford (1853) and Abigail Tarttelin’s Golden Boy (2013) — published 160 years apart.

Gaskell’s novel, which mostly focuses on the older single women of a small English town, describes their relationships and an appalling railroad accident in relatively low-key ways. It’s not a boring book — Cranford is absorbing in it’s light-yet-serious fashion — but the content is all rather…decorous.

Of course, one can’t overgeneralize about long-ago literature. For instance, Emile Zola’s 1880 Nana novel was pretty racy for its time (probably no surprise that Zola was French  🙂 ), but even some 19th-century British novels were bursting with veiled yet not completely veiled passion — as any reader of Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre, and several of George Eliot’s magnificent novels would tell you. (But the times forced Eliot, who never wed her longtime partner George Henry Lewes, to be discreet when depicting a key non-marital sexual relationship in 1859’s Adam Bede.)

On to Golden Boy. Tarttelin’s compelling novel speaks openly of sex and sexual identity: heterosexual, gay/lesbian, and intersexual — teen protagonist Max, while identifying as male, has both male and female genitalia. The book also features an exceptionally painful-to-read rape. But everything is in the service of the plot, and Golden Boy ends up being a memorable read from a very young author still in her 20s.

Like the 1853 Cranford, Tartellin’s 2013 novel is set in a small English town — but what a difference 160 years makes! Still, Golden Boy‘s technique of having the narration switch from character to character harks back more than eight decades to how William Faulkner structured As I Lay Dying (1930) — even as Golden Boy reminds me (while being its own original self) of two more recent novels: J.K. Rowling and her depiction of teens in The Casual Vacancy (2012), and Jeffrey Eugenides and his gender-confused protagonist in Middlesex (2002).

Lee Child’s twenty riveting Jack Reacher books, from 1997’s The Killing Floor to 2015’s Make Me, are examples of how frank displays of sexuality and vivid descriptions of violence are part and parcel of many modern thrillers, mysteries, etc. Heck, as violent as some pre-1900 novels might have been, most didn’t have quite the clinical detail of some of Reacher’s bone-crushing battles with the bad guys.

Other relatively recent novels with spasms of violence rendered in a way hard to imagine in most long-ago lit include Octavia Butler’s Kindred (1979), Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian (1985), Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games trilogy (2008-10), and Frank Bill’s Donnybrook (2013). Then again, things got rather graphic when two people were murdered by Raskolnikov in Fyodor Dostoevsky’s 1866 classic Crime and Punishment.

Do you agree that modern literature tends to be more frank and candid? If so, what do you think of that? What are some examples of novels with fairly explicit depictions of sex or violence, and some examples of books that take a more subtle approach?

(The box for submitting comments is below already-posted comments, but your new comment will appear at the top of the comments area — unless you’re replying to someone else.)

I’m writing a literature-related book, but still selling Comic (and Column) Confessional — my often-funny memoir that recalls 25 years of covering and meeting cartoonists such as Charles Schulz (“Peanuts”) and Bill Watterson (“Calvin and Hobbes”), columnists such as “Dear Abby” and Ann Landers, and other notables such as Coretta Scott King, Walter Cronkite, and various authors. The book also talks about the malpractice death of my first daughter, my remarriage, and life in Montclair, N.J. — where I write the award-winning weekly “Montclairvoyant” humor column for The Montclair Times. You can email me at dastor@earthlink.net to buy a discounted, inscribed copy of the book, which contains a preface by “Hints” columnist Heloise and back-cover blurbs by people such as “The Far Side” cartoonist Gary Larson.