The problem with the book in review, Phobic: Modern Horror Stories, is that its authors are all acolytes of modernity's pernicious ideological deformation of existence, an existence that defines human consciousness as predicated upon "sense perceptions of objects in external reality."

Not having experienced the reality of existential tension they are willing adherents of modernity's derailed dogmatic rationalism, consequently they exist in a condition defined by the classic philosophers as allotriosis (self-alienation). In their unquestioning acquiescence to contemporary cultural norms they participate in what the Stoics defined as apostrope, a "turning away from the ground." With only a limited and ideological understanding of man as being, and no concept of his "horizons" how could one possibly write of a "horror" engendered in the soul?

In his introduction, the editor Andy Murray has inadvertently put his finger on one of the most significant postmodern dilemmas when he writes, "Our modern world is steeped in technology, and here the latest manifestations of it–mobile phones, email, chat-rooms, home security systems-are imbued with the hint of lurking menace."

Murray is of course correct in identifying "technology" as a culprit, though a more precise definition would be technos, the co-joining of technology with technique. His error is in believing that technos is able to initiate a sense of horror in the human psyche. It may make for an excellent science fiction story but it isn't going to produce those goose bumps or prickly neck hairs coveted by authors of the genre.

What is missing in these stories and in much of contemporary Western literature is the sense of an existence beyond the immanent world reality. The authors perpetuate the myth of a "closed existence," one devoid of the tension symbolized by the primordial quest for the transcendent, and in so doing eclipse the idea of true "horror" in their work. Man may fear for his life but ultimately his greatest fear is for the loss of his soul. Eternity has always trumped the finite because inherent in the symbol "eternity" lies the existential yearning for immortality.

Another feature worthy of criticism is the form and structure of the writing!

In terms of the particular constructions one gets the impression that these English authors, with their impressive literary tradition, are trying mightily to emulate their American cousins where the characters are some culturally approved derivative of those concupiscent and inane creatures found in Sex in the City or Seinfeld.  For lack of an imagination, moral or otherwise, they insist upon manufacturing soulless, politically correct characters that mirror T.S. Eliot's The Hollow Men.

Structurally speaking good horror writing should intimate the possibilities that await the protagonist. In this example from Jeremy Dyson's story The Coue we find the following,

"'I couldn't get you one. It's against the law to trade such an item.' No need to play games with the man. Charlie smelt entrapment. Let's speed through this charade, he thought, and get him off the premises."

Whereas, in comparison we have from the classic horror story, Pirates, by E.F. Benson,

"Much obliged to you," he said. "A pleasant house, when I knew it years ago. Why was it allowed to go to ruin like that?"

"I can't say, sir," said the man. "It has been let once or twice in the last ten years, but the tenants have never stopped long. The owner would be very pleased to sell it."

Here the comparison is obvious. Benson initiates the possibility of horror by constructing two simple sentences describing a ruined house where the recent tenants have curiously chosen to absent themselves expeditiously, while Dyson has us wondering about the shortcomings of our olfactory sense.

It is not my intent to disparage Jeremy Dyson's work, indeed, his The Coue is, by far, the best of the lot and illustrates a certain potential. However, it is also obvious that one of the more pernicious aspects of the postmodern age has been the "dumbing down" of language. It is the language of a "restricted consciousness."

With a few notable exceptions, we have lost the ability to construct the mythopoesis because we no longer believe the myth. I searched diligently in this collection for some brave soul who might have chosen to engage in the revolt, to turn away from the nihilism, solipsism, and "climate of opinion" that mark our debauched and decultured age and to restore the order that acknowledges the "psyche of man is the battleground between the forces of life and death." But there were none.

© 2008 Robert C. Cheeks

Robert Cheeks is a freelance writer living in Ohio. His recent work has appeared in Philosophy Now, The University Bookman, Crisis, Touchstone, and The South Carolina Review.

Keywords: horror, fiction, review