Critique #18 Byron Bailey
Katharine Kerr June 30th, 2006
Pungency beyond pain saturated the air as mother, her
stinger oozing, slithered into my room. Nerve venom.
The worms dangling from the burrow’s ceiling writhed.
I shut my eyes but they still stung. Mother had found
out. There could be no other explanation. The
penalty for perversion was death.
  Â
I closed my eyes and waited but no stinger impaled me
through the topmost vertebra. My eyes slid back open.
Dead, the worms had stopped writhing. A few had
fallen onto the floor, their bodies dissolving into
mucus.
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“Sorrow overflows my sting,” she said. “But we must
speak of toxin and despair.”
Even though I knew nothing of _toxin_ and _despair_, I
already hated their sad-drenched vowels.
YUCK! but it’s well done. Were I the editor of a magazine, I’d have an assistant turn the page and read the story.
Seriously, this is a solid attempt at presenting the p.o.v. of an alien creature. The situation is suspenseful and emotionally strong for any species that has mothers. The writing has a nice bit of snap to it, as well.
One small nit:
This needs to be stronger. The speaker should be reacting physically, something along the lines of “my thorax hunched and quivered, waiting . . . ” There should be a comma after waited, too.
What Kit Said.
Though there’s another sentence I think needs tightening.
I want to say that there’s a POV problem here — that the way this is described is not how this alien mind would describe it — but I can’t actually justify it. But if it were “Worms on the burrow ceiling writhed,” that would be a lot tighter and not distract us from the threat of Mother. Also, I’m a little unclear on why mention that detail — are they writhing from the venom, and that’s how the speaker knows how strong it is? Missing connection there.
—L.
Katherine Kerr said:
Interesting point. Actually, reacting physically would be out of character. She doesn’t really flinch or physically react with reasons that are gradually revealed in the story. Still, I think you may have a point. Maybe not a physical description but something more internal like “I closed my eyes and waited for the welcoming emptiness of death, but no stinger impaled me through the topmost vertebra” may be in order. It would give a hint as to why she isn’t having the expected physical reaction. Also, maybe it’s just me, but from the stories I’ve read, when describing a potentialy horrific situation, it’s frequently best to be very matter of fact with strong details but little reaction. It gives a more “shell-shocked” feel to the writing that ultimately seems far more chilling than any number of physical reactions. Still, good point. I’ll have to think about it some more. Thanks for the critique!
L.N. Hammer said:
“Pungency beyond pain saturated the air as mother, her stinger oozing, slithered into my room. Nerve venom.
The worms dangling from the burrow’s ceiling writhed.”
In short, yes.
Sorry, but “on” just doesn’t have the image I’m looking for while “dangling from ” does for me but to each there own. Tightening things up is usually good advice, anyway. Thanks for the comments even though ! don’t agree with them. I may very well agree upon further reflection.
Interesting, creepy beginning… I want to know what happens next.
Hi Byron, I got to this site via the link from the Night Shade Books discussion. So I approached this bit of writing with “How would this opening grab me, if I were an editor?” in mind.
On the positive side, there’s quite a sensory overload here. I feel like I was just swallowed by the giant cockroach from Men in Black just for reading this. I mean, bleccch! I feel slimey. But of course, I realize that’s the point with some examples of horror, ain’t it. I wasn’t in the mood to be grossed out at the moment but you made it happen with skill.
The only style issue I have here is a couple of awkward phrases that don’t work as smoothly as the rest — specifically “Pungency beyond pain” and “sad-drenched vowels.” I couldn’t tell what the first one was supposed to mean, not a clue, and the second just sounded so funny I might have stopped reading the story at that point if I were in a tired hurry to get through a slush pile.
(Keep in mind I don’t know what I’m talking about, since I’ve never been a magazine editor. But if I had to pinch-hit for one for a day, these are the troubles I would have.)
One other point that might hinder me from reading this story — one lack of “grab” here — might be the lack of some identifiable human situation with which to empathize. Sure, having non-human characters can be fascinating, but if it’s horror or suspense we’re after, identifying with the problem is one of the necessary ingredients (even with aliens, bugs, reptiles, whatever). Maybe, just maybe, if the familiar aspects were played up in the first paragraph: relationship of mother and child, of getting found out, being in trouble, in relatively simple language… and then follow with the sensory experience of where this character is, in this alien situation, this alien danger being faced. Maybe I’m suggesting this because I just had to scroll up the page to be reminded of what the basic problem was in the first paragraph (this notion of getting caught, awaiting punishment, and so on) — my mind was overwhelmed with that slimey alien hive feeling and I couldn’t even recall the problem of the main character in my limited short term memory. Yes, I believe that was my problem here: I was “grabbed” with the alien feeling of it all, but I was not “grabbed” with the problem of the main character.
If my reaction is a common one, you might investigate ways to “grab” the reader with familiarity prior to horrifying him/her with the unfamiliar. After suspense is already present, you can lure them through the unpleasantness, because it’s only then that they can’t turn away. That’s how most horror tends to work for me, at least.
As is often the case, if I wait for a later date to read over something I’ve written, I find I could have condensed the useful point to much fewer words.
I found the setting of the story (if I’m not mistaken, some slimey alien hive, or perhaps the stomach of another creature) creepy and horrifying by itself. Because I’m human. But the main character, if I understand the hints of the story, is not horrified in some human way by his general surroundings — worms and mucus and so forth — but rather by his immediate situation of being in trouble, about to be executed if I get the drift. Otherwise, he’s home, the worms and mucus apparently normal to him. As the reader, I should be getting the emphasis of what the character is going through. I’m distracted by a certain horror that this character is not feeling, and away from the horror this character is supposed to be feeling.
That’s probably what I mean by trying to emphasize the familiar in order to draw in the reader — ironically downplaying what might be the creepy strength of your opening paragraphs and saving the extra creeps for later. If that was a human trapped in that gross situation (and for all I know, it is) that might be a different case.
Otherwise, the danger is the reaction of, “yeah, that was strong writing, but who cares?” The thrill of a roller coaster is that once it starts rattling up the big hill, it’s too late to get off the ride. Horror stories work that way for me — so take this as rather subjective advice. The creepiest thrill is being “forced” through the harshest part of the story because I’m already hooked by suspense and can’t put it down. When you’re deciding whether to get on the roller coaster, as a thrill seeker you might be persuaded by people getting off the ride saying “Wow, that scared the crap out of me” but not by vomit left on the seats.