A New Life in Seattle

A New Life in Seattle
August, 2018
Showing posts with label Brad Strickland. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brad Strickland. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Serial Thrillin': The Bitchinest Ripsnorting Round Table Joust: 1



Five knights. One theme, of interest to writers and readers alike: the rewards and challenges of a writing a mystery series...and succeeding at giving it legs. The five knights, in alphabetical order:

Carolyn Arnold
International bestselling and award-winning author, as well as a speaker, teacher, and inspirational mentor. She has four continuing fiction series and has written nearly thirty books: from cozy to hard-boiled mysteries, and thrillers to action adventures.

Claude Bouchard
USA Today Bestselling author of the fourteen volume Vigilante Series as well as Nasty in Nice, ASYLUM and Something's Cooking. Other interests include reading, playing guitar, painting, cooking, traveling and trying to stay in reasonable shape.

Joe Clifford
He is the author of several books, including Junkie Love, Lamentation, December Boys and Give Up the Dead, as well as editor of Trouble in the Heartland: Crime Stories Inspired by the Songs of Bruce Springsteen. He lives in Oakland, CA.

Bill Kirton
University lecturer, TV presenter, wood carver, playwright, actor, director, RLF Writing Fellow, novelist. Crap at marketing or promotional work and possibly the laziest knight at the table (so says he). 

Brad Strickland
Author of 80 published books, including the ones he writes under the pen name of Ken McKea. These follow Florida detective Jim Dallas, who despite being retired on disability somehow can’t help running across murders. Brad lives in Georgia with his wife Barbara and a small assortment of varmints.





1) Why write a mystery series instead of a series of mysteries? 

Is commerce the main factor or is some other payoff at play?

ARNOLD
I love being able to torture my characters over a longer stretch of time. And I don’t like saying goodbye to them. By writing a series, at least I know when I’m wrapping up a book, I’ll be with them again soon. I also believe readers love to get attached to characters and when you’re providing them with a series, they can do so knowing there will be more books coming.

BOUCHARD
From the time I started reading and then going forward, series have always been attractive, in large part due to growing familiarity of the main characters – think ‘Cat in the Hat’, ‘Bobbsey Twins’, ‘Hardy Boys’ and ‘Tom Swift’ before even getting to adult fiction. The same holds true with writing where one can develop and build one’s principal protagonists from one adventure to the next as compared to creating new, unknown characters with each new novel. Increased comfort exists when working with ‘people’ one already knows. The commerce factor obviously comes into play as many readers also enjoy said comfort and familiarity.

CLIFFORD
Like with any venture, there are pros and cons. The biggest “pro” is, if a series takes off, you have a built-in readership. Also in the plus column, a series allows you to examine a character and world a little deeper. Think Star Wars vs., say, well, any one-off sci-fi film. Most of all publishers love a series. Less risk, established commodity, etc. The downside is:  if you don't have a series as popular as Lee Child, the average series writer often sees a dip in sales with each book and finds the critical response to be harsher, despite each book getting "better." At least that has been my experience.

KIRTON
I suspect that a mystery series is the better bet. If you can create one or more characters that intrigue the reader, characters they’d like to spend time with, that’s more likely to draw them into buying more of the books in which they appear. I suppose that’s why I call my series The Jack Carston Mysteries.

On the other hand, if you find a stand-alone mystery to be gripping, you instinctively trust the author to deliver again on suspense, thrills, horror, whatever.

STRICKLAND
A series allows a deeper exploration of the characters’ personality—strengths, flaws, problems, solutions. I like the notion of a broad canvas that gives a kind of epic sweep. In the case of Jim Dallas, Jim has issues to deal with and resolve. Through all the stories arcs the tale of his smoldering anger and bottled-up desire for vengeance, which will eventually pay off.  I’m approaching a kind of midpoint which will begin the overall climax of the series.

So in a sense, a series is simply a group of oversized chapters in a longer story. There is, of course, also the consideration that a writer can invite readers to climb aboard for the whole journey—so a series tends to build readership. Have to say that commercial concerns aren’t the greatest with me, though they do factor in. From the get-go, I’ve had a definite goal in mind for the Jim Dallas stories.


2) For perspective,  give us a few names of your favorite 

mystery series writers.


ARNOLD
I loved David Baldacci’s Camel Club series, and have also enjoyed some of the books in Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum series.

BOUCHARD
Michael Connelly, Robert Crais, Lee Child, Jeffery Deaver, Jonathan Kellerman… Oh, you said a couple of names… Sorry. Anyhow, this is just a handful of writers who have consistently produced well developed, intricate storylines with strong, believable, three-dimensional characters. I never read a book by any of these authors which left me disappointed. I could mention that Child may have pushed it a bit on occasion but, then again, we are talking Jack Reacher.

CLIFFORD
I like what Lehane (more on him later), Sara J. Henry, Allen Eskens, and Matt Coyle are doing with their respective series. Of course there’s the granddaddy of them all: Phillip Marlowe.

KIRTON
Dalziel and Pascoe, created by the late Reg Hill, are great examples of powerful characterization and the dynamic created by a close friendship between different personalities. (Humour also helps a lot.) 

I’m not sure whether Janet Evanovitch’s Stephanie Plum novels qualify as mysteries, but the characters are so memorable and so funny (especially Grandma Mazur) that I need a regular 
therapeutic dose of them.

STRICKLAND
Jim Dallas owes a clear debt to Travis McGee and his creator, John D. Macdonald. I like the narrative voice in these—McGee is a principled, if “tarnished” hero (MacDonald’s own word) who teeters between wishing to resign from the over-complicated modern world with a drive to become involved with the victims of it. Similarly, Dallas pulled out of everything to lick his wounds (physical and psychological) after a traumatic encounter with organized evil, but he finds that campaigning for justice among the helpless cast-aside members of society helps him heal, and gets him ready for the challenge he knows is coming.

Another MacDonald, Ross MacDonald, is another inspiration. He took the tough-guy private-eye story to literary heights with his Lew Archer novels. I like his way with words and also his gift at plotting, which is not always on high display in this kind of story—for all his accomplishment, Raymond Chandler famously plotted by “having a guy come through the door with a gun” when things got slow. I don’t think there’s a finer, more jewel-like plot in private-eye fiction than in Ross MacDonald’s brilliant The Chill.

Both of these gentlemen give us a wry, world-weary, but game character who gives a problem his all—something I try to emulate.





3) Now to you...What is the most distinctive thing about your 

mystery series?

ARNOLD
I offer readers a strong female protagonist detective, a male rookie FBI agent, and a married, murder-solving duo. In every book I strive for procedural accuracy, and as a result have been praised by law enforcement. This has led me to take on the brand line POLICE PROCEDURALS RESPECTED BY LAW ENFORCEMENT.™

BOUCHARD
Likely the most distinctive thing about my mystery series is all my main characters are Canadian yet none of them say, “Eh,” at least not when I’m around. Also, the members of the ‘Discreet Activities’ team are all well educated with respectable, professional backgrounds as well as smart, witty and highly sociable yet they kill for a living.

CLIFFORD
That they work both as standalones and part of an overarching storyline. Also I am hoping to shine a light on the grave injustice perpetuated against my father, namely that the Manafort family (yes, those Manaforts) and their greedy, gross misconduct directly led to my father’s premature death.

KIRTON
Hard to say. Humor's essential, even (or maybe especially) in the more gruesome cases, and I like the idea that people don’t automatically divide into goodies and baddies. My detective has no particular vices. He’s happily married to a wife who matches him for wisecracks, and yet constantly finds himself thinking politically incorrect things and chastising himself for it. I also end each book with a little scene designed to say ‘OK, reader. The mystery was solved and everything’s back in place – except that’s not the way the world works – different bad things keep on happening.

STRICKLAND
I think it might be the blend of humor and detail. I get letters about how real the background is—“I ate in that restaurant!” “I know exactly where that river is!” and so on. Having Sam Lyons as a foil character gives me a chance for a lot of repartee and shaggy-dog jokes, which I love. But capturing something of the Florida milieu (changed even from the days of Travis McGee) also gives the stories a kind of flavor. Still to come are a story that takes place, partly, at a theme park (I have relatives who worked for two of the biggest ones) and one that will feature intrigue at a posh Miami hotel, secretly falling on hard times but keeping up a front. I think the details in these will ring true. I have my informants. . . . 


But the truth of the background is meant to reinforce the psychological truth of the characters.



4) Can your books be read as stand-alones or should/must

they be read in sequence?

ARNOLD
They can be read as stand-alones.

BOUCHARD
Each of the thirteen installments of my Vigilante series to date is a complete story and can therefore be read as a standalone. However, as with most series, reading them in sequence allows for a better flow in terms of character introduction and development. In addition, past events are occasionally referenced or directly related to the plotlines of later installments which also supports sequential reading as the best option.

CLIFFORD
As stated above, both, although obviously reading in order is preferable. You simply get more.

KIRTON
Mine are conceived as stand-alones, but in the knowledge that I have a group of people I know quite well and whom I trust to be themselves.

On the other hand, my two historical mysteries are only a pair because readers asked for a sequel to the first one in order to know how a particular relationship developed. I still think each is self-contained but reading them in sequence would add to the pleasure. (Some readers have now asked for a third, so it may become a series after all.)

STRICKLAND
I have no trouble writing them so they’re stand-alones, though I think they may make more emotional sense if read as part of an extended story. That’s when you begin to make the connections and to see the character development.



5) As a series writer, how do you handle back story from book 

to book—scatter shot or concentrated loads? How do you 

contrive to give just enough details for anchors?

ARNOLD
I’m definitely more a “scatter shot” when it comes to backstory. I provide just enough—and what’s needed—for the current story I’m telling. Obviously if a tidbit about a character’s history is irrelevant to the current plot line, I leave it out.

BOUCHARD
Concentrated loads were used in earlier books with a gradual transition to scatter shots as required as the series progressed. With the fourteenth installment in the works, it becomes somewhat repetitive and redundant to present readers with too much detail relating to ancient history. Sufficient albeit brief data is supplied to new readers in later books to identify characters with the assumption (and hope) that curiosity will lead them to read past installments they’ve missed. As an example from my current WIP, the reader learns of Chris Barry’s financial success years earlier from a line or two of simple dialogue.

CLIFFORD
This is the challenge with each book, and I’ve tackled this task in different ways. You want to avoid the dreaded “auto-dump.” In the latest Jay Porter novel, BROKEN GROUND, for instance, we begin at an AA meeting with Jay speaking, which allowed me to get in a lot of the back-story organically.

KIRTON
leave it to the characters – which sounds, but isn’t, glib. Each member of Jack Carston’s team has distinct characteristics. Their idiosyncrasies provide the familiarity and continuity to suggest a well-established team who are used to and respond to one another’s behaviours. They are the back story.

STRICKLAND
I leak a little at a time. In the current one, the one I’m writing, we’re going to find out a bit more about the rough ride that Jim had when he worked for Internal Affairs back during his police days. He hasn’t talked much about that—but let’s say that his involvement may have made him say and do a few things that he deeply regrets, that go against his character. More of this will come out as the books go on. In the end, I think a reader can jigsaw together a valid portrait of him that will seem true to life.


6) The age thing. Hell, let’s hit it. Does your hero age/change 

very little over the course of the series (Hercule Poirot, Kinsey 

Malone, James Bond, Spenser)...or age and change 

progressively (Harry Bosch)?

ARNOLD
There’s definite growth to the characters in all my series. Detective Madison Knight started off really rough around the edges. She’s still a hard-nosed detective who will do whatever it takes to find justice for murder victims, but she’s softened on a personal level. She used to be terrified of committing herself to a romantic relationship, but that’s a thing of the past. I think I might even hear wedding bells in her future. But that’s still a few more books out from—if it does happen.

Brandon Fisher started out as a new agent with the FBI in book one. As readers progress in the series, they are taken along the journey of him becoming a full-fledged agent with the BAU.

The McKinleys went from being homicide detectives for Albany PD to amateur sleuths to private investigators. That involved a lot of growth.

BOUCHARD
Chapter headings in each of my books include actual dates to establish a timeline. Book 1 was written in 1995 and set in 1996 while my last release took place in 2016, twenty years later so, yes, my characters have aged. Luckily, they were young enough at the start and I make damned sure they stay in shape from one story to the next.


CLIFFORD
Each book in the Porter series is a year later, which brings us up to the current year

KIRTON
Interesting question because the next Carston story will be the last. Without me trying to impose ageing on him, he’s been changed by the experiences of the crimes he’s solved and the individuals he’s met in the process. I’ve no idea what he’ll do in retirement, but his tendency to try to make light of things and just enjoy life has been severely eroded by the ongoing evidence of man’s inhumanity to man (and especially woman).

STRICKLAND
Heh. Ellery Queen was always 35, until somewhere between books he had a growth spurt and wound up being 57. Jim is aging—the stories are set along a time line of five or six years, and he’ll reflect that in the stories.


                                                              *****




Take seven, as in seven days, to stretch and think about Part 1. Next week we'll return with the provocative conclusion. Among other things you'll learn--but no, mustn't ruin the surprise. You'll also meet a surprise guest. Arrive early for guaranteed seating.

                                                         *****


To learn more about these authors and their books, click on the

following links:

Carolyn Arnold
New title releasing November 28: http://carol0ynarnold.net/power-struggle/

Claude Bouchard

Vigilante Series Box set - Books 1 to 6: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01EPE926Y

Joe Clifford
Website: http://www.joeclifford.com

Bill Kirton
Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/2xz2wSN
Website: hhtp://www.billkirton.com
Book to introduce readers to my work: The Darkness (see answer 11 in Part 2)
http://amzn.to/2gtWVqX

Brad Strickland
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Ken-McKea/e/B00J22N6PS/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1508850962&sr=1-2-ent


Thursday, November 2, 2017

Revisiting a Crash Site

Today at 4:40 I'll set sail by trail again, this time to Atlanta. And I'm in finer fettle than I was twenty months ago, when I set out for Buffalo after suffering a serious fall. No wheelchair required to get me to the train. No cane required to take even three steps.

Still, this pales beside the changes I've gone through since I left Atlanta nearly twenty years ago. Atlanta was my crash site in more ways than I care to recall: marital, emotional, spiritual, publishing, employment, financial, physical...



Though I lack the hubris to announce a perma-happy ending, I can tell you: things have changed, in most ways for the better. I moved to Seattle three years ago...I've published a dozen ebooks, three of them published in print editions by Hold Fast Press. Recently, I started working for a world-class company, with transfer potential after a year to anywhere I please. I'm happily at work on a new mystery series. And, oh yeah, I've lost fifty-plus pounds, thanks to going Vegan and returning to the gym.




So my spirits are high as I prepare to depart. In Atlanta I'll meet with two writers, Brad Strickland and Lev Butts...and, hopefully, one or two other old friends. On the train I'll get some reading done and put in more hours on my WIP..

And I'll pay my respects to that crash site that made way a phoenix rebirth.

Till then, I'll do the thing I love best in this world, next to writing: damn right, board another train.




Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Blood and Rue 2: The Ripsnorting Conclusion

Image result for round table images



Welcome back. In Part 1, six well-known writers gathered to discuss the subject of violence in art. The 'chat' attracted more than 4000 readers. Today the knights have reassembled to joust with the final five questions.

Once again, the participants are:

Russell Blake
The New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over 35 adventure thriller novels also co-authored two books with Clive Cussler. He lives in Mexico with his dogs and a bad attitude. 

Claude Bouchard
Completed his studies at McGill University and worked in management for countless years. From there, it was a logical career step to stay home and write crime thrillers.

Bill Kirton
Lecturer, actor, director, playwright, novelist, husband, father, grandfather. Sails, eats, drinks wine, gardens. Writes whydunnits and whodunnits. Thinks laughter is very important.

John Logan
The author of 6 novels has published stories worldwide in anthologies by Picador and Vintage, also appearing in the Edinburgh Review and other journals. A proud Highlander.

Brad Strickland
Recently retired from a career as a University professor. Also known as Ken McKea, writer of the series of hardboiled Florida mysteries featuring Jim Dallas. 

And a new sixth knight:

Lev Butts 
Published work includes Emily's Stitches and the award-winning Guns of the Wasteland. He teaches literature and composition at the Gainesville campus of the University of Georgia. 

Lev's words about the transition: 

Due to personal reasons, Richard Monaco had to withdraw from the panel. I have been asked to take his place for this second round of questions. Richard has always been a literary idol of mine, even before I got to meet him a few years ago. I grew up reading first his Parsival series, then anything by him I could find. It has been a dream come true to work with him over the last couple of years to get more of his work back into print.

I hope I do him proud with my answers.


All right, then. Here we go, returning to alphabetical order.




                                                         ******

6) Some can some can't--get away with murder or even a lot worse. Hannibal is compelling no matter what he does. And our eyes remain riveted on Jimmy Cagney dragging a femme by the hair or mashing a graqpefruit in her fac.e A certain something about the way it's acted/written/directed allows us to be thrilled, even when appalled. What is that 'certain something'--charisma, charm, wit...what?


Blake
The secret is to create a character with sufficient depth that you're fascinated by him/her, even if he's a monster. Hannibal is compelling because he's so damned multi-faceted and real seeming. In my own work, the super assassin El Rey is a cold-blooded killing machine, but he's also really interesting and 3D. The trick to making a killer or monster whom we'll follow is to imbue him with qualities that force the reader to turn the page to find out what he's going to do next, and to care.

Bouchard
I’ll respond to this in terms of my own writing and can easily zero in on wit. After all, who wants a killer who doesn't have a sense of humor? If there’s one thing I enjoy when my wife is giving a new work of mine a first read, it’s hearing her suddenly burst out in laughter. When this happens, it’s generally because she’s reading a scene where the killer made some hilarious comment while in the process of dealing with a soon-to-be victim. Nobody can say my killer isn't a funny guy… and he’s also polite.

Butts
For characters like Hannibal or Dexter, I think it is a blend of all three with a little bit of wish fulfilment as well. These characters get to do what most of us wish we could do: destroy our enemies in the most gruesome, cathartic manner possible. These guys do horrible things, yes, but they don’t do them indiscriminantly. Their victims, for the most part “deserved” it: Hannibal is our id destroying those who hurt our pride through insensitivity or rudeness, Dexter is our avenging angel who exacts gory justice on those evildoers who manage to slip through the cracks of our justice system.

Kirton
I think you've covered it--charisma, charm, wit. But it's the sort of question where input from women (writers and readers) would be interesting. My answer to question 8 may explain in part why I say that. From my male perspective, if I ever do find myself captivated by a character who's inflicting harm or worse on someone else, I feel guilty. Fortunately, it doesn't happen very often. I suppose if it were a vigilante wreaking vengeance on a pedophile or someone who;d killed or harmed friends or family, the moral dimension would make it acceptable, even desirable. But if the intention is to appall or excite in the name of entertainment, then I think there needs to be some corrective. There's already a shortage of empathy in the world and to accept tacitly that it's OK for one individual to abuse or obliterate another is to add to the inhumanity quotient.

There are exceptions. Violence, in Tom Sharpe's early novels, was so extreme that its effects were comic. It occurred in contexts which weren't intended to convey realism, and whose characters went to caricatural extremes. The 'sadism' of Patrick Bateman was different. It was simply part of a general lifestyle (shared by others in the novel) and helped, symbolically and powerfully, to convey the notion that society's values have changed and we're losing our humanity.

And yet, venturing into such areas is part of what writers do. As Baudelaire put it, we should 'go into the depths of the unknown to look for something new.'

Logan
I'm reminded of Lee Marvin in the 1967 film, Point Blank, directed by John Boorman (and based on the novel, The Hunter, by Donald E. Westlake). Marvin, as Walker, has been double-crossed and left for dead. Walker has been betrayed by his wife and best friend. He sets out to exact revenge, but als to regain the precise amount of money that has been 'stolen' from him, $93000. It becomes almost comical, throughout the film, when Walker comes up against adversaries who cannot believe he would be creating such mayhem for 'only' $93000, which to the adversaries is small change. But to Walker, this is the figure he has decided on as his own 'valuation' in life. Walker does terrible things, but we know why, and the brutal simplicity of his goal lures the view into sympathizing with the insane purposefulness that drives Walker (even down to one film critic who saw the purposefulness manifested in Walker's actual way of walking in the film when the camera lingers on his pavement-whacking shoes.)

So, perhaps not charisma, charm, or wit finally...but instead a deadly earnest intent, a pursuit of a definite purpose or goal, this is something we can relate to, even find ourselves inspired by, even if we do not agree with that goal objectively.

It may be important also that Marvin brought real WW2 experience of violence to his onscreen roles.

For a literary example of making the unpalatable palatable, Jim Thompson's novels, on the other hand, often told from the viewpoint of the psychotic, unreliable narrator, manage to achieve fascination by representing the shocking twists and turns of an innately wild and feral state of consciousness, which becomes enthralling to the reader just because of this very alien-ness, The readers cannot bring themselves to look away and miss the next unpredictable event or thought.

Strickland
I can think of a few possibilities. First, yeah, the trope that good women love bad men has truth in it--and for both genders there's the Byronic appeal of a character who gives not one solitary faint damn for the restrictions of social convention and the law. Let's face it, some actors also just have that element of self-assurance, of delight in their own power and control, that might make us wish we could be a Cagney, or even a manipulative Karloff or a suavely sinister Vincent Price Same holds true for the women, of course--the best of the bad girls could make men think, "Man, I'd like to tame her" and women think "You go, girl!" Helena Bonham Carter can take such pure glee in mayhem that it's hard not to root for her; that sweet mermaid Daryl Hannah was incredibly stylish as cold-blooded assassin Elle Driver; and I have to, just have to, put in a good word for Margaret Hamilton, whose Wicked Witch of the West treasured her 'beautiful wickedness.' It's hard not to admire such single-minded, driven characters--thanks to the actors who give them life.

Even so, most of us, I think, have the sense to know that it's better to daydream about being such a character than setting out to follow the actual career path, though. "Interesting responses, and your test scores are impressive. So if you go with our firm, where do you see yourself in five years?" "Oh, drenched in other people's blood and cackling maniacally."

Still, reading about such characters, or seeing them on screen, lets the audience release tensions, disperse their accumulated bad humours, and reach what Aristotle called a catharsis--though that literally means puking. Some part of the human psyche loves to be titillated and teased with beyond-the-pale behavior. Stephen King wrote somewhere that reading about such horrors is our way of feeding the gators, keepin' 'em down in the cellar where they can't really hurt us, and he has something there.

Then  too--well, 99% of the time, a rollercoaster's a safe ride, innit? You're not expecting that the gawky kid in the car ahead will jump up and be decapitated at the top of the second hill, or that the heavy woman two cars back will suffer a coronary, or that a freak wind will blow a high-tension wire across the tracks and send ninety bazillion volts through you...And that never happens.

Well, hardly ever.

Similarly, we're seated in our coaster cars when we read or watch violent actions. Eyeballs pop and frizzle, blood flows like champagne (which, as is well known, flows like water), carnage ensues...but not for US. We're safe on our comfy butts there in the coaster car, riding the rails of our imagination, and on some level we know that. Exposing our imaginations to the worst that humans can do to humans--that's running up and flat-hand slapping the front door of the Boo Radley place, it's dropping a clattering gold cup while plundering a snoozing dragon's hoard, it's the good old boy at the wheel next to you saying "Hold may beer 'n watch this!" It's a scare that we enjoy, somehow--all the more so since we know we're really safe. Mostly safe.


7) All-out hardcore gore fests--e.g. 2000 Maniacs (1964)--appeal to extreme horror fans while outraging gentler souls. Still, a film or book that wants it both ways--extreme violence for profits and a moral message for approval--seems even more offensive. (E.g., a splatter film which the hit man pauses between kills to brood on the bad things he's done and is about to do again.) Can you think of a book/film perfectly combining graphic violence with either a strong theme or moral center?

Blake
Sure. Easy. Rambo. Innocent everyman taken on by a corrupt system and serving up a ten course meal of whup ass. Although No Country For Old Men is hard to beat for graphic violence with a strong theme (greed ultimately backfires and thus is bad).

Bouchard
I have never been a fan of horror or gore so books and films portraying extreme graphic violence have never appealed to me. Defined, graphic violence is the depiction of especially vivid, brutal and realistic acts of violence in visual media. I consider this definition does not imply the obligation to include blood and guts beyond what may be required to realistically portray any given scene.

That said, and considering film and television have not been a large part of my life for several years, the first film which came to mind upon reading this question is Spielberg’s 1971 Duel. The film is an extremely realistic depiction of good overcoming evil against all odds in the classic David and Goliath genre. Though no heads explode, nor are any bodies ripped apart, one cannot deny this movie’s violent content. A 1955 Peterbilt does make for a rather nasty weapon.

Butts

Anything by Cormac McCarthy, especially No Country for Old Men, which uses its violence to underscore the horrors of growing old, or The Road, which uses violence to illustrate what a thin veneer of civility our social structure provides us and to show how easy it would be to revert back to savages (a theme I think Walking Dead plays around with quite effectively as well).

Kirton
I’m struggling here and my first thought was ‘No, I can’t’. On the other hand, some of the things that are happening in the world today convey extremes of violence on one side which seem counterbalanced by righteous indignation on the other. If that’s how the world is, there must be films and books which convey it. And, in fact, these events are presented to us as narratives by journalists and spokespersons of the various factions. But the convenient way in which they divide protagonists into good guys and bad guys is misleading. The killing of hostages, the suppression of beliefs opposed to one’s own, even the posting of death threats on Twitter – in nearly all cases, the perpetrators think what they’re doing is ‘right’; it fits their morality, furthers their cause and beliefs. In the field of morality there are no global absolutes. When diametrically opposed moralities clash, there can be no redemption.

And how about the Greek tragedies? All those wives, sons, mothers, fathers killing one another to avenge a son, sister, mother, father – all doing so at the behest of one or other of their Gods and finding, as a result, that they’re cursed by another. It seems you can please all of the Gods some of the time or some of the Gods all of the time. But you can’t please all of the Gods all of the time.

Logan
Several come to mind.

Sam Peckinpah’s Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid successfully presents the film’s graphic violence in a context of eulogy, to a time and place long vanished, and to a wild, free way of life on the 1881 Western frontier about to be permanently regulated and curtailed by the new forces of law and order, heralded in by the external imposition of power by the wealthy New Mexico cattle barons.

An interesting counterpoint to this is the later film, Three Days of the Condor, set in a 1975 of CIA shenanigans and looming oil shortages, a time where that nascent frontier law and order has hardened and warped into an edifice perhaps worse than the lawlessness which preceded it, and where the hunted Robert Redford character can no longer tell where American law and order ends and corporate business interests begin.

Another great 1975 genre film is Walter Hill’s Hard Times, which shows Charles Bronson’s Chaney character fighting with his fists, for survival, and for his next meal…in a 1930s Depression-era America which will allow him no other way forward.

Strickland
Macbeth, or course—the slaughter of the innocents, Duncan weltering in his own gore, Macbeth hopelessly realizing he’s waded so far in blood that he might as well forge ahead and hope to reach the other side . . . his wife losing her mind and—maybe—taking her own life, leading to his crashing realization that he’s done all his dirty work for her. . . for nothing, now! And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace to the last syllable of recorded time, and life’s a walking shadow, a mere actor who says his lines and then vanishes from the stage; life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury and signifying—nothing!

You can’t even hear the devil laughing.

That is bleak. It’s fully as bleak as Waiting for Godot, a more modern theatrical take on cosmic indifference to human suffering. All the violence, all the excesses, lead Macbeth to ask a despairing question: What is the point of it all? The work reminds us to be aware not only of our desires and ambitions, but of the world around us. Some characters in the play are honorable and worthy of respect. One lad dies a hero’s death and his own father says he cannot mourn because he is proud of the boy. But Macbeth himself is ignominiously slaughtered, beheaded, and made a shameful public spectacle after his death. The play Macbeth tells us that if the universe has no point for our lives, it’s up to us to make a point for ourselves—and we don’t do that by letting ourselves become monsters.

King Lear is even bleaker,



8) Do you have a violent scene you've been tempted to write for years--but which you fear is just 'too much'? Do you dare to tell us about it?

Blake
Not really. My first passes on Fatal Exchange were pretty graphic but I softened them on drafts. Same for some of King of Swords--what first went on the page had me wincing, but I quickly discovered that the audience that bought American Psycho wasn't buying my books, and the graphic stuff was unnecessary, and in fact harmful, to sales. So I stopped writing to shock the reader and focused on entertaining them. If the characters and stories are compelling, there's no need to shock 'em.

Bouchard
To be blunt, no, I don’t. As I mentioned in the previous question and during our first round, violence for the sake of violence is not my style or forte so I've never been compelled to write anything more vicious than I actually did for any particular scene. While working on Thirteen to None, the eighth of my series, I sometimes had the impression some scenes were more violent than those in my previous works but was never uncomfortable with the results as they were required to paint the portrait I wanted to present to my readers.

Butts
I don’t really. I grew up reading Raymond Chandler and Richard Monaco as well as Stephen King, so I had very little idea that violence (or sex for that matter) were any kind of taboo subject for writing. My problem has always been describing them realistically. I have written three major fight scenes, two of them particularly gory (I have noticed that I have a penchant for gouging out eyes). These scenes and the one sex scene I have written were the certainly the hardest writing I’ve ever done. I essentially had to go back and read several other scenes by different writers, and borrow details from them, making them fit my own style and plot needs.

FYI: If anyone’s interested, my first fight scene is in the story “Misdirection” found in my fiction collection, Emily’s Stitches: The Confessions of Thomas Calloway (my first sex scene is also in that collection). My second fight scene is the fistfight between Ardiss Drake and Lancaster

O’Loch in the first Guns of the Waste Land novella. The third fight scene is a Comanche attack I wrote last week for the second Guns of the Waste Land novella.

Kirton
Yes, and I've actually written it. It came about as a result of a conversation with a female friend who said she believed pain was an essential part of sexual gratification. I didn't find her argument all that convincing because to me it sounded like the old joke about banging your head against a wall in order to feel how good it was when you stopped. Nonetheless, I wrote a scene (not a complete story) to test whether she found it palatable. It was set in a hotel room where the lovers (and they did love one another) met. There was champagne, roses, all the clichés, and I twisted them into the actual implements he used to hurt her. It was way beyond anything I'd ever dream of publishing but I made it as realistic as I could, including not allowing him to get any pleasure out of it and doing things which were against his nature but which she claimed she wanted. In the end, my friend said it was a true reflection of what she meant but that it had gone too far in one or two places. More interestingly, I didn’t like myself for having written it. It suggested that there are muddy layers in me which I’d rather not know about.

Logan
No.

Strickland
How about this one: A guy, trying to escape some great evil, plunges through a door. It leads to a slide, like a kiddie playground slide, but it’s steep and long. I mean it goes down for like fifty floors of a skyscraper. And before he reaches the end of the first ten, he becomes aware that he’s balanced on the thing, but it’s rapidly becoming narrower…and then he sees that just below it narrows to a razor edge….

9) Now, for the reverse. Is there any scene or passage, in any book or film, that you feel was either wrongly done...or something that should have been scrapped? Why? 

Blake
About 90% of what Hollywood puts out if formulaic crap that should be flushed. I mean, I get the wisdom of making blockbusters that appeal to males 15-25 who have IQs slightly above that of sand who wish for nothing but thinly disguised violent morality tales featuring the toys they played with as children come to life, but is the human condition any better for it? I can't really go into detail of what's wrong with filmmaking by committee as it would take a book, but yikes. Easier to call out guys who do it right as there are so few. Tarantino being top of my list.

Bouchard
Absolutely; several, in fact. I've always been a proponent of realism and the genres which I generally
read are those with stories which could in fact happen. However, once in a while, authors have managed, inadvertently or otherwise, to include elements or scenes which caused me to shake my head and say, “Really?” Without naming names, I will specify I’m speaking of big time, traditionally published authors who, in my opinion, committed these faux-pas. For example, I have difficulty accepting a character getting a shotgun blast to the side of the face followed by a .38-caliber bullet to the chest… and surviving, particularly because his massive pecs stopped the slug. This second one is even funnier. The killer is driving a car-jacked taxi in NYC. A hostage is in the passenger seat and, behind the protective screen, two young boys are tied up on the floor in the back. The killer pulls to the curb and somehow manages to wrap himself and his three hostages into a four-man bundle with explosive cord before exiting the vehicle.

Butts
I can’t really think of one, no. Though I have been reading some early Westerns (like 1880’s and earlier) and some of those fights seem overly simplistic and too cartoonish.

Kirton
There’s one stand-out image that’s stayed with me for many years. I couldn't say it was wrong or misplaced, but its impact was such that it resonated through the rest of the film and got in the way of whatever ‘meaning’ was supposed to be there. The film opens with a man sharpening and testing a razor. We then see him holding a young, expressionless woman, who’s staring straight ahead. His fingers hold her left eye open then there’s an awful close-up of the razor slitting open the eyeball, causing stuff to spill out of it. It is, of course, the opening of the surrealist film Un Chien Andalou by Bunuel/Dali. I remember nothing of the rest of the film, but merely recalling that cut brings back the shivers. Whatever the intention, it was so gross and so powerful that it overwhelmed everything that followed it.

Logan
In the 2005 Australian horror film, Wolf Creek, there is a scene where Mick Taylor, played by John Jarratt…well, perhaps I’ll just quote this from the film’s wiki entry:

“Liz…gets into a car and attempts to start it, but Mick shows up in the back seat and stabs her through the driver's seat with a large knife. After more bragging, he hacks three of Liz's fingers off in one swipe, then picks her up and headbutts her into near unconsciousness. He then severs her spinal cord with a knife, paralyzing her and rendering her a "head on a stick." Mick then proceeds to interrogate her as to Kristy's whereabouts.

It felt wrongly handled when I watched it, so I looked it up online and saw that may people had walked out of the cinema during the original screenings. The film was also ambiguously marketed as being ‘based on true events’; the plot bore elements similar to the real-life murders of tourists in Australia by Ivan Milat in the 1990s and by Bradley Murdoch in 2001.

So, not just “violence porn” placing a young female character in a very prolonged and hopeless position of torture/horror/humiliation/mutilation/physical destruction, but trying to connect up this “fiction” “generically” with true-life murders that bear no real relation, in terms of specifics or persons.

Strickland
There’s stuff I haven’t liked, but that’s not quite what you’re asking. I saw the first Night of the Living Dead ages ago in a theater, and some of the cannibalistic scenes I thought were not well-done, not because they were gross, but because they grew repetitive and the shock dulled off. In my own brief film career I appeared as an extra in a low-budget horror flick entitled Blood Salvage in the U.S. and Mad Jake in Europe. The plot involved a backwoods mechanic and his two deranged sons; they would sabotage cars passing through their small town, tow them into their shop, and then abduct the drivers and passengers and…raid the passengers for spare parts. Kidneys, livers, lungs, and so on. And they’d keep the mutilated victims alive as long as possible by hooking them to mechanical equivalents for their missing organs, Rube Goldberg devices cobbled together from used-car parts.

So okay, the bit I didn't care for…there’s a brief tour through the barn where all the semi-living victims are lying moaning and pleading for death. It is unsettling. And the camera pans past…Elvis, hooked to a radiator and a jukebox.

The goofiness mixed with the horror wasn't even camp. It was just somewhere way out in the woods.


10) Knights' call. Choose your own last question--and a wild, signature answer.

Blake
Question: Is violence in art something that should be regulated or censored to fit societal mores? 
Answer: Well, hmm. I like to think of all markets as weighing machines. The job of artists, who are basically entertainers, is to entertain. If a society finds something like graphic violence to be titillating, it will vote with its wallets. I deeply dislike the idea of curators or gatekeepers deciding what society should and shouldn't see for its own good. As an example, I believe that TV viewers in the U.S. should be able to see children with their legs blown off, half their heads splattered against a tree, in pools of their own blood, as a result of one of our bombing runs. By sanitizing the world for the good of society, we make palatable that which is essentially unpalatable. War is now a series of cool explosions and guided missiles we can watch from the comfort of our armchair. But that's a lie. War is ugly and brutal and awful and should be avoided at all costs, because it's the ultimate expression of our failure as a species to think our way through problems. We sanitize it so it's softened, comfy, it becomes easier to justify and support. Go back and look at the grim determination of wartime photos of generals from WW1 and WW2, and contrast them to the smiles and waves of our current breed of leaders, none of whom has ever been in a trench. Nobody was happy about having to go and take human life back then, and now it's almost like watching sports for some, where there's "our team" and "them" and we're hopeful ours kills the bastards. Taking human life is horrific, and I don't think that simplifying it to sanitized sound bites does any of us good service. Anything we can do to bring that reality home, might make it way harder to "support our troops" and wave flags and cheer at our superiority, but who cares? Is our job as entertainers really to gloss over the unpleasant and make ugly behavior more palatable, to rationalize our own brutality so we feel better about it? So no, I don't think violence should be censored to protect the children or anyone else, because in the end, the world is and has always been a violent, unpredictable place where bad shit can and does happen, and to portray it as anything but that makes performing unmentionable acts easier. So you want to portray a gang hit popping a cap into a competitor on the news? Fine. Show the suffering that goes with it, the family affected by it, the destruction of lives that's reality, the blood and guts and agony and horror that is the reality of it. Censor it and you turn life into a cartoon, and turn consumers of the entertainment into overfed adult children who believe everything's round edges and characters that drop off cliffs only to pop up unharmed in the next scene.

Bouchard
Question: If you had come to the world as Theodor Seuss Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss, would you have still been inclined to write crime thrillers and, if yes, can you give us a sample of what your prose would have been like?
Answer: I definitely would have written crime thrillers as Dr. Seuss. Consider the following sample of an actual passage from Vigilante, my first novel, rewritten à la Seuss:

The blow had knocked old Myers out

And sent him to the ground.

When he awoke, he was bound and gagged.

He couldn't make a sound.


His mind was dull, his skin felt wet,

And his face really hurt.

When he wiped his chin upon his shoulder

There were bloodstains on his shirt


He raised his head and saw the man,

Looking quite serene,

Standing there behind the couch

As he browsed a magazine.


“Ah, there you are,” the intruder said.

“I think that’s really great.

“I was hoping you wouldn't sleep too long,

“I don’t want to get home too late.”


The man strolled up to Myers

And gave him a cheerful grin.

“I hope you will forgive me

“For the sorry state you’re in.”


“But what you did to Mrs. Slater

“Wasn’t really nice at all.

“You know she'll never walk again

“Because of that nasty fall.”


“I was thinking you should fall down stairs

“But you really deserve much more.

“That’s why I find it practical

“That we’re up on the sixth floor.”


The man walked to the balcony

Surveying the dark parking below.

He was satisfied to see nobody

No witnesses for the show.


He returned into the apartment

Where Myers struggled on the floor.

He kicked Myers in the abdomen,

Causing Myers to resist no more.


Flinging Myers over his shoulder,

He carried him to the railing.

“Say bye-bye, Peter,” he whispered,

Then sent old Myers sailing.


Down six storeys went Myers,

Landing with a thud.

He lay there as he merited,

Dead in his own blood

Butts
Question: Given my previous answer, I want to talk a bit about slapstick and cartoonish violence. Why does ti work when done well?

Answer: I think it can be effective if used consciously (I think the poor quality of early Western violence lies in a lack writing talent, more than a misuse of cartoon violence). This type of violence is used for comic effect, and it taps into mankind’s natural tendency for schadenfreude. As a species, we do delight in the misfortune of others, especially if those others deserve it. Wile E. Coyote, The three Stooges, even Fred Flintstone, are all kind of jackasses, so the violence that happens to them appeals to our sense of justice.

We also enjoy slapstick when it makes others seem foolish in exactly the way that we have felt foolish ourselves. We laugh at the kid who drops his lunch tray or trips over a banana peel because we’re glad it isn’t us. Because it very well could’ve been us, and almost certainly will be us some time.

Kirton
Question: Could you give us an example of a refined, sophisticated use of violence to convey character and reach the highest peaks of literary excellence and linguistic perfection?’
Answer: In my book, The Sparrow Conundrum, a policeman has rigged his hotel room so that, if anyone tries to enter it, a series of pulleys will trap them under a heavy wardrobe and a bed. Two agents, code names Kestrel (who’s disguised as a maid), and Eagle, know nothing of this, creep in and are trapped. The policemen, Lodgedale, returns in his customary bad mood. Now read on.

Eagle and Kestrel heard the door bang open and their screams became babbles of relief and pleas for help. The relief, of course, was short-lived. Lodgedale noted with satisfaction the heap of bed and wardrobe and with glee the four legs sticking out from under it.

One pair of legs was trousered but the other was bare and seemed to belong to a maid. Lodgedale, ever alert, bent to look at the maid’s crotch and was surprised at how pronounced her mons pubis was. Surprise quickly became suspicion however, and he decided the maid’s gender must be checked.

There were various methods available to him but he stayed in character and aimed a kick at her crotch. Kestrel, whose scrotum was, of course, the target, exploded in areas of pain he’d never before suspected. Like all experimenters, Lodgedale repeated his test in order to verify his first set of results, was equally pleased at the outcome and turned his attention to the trousered crotch which he decided to use as a control group. Eagle’s previous delights had been derived from masochistic fantasies but no stretch of his distorted imagination could interpret the present experiences as pleasurable and the volume of his screaming matched that of Kestrel.

After only a brief period of such gratuitous violence both men fainted and Lodgedale, deprived of the satisfaction of hearing their screams, reluctantly decided to stop and try to discover who they were and why they’d entered his room.

Logan
Question: In the 1975 (again) dystopian sports action science fiction film, Rollerball, directed by Norman Jewison and starring James Caan, set in a 2018 global corporate state, is Rollerball, the violent, globally-popular sport which the then-futuristic society is so enthralled by (just as Roman citizens were once enthralled by the butchery and murderous spectacle of the first century colosseum)…is Rollerball a spectacle which brings about healthy cathartic release in the audience, or is it a spectacle which hypnotizes them and transfixes them into forgetting the underlying violence they are immersed in during their real daily lives, or is Rollerball a spectacle which hardens and desensitizes the crowd to ever-increasing levels of violence…as the crowd becomes ever more bloodthirsty and the rules of the game are incrementally changed to allow greater and greater violence, until James Caan’s Jonathan character refuses to kill his last living opponent and instead does a victory lap of the skate track while the crowd chants his name?
Answer: “The first man to raise a fist is the man who's run out of ideas.”
--H. G. Wells

Strickland
Question: If you could have written a book or script that someone else did, one that involves this kind of violence, what would it be, and why? Do you think you could have done a better job? Tell us about it!

Answer: For me—Well, remember Michael Shea, who passed away about a year ago? His Nifft the Lean got to me on a visceral level. That’s one I can point at and say, “Man, I wish I’d had the guts and the obsessive imagination to write that.”

However, I could not have done a better job. It would take someone with a different psyche from me to beat Shea at that game, but man, I wish I had the inspiration, the twisted vision, and the courage to pull of something like that story.

                                                                    ******









Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Blood and Rue: A Ripsnorting Round Table Chat

Seated here today are six successful, well-respected authors who've gathered to discuss the subject of violence in film and fiction. In alphabetical order:

Russell Blake
The New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over 35 adventure thriller novels also co-authored two books with Clive Cussler. He lives in Mexico with his dogs and a bad attitude. 

Claude Bouchard
Completed his studies at McGill University and worked in management for countless years. From there, it was a logical career step to stay home and write crime thrillers.

Bill Kirton
Lecturer, actor, director, playwright, novelist, husband, father, grandfather. Sails, eats, drinks wine, gardens. Writes whydunnits and whodunnits. Thinks laughter is very important.

John Logan
The author of 6 novels has published stories worldwide in anthologies by Picador and Vintage, also appearing in the Edinburgh Review and other journals. A proud Highlander.

Richard Monaco
The two-time Pulitzer Prize-nominee has worn quite a few hats: novelist, poet, textbook author, teacher and editor. Co-founded the Adele Leone Literary Agency.

Brad Strickland
Recently retired from a career as a University professor. Also known as Ken McKea, writer of the series of hardboiled Florida mysteries featuring Jim Dallas. 
                          
                                                                ******


1) Each of you has featured violence in your fiction. What are your personal guidelines for how graphic you're willing to get?  

BLAKE
Depends on the aesthetic I’m after. As an example, picture a lion chasing down a gazelle. I can leave it at the animal bringing down its prey, or have gnashing teeth, panic, blood, sinew, and gore all over the page – whether I do or not is determined by what I’m trying to accomplish.

I let the story determine the violence. There are different levels I’ll write based upon how gritty the story is. As an example, in my JET series, it’s about a 5-6 on a 10 point scale – about what you’d expect watching a James Bond movie. The Assassin series, which is grittier, is more of a 7-8. Because it’s about cartels, and they’re violent in the real world, and brutal, and if you try to soften that too much the story stops being realistic. I don’t censor myself based on what some imaginary reader might find offensive. I think down that road lies madness, as there’s always going to be someone who finds anything you write offensive. When I write violence (and sex), I ask myself, does this add to the experience, is it neutral, or does it detract. Do I want to shock deliberately, or do I want a different effect? To what level of descriptiveness do I need to write in order to evoke what I want?


BOUCHARD
I’ve never been a huge fan of graphic violence in film or literature, particularly when it becomes excessive for nothing and results in overkill, pardon the pun. Similarly with my writing, violent scenes include just enough information to accurately depict what takes place without going into minute detail. For example, if a victim is stabbed repeatedly, I won’t provide a blow by blow description. If required to demonstrate the severity of a violent act, I’ll do so with an ‘after the fact’ portrayal of the crime scene or via subsequent dialog. To be clear, I do write violent scenes. I simply don’t include any gore which doesn’t add to the story. As an example, consider the following:

“You want this?” I asked, raising the cane in the air, my left hand wrapped around the handle, the tip pointing at him.
“Give it to me,” he insisted, taking a half-step toward me, looking for his opening to lunge with the blade.
Bringing my right foot forward, I grasped the cane at its centre with my right hand and jabbed it at his face, my left arm acting like a piston and driving the tip into his right eye. He emitted a strangled, gasping gurgle as he dropped the knife and raised both hands to his face.


KIRTON
When I'm writing a scene--violent or otherwise--what happens tends to be dictated by the characters involved. In my first published crime novel there's a violent, self-harming scene. I wrote it to increase sympathy for the perpetrator/victim and throw light on some apparent contradictions in her character, It was an integral part of the plot and helped to confirm my detective's (and my own) abhorrence of violence. The form it took and the extremes it explored, though, came from the character's personality and situation. After writing it, I understood her better. 

The comments of some reviewers were disturbing but interesting. One said the details were 'unnecessary' and made her 'question the writer's psyche.' Another added 'The fact that this author also writes children's books creeps me out."' That suggests there's not only a failure to separate fiction from reality, but also a worrying tendency to assume that, if we describe such acts, we're capable of actually performing them. 


LOGAN
I’m happy to get as graphic as the context of the story justifies, or demands, with no set limits.


MONACO
Honestly, words are all equivalent, it’s where you put them. Words and their resonance, metaphoric, expository, intense…are colors on a pallet. Sometimes blood red, sometimes gauzy, dark, and so on. Color me high-functioning sociopath, if you like, but it’s all the same to me: I follow the work as it unfolds; I no more control it than a surfer directs the wave he rides. So, no, I don’t have guidelines that amount to much.


STRICKLAND
I’d say to use the violence as indicative of character and situation—fit the level to the story. When extreme violence occurs, it shades into Grand Guignol—just blood for blood’s sake, and that distracts from the characters and from the points the plot may be making. I have no objection to gore, but I do resist slathering it on for page after page. That dulls the response too, I think. Death, dismemberment, torture all may be necessary for a thriller; in touchier territory, rape.

For me the line over which I will not step is the point when the action makes a reader react with outrage against me and against the story, not against the characters. I will say that killing animals gets me much more hate mail than killing people…I had a little dog hit by a car in one book, and a cat tortured and killed as a sadist waited for his human victim to show up in another, and people became very emotional about these. Still, dogs do get killed on the street, and psychopaths do kill animals—that’s part of the syndrome that is often seen in serial (human) killers, in fact. Neither story wallowed in the gore, but the violence had shock value, and that’s what the stories needed.


2) Can you give one or two examples, in either film or lit, where the violence was necessary and handled to perfection?

BLAKE
Platoon, for realistic violence that was contextually appropriate, and The Deer Hunter. As an example of how vividly the latter stays with me, even, what, thirty years after release, I still get the shivers at that first Russian roulette scene. What an impactful handling of violence to set a tone. Was it too much? Some at the time thought so. I don’t. Anything that still works thirty years later, and is still vital and immediate, is about as close to perfection as you’re going to see.



BOUCHARD
It’s funny because when I read this question, two examples immediately came to mind, causing me to inwardly smile as I clenched my teeth. The first is somewhat vague after thirty-nine years yet a vivid ‘feeling’ remains – 1976, Marathon Man, when Hoffman is tortured by Olivier… Gawd. The second was brought to us by our very own Russell Blake and is the opening scene of Fatal Exchange from which I share the last two lines:

    The victim’s eye went wide as the screech of the high-pitched motor filled the space.
    “So, my friend, is there anything you want to tell me before we start?”


KIRTON
First, we need to be precise about what we mean by 'perfection'. It certainly doesn't mean providing a template for the most effective or exquisite way of hurting someone. It does, however, mean using it in a way that best supports an artistic or aesthetic vision.

Tarantino's Django Unchained is an uncompromising gore-fest. There's blood and bodies everywhere and it's all so graphic and excessive that, in the end, it goes beyond realism into parody. It's also funny. The KKK scene where they all complain that their hoods have been badly made, the holes are in the wrong place and they can't see properly through them is pure comedy and yet they're riding out with the intention of their victim slowly and painfully. How can we laugh at it when we know that? The underlying message is that the real, obscene violence of the concept and practice of slavery often tends to be sanitized.

And no-one who has seen Reseveroir Dogs can forget watching Michael Madsen doing his little dance to 'Stuck in the middle with you' before cutting off his prisoner's ear. It's a masterpiece of tension, distills the essence of fear and yet, when the deed has been done, there's the tension-relieving 'joke' of the character holding the ear to his lips and whispering into it. 


LOGAN
I rewatched Hitchcock’s Psycho recently and was impressed by how well that famous shower scene with Janet Leigh was dealt with. The knife is shown, the blood is shown (although in black and white), but there is no point at which the knife is shown “going in” – instead, the viewer is left to imagine it, fill in the blanks. It works well. And yet that 1960 film is still tagged “one of the most shocking movies of all time”. This must be because of the skill with which Hitchcock manipulates the imagination, tapping into archetypal banks of dormant horror in the subconscious. That is where the real dramatic power comes from. A viewer can “look away” from overt gore on a screen, or in a text, but it’s much more difficult to “look away” from subconscious triggers which are being fired off artfully.

Another example from film would be William Peter Blatty’s The Ninth Configuration. There is a build-up throughout the story towards the climactic explosion of violence in a bar between “Killer Kane” played by Stacy Keach, and a biker gang.

The Stacy Keach character has repudiated his violent side so deeply that it has caused a split in his personality (much as in the film version of the Psycho story) and right up until the end of the film the viewer is only familiar with the gentle, endlessly patient “psychiatrist” played by Keach, who only wishes to help and heal others. We have witnessed numerous philosophical/spiritual conversations between Keach and the patients in the castle hospital for war vets. So we know by the end of the film that Keach/Kane will do anything, go to any length, not to be involved in further violence. Then - cue the biker gang.

A series of extreme provocations and humiliations ensue, which we see Keach resist and resist, even licking beer off the floor when ordered to…until he finally snaps. Here, the “explosion” is shown graphically, but it seems to have been earned by the previous 90 minutes of context, and the knowledge that “Kane” does not want to be doing this.


MONACO
Imaginary violence isn't violent. In art, myriad examples:  King Lear, great war movies…on and on and on….Outside of art, news and all that becomes a filter over reality. Cops or the military blast someone, for example, you watch images and hear a lot of talk – unless you’re there in person. 

Whenever there in person, my guts react, I get sick, angry, try to do something. On screen it becomes a movie. You might react high tension the first showing but it quickly turns into stock footage. Part of it is how new you are to stock violence. Kids are the best test. The first time (age 10) I saw “All Quiet on the Western Front” I almost freaked out and felt all of it in full horror mode. Nothing ever hit harder. Note this was a crude film where sound was added later. No clever tricks. I vowed to never go to war. I was sickened by those (as the Chinese term it) electric shadows. As part of the “normal” desensitizing process of adolescence, of course, I tried to enlist in the Marines and Air Force at 17. Basically they told me to come back when I was less violent and crazy. Seriously. 

So, again, when reality becomes a metaphor, it’s free of the neurotic baggage I stumble around with. Like a dear Film-maker friend once told me, it is “…just about life and the need to love.” No fancy notions or techniques. 


STRICKLAND
Film: In the otherwise not terribly faithful Robert Altman adaptation of Raymond Chandler’s The Long Goodbye, there’s a beaut. Gangster Marty Augustine is arguing with Philip Marlowe, and Augustine’s beautiful mistress is at the gangster’s side. After interrupting his spiel to Marlowe to praise his mistress’s beauty, out of nowhere he slams a Coca-Cola bottle into her face, shattering the bottle and lacerating her. She screams and spouts blood. Then, coolly, Augustine turns to Marlowe and says, “That’s someone I love. You, I don’t even like.” The point is made—we know how crazy Augustine is and in what peril Marlowe stands.

Literature: The cringe-making torture scene of James Bond in Fleming’s Casino Royale. Simple implements: A straw-bottomed chair with the bottom cut out; a trefoil carpet beater. But Bond is subjected to sudden blasting pain, and any guy reading it grits his teeth. The scene brilliantly illustrates Bond’s world, the people he runs against, and the dangers he faces.


3) Those who profess to hate violence in art sometimes love classics just brimming with gore: Breaking Bad, Kill Bill, The Iliad, The Odyssey...What the heck is going on?

BLAKE
One’s tolerance for violence is akin to one’s tolerance for alcohol. You might hate being around drunks and frown at those around you drinking a bit too much, but you also might get hammered with some regularity. So there’s probably a lot of self-loathing and fear mixed in with the love of violence in some works, and a hatred of it in others. If you set the violence up so it’s relevant, and handled appropriately within the context of the story, you can’t go wrong, even with those who profess to hate violence (which is akin to saying you hate the world, because the world is, and always has been, violent). I grasp not wanting to wallow in violence, but the folks I've encountered that say something is too violent usually are saying that it’s too graphic for the context.



BOUCHARD
If we were discussing people who are against violence but enjoy works containing violence, I could argue in their favour by making the distinction between reality and fiction. For example, I write vigilante thrillers but I certainly don’t condone vigilantism in society.

However, one who professes to hate violence in art all while being a fan of violent works is like a vegan ordering a steak, whether the work is a ‘classic’ or the cut is a filet mignon. Can someone say hypocrite?


KIRTON
Good question. I don't ever remember anyone complaining about Goya's painting of Saturn eating his son, or the many studies Gericault painted of the severed heads, arms and legs which he got from the morgue and were lying asround his studio as he prepared to paint The Raft of the Medusa. And how about the scene in which Judith cuts off the head of Holofernes, so beautifully lit and carefully executed by Caravaggio?

The truth seems to be one examined in great detail by Mario Praz in his study of what he called The Romantic Agony. He notes the close and frequently exploited connection between death and eroticism, and not just as a literary or artistic leitmotif. Indeed, there are some branches of psychoanalysis which focus on the importance of the duality of Eros (Love) and Thanatos (Death) in the human psyche. It may be that the link between them is beyond rational understanding.


LOGAN
Perhaps they don’t hate violence in art, but violence portrayed in contexts where there is no “real” art involved – i.e. violence presented as entertainment to “get off on” etc.

The 1970s is supposedly notorious for violent cinema, but this was also some of the best-crafted, artistic cinema. Jim Thompson’s 1958 novel, The Getaway, was filmed in 1972 by Sam Peckinpah, and right there you have the coming together of two artists, Thompson and Peckinpah, who were both lambasted in their time for having too much violence in their work but, of course, their subject matter would have lost all reality and meaning without the violence which was an innate reality of their characters’ lives.

Thompson’s 1952 novel, The Killer Inside Me, has been described as “one of the most blistering and uncompromising crime novels ever written”, and it too became a 1976 film (with Stacy Keach playing the lead yet again).

In these pieces, just as in the work of James M. Cain (whose 1930s novels, The Postman Always Rings Twice, and Double Indemnity, became 1940s films), the “violence” is in the very soul and DNA of the characters, and it must inevitably explode outward, just as the violence within Shakespeare’s or Sophocles’ characters had to explode outward.


MONACO
Had a lot of in my face violence in my life. I never mistook it for anything I, or anybody else, wrote in a book. 

OK, that said, what do you actually mean by violence? Political, social, scientific, psychological, etc,? Violence is the expression of extremes, no? Atomic bomb, revolution, general madness…forcing things on others…ideas, behavior….Let’s talk about classics, then. Forget the budget, period, tech and all that. What’s the real difference between “Cat People” and “The Wild Bunch?” Violence and terror as against violence and terror? In one case blood spurts and spatters; the other, shadows lurk and drive one to violent doom. Same effect. 

Violence is universal, permeates all we do, and can’t be separated out like milk from cream, 


STRICKLAND
Two things: (1) The insulating distance of time for the real oldies. Jab a red-hot pole into a guy’s only eye so that the blood sizzles and the nerves pop? It’s okay if the victim’s a Cyclops. That’s literature. (2) Exaggeration that passes so far beyond Grand Guignol that the audience becomes keenly aware they’re watching SFX, nothing real. (In fact, I’d argue that the level of CGI today is such that a wily editor would restrict its use. When the SFX battle in Man of Steel becomes so ridiculously protracted, you realize it’s all comic-book violence….and then you say, “Yeah, but comic books do it so much better.

Implication can be much more disturbing than in-you-face displays, I think. The late Terry Pratchett set a scene in Small Gods in a torture chamber…we don’t really see anything, but a High Priest asks what all the screaming’s about, and a torturer says essentially “We’re doing that lot of heretics just now.” The priest frowns and then says, “Well, you’re not making them scream loud enough.”


4) Your name is William Shakespeare. Through a terrific loop in time, you have today's technology and an unlimited budget. You can write, produce and direct all your plays as films. No rating board exists. You can show or not show anything, as you please. Would you still choose to have all the Good Parts occurring off the screen?

BLAKE
Absolutely. Would Romeo and Juliet be any better with them stripping down and fumbling with each other’s genitalia on camera? Often, the mind can construct a far more impactful rendering than film. Film’s limitation is that once it’s on film, it’s no longer left to imagination – it’s manifest. That’s its strength, but also its weakness. It’s also one of the reasons that TV and movies dumb down cultures. With reading, the reader has to be actively engaged and thinking as they move through the book – the  reader is required to do some work, so it’s a two way street between author and reader. With film, the viewer can just sit back and watch a stream of images. Engagement isn’t mandatory, nor is thinking. Films can make you think, but it’s not required any more than thinking is required by a toddler mesmerized by colorful cartoons on TV.


BOUCHARD
I'll accept your time warp scenario and throw in a curve of my own, being that I’m now also aware of my historical greatness and popularity some four hundred years into the future. That said, damned straight I’ll leave all my ‘signature’ good stuff in! I’m Billy Shakes, baby! I might massage some of the dialog a bit to avoid having the audience saying. “Huh?” too much and you can count on me to use those special effects gizmos to make things rock with the action scenes. However, you can fully expect one hundred percent “Bard of Avon” when it hits the big screen, or Netflix.



KIRTON
Interesting. In this context, you seem to be suggesting that the ‘good parts’ of Shakespeare are the violent bits. Unlike the writers of the classical school, I don’t think he was afraid to show them on stage. Bodies pile up in the last scene of HamletTitus Andronicus is Tarantino-esque, Othello murders his wife, Gloucester’s eyes are put out in King Lear – all onstage. Paradoxically, it’s the most murderous of the tragedies, Macbeth, which shows the greatest restraint, with King Duncan, Macduff’s wife and children, and Banquo all getting their come-uppance in the wings.

The interesting thing about this question is that the physicality of the violent acts might be at odds with the power of the language. Somehow there would be an incongruity about juxtaposing the brutishness of physical violence with the articulation of highly sophisticated observations and insights.


LOGAN
Perhaps Shakespeare would invoke the Hitchcock/Psycho shower scene clause, and show the violence by flashed images and implication only.

If you look to modern directors like Kurosawa or Polanski, though, in their treatment\of Macbeth, for example, it made sense that they would play to their strengths and invoke powerful onscreen images of sword-skill and murder – that, in their hands, the daggers of the mind would inevitably manifest as daggers of the red-raw flesh.

Polanski’s 1971 version of Macbeth is, in fact, a combination of art and overt gore, perhaps stabilized and kept just on the right side of that line by Polanski himself, no stranger to real-life violence, and so a very careful handler of it as a subject. Polanski’s onscreen depictions of violence in Macbeth are never there just to “entertain” - he shows the horror of violence with real consequences, which is what Shakespeare’s story requires.


MONACO
Off screen?  I think Hamlet was a really good part. Macbeth, Caesar, Othello…the histories…in your face, murder, suicide, desperate hate and pain. It wouldn’t improve the play to see the eye actually put out in Lear; wouldn’t hurt it, either. It’s all in how you execute and the Bard took care of that up front. Left lots of room for improv, too. The plain text: CORNWALL plucks out one of GLOUCESTER’s eyes and stamps on it. The rest is up to you as actor or director.


STRICKLAND
As in Titus Andronicus, with its onstage dismemberment and cannibalistic cookery? As in King Lear, in which Gloucester is pinned down while Cornwall carves out one of his eyeballs, and Cornwall’s wife Regan watches the spurt of blood and humours and purrs, “One side will mock another. The other, too….”? (Someone , probably Andrew Gurr, found a contemporary description of the scene’s effect; evidently the actor playing Cornwall palmed two sheep’s eyes and then threw them right out into the crowd. First 3-D special effect, far as I know).

Will didn’t rein in on the violence. What he had to watch out for were references to God—these were adjusted in later performances, so that a reference to “the blessing of God” became “the blessing of Heaven.” And he had to watch out for politics: Elizabeth I ordered a whole scene cut from Richard II because its arc was the deposition of a monarch, and Shakespeare had to change the name of Sir John Oldcastle in 1 Henry IV to Sir John Falstaff, because Oldcastle’s descendant happened to be a high-up functionary in Elizabeth’s court.

So, roundabout, if the producers or the ratings board insisted that the violence should be toned down, I have little doubt that Shakespeare would comply. He would get away with as much as possible, though, and probably would get shit past the censors frequently, as he did when Hamlet, all innocence, asks Ophelia “Did you think I meant country matters?”



5) Is violence in art more likely to cause real life violence--to a significant degree--or to serve as a positive outlet? Or: did more people groove on the stylized violence of the great movie The Warriors or run amok with baseball bats?

BLAKE
That’s a tough one, because in every society there’s an impressionable segment of the young and the moronic. So to some degree, yes, I do believe that if you have a movie with, say, young people doing parkour and jumping between high rises, that you’ll see a spike in deaths from youngsters trying that themselves – so there the correlation is obvious. Art can act as direction, as clues, for those who are developing, and they may misinterpret the clues with disastrous results. Conversely, the world is filled with danger and lethality, and to portray it as a nerf-covered place with rounded edges does nobody any good, and results in bad art. So if the violence can influence behavior, does that mean one should consider every word written as though some dullard might take it literally and go do it?

No. It just means that you can’t pretend that it has no influence in order to freely express ideas. Sure, Hannibal Lecter chowing down on his patients or doping them up and getting them to eat their own faces might result in imitation, but I’d hate to see Harris drop it because of that fear. There are always fools who will follow bad examples. In rap, some artists have every other word something about popping a cap in someone’s ass or banging this shorty or that. Does that influence society, or is it a commentary on it, or both – is it both reflection and instigation? Folks have argued about that forever, but reality is that violence has existed in every culture since the dawn of time – far before recorded music, film, or literature. A balanced view acknowledges its impact, but also grasps the chicken-egg relationship. Would that it were as simple as turning it all off and ending it once and for all. It just doesn’t work that way.


BOUCHARD
I’ll start with a confession. The day they taught the “Violence in Various Art Forms and Does it Mess with your Head?” course in school, some buddies and me skipped class and went for pizza and beer instead…

Seriously, all I can offer is an educated guess which, based on a very quick Google search I did, seems to be pretty much what the experts can offer as well. To illustrate, consider the closing quote by University of Pittsburgh’s Dr. Brian A. Primack in the September 17, 2014, NBC article, “Do Violent Movies Cause Aggression? The Answer May Depend”:

It makes sense that different people who experience violent media — such as movies or video games — will respond differently to those stimuli. Some people are apparently inspired by or assisted in engaging in antisocial acts, while others may instead develop anxiety or fear responses, and still others may have very little change in mood or inclination.”

So, my educated guess? Yeah, maybe, sometimes.


KIRTON
The only answer to this has to be an evasive one because it’s so subjective. If an individual is turned on by what he sees or reads (and it’s more likely to be a man than a woman), it’s possible he’ll want to test his own capacity to recreate the experience. On the other hand, in most cases which qualify as ‘art’, the violence will be part of a cautionary tale or an aspect of a psychological or psychic investigation and, either implicitly or explicitly, it will attach a moral judgement of which the viewer/reader should be aware. My opinion – or rather, my hope – is that artists and writers who use violence to make a point or create an effect, will deliver the message in such a way that such acts are seen as inhuman and, ultimately, destructive of the perpetrator as well as the victim.

And yet, and yet … remember de Sade was known as The Divine Marquis.


LOGAN
I think it’s a balancing act. I’m reminded of Stanley Kubrick’s withdrawal of A Clockwork Orange from UK cinema release, because he was appalled by the stories of audience members attacking each other in the cinema and attacking other people on the streets outside after the film’s showings.

It may not be depiction of violence, though, exactly, that causes such reactions. If violence is presented for the audience, or reader, to “get off on”, for cheap thrills etc, as entertainment, then what you can sometimes end up with is a sort of “violence porn”.

Possibly what concerned Kubrick was an idea that, every time you present violence, in fiction or cinema, as entertainment, you are providing a sort of false positive advertisement for it, yes.

On the other hand, if the violence in art is shown to have consequences, terrible ones often, then that’s a sort of salutary tale.

So, Dostoyevsky can have Crime and Punishment start with Rasknolnikov thinking it would be a great idea to bash an old woman’s head in; or Macbeth can start with a guy and his wife thinking it would be a fine idea to murder a king and take the crown of Scotland – but the salutary tale, the useful depiction of violence, in both cases, is the internal psychological unravelling later shown in the characters’ minds/souls that follows on upon the acts of violence.

Violence in art, well-handled, as in Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men, the book and the film, can ground the violence, deflate any excitement surrounding it, and thereby expose the existential black hole lurking at the heart of violence.  


MONACO
Might as well blame comic books. Is non-violence in art more likely to produce peace and harmony? Unlikely. At times in my life I got nasty. Never took time to read first. Other times I did good stuff. Same. Literary (and related) violence is everywhere. Most of history is about violence. You can’t parse it by citing Henry James, and others, showing subtle technique, or otherwise cherry-picking examples. I just don’t see word-pictures as positive or negative in the sense we’re considering. If the work is good, it’s alive, love it or hate it. Judgments lead, in the end, towards what I used to call Chinese Communist art. 


STRICKLAND
Life sometimes imitates art; but let’s face it, anyone who’s going to be a psycho killer is going to be a psycho killer whether he reads slasher porn or My Little Pony books. I don’t think that an ordinary person can be pushed or seduced in to violence by fiction. Maybe those who have an inclination to violence may read about fictional violence, but they’re just responding to their own pre-existing preferences, not looking for a how-to book.

That said, I once had a conference with a police detective when some nut sent a dozen members of a local government extortion letters, promising each one that he/she would be killed unless money was paid. I recognized that as a plot of an Ed McBain 87th Precinct novel and called the detective with that information. I apologized that it wouldn’t help any…but when they caught the guy, they learned that he got the idea from the novel.