How to Write: Horror: Notes from Noël Carroll’s The Philosophy of Horror, or Paradoxes of the Heart – PART 1

The horror genre is only getting stronger. Like Pennywise the Clown, it feeds on the fears of its patrons and continues to thrive, even as its once-prominent relatives limp toward oblivion. Comedies, rom-coms, mid-budget thrillers, and noirs have little purchase on the viewer’s imagination. Horror, on the other hand, has enjoyed a string of wide releases in 2024 that have performed well at the box office, cementing its status as the most reliable and profitable genre of the year—yet again.

Against this backdrop, I decided to revisit Noël Carroll’s well-respected work, The Philosophy of Horror; or, Paradoxes of the Heart. Carroll’s primary question is this: Why does a genre that promises to repulse, disgust, scare, and torment its audience nevertheless captivate them so completely? Why does it continue to find enduring success? What constitutes the horror genre and its essential ingredients? 

The answers Carroll provides may not be mind-blowing, but the book contains enough insights to keep readers engaged. Carroll’s analysis is detailed, seemingly exhaustive, and often academic—at times even pedantic—belaboring many of its points in language that is far from straightforward. It’s not particularly difficult to understand, but it’s certainly not a quick or breezy read either. 

For those interested in horror or storytelling, this book will prove informative. However, for those who prefer a concise overview of its key arguments and themes, I’ve written this essay to distill the salient points and offer my two cents where relevant. 

This book, published in 1990, is now over thirty years old, written in the wake of a two-decade explosion of horror novels and films. It was an era dominated by superstar writers and directors: King, Koontz, Barker, Raimi, Carpenter, Argento, Fulci, Craven, and many others. Despite its age, the insights in this book remain relevant. In fact, one could argue that since the 1990s, horror films—and even books—have grown simpler and more formulaic. In their pursuit of a broader audience, the genre has often been diluted, a factor worth considering when discussing its evolution and widespread appeal. 

The book is divided into four chapters. I found Chapters 1 and 3 to be the most informative. Chapters 2 and 4, while less engaging to me personally, are favored by other readers. Part 1 of this overview will examine the first two chapters, while Part 2 will address the remaining two. 

 The Chapters: 

1. The Nature of Horror – Carroll attempts to define the genre. 

2. Metaphysics and Horror – The first paradox of the horror genre is raised and addressed. 

3. Plotting Horror – Characteristics of a horror plot are discussed. 

4. Why Horror? – The second paradox is explored: Why does a genre that aims to repel and disgust find such a wide following? 

Introduction: A Brief History of Horror 

Carroll opens with a brief history of horror: 

‘The immediate source of the horror genre was the English Gothic novel, the German Schauer-roman, and French roman noir. The general, though perhaps arguable, consensus is that the inaugural Gothic novel of relevance to the horror genre was Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto in 1765. This novel carried on the resistance to neo-classical taste initiated by the preceding generation of graveyard poets.’ 

He identifies Matthew Lewis’s supernatural Gothic work The Monk as the “real harbinger of the horror genre,” while also mentioning Mary Shelley, whose Frankenstein plays a significant role later. Other notable figures include Poe, Melville, and Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, whom Carroll especially valorizes for his psychological depth and the placement of the supernatural within everyday life. 

Carroll’s goal, modeled after Aristotle’s analysis of art, is clear: 

 “Taking Aristotle to propose a paradigm of what the philosophy of an artistic genre might be, I will offer an account of horror in virtue of the emotional effects it is designed to cause in audiences.” 

This leads to Chapter 1,

Chapter 1: The Nature of Horror 

One of Carroll’s central arguments is that horror depends on the presence of a monster or monstrous entity. This is necessary but not sufficient; other genres like sci-fi and fantasy also feature monsters. Carroll argues: 

“What appears to demarcate the horror story from mere stories with monsters, such as myths, is the attitude of characters in the story to the monsters they encounter. In works of horror, the humans regard the monsters they meet as abnormal, as disturbances of the natural order.” 

This distinction not only informs how characters behave but also shapes the narrative, which typically moves from normality to abnormality and strives to return to the normal. 

Furthermore, Carroll notes that the audience’s emotions often parallel the characters’ reactions: 

“For horror appears to be one of those genres in which the emotive responses of the audience, ideally, run parallel to the emotions of characters.” 

Carroll then notes various passages from various works: Dracula, Mr. Hyde, Talisman, and others, to demonstrate how the writers in each of those go about recording the reactions of their characters. Some of the adjectives describing the emotions and sensations evoked by horror in these passages are: revulsion, loathing, disgust, chilling, grotesque, decaying, putrid and many, many more. This lexicon is invaluable for writers aiming to evoke visceral reactions from their audience.

Carroll also defines monstrosity in art-horror as being both threatening and impure: 

“If the monster were only evaluated as potentially threatening, the emotion would be fear; if only potentially impure, the emotion would be disgust. Art-horror requires evaluation both in terms of threat and disgust.”

This is important to Carroll and raises more questions than it answers. Based on his definition, is The Haunting of Hill House a horror novel? What about Carrie? Jurassic Park and Psycho wouldn’t qualify, and according to Carroll, neither does Cujo. Carroll is aware of the debate his definition might spark but stands by it. I believe this is a limiting definition of what a malevolent entity in a work of horror should be but I understand where he’s coming from. The horror genre deals with the unknown, creatures and places indescribable, undefinable, that must more than terrify. They deal with things unformed, partially formed, inexplicable that vex and trouble our imagination. The truck in Duel therefore doesn’t qualify. Nor does Cujo. Does Hannibal Lecter threaten and disgust? How about JigSaw? Their actions disgust so they must be horror right? Carroll isn’t clear on this. He must’ve watched the Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Halloween but these movies and their ilk don’t make it in the discussion. Leatherface and his family are certainly horror monsters by his definition. But Michael Myers may not make the cut.

I believe the evaluation of the monster by Carrolll’s standards is less important as long as it presence and its deeds evoke the extreme reactions that the genre promises.

Having defined the monster Carroll further categorizes them into four types: 

1.Fusion – Monsters that combine distinct categories (e.g., Frankenstein, insect-human hybrids).  Carroll notes: ‘On the simplest physical level, this often entails the construction of creatures that transgress categorical distinctions such as inside/outside, living/dead, insect/ human, flesh/machine, and so on. Mummies, vampires, ghosts, zombies, and Freddie, Elm Street’s premier nightmare, are fusion figures in this respect. Each, in different ways, blur the distinction between living and dead. Each, in some sense, is both living and dead. A fusion figure is a composite that unites attributes held to be categorically distinct and/or at odds in the cultural scheme of things in unambiguously one, spatio-temporally discrete entity.’

2. Fission – Beings that split into two forms (e.g. werewolves, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde). 

3. Magnification – Creatures exaggerated to terrifying proportions. 

4. Multiplication – Creatures replicated in overwhelming numbers. 

 

Chapter 2: Metaphysics and Horror 

In this chapter, Carroll examines the first paradox of horror: 

“How can we be horrified by fictions—by beings and events that, in some sense, do not exist and which we must know do not exist, if we are to be art-horrified?” 

After evaluating and dismissing several theories, including character identification, Carroll concludes: 

“We can be moved by the content of thoughts entertained; emotional response does not require the belief that the things that move us be actual. We can be moved by prospects that we imagine.” 

 

Conclusion to Part 1 of the Overview 

The main takeaways from the first two chapters for aspiring horror writers are: 

1.       The story must feature a monster or a monstrous entity.

2.       The monster must be an abnormality in an normal world.

3.        The monster must both terrify and disgust. 

4.        In horror, the audience closely associates their reactions with those of the characters, making strong character responses essential.  And having a lexicon that helps describe reactions of the characters and their perception of the monster Is critical. Few adjectives from the books include: revulsion, loathing, spine-chilling, bone-tingling, dizzy, numb, dread, indescribable, detestable, displeasing, deformed, deforming, monstrous, unclean, unwelcome, putrid, other worldly, travesty, chilling, carrion thing, like raw liver, leery, hellish, gutting, ghoulish, untold, inconceivable, filthy, shape of a slug, diarrheal, bulbous, sewer stench, repulsive, ghastly, excremental, putrefaction, putrid, diseased. (one can add to the list, construct monsters and reactions from it.)

5.        There are four types of monsters: fusion, fission, magnification, and multiplication. 

Carroll frequently uses the word interstices when describing monsters, and I would argue that it aptly defines the genre itself. Horror is, in many ways, about the in-between—the undefined, liminal spaces that unsettle the equilibrium of characters and, in turn, the audience. Carroll doesn’t state it explicitly but I will: horror is an extreme genre; it promises to evoke strong, extreme reactions from its readers and viewers and the practitioner of the genre must understand this and develop the muscle and the craft to evoke this. The genre invites us to confront malevolent forces that are grotesque and abnormal. That is its enduring appeal. 

But why do readers and viewers accept this invitation? That’s the question Carroll explores in the next two chapters, including The Plotting of Horror, which I will cover in Part 2 of this essay.