Dark Narratives: June Issue
A history of freak shows, plus some deadlines you don't want to miss
In this week’s issue:
Reminders for a few important publishing deadlines and opportunities
Some new release news
How the freak show has developed over time (and is alive and well in the digital age)
Important reminder that Tor Nightfire is open to unagented submissions for horror novels and novellas between June 15 and June 22, so get those manuscripts polished and submitted!
Pre-Orders for Transmuted, a trans body horror novella from Eve Harms, are live now! The book drops July 15, so reserve your copy today: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0943BXBG1/
Speaking of trans body horror, the cover reveal for Gretchen Felker-Martin’s Manhunt is here and it is baller. Go see for yourself:
The Clarion West Write-A-Thon kicks of June 20. This six week FREE workshop includes sprints, classes, summer readings and whatnot. This is a really great opportunity for authors of all experience levels and interests so don’t sleep on it!
Dating back to the Stone Age, people with physical deformities captured the interest and imagination of others; dubbed "monsters" and given prophetic significance (why else would the gods have shaped them so strangely?) these individuals came to be simultaneously coveted, dehumanized, and commoditized.
By the Enlightenment period, though, the religious and spiritual significance of these "freaks" had begun to fall away, but the morbid curiosity about them did not. In this more scientifically minded age, the "freak show" began to form as a sort of living museum, a way for people to catch a glimpse at something unusual and grotesque. Although the trappings had changed since the days when dwarfs were kept in royal courts as jesters, the general themes of commoditization, fascination and dehumanization persisted.
Of course, the best-known era of the freak show was the nineteenth century, when all manner of human oddities were put on parade by P.T. Barnum and his imitators. Barnum, famously, had no qualms about mixing fact and fiction in his displays; he knew that the secret to success was being entertaining above all, and a bit of dishonesty sometimes helped that along. Individuals with diseases and deformities were given fictitious backstories; curiosities were fabricated whole-cloth with tricks of taxidermy. Barnum embraced wholeheartedly what centuries of human history had already proven: people are fascinated by what they don't know or don't understand, and will pay good money to see it if it comes with a compelling story and the right kind of safe viewing conditions.
The circus in general and freak shows in particular began to lose their potency throughout the first half of the 20th century. Part of this of course can be attributed to a growing understanding of science and medicine, which stripped the mysticism from disease and deformity to make freaks objects of pity rather than fascination. But the other issue might be attributed to the rise of film and, later, television. The "talkies" replaced live vaudeville shows and circus acts, bringing spectacle into theaters and eventually living rooms. By the time Tod Browning directed the classic horror film Freaks in 1932, the performers were already part of a dying breed; within a generation, that type of entertainment had all but disappeared from public consciousness.
Or had it?
The trappings of the programming may have changed, but the human desire to catch a glimpse of the strange, forbidden, bizarre or salacious has remained consistent throughout history. Consider the Mondo films of the 1960s and 70s -- a beloved staple of the exploitation genre, movies like Mondo Cane provided a window into the seemingly exotic and bizarre world of other cultures. Though these documentaries sometimes claimed to be capturing reality, they were usually staged and frequently cut together to show only the most shocking footage of sex, death, violence and other taboos. In 1978, Faces of Death took the genre one step further by cutting together footage of "real" deaths (although many were dramatic reenactments), much to the fascination of morbidly curious youngsters at the video store.
Even more reputable, "trustworthy" documentarians would frequently employ shady techniques to push narratives that were more entertaining (and dramatic) than true -- the most famous and egregious example of which, perhaps, is Walt Disney's "White Wilderness," in which a few dozen lemmings were forced of a cliff for the camera to replicate their supposed suicidal habits (which, it turns out, aren't real anyway).
The modern freak show really began to enjoy its renaissance in early 2000s cable television.
The Rise of Reality TV
TLC, originally The Learning Channel, got its start in 1972 as a community broadcast network funded in part by NASA. Throughout the 1980s and early 90s, the network mostly featured educational documentaries. But by the late 90s, waning viewership meant a change in direction, and TLC moved away from educational programming to its "Life Unscripted" tagline -- reality TV created for mass appeal.
This shift matches programming changes that occurred on other niche educational channels around the same time. History Channel, Disovery, Animal Planet and even Food Network shifted away from providing educational programming and toward making the significantly cheaper-to-produce, easily consumable reality shows that continue to dominate cable TV. Flipping through these channels provides an experience quite similar to the old circus sideshow, portraying the lives of human oddities -- those with strange addictions, unusual lifestyles and so forth. And, just like the Mondo documentaries and P.T. Barnum's curiosities, these shows are made with an eye toward drama; they may claim to be "reality" television, but at their heart they're carefully edited and sometimes even scripted in order to push more extreme narratives for the purpose of entertainment.
That the rise of reality television happens to coincide with a generalized rise in anti-intellectualism is hardly surprising, although there's a bit of a chicken-and-egg situation going on. Did these shows become popular because the masses prefer to gawk at other people's lives? Yes. Have two decades of this programming further eroded culture? Probably also yes. America did elect a reality TV star as president, after all.
But despite my personal disdain for the reality TV genre, I have to admit that the situation is more complicated than a cursory glance may suggest -- and to understand why, it helps to go back in history once more to take a second look at those 19th century freak shows.
Exploitation and Empowerment — Two Sides of a Coin?
The treatment of people with disabilities, disfigurements, and "unusual" qualities (often racially determined) throughout history has frequently been abusive, exploitative and cruel. I don't think anyone would rationally argue that being paraded around as a freak or used as a dehumanized object by a royal court is a good thing. And P.T. Barnum certainly was no saint -- he was well-known for mistreating his performers, sometimes to a horrifying extent.
All the same, there were some advantages to being a side show performer in a time when finding work as a disabled or disfigured person was a challenge. Circus performers had their own incomes and built-in social circle. They had lovers and families. Some of them actually became quite financially successful and were able to maintain some measure of control over their own lives and bodily autonomy thanks to their fame and the success of their acts. In an ironic but true sense, the freak show lifestyle was simultaneously exploitative and empowering.
The same could be said for our modern day "freaks."
Being a reality TV star can be a lucrative business. The Roloffs, a family with several members exhibiting dwarfism featured in TLC's "Little People, Big World," reportedly earn $10,000 per episode, per person. With over 350 episodes on air, that is a significant amount of cash in exchange for having the world watch your family go about its day-to-day life (albeit with the occasional melodrama added for spice).
Then again, other shows aren't so generous. TLC's "My Strange Addiction," which showcases individuals with bizarre habits, reportedly doesn't even compensate its participants -- which begs the question of why anyone would willingly submit to the kind of public humiliation that could come from being on this show.
To answer that question, it may help to remember that social media exists.
Human Loneliness and Curiosity
Millions of people willingly broadcast their lives across Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, even YouTube. A small percentage of these end up finding fame and fortune thanks to these efforts. Influencers, vloggers, live-streamers and others have cultivated a paying niche for themselves in the business of creating a personal brand and promoting that brand to curious onlookers in exchange for advertising revenue and endorsement deals.
To be sure, some YouTubers and other online personalities are creating content meant to educate and inform. But many others make a living simply by living their lives in a public way -- a market that would not exist if not for that persistent human curiosity that drives people to gawk at freaks or snoop through the dating lives of strangers.
If there's one thing that becomes clear from a study of human history, it's that humans are deeply social, intensely curious, and frequently unbearably lonely. Catching a glimpse behind the curtains of another person's life is tantalizing, especially if that life is quite different to your own. And with a little splash of that Barnum showmanship -- editing and scripting your life to push a tasty narrative -- all the better.
In a very real sense, the modern vlogger has much in common with the 19th century circus performer. Many internet personalities are people trying to find a niche in which to be themselves and gain financial freedom outside of traditional work, whether by desire or through the necessity of circumstance. The influencer sphere is undeniably exploitative -- the platforms lure users with the possibility of fame and fortune, and profit even if the user never reaches any level of personal success -- but it's exploitation that some find worth submitting to in hopes of a better life.
And I certainly can’t fault anyone for that. Can you?
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