Queer Little Nightmares: An Anthology of Monstrous Fiction and Poetry for the queer monster in all of us

12 Oct 2022.

by Drew Rowsome -

At some point in every queer person's life, they will be told that queers are monsters. Things to be feared and loathed. But hopefully, there is also a point in every queer person's life where they embrace and reject that label. This blog is full of examples of the intersection of queer and horror, it is not only my favourite subsection of the genre, but I would go as far as to say that the vast majority of horror literature and film has at least a queer subtext. It is delightful when that subtext becomes a surtext. The editors of Queer Little Nightmares:An Anthology of Monstrous Fiction and Poetry, David Ly and Daniel Zomparelli, have not only collected short stories and poems that revel in where queer meets horror, they explain their own personal connection and experiences in the introduction. There are innumerable essays and documentaries on the collusion between queer and horror, most of them fascinating, to be found in the world, but what matters in this case is what is between, or under, the covers of Queer Little Nightmares.

There are 32 contributions to this anthology and the quality will vary according to one's personal taste. The key word in the title is "monstrous." Not all selections are horror, they might just involve horror icons (we queers do love our celebrities), or they are a meditation on the concept of queer horror. Queer Little Nightmares may not induce nightmares, but it will keep you awake considering your own place in the world and relationship to that glorious monstrous part of yourself. Ly turns body horror and self discovery into romantic tentacle porn in "The Call." Zomparelli's "Like Me," is a hilariously gory takedown of social influencers and gay envy. Both critique the monsters within gay men and the societal pressures that create them, without ever losing sight of making the story compelling and filled with dread.

My personal tastes gravitated towards a few particular selections, though I eagerly read and enjoyed all. Amber Dawn's "Wooly Bully" is a lesbian werewolf coming of age tale. That might be a spoiler but most will have figured it out a few pages in (a common problem with considerable horror literature. That and endings that disappoint, even Stephen King is guilty). That does not in any way diminish the joy of getting to the climax and reveal. Dawn occasionally slips into poetry to express innermost or fragmented emotional states. It is an effective device. Many of the other contributions stick to poetry with varying results. It is here that, despite Poe as a forefather, I had to confront my bias against poetry as a vehicle for horror. Against leaning on narrative as a way into an emotional state. 

Fortunately most of the poetry demanded that I not skim. Matthew Stepanic's "Ghost'd" throbs with eroticism, with a final delicious line that is haunting and accurate. Anton Poole's "Creature Not of This Lagoon" and Saskia Nislow's "Invert" evoke all those times in darkened theatre where we lusted after that we were supposed to fear. Steven Cordova's "An Invisible Man is Humping a Vampire" is shaggy dog story with a concealed razor blade waiting to be bitten. Jane Shi's "Hideous Creatures" digs deeper into the angst and eroticism of the Frankenstein monster. Justin Ducharme's "75" puts the concept of monster in the closet into the pragmatic mind of a hustler. Avra Margariti's "Cryptid Cruising" is an ode to the erotic nervous tension of cruising with a kaiju twist.

Unsurprisingly, a trans narrative story expresses the thesis most clearly and achingly. Andrew Wilmot's "Glamour-Us" is more sci-fi than horror but the central longing is horrifically explicit and heartbreaking. Body horror crops up creepily in Hiromi Goto's "And the Moon Spun Round Like a Top" and it is so delectably disgusting that it didn't bother me that the queer connection is tenuous. Levi Cain's "Gruesome My Love" is a comedic riff on lesbian Stockholm syndrome and the het gaze. Ben Rawluk's "The Minotaur and Theseus (And Other Bullshit)" elevates every gay party full of competition and back-biting into Greek myth. Eddy Boudel Tan's "Strange Case" is a contemporary take on dating apps, racism and self-delusion, grounded in realism instead of the supernatural. And is gorily tragic. My love of sideshows and carnivals made "Nature's Mistake" by David Demchuk (Red X, The Bone Mother) a favourite, but the evocative ambiguity of the seductive quality and monstrosity of gay sex vs monogamy left me disturbed in the very best way. 

Matthew J Traffford's "In Our Own Image" stresses the agony of conforming to heterosexual norms, and Cicely Belie Blain's "Ghosts of Pride Past" takes a nasty swipe at the strictures of the closet. That is only a taste of about half of what Queer Little Nightmares has to offer. While I enjoyed each and every selection, it is the cumulative effect that it is affecting. It becomes impossible not to query one's attraction to horror, to the potent metaphor of change and what it means to be a monster in society's eyes. The intense similarity between the experiences of all the letters of the LGBTQ alphabet and one's identification within it. The Queer Little Nightmares are also dreams, erotic and aspirational, unabashedly deliciously queer.