Dark Rainbow: Queer Erotic Horror - a terrifying turn-on

REVIEW by Drew Rowsome

A Venn diagram with the components "horror," "erotica," and "queer," would consist of closed curves that overlapped in multiple places. All three elicit a physical (and frequently similar) reaction, and all three deal with the concept of being an outsider, a monster, not of the norm. Dark Rainbow: Queer Erotic Horror presents 15 short stories that explore that wonderful place where what scares you, what makes you hard and/or wet, and what exists beyond boring heteronormative hegemony, co-exist.

Editor Andrew Robertson (A Tribute Anthology to Deadworld, Group Hex Vol 2, Group Hex Vol 1) contributes an introduction where he describes his personal journey into an appreciation for the darker erotic arts. He emphasizes that "that many queer people have a special place in their heart for all the freaks and weirdos that populate the screen during a midnight madness screening" because of identification, but he also notes that queer erotic horror walks "the line between sex and violence, lust and love, queer and straight, horror and delight were often blurred. At times, they became the same thing, and that is as uncomfortable as it is attractive."

The stories within Dark Rainbow: Queer Erotic Horror live up to his introduction. But they also contain two other elements that also emphasizes their appeal. Horror, eroticism, and queer, all revolve around exploration of the unknown. Of risking emotions, of surrendering to something more powerful than societal norms, of breaking taboos. Entering a dark room or a sexual encounter contain a potent mixture of defining the self, acknowledging fear and anticipation, and being aware of one's own mortality. Dark Rainbow contains many stories where the discovery of the ecstasy of same-sex pleasure is discovered with irresistible strangers who are also potentially dangerous. That is a thrill that most queers know well. And it is very hot.

The second element is humour in its highest form, gay camp. Most horror is built on tropes that we are all familiar with. Familiarity breeds contempt and that becomes problematic if a bit of wit is not applied to vary the templates and to accentuate the horror. A good jump scare makes one scream and then laugh, but it also softens one for the next thrust of horror. The first tale in Dark Rainbow, "Pip and Estella" by Valerie Alexander, riffs on Arsenic and Old Lace, Grey Gardens, Tennessee Williams and adds an exceptionally hot lesbian seduction scene. Subverting the southern gothic in a delightful but far from comic way.

Unexpectedly, I found the lesbian sex scenes the most arousing. Jim Town's "Life Model" and Lisi Damette's "The Dark Gem" both have scorching sapphic action fingering the feminist flavoured horror. Perhaps it was the novelty - I was forced to confront my literary bias where I have mostly read lesbian fiction out of duty or solidarity - or more likely it is that the writing is just that vivid and well done. Not that man on man action is ignored or less groin grabbing, Derek Clendening's "Odd Man Out" is a triple à trois threat, and Benjamin Johnson's "Monday" is so hot that even knowing where the plot is going, one can't resist continuing to read.

Mixing BDSM with horror is a Barker-esque trope, but Sephera Giron's "His Type" is Church Street satirical before becoming sickly sadistic. Leigh McCoy's "The Christ of St. Jozef Church Angel" adds religious fervour to a sweet romance before revelling in masochism, while Harry F Rey's "The Grave of Lilith" harkens back to older gods. In all three, romantic endeavours turn to transformative horror and ecstasy, before HP Medina goes full on Lovecraftian wet dream with "The God of Small Favours." 

Transformation, often a horror metaphor for the coming out experience, is made explicit and thought provoking in the two trans tales, "Think of Me" by Lindsay King-Miller and "Broken Lines of Salt and Flesh" by Robert E Furey. The shower scene in "Broken Lines of Salt and Flesh" is extraordinary as it moves sensually and scarily across not only genders and sexualities but also into the steamy and disturbing unknown. Kimberly Gondrella rocks unrequited love between men in "The God Modulation" and Jeff C Stevenson's "Eye Contact" is gay revenge of the supernatural sort. 

Robertson's penchant for zombie drag queens pays off in Julianne Snow's "Goldilocks and her Undead Bear" which also has the best punchline of any short story in recent memory. The majority of the narratives collected in Dark Rainbow adhere to horror short story format of a twist ending or shocking jolt, some without complete success. But there is much comfort in the reliance on a formula we are familiar with, and the queer factor (and the abundance of salacious sex) keep one turning the pages, relishing the subversion made flesh.

So often when reading a horror novel or watching a horror film, one is aware of the gay or queer subtext. Dark Rainbow takes the subtext and forefronts it but without letting the horror go limp. One, alas, can't expect terror or top-notch prose to be sustained across 15 stories, but one will be euphorically pleased to find there isn't a dud to be found. To be terrified and turned-on simultaneously is a quintessential part of the queer experience, it's exquisite pain to have it documented.