Rei Shinozuka
asked
Ambrose Ibsen:
What do you think are the common elements of your work? Afterlife , Night Society, Transmission, Shadows, Beyond, Midnight are my favorite Ibsens. They are uniquely American, frequently set in the midwest, with great distances traversed through long drives through the night The typical cast of 2-4 characters are ordinary but decent folk, neither brilliant, wealthy nor glamorous, who stumble into horror.
Ambrose Ibsen
Thank you for your thoughtful question! To be frank, I think you've succeeded in narrowing down the most common elements of my work. It'll be hard to elaborate on this subject any further without sounding pretentious, but I'll give it a shot (haha).
I've always been enamored with the horror of the commonplace. I'm a native of the American Midwest. To outsiders, I think the region has a (not completely unwarranted) reputation for quietude and semi-staidness. There are many upsides to living in the Midwest, but its culture bears its share of bitter fruits, too. Loneliness and isolation. Silence and boredom have a way of amplifying paranoia. There's an adage in the literary world that one ought to "write what they know". I know the Midwest, and my perspective is that of a vaguely restless kid poking holes in the pastoral scenery in search of something exciting--something that'll rescue me from the sometimes cloying sleepiness of Ohio suburbs.
Long drives in the night figure into my writing often because, honestly, I rather enjoy them myself. I do a lot of thinking at night, especially behind the wheel. Rare is the night I go for a long drive and don't return home without having settled certain niggling questions or refreshed my perspective on weighty matters. A lengthy night drive represents, both literally and figuratively, the process by which one leaves the "ordinary" and seeks out the "extraordinary". Night has a transformative power. Darkness lends intrigue to even the most familiar places, and there's something compelling for me about barreling through it in search of answers. Then again, as a former third-shifter, it's possible I just permanently wrecked my circadian rhythms.
Horror works best when the reader can in some way relate to the horror. We all experience boredom at some point in our lives, and we relate more easily to every-men than we do to flawless characters. The thing about flawed protagonists is that, in a bustling city setting, they can often find temporary distractions from their flaws and inner troubles. What refuge is there for such an individual in the sleepy Midwest, though? There's nothing to do in Michigan except to face the monster, and Hoosiers must decide which are greater--the horrors within or the horrors without.
We live in an increasingly isolated age. Themes of loneliness wriggle their way into many of my books, regardless of setting, because I'm morbidly fascinated with the deleterious effects of loneliness on man's sanity. And finally, I have found it very pleasurable to write stories in which a "common" man accidentally stumbles into horror in a thoroughly "common" setting. It is precisely when we do not expect something horrifying--when we are perfectly convinced of a setting's reliable normalcy--that the shock is rudest and most effective. My stories fall very often into the mold of cautionary tales; characters often stumble into horror, and then can't help but interact with it, despite knowing better. I have been both celebrated and maligned for having very "dark" endings at times, but the truth remains that in life, as in fiction, searching too hard for that thrilling horror in the commonplace tends to backfire.
I could go on (and on!), but the short of it is that you nailed it in your question. Themes of quiet horror, nocturnalism and loneliness are among my favorite themes. My lived experience in the Midwest has informed my use of them.
I've always been enamored with the horror of the commonplace. I'm a native of the American Midwest. To outsiders, I think the region has a (not completely unwarranted) reputation for quietude and semi-staidness. There are many upsides to living in the Midwest, but its culture bears its share of bitter fruits, too. Loneliness and isolation. Silence and boredom have a way of amplifying paranoia. There's an adage in the literary world that one ought to "write what they know". I know the Midwest, and my perspective is that of a vaguely restless kid poking holes in the pastoral scenery in search of something exciting--something that'll rescue me from the sometimes cloying sleepiness of Ohio suburbs.
Long drives in the night figure into my writing often because, honestly, I rather enjoy them myself. I do a lot of thinking at night, especially behind the wheel. Rare is the night I go for a long drive and don't return home without having settled certain niggling questions or refreshed my perspective on weighty matters. A lengthy night drive represents, both literally and figuratively, the process by which one leaves the "ordinary" and seeks out the "extraordinary". Night has a transformative power. Darkness lends intrigue to even the most familiar places, and there's something compelling for me about barreling through it in search of answers. Then again, as a former third-shifter, it's possible I just permanently wrecked my circadian rhythms.
Horror works best when the reader can in some way relate to the horror. We all experience boredom at some point in our lives, and we relate more easily to every-men than we do to flawless characters. The thing about flawed protagonists is that, in a bustling city setting, they can often find temporary distractions from their flaws and inner troubles. What refuge is there for such an individual in the sleepy Midwest, though? There's nothing to do in Michigan except to face the monster, and Hoosiers must decide which are greater--the horrors within or the horrors without.
We live in an increasingly isolated age. Themes of loneliness wriggle their way into many of my books, regardless of setting, because I'm morbidly fascinated with the deleterious effects of loneliness on man's sanity. And finally, I have found it very pleasurable to write stories in which a "common" man accidentally stumbles into horror in a thoroughly "common" setting. It is precisely when we do not expect something horrifying--when we are perfectly convinced of a setting's reliable normalcy--that the shock is rudest and most effective. My stories fall very often into the mold of cautionary tales; characters often stumble into horror, and then can't help but interact with it, despite knowing better. I have been both celebrated and maligned for having very "dark" endings at times, but the truth remains that in life, as in fiction, searching too hard for that thrilling horror in the commonplace tends to backfire.
I could go on (and on!), but the short of it is that you nailed it in your question. Themes of quiet horror, nocturnalism and loneliness are among my favorite themes. My lived experience in the Midwest has informed my use of them.
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Shainlock
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My husband and I are reading/ listening simultaneously to the series beginning with The Sickhouse starting Harlan Ulrich and we have the detective one ‘waiting in the wings’ so this is awesome news! He is so curmudgeonly and it strikes me as hilarious! Right away he begins to develop. Is he actually written to be amusing or is that just how I’m taking it ?
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