Out There Screaming presents a multifaceted and inclusive approach to horror
“…he who has been treated as the devil recognizes the devil when they meet.”
—James Baldwin
In his book-length essay, “The Devil Finds Work,” James Baldwin explains why he finds the horror presented in William Friedkin’s The Exorcist so underwhelming. He felt that the banality and social disconnection of the religious terror from the truths and atrocities of everyday American life—not just for white upper middle-class families, but for Black people, white children, everyone encompassed by the American experience—was both the film’s chief failure and its most terrifying feature. Like Baldwin, I believe that horror often elides or ignores the very real day-to-day struggles, terrors, and crimes that exist in the real world, but I don’t believe that horror—or any other speculative genre—owes any obligation to anything beyond entertainment. That said, I am less interested in escapist horror completely divided from real life. For me, even dark fantasy and supernatural horror are most effective when the witches, revenants, and things that go bump are metaphors for aspects and experiences of the Human Condition.
It shouldn’t be controversial to acknowledge that horror is an essential element of the Black experience. Loss of control of one’s body through incarceration, forced labor, police brutality, loss of humanity through stereotyping and willful misunderstanding, or the enacting of governmental policies, judicial disenfranchisement, daily micro- and macroaggressions create a background radiation of fear and trauma that pervade daily life and set Black people apart from non-Black friends, neighbors, and colleagues. Filmmaker Jordan Peele’s body of work transmutes these familiar experiences into symbols and tropes that can be understood and enjoyed by wider audiences—but it was not so long ago that the prevailing wisdom was that only Black readers are interested in Black stories. The recent anthology, Out There Screaming: An Anthology of New Black Horror, co-edited by Jordan Peele and John Joseph Adams flamboyantly reveals this assertion for the nonsense it’s always been.
Anthologies are by nature a mixed bag, but this one’s editors position that basic quality of unevenness as a strength. These stories are actually scary—some more than others, but even those that I enjoyed less than others offer flashes of terror. The authors included in this volume take disparate approaches to horror, from Nnedi Okorafor’s fusion of technology and the isolation of grief in “Dark Home,” to P. Djèlí Clark’s exploration of addiction and the way it distorts family attachments and dynamics in “Hide and Seek,” to Rion Amilcar Scott’s lyrical depiction of jealousy, survivor’s guilt, and the allure of suicide in “A Grief of the Dead.” These stories are not the only standouts, either. Tales by Cadwell Turnbull, N. K. Jemisin, Lesley Nneka Arimah, L. D. Lewis, and Chesya Burke are all exquisitely rendered and deeply affecting.
I heard Nalo Hopkinson read from “The Most Strongest Obeah Woman of the World” at last year’s International Conference for the Fantastic in the Arts, and while I did not consciously remember how badly I wanted to know how the tale continued, I remembered by the time I read its third sentence. It’s a relatively minor complaint, but I do wish that more of the stories in Out There Screaming hailed from other parts of the diaspora. “Dark Home” and “Obeah Woman” are the only two that spend time in non-American locales—and the element of the immigrant experience showcased in “Dark Home” is as American as they come.
As a Black SF/F author, one of the most frustrating things about working in the field has been the pressure to uphold and reinforce limited, and at times just-plain-wrong understandings of Blackness, its potency, and how it functions in a life of the mind and imagination. As more and more Black authors have made their way into the field, the growing multiplicity of perspectives, approaches to meaning, and varied experiences has resulted in a flowering of possibility. Out There Screaming is, in many ways, a nod to its progenitors—Sheree Renee Thomas’s Dark Matter anthologies, Octavia’s Brood, The Dominion Anthology of Speculative Fiction from Africa and the African Diaspora, and John Joseph Adams’s own string of stellar themed anthologies like Dead Man’s Hand, Armored, and the Apocalypse Triptych—but it also breaks new ground, mixing fantastic contributions by veteran horror writers with excellent work by newer authors. I have several favorite stories, and “Dark Home” is one of these. In it, an orphaned adult Nigerian American woman maintains an unhealthy attachment to the memory—and a possession—of her dead father. The atmosphere and execution of the story are smooth, assured, and partly because of my own experiences with grief and loss—utterly affecting. Cadwell Turnbull’s “Wandering Devil” is another because it mines the personality of its protagonist and his base instincts for its horror. Tananarive Due’s “The Rider” combines the historical moment of the Black Civil Rights movement of the sixties with an action-packed, edge-of-your-seat plot.
When I experience anthologies like this, it can be difficult to call out one story that I enjoyed above all the rest, but Out There Screaming makes it easy. I loved all the stories, but none so much as Tochi Onyebuchi’s “Origin Story.” Presented in the form of a short play, Onyebuchi’s entry explores the nature of villainy, racial animus, and the cultural shift to include more stories that decenter white protagonists. Not only did I read the anthology for this review, I listened to the audiobook, and this story alone makes both formats worth delving into for readers with even a passing interest in horror.
I’ve been a fan of Horror and creepy stories since I was a small child watching movies and reading books for which I was far too young. In many ways, childhood is an era of darkness and vulnerability when lack of experience and lack of exposure magnify the dangers and possibilities of the world. Racism—both structural and personal, police brutality, and mass incarceration—were among the terrors my parents and guardians had to explain as they tried to prepare me for the world. I’m a big fan of supernatural horror—I love The Exorcist, though I must allow that Baldwin was completely correct in his assessment, Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween, and many of their progeny—but Black Horror does something special for me. It touches on fears and threat scenarios that lie in the darkest parts of my own heart. The recent mainstream expansion and success of Black Horror that has brought us Slay, Blackened Roots, The Black Girl Survives in This One, and Out There Screaming excites me as both an author and a fan.
© 2024 Alex Jennings
