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Supernatural fiction contains its own generic borderland: a neutral territory, which Tzvetan Todorov calls 'the fantastic,' between 'the marvelous' and 'the uncanny.' According to Todorov, 'The fantastic is that hesitation experienced by a person who knows only the laws of nature, confronting an apparently supernatural event.' Once the event is satisfactorily explained (and sometimes it is never explained), we have left the fantastic for an adjacent genre - either 'the uncanny,' where the apparently supernatural is revealed as illusory, or 'the marvelous,' where the laws of ordinary reality must be revised to incorporate the supernatural. As long as uncertainty reigns, however, we are in the ambiguous realm of the fantastic. ↗
When she thinks of the toxins built up inside of her from so many years of eating carelessly, of the resentment that has grown steadily over fifteen years of marriage, of the stretch marks and the varicose veins that came from two pregnancies, only one of them fulfilled, she thinks the inside of her body must tell a story like a tree. Were she to break open a bone, perhaps it would look like the inside of a coffee mug - riddled with lines, stained with brown blotches. ↗
Near below peak of mount Merbabu in Java, there is a forest known as the devil market. I had been there once. And when you are there, you will sense the crowd, voices of nothingness. Your mind will say it is just accustics effect of the nature, but your heart will tell you something totally different. ↗
I don't need to be babied. I've taken care of myself for a long time." "You need all the babying you can get, angel. And something's bothering you. Are you going to tell me what's going on?" "Go to hell." She slammed down the phone. She tightened her chin and her resolve. "I didn't expect to see you so soon." "I was told to go to hell. My connecting flight was delayed so I thought I'd drop in. ↗
There'll be the lightning bugs with their Morse code display, And shooting stars and constellations to befriend; The dragonflies will keep us from going astray, As we search for new adventures 'round every bend. -excerpted from the poem 'The Huge Playroom that is Nature' in the book FROM GUAM TO CROWN CITY CORONADO (THANKS TO HERMANN, MISSOURI): A JOURNEY IN POESY ↗
