I recently finished the third novel in my (dark) comedy series consisting of The Substitute, Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana! and The Training Bra. I have been through a few self-editing passes on The Training Bra—and received one disturbing comment from a female beta reader—but I have not sent the book to a publisher as yet. The disturbing comment troubles me, and I wish to pursue it in this blog. I need some opinions on the following question: if a novel is based in hell, can a writer go too far in describing the despicable conditions encountered there?
First a little background. All three novels are chock full of comedy/parody and they have no relationship to anything or anyone real. Heaven and hell, as presented in the books, are figments of my imagination and nothing else. The three books follow the lives and deaths of one main character, Miss Havana, through her spiritual growth from being absolutely evil to being somewhat tolerable. She makes lots of mistakes, but generally pulls out a redeeming quality when she needs one. The characters that surround my heroine are primarily the devil, Lucifer, the daughter of the devil and Miss Havana, Lilith, and a couple of brute-like shadow creatures named Waldo and Croco. Many less important characters populate the stories, but those just mentioned are the main ones.
Although comically presented, hell is described in the series as being a pretty nasty place. There is a long waiting line to get in that is only three-feet high where people wait in stooped position for eternity. Broken hot glass lines the walls and sulfur fumes choke the air. So does the smell of the person next in line. Croco manages the waiting line with an iron fist, branding anyone who dares violate his arbitrary rules with “line jumper”, “strike one” and other short messages.
Waldo’s job is less well defined because, as you might imagine, he’s hard to find. He shows up when Lucifer needs him, but stays hidden most of the time.
The other three characters can be ordered on a scale of evilness: Lilith (most evil), Lucifer (so-so evil) and Miss Havana (least evil). In the novels, the three characters jockey for power, fighting each other to determine which one will control the underworld. As the characters vie for prominence, they do despicable things to each other: electrocution, murder, hot coals over the head, mustard packs under the toilet seat bumpers … that sort of thing. And this is where the burning question comes in: how much is too much? After having his throne ripped away by his daughter, how much retribution can the devil heap on his daughter’s head before a (real) reader is offended?
My thinking is this: hell isn’t a nice place, so dirty tricks can be pretty seedy. The characters involved in the power struggle do a lot of scheming, plotting and bargaining, and the stakes are high—one slip and it could mean the end of existence for their soul (what little they have). Family means nothing—they all pretty much hate each other—there is no love lost between any of them. They are all users and abusers, but generally in a comical way.
Okay, here it is. At one point the devil cuts a deal with Waldo and Croco that could transfer control of Lilith to the two beasts for eternity, assuming Lilith can be unseated from the throne of power. She is the strong one; all the others are subservient to her, but everyone watches out for their own self-interested and no one can be trusted. Trying to gain a few important followers to overthrow his daughter, Lucifer “trades” his daughter (if she can be deposed) for the loyalty of the two shadow creatures. The word “rape” is never used, but it is clear that will happen if the two ever get their hands on her. The devil considers the deal a good one because Lilith has screwed him so often in the past and, besides, she has no soul to permanently scar. Furthermore, if the two are abusing Lilith, he won’t have to watch his back one hundred percent of the time.
This is where my beta reader got concerned. All the killing and maiming didn’t bother her (souls heal quickly in the books, so most of the time a supplicant can be returned to service, and further pain, rather quickly), but the thought of Lilith being violated by two monsters pushed her over the edge. Just for background, my beta reader is eighty-four-years-old and quite brilliant. I generally listen to her with rapt attention, but this time I’m not so sure. So I thought I’d ask those of you who might read this blog: can a writer go too far in describing the evil conditions in hell? Is bargaining with his daughter’s fate—literally promising sexual servitude—too despicable for Lucifer?
I would appreciate hearing from some of you, but you don’t have to answer the question in a vacuum. Below is the excerpt where it happens. At the time of the excerpt, Lucifer is haunting one of Shelly’s classmates, a boy named Dick, and Miss Havana is haunting Shelly. Lucifer does not know Miss Havana’s spirit exists within Shelly, or he’d kill Shelly outright, and Miss Havana doesn’t know Lucifer’s spirit inhabits Dick’s body, or she would kill Dick outright (like I said, no love lost between the main characters). The excerpt is from Lucifer’s point of view.
My thoughts of deep revenge are interrupted by the musings of my host. He is seated on a bench on campus ogling young girls who pass in review. The idiot actually believes he can see through clothing without my help. What a fool. Without me, all he will get is eye strain to add to his headache. This is my game, not his.
Shelly said she could see through clothing, too. I wonder if that was a lie, or if there really is something going on within her. If she can see past solid objects like she claimed, then she could have a spirit within her, like Dick has me, perhaps one Lilith sent to ensure I don’t sample the merchandise.
My mind is muddled on this point because I did not initiate the attempted sexual encounter with Shelly. No, she came on to Dick and kept fanning the flame. If Lilith ordered a spirit to spy on me from within Shelly’s mind, like she ordered me to observe Shelly from my Dick host, then what’s really going on? Surely a spirit from within Lilith’s camp would not attempt to offer me pleasure.
I find it equally hard to accept Shelly could be infected by a spirit from the other side because the other side would not have initiated anything like that. No, if there is a spirit in her, it must be one of ours. Either that, or Shelly is the first surface dweller to develop the ability to see through solids. Maybe that’s the real reason Lilith wants me to watch the kid; maybe Shelly really is different.
All I know for sure is that multiple personalities are running around in Shelly’s mind. Her accident could have caused that, or Lilith could be involved. As I contemplate the possibilities, deep in thought, I accidentally press the button on my collar while mindlessly rubbing the back of my neck with my hand. The 100,000-volt Tazer embedded in the collar immediately reminds me of my mistake. The smell of ozone follows the crackling sound of current surging over my skin, and … UNHOLY ALIANCE OF LILITH AND WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION! A burley shadow creature must have come through the side door, picked me up and savagely body slammed us both to the floor, over and over and over again.
I wake in the fetal position with dry tears irritating my eyes. My body is soaking wet, both nipples are on fire and my testicles are either missing or tucked up deep inside my body. My left arm is twisted under my body in an odd position and there is tingling in my legs. I hear unusual dog whining sounds in the distance, lots of them, like the restrained half-laugh of hyenas holding back because laughing of any ilk is forbidden in Lilith’s realm. Her dog things must be hovering in the blackness just out of range to avoid being slammed by my body flopping all over the slimy floor.
I take a deep breath, trying to see anything in the darkness. That’s when the dogs attack. Now those bastards are laughing! Their onslaught is vicious, and I hear Lilith’s stern voice mock amid the high-pitched whine of the dogs gagging on flesh ripped from my arms and legs, “You’ve picked a bad location for a vacation, Father. You had better have a damned good reason for being here, besides stupidity.”
I shake my head as the dogs fall back and my eyes adjust to the dim orange glow of molten sulfur and flickering torchlight. Lilith glares down at me, waiting for my reply. I hear distant whispering from the gallery, “Hen pecked, hell, he’s buzzard fodder.”
I stand with great effort; my knees are weak. Regaining as much dignity as possible under the circumstance, I brush off some of the mess the dogs deposited on me and respond, “This shock thing sucks—did you really need a new pan to burn things in?”
Her glare deepens. “Don’t make me smite you, Father. You know the rules. All trespassers will be maimed; survivors will wish they were dead.”
What a haughty bitch. I look at her with disgust, realizing full well the old saw, “childbirth is not for the meek, but it does seem to be for the stupid,” applies to both males and females equally. I glare back with all the hatred I feel at that moment, which is considerable, and my body lurches forward on automatic pilot.
Before I can reach out to grab her by the neck, a huge canine creature bites down on my shoulder, stopping me dead in my tracks. With a smirk that seems to further disfigure her face, Lilith mocks, “Tut, tut, Father, don’t do something permanently stupid because you are temporarily upset. Maiming you isn’t the last thing on my list, but it is on my list.” She motions to her dog to release me, and jams her index finger toward the slimy cavern floor. “Subservience is a virtue. Learn it well.”
I don’t have an opportunity to protest. Croco’s huge fist smashes against the back of my neck, and I wither in screams of pain as the shock collar administers another of Lilith’s gifts. The demons and shadow creatures in the gallery hoot and jeer while throwing feces and vomit to demonstrate their delighted approval. In all eternity, I never considered my afterlife could suck this much.
Still jerking with violent spastic muscle ticks, Croco hauls me off to his waiting line. Talk about irony. I helped the oaf set up that tunnel of horror an eternity ago, but I never thought I’d be hauled to the woodshed there myself. Croco slams me against the fire-hot broken glass that lines the wall and growls, “When you stop twitching and can show proper respect, she will see you.”
The brute turns to leave, but I stop him with an observation. “Croco, my old friend, I couldn’t help but notice the huge bulge in your pants that crops up on its own when you’re near the Princess. Was her delightful body, perhaps, a gift to you from my ex-mate while I trained Lilith on the surface?”
He pivots into a war-like crouch and his beady eyes seem to recess even farther back into his sloped skull. “There are worse things than death, my former tormenter.”
I smile and begin with a bit of useless conversation before re-engaging with meat. “Lilith has also alluded to that. I wonder what it could be. I’ve been thinking, old friend, about the time you saved Miss Havana from certain death. I would have killed her without your intervention. Why, Croco? Why did you intervene on her behalf?”
The brute glares and drools but remains silent. I interrupt his lack of discourse, lying like I already know the answer. “There is only one reason, old friend, and I have confirmed it with Miss Havana. You had Lilith. Her body was your sex toy while I trained her spirit on the surface. I can also see in Lilith’s reaction to you that she doesn’t know about the arrangement between you and my ex. Imagine Lilith’s fury when I mention that arrangement to her. Imagine that. The halls of hell will shake to the ground, and you, old friend, will be at the bottom of that particular heap of rubble.”
Of course, Miss Havana never shared anything with me. However, in the eternity I ruled the underworld, I grew proficient at reading the slightest nuance of body language that reveals the truth behind the torrent of lies my victims spewed. I watch Croco now as he considers what I might or might not know. A huge fart gives him away. I have touched a nerve; his bowels must be in turmoil. My incredible powers of observation have again served me well. Before I can pat myself on the back, Croco turns to lumber down the corridor, leaving me with only two last words, “Fuck you!”
Okay, that’s not acceptable at all, and I call out, “Croco, my dear friend, Lilith will call for me soon. Are you entirely certain you want our little secret exposed?”
Croco stops with a halting jerk, and then slowly turns as his eyes flash red from his deeply recessed sockets. “If you are issuing a challenge, Lucifer, remember where you stoop. This is my waiting line; it is no longer yours. I can do what I want here … to whoever I want.”
I believe the walls of the narrow passageway vibrate under the footfalls of the giant as he marches within inches of my face, never taking his threatening glare from my eyes. I ignore his stinky bad breath and smile. “Now Croco, let’s not get too excited. There could be a huge benefit in this for you if you take a moment to consider your options.”
His throat rumbles with anger, but he doesn’t attack. “Go on.”
“You see, dear friend, I have a plan … a way to restore things to the way they were in the good old days. Remember when we tormented souls together? Don’t you sometimes miss those times of anguish? Now you are relegated to this long and narrow little passageway and never get to come out to play with Waldo and me. How very sad, so very sad indeed.”
His glare softens a tiny bit. He does remember some of the good times, when he and Waldo ripped the arms and legs off supplicants who came before me. The gallery especially enjoyed those little tug-o-war games he and Waldo played. “Wouldn’t it be fun, my friend, to re-live those good times, and I could throw in a special bonus for you. How about I give you Lilith to do whatever you want with, say every other day? Wouldn’t that be fun? Think back, old friend, think back to the way it was while I trained her spirit on the surface … when Miss Havana offered you her body for your loyalty. Lilith is still suspicious of that, you know. She still doesn’t understand why she had such a terrible yeast infection when she returned from the surface.”
Of course, I strongly suspect Lilith didn’t have a real yeast infection. That was just a lie Miss Havana told Lilith, and it worked to a limited degree. At least Lilith didn’t kill Miss Havana outright when she had the opportunity. If Lilith knew for sure what happened, I suspect things might have been different. In fact, perhaps I can work that to my advantage. I wink and pat Croco on the forearm. “We both know it wasn’t yeast at all, don’t we dear friend, you nasty oversized bull?”
The longer Croco remains silent, the more convinced I am that I have guessed right. No wonder my faithful servant betrayed me when I returned from training Lilith. Miss Havana bribed him with Lilith’s body. The brute is still a lecher, and he knows he will never again have the opportunity to violate Lilith without my help.
Yes, yes, I know. Some might think it a tad shady of me to offer my beautiful daughter up in such a brazen swap for loyalty, even if the loyalty is only temporary, but hey, it’s not like violating her will permanently scar her soul or anything like that. That would require her to have a soul and, let’s face it, she doesn’t. I see a bead of drool slip from the edge of Croco’s mouth. He’s thinking my proposal over. He knows Lilith mistreats me constantly, so he’s not suspicious of my motives. In a few moments he grunts, “What’s your plan?”
Of course, I don’t really have one, so I offer, “All in good time, Croco, all in good time. For now, old friend, bide your time. Let the creatures of the cavern and all others below know I will soon return. Let them know … and let them fear. But if a single creature should breathe even the slightest hint of my impending return to Lilith, I will rain pain down on it the likes of which it cannot imagine. Let all creatures know—be watchful—the time of my arrival will be crystal clear to them.
“Tell them I will send ahead a sign of evil they cannot misunderstand, a sign for all to see, a harbinger of my imminent arrival. And when I take the Throne of Judgment that is rightfully mine, any of my creatures that do not support my return to glory will suffer a fate far worth than spiritual death … far worse than eternal pain. Tell them, when I sit upon the Throne of Judgment once again, that their loyalty will be tested individually. If I detect even the slightest hint of wavering or disloyalty, I will entertain the gallery with the sound of their crushing bones and the wailing torment of their souls.”
Croco bares his broken teeth in what could be interpreted as a smile. “Sometimes I do miss … the old days, but why every other day? Why wouldn’t I have her every day?”
I grin internally; he’s hooked. I pat him on his huge forearm again. “My dear Croco, we can’t be too greedy. After all, Waldo will want a piece of her as well, now won’t he? The important thing is that you will be first.”
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