A dear friend who is an American Sign Language interpreter recently shared with me a video of a virtual performance of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol that she helped interpret. I hadn’t read or seen a film version of A Christmas Carol in many years, and I’d forgotten what a touching and timeless story it is.
While A Christmas Carol, a novella written in 1843, was a story of its time, meant to promote understanding of and empathy for the industrial-age urban poor in England, its messages remain salient today. And, there are deeper meanings in its story.
Portrait of Charles Dickens, age 30, painted by Francis Alexander in 1842.
Layers of Meaning
In addition to its more obvious meaning as a story about compassion and charity, the story is also a powerful archetypal tale. It speaks to universal human needs for for meaning and community. What’s more, it illustrates the Jungian “hero’s journey”–Ebenezer Scrooge starts as a flawed, cold, and closed-off man who is transformed as he goes on an odyssey through his past, present, and future.
The Ghosts’ Lessons
The first of the three main motifs in the story, represented by the Spirit of the Past, is a Jungian battle between ignorance/repression (represented in the novella by fog, smog, dusk, and darkness) and awareness (represented by light from fires, candles, street lamps, and the ghost’s flaming crown). Scrooge must go through the pain of seeing his evolution from an innocent youth to a selfish and miserly adult. He begins to realize what he has lost in this process.
The Spirit of the Present brings the story’s second motif–want (represented in the novel by cold, ice, frost, and sleet) versus charity (represented by warmth, being well fed, and fine alcohol). The second spirit allows Scrooge to witness people coming together and bonding. Seeing this brings into the light his own loneliness and aloofness. As his journey continues, Scrooge must start facing his sins and their impact on others to become self-aware. The ghost also shows Scrooge two emaciated children called Ignorance and Want and warns him to avoid Ignorance at all costs.
The second spirit’s lessons help Scrooge bring his dark side further to the surface and begin to integrate his dark and light parts into a cohesive self. It is only after knowing himself that Scrooge would be able to more fully connect with others. The spirit also shows Scrooge Tiny Tim, a cheerful but ill child; this awakens some compassion in the miser. Tiny Tim represents youthful optimism and joy, love, and the promise of what life could be. Scrooge is saddened when the ghost tells him Tim will die.
When the third ghost, the Spirit of the Future, arrives, he is frightening and silent. He forces Scrooge to confront his mortality and the meaninglessness of his life–others don’t care that he dies, steal and sell his possessions, and have few kind words to say about him. The spirit also shows Scrooge that Tiny Tim has died, and people do mourn the loss of this pure little soul.
Scrooge learns that that for his life to have purpose, he must use the lessons learned through his odyssey: He must see all facets of himself and take responsibility for what he’s done to others, he must cultivate emotion and compassion for others, and he must use his wealth to help people. Scrooge has completed the hero’s journey and emerged as a new man.
Salient Lessons for Today
On the surface, we see the lessons Dickens intended for the capitalist upper classes of his time: Scrooge begins to run his business with mercy toward his debtors, give money to the needy, and treat his employees well. These are certainly messages that apply to our current world as well.
The deeper, and also timeless, lesson of Dickens’ tale is for us to live our lives seeking to really know and accept ourselves so that we can fully participate and contribute to the world around us. It is only by rejecting ignorance and denial that we can become integrated humans capable of empathy and connection.
My Wish for You
We’ve gone through a terrible journey of our own in 2020. My wish for anyone reading this post is for a peaceful holiday season and that 2021 brings good things for you, and for all of us. I also wish for you to be able to see and accept yourself as you are while striving to cultivate your higher self. Count your blessings, and share them.
Some of my friends have been getting together every Friday night for years to have a “listening party.” Each party has a theme (e.g., time, overthrow of the king, murder, gratitude), and all the participants come ready with ideas of songs, artists, or albums that fit (sometimes loosely) the theme. The host acts as DJ, giving each person a turn to suggest a song, which he plays.
In these days of COVID, the party is held through Zoom. It’s still a lot of fun. I wasn’t one of the old-timers of this party, just attending here and there, but lately I’ve been going each week. Zoom gives me a chance to participate when normally it would be hard to, since I’ve moved away from the town where most of these friends live. It’s a fun way to keep in touch, relax on a Friday evening, share music I like with friends, and hear different music.
In noticing the various genres that each friend likes, I was pondering why we tend to gravitate toward certain types of music. Like most things, there isn’t just one reason. It’s a fascinating topic: How does our individual psychology mesh with culture, society, and experience to shape our musical preferences?
How We Think Shapes Our Music Preferences A study of more than 4,000 participants led by Cambridge University psychologist David Greenberg and colleagues found a correlation between people’s thinking styles and musical preferences. The study divided the subjects into three categories: empathizers (Type E), who focus on people’s thoughts and emotions; systemizers (Type S), who focus on rules and systems; and balanced types (Type B), who focus equally on both areas. (What type do you think you are? I think I am Type B.)
In the study, Greenberg and colleagues reviewed the results of the interviews and found that Type E thinkers tended to like low-energy songs with emotional depth, including sad songs, and genres like soft rock and singer-songwriters. Type S thinkers tended to prefer more intense and structured music like heavy metal or avant-garde classical music. Type B personalities tended to display a broader range of preferences than either of the other types.
Photo by Mickel Emad.
Prior research suggests that listening to sad music can stimulate the pituitary gland to produce prolactin, which induces calmness and relaxation and is also related to empathy. This is probably more true for Type E people, who may have a larger than average hypothalamic region in the brain, the area governing the pituitary. Other studies show that listening to mellow music can stimulate the production of the hormone oxytocin, which promotes feelings of love, social bonding, well-being, and calm.
In Type S personalities, evidence suggests that the areas of the brain that regulate analytic thought (the cingulate and dorsal medial prefrontal areas) are larger. Type S people were shown to pay more attention to the structure and patterns of music, as well as instrumentation, rather than the emotions.
How Personality Type Factors In There is also research examining the link between personality types and music genre preferences. One study used the Five Factor Model of analyzing personality types (the qualities are conscientiousness, extroversion, openness, agreeableness, and neuroticism) to see if it fit with music choice. The study found that people who are more open to new experiences liked a wider variety of music, and tended to be drawn to classical music, blues, jazz, and folk music. People in this category tend to be emotional, imaginative, and artistically sensitive, as well as intellectually curious. Extraverts tended to like popular music. An earlier, similar, study also found that extroverts often are drawn to higher-energy and rhythmic music.
One Canadian study found that certain personality traits relate to musical taste in adolescents: Young people with lower self-esteem and a higher sense of alienation were more drawn to “heavy” music, and those who tended to focus on rule-following and have trouble being independent preferred “light” music. Adolescents who felt relatively secure and confident tended to have more eclectic musical preferences.
Additional Factors in Musical Preference Gender plays a role in why we like certain music. According to some research, female gender is associated with a more emotional response to music and a tendency to prefer pop. Male gender is correlated with liking exaggerated bass in music.
Age is an additional factor. Not surprisingly, young people are often more open to new music and more likely to listen to what’s contemporary, compared with older people, who often are drawn to music they liked when they were younger. Musical tastes also change over the lifespan.
History, Culture, and Experience Also Affect Music Taste We don’t exist in a vacuum. Our thinking and personality styles are in part shaped by genetics but also by environment. This includes our family, peers, and larger culture and community. For instance, psychology research shows that people are drawn to the familiar. Thus, some of our musical taste is shaped by what we hear as children and young adults.
A 2016 study published in Nature found that hundreds of years’ of learned behavior factor into why we prefer certain styles of music. This study looked specifically at music with consonant intervals (e.g., using octaves) versus that which is dissonant (e.g., using tritones). Consonant intervals generally sound brighter and feel more “resolved.” Dissonant intervals, on the other hand, tend to sound harsher and unfinished. People from Western cultures strongly prefer consonant music. The study found that people from non-Western cultures with no exposure to Western music equally enjoyed consonant and dissonant music. This research disproved the previously believed theory that preference for consonant music is biologically determined and universal. Thus, over time, our culture shapes what sounds pleasing and familiar to us.
We are also drawn to certain genres because of what it says to and about us; for example, we may listen to music from our racial or ethnic culture or the geographical region where we grew up. According to some studies, music preferences are also influenced by how an individual wants to be perceived–the music a person chooses is a form of self-expression and a reflection of conscious and unconscious identity traits. This was found to be more true for males than for people of other genders. Thus, we are drawn to music that represents something we relate to, such as intelligence (e.g., classical music, jazz), rebellion (e.g., heavy metal, countercultural folk music, punk), or a certain subculture (e.g., rockabilly, bluegrass, goth).
Images from James Mollison’s book The Disciples, a visual study of musical subcultures. Top: Missy Elliott fans. Middle: The Cure fans. Bottom: Sex Pistols fans. Artist website: https://www.jamesmollison.com/.
Music choice is also personal–we associate certain songs or bands with a memory or a person. For instance, maybe our first love was into a particular band. We may begin listening to that band as a way to get closer to our partner, but eventually, we grow to love the band–even after the relationship is over. Haven’t you ever heard a song start playing that reminds you of high school dances or your twenties or a favorite vacation and instantly start to feel good?
It’s fascinating to think about all of these factors. In the end, though, why we listen to what we listen to may not matter a whole lot. It’s the experience and richness of music that we care about, regardless of how we got there.
Still from Tiger King, the Netflix documentary series on Joe Exotic.
The Current State of Things with COVID-19
Wow, how things have changed since my last post on March 14th! At that time, things were heating up with the COVID-19 pandemic, but I was still going to work at my university counseling center job, and we were not yet “sheltering in place,” which started in San Francisco, where I live, on Tuesday, March 17th.
I hope everyone is weathering the ups and downs of this frightening situation as best they can. We all have our particular layers of stress and difficulty. Some of us are isolated and alone. Some are out of work and frightened about how to make ends meet, and some have lost their health insurance along with their job. While some folks have been busy scrambling to transition to working at home with little time (and in some cases, little tech support) to prepare, others are bored with too much free time. Some are living with others, navigating the pressures of being in a confined space together and not being able to get out or have much personal space. Many are struggling to balance multiple roles, such as working from home while parenting 24/7 and overseeing their children’s schooling. Still others are sick or concerned about friends and loved ones who are sick. Then, we have our heroes on the front lines of health care who are putting themselves at risk to take care of the ill. We also have those working in other essential jobs who are at increased risk of exposure but are doing what they have to do.
My heart goes out to everyone. I’m navigating my own ups and downs through this and finding my ways of coping. We each have our own needs and styles. I’ve been coping with being isolated (working at home and living alone) by reading, watching TV and videos, listening to music, taking virtual dance classes, going for walks, doing photography, and overcoming my introvert tendencies to stay in contact with friends more than usual.
I have been aware of my mixed feelings about some of the media I’ve been consuming. I’ve felt the need to limit my overall exposure to news and to avoid certain COVID-related stories. News overload and particularly frightening articles can make me fearful and anxious to a degree that doesn’t feel healthy, so I’ve been more careful about taking breaks and choosing what I read.
Reality TV
In addition to noticing the impact of news on my emotional health, I’ve also been pondering some of the shows I’ve watched that fall into the category of “trash TV”: The two I recently binge-watched, much to my chagrin (although I’m by no means alone), are Tiger King and Love Is Blind on Netflix. For anyone who hasn’t heard of these shows, Tiger King is a documentary series about a man with a private zoo (mainly containing big cats) whose life is a morass of chaos, conflict, and controversy. Love Is Blind is a reality show in which contestants spend a couple weeks “dating” “blind”–each in a separate room, talking to their date but not being able to see them. The contestants were encouraged to propose to the person they liked best, go on a trip together, live together, and get married, all within about a month and a half.
Still from Love Is Blind on Netflix.
I was entertained by both shows, although I felt alternately titillated, disgusted, judgmental, curious, and ashamed throughout watching. In the recent past, I haven’t spent too much time on reality TV or salacious programming, although it’s not like I’m totally above this kind of entertainment: I was an avid fan of The Real World and its spin-off, Road Rules. I’ve watched various reality shows and tabloid talk shows, been a reader of Perez Hilton’s low-brow gossip blog, and been fascinated by trashy true crime series and alien abduction investigation shows. I’m still a huge fan of Project Runway.
The History of “Trash TV”
When you look at the rise of reality TV, particularly the trashy variety, it can seem like a purely contemporary phenomenon. Reality programming (with different degrees of sensationalism) really took off the 1990s with shows like Survivor and various tabloid talk shows, among others, and in the 2000s with a whole slew of shows–the Idol and Real Housewives franchises, Keeping up with the Kardashians, The Amazing Race, Fear Factor … But these shows had their roots in earlier “reality shows” of the ’40s and ’50s, like Queen for a Day and Candid Camera. There were sensational shows throughout the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s (e.g., The Dating Game, The Newlywed Game, Geraldo) that were a part of the lineage of what we think of as modern-day reality TV.
Still from The Newlywed Game, 1970s.Still from The Newlywed Game, 1970s.
An Ongoing Taste for Sensationalism
In thinking about this type of entertainment, I became curious about our taste for gossip, unscripted real-life drama, and salacious tales before TV was ubiquitous. Some of us may have a romanticized view of the past, thinking that maybe people used to have better taste or higher standards for entertainment. But that isn’t true.
As far back as recorded human history, we have been drawn to consume and tell stories. Psychologists have said that one of the most prominent evolutionary features that separates humans from other primates is our mirror neuron system, which allows us to quickly perceive and relate to what other people are doing and feeling. Because humans have this ability and an inborn and adaptive interest in the lives and stories of other people, we have been able to create complex cultures and languages (Stromberg, 2009) and to engage in storytelling. This long history of oral history and telling tales contains many branches, one of which is sensationalism.
One form of sensational storytelling is gossip. Although technically, gossip can be defined as “talking about someone who is not present,” whether positive, negative, or neutral, we usually use the word to refer to saying negative things about someone, spreading rumors, and betraying secrets. Studies show that there may be an evolutionary benefit to talking about others, so we can bond and share social information across a larger network than our immediate connections (Gottfried, 2019); thus, gossip could have some positive functions. However, the negative form of gossip serves to denigrate, judge, and betray those about whom we are talking.
“A Little Tea and Gossip” by Robert Payton Reid, 1887.
When it comes to salacious stories and gossip, there is evidence that they have been with us for centuries. Professor Mitchell Stephens (2007) notes that the Acta Diurna, daily summaries of current events and human interest stories that were posted on public message boards in ancient Rome, were often sensational (and miscommunicated through word of mouth). Stephens also reports that books of the 16th and 17th century used salacious tales to teach moral lessons, as well as entertain. Between 1867 and 1876, the London magazine Belgravia, edited by Mary Elizabeth Braddon, who wrote sensational popular novels, provided shock and titillation on a wide range of subjects with an attention-grasping writing style (Gabriele, 2009). There were many other salacious novels and periodicals through the years.
Acta Diurna, the world’s first “newspaper?”
A related phenomenon is the desire humans have for “celebrity gossip,” which is partly rooted in ancient tales of gods and heroes and stories of royalty. In more recent times, our focus has been on actors, musicians, and athletes. Probably the first gossip tabloid in the United States was Broadway Brevities and Society Gossip, launched in New York in 1916. Initially, Brevities covered high society and New York’s theater world, but by the 1920s devolved into covering society scandals and gossip, eventually leading to the tabloid being shut down in 1925 when its editor and some associates were convicted of fraud and accused of blackmail. Other celebrity magazines of the early 20th century varied from fawning over stars to promoting beauty products to gossip.
Actress Seena Owen on the cover of the November 1922 issue of Broadway Brevities.Article from PhotoPlay magazine, 1934.
Why Do We Love Trash?
Why do we enjoy these forms of entertainment so much? There are a few reasons. To a degree, one reason is the previously mentioned mirror neuron system, which makes us curious about, empathetic to, and responsive to other people. But, there are also parts of our psyche, for better or worse, that compel us to compare ourselves to others, look for others’ flaws and weaknesses, and at times, want to see others struggle and even suffer. There is “good” and “bad” in all of us. We all have the capacity to build others up and tear them down–to delight in others’ successes but also to take perverse joy in their failures and foibles.
As a therapist, I believe it’s normal and healthy to recognize and accept all of our parts, even those we dislike or feel ashamed of. But, we always have the choice to feed and cultivate our better, more prosocial traits and put less time and energy into those aspects of ourselves that can be destructive. So, enjoy the trash TV and tabloid news if you must, but save some time, energy, and attention for those stories and activities that strengthen your healthy sense of self and your desire to connect with, celebrate, and support your fellow humans. Now more than ever, we need to build those aspects of human nature that bring us together.
Additional Reading
Gabriele, A. (2009). Reading Popular Culture in Victorian Print: Belgravia and Sensationalism, New York and London, Palgrave Macmillan.
Calla lilies in my garden. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
I’ll admit that I am feeling anxious today. For anyone living in a cave, let me explain. A state of emergency has been declared in the United States due to the COVID-19 (new coronavirus) pandemic. San Francisco, where I live, declared a state of emergency in late February. The San Francisco Bay Area has had a significant number of diagnosed cases, and the suspicion is that the numbers are actually much higher (test kits have not been widely available, so many people who are sick have not been tested). “Social distancing” (avoiding much social contact with others) has been recommended to slow the spread of the virus, with the hope that this could prevent the U.S. from experiencing widespread serious illness as other countries have, particularly Italy.
Today was extra tough for me because I had to make a difficult decision about dropping out of a dance performance that is happening tomorrow–I almost never renege on a commitment, especially at the last minute, but I felt I had to in order to protect my health and adhere to the social distancing guidelines as I understand them. I did what I felt I needed to, but that does not change the fact that it’s been a rough day.
At work, we recently received a training on shinrin-yoku, or “forest bathing.” Shinrin in Japanese means “forest,” and yoku means “bath,” so shinrin-yoku literally means “bathing in the forest atmosphere.” The idea is to immerse yourself in a wooded setting to soak up the physical and emotional benefits it provides. I had read a bit about forest bathing before. In fact, I’d considered trying to get a Forest Therapy Guide certification but decided it was too much time and money for me currently. The Association of Nature & Forest Therapy, located in Sonoma County, is right around the corner from where I live, so should I elect to go through the Guide program in the future, I could easily do so. But that’s beside the point: The point is that I realized that what I needed today was NATURE.
Flowers in Golden Gate Park. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
I’ve long been a nature lover. I’m not a hardcore outdoors person (have only backpacked ONCE in my life and can’t say I’d necessarily do it again), but I definitely am drawn to being outside, walking, hiking, and appreciating the beauty of nature. I find it soothing to be outdoors, whether it’s being active or just sitting reading in a park or taking photos. In fact, I sometimes agonize over whether one of my favorite hobbies, walking and taking photos, defeats the purpose and spirit of forest bathing. (Disclosure: I did walk and take photos today!)
Forest bathing is an exercise in presence and mindfulness. It’s not meant to be a form of exercise or a time for engaging with modern technology (such as cell phones or cameras): It is a practice of simply being in nature, connecting with it through our senses. Research on forest bathing has shown that it’s the nature–not just the walking or being outside–that is healing. People who walk in an urban setting, such as on a residential street, don’t get the same benefit as those who go into a forest or park with lots of green space and trees. Studies show that to reap the most good from the practice, one should engage in it for a total of 2 hours a week or more. The good news for all of us busy people is that you don’t have to walk for 2 hours straight to feel good–the 2 hours can be broken up into smaller chunks throughout the week.
Flowers in Golden Gate Park. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
How does one actually “forest bathe?” It’s very simple. First, find a natural spot, one with trees and greenery. Next, leave your phone and other devices behind. Finally, really BE THERE–use all your senses to experience the sights, sounds, smells, and sensations of nature. Yes, simple, but not always easy for most of us, who are very dependent on having our phones with us at all times, checking messages, “being available,” and taking photos.
As I said, I have conflicted feelings about whether my taking pictures when I’m out in nature hinders or helps my being able to relax and take in the healing effect of forest bathing. Today, I took a long walk through Golden Gate Park and on Ocean Beach in a 2-hour window between rain showers. I can’t say that my mind completely let go of my worries: They came and went throughout my walk. But, that is actually a natural part of a mindfulness practice: Our thoughts never completely go away. We just get better at noticing them, trying to quiet the mind, trying not to judge ourselves, and going back to whatever mindfulness practice we are using.
Today, my forest bathing practice involved deep breathing, soaking in the atmosphere of the park and the beach, feeling the wind on my face, watching the birds and occasional people and dogs I encountered, and talking back to my fears and ruminations with whatever seemed to help at the time. I really don’t feel that the picture-taking took away from the experience, but next time, perhaps I’ll try leaving the camera at home to see how it feels. I can say as I spent more time on my walk, I had an easier time letting my thoughts go and releasing some of the physical tension I’d been feeling earlier.
Nasturtium leaves in Golden Gate Park. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
As a therapist, I know that just letting go of thoughts, suppressing or ignoring fears and emotions, and “getting away” from anxiety is not what it takes to have a healthy mind. In fact, if those are our only tools, we will be out of balance. “Sitting with” our feelings is important. Having emotions is a normal and adaptive part of being human. We need to allow ourselves to feel, and we must actually feel in order to get better at not judging ourselves for our feelings. There are times that we need to process our thoughts and emotions so we better understand ourselves and gain new perspectives. It’s also important to experience our feelings and sit with our fears so that we can accept things as they are rather than live in denial or expend a lot of energy wishing things were different. Also, we need to face our fears–if we simply were to avoid anything that makes us anxious or afraid, it’s likely those triggers would cause even more fear, since we would never build our abilities to overcome and cope with our anxieties. We would also never prove to ourselves that we can face certain fears and get through them.
AND, we need to have some quiet and peace within ourselves. We need time to focus on the things that aren’t painful or anxiety-provoking. We need to build appreciation and awareness of what is good in our lives and in the world as a counter-balance to what is challenging and distressing. We need reassurance and positivity. We need ways to relax our bodies and calm our emotions when they become difficult to tolerate and sit with. It’s not a matter of “be with” OR “get away from”–it’s BOTH.
Dunes at Ocean Beach, San Francisco. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
As we wrestle with our current, frightening reality, let’s be patient with and kind to ourselves and others. Each of us may need different ways to cope and soothe. That said, if you haven’t tried forest bathing, I recommend it. If forest bathing doesn’t suit you, I still encourage you to spend some time outdoors. Try sitting on a park bench and people-watching or reading a book. Admire a pretty garden, watch a bird flying, see shapes in the clouds. Fresh air and nature are healing. Peace be with you, and may health and safety be with us all.
I admit that I am fascinated by serial killers. I seek out TV shows, movies, documentaries, and sometimes books about them. I watch with a mix of disgust, fear, and interest. As a psychologist, I want to understand the mind of the psychopath. As someone who is empathic and spends a lot of time helping others, it’s very hard to wrap my mind around what it must be like to be a cold-blooded killer.
I’m not alone in my interest in serial killers. Psychopaths such as John Wayne Gacy, the Zodiac Killer, Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, and the Boston Strangler have garnered tons of of public attention.
Serial killer Ed Kemper, 1973. Photo from Santa Cruz County Sheriff’s Office.
Diagnosis According to the diagnostic “bible” of mental health professionals, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (American Psychiatric Association, 2013), the category that fits most serial killers, those who killed multiple people on separate occasions for psychological and/or sexual reasons, is Antisocial Personality Disorder (APD). Colloquially, people use psychopath or sociopath more often than APD—technically, they mean the same thing, although in common usage, psychopath usually refers to a more violent form of APD than does sociopath.
The defining characteristics of APD boil down to a long-term pattern of disregard for, or violation of, others’ rights and feelings. While we all probably know someone like this, thankfully most of us don’t know a serial killer. Someone is said to have APD if they have three or more of the following traits that are not better explained by another mental illness (such as bipolar disorder): failure to respect and/or adhere to laws and norms; repeated lying and deceit for personal gain or pleasure; impulsivity and failure to plan ahead; reckless disregard for the safety of self and others; a pattern of irresponsibility with regard to work, finances, and other important areas; and a lack of remorse after having hurt or taken advantage of others. This diagnosis is only used in adults 18 or older—children with such traits are diagnosed with Conduct Disorder (and most adults with APD had Conduct Disorder when they were young).
Serial killers are obviously at the extreme end of the spectrum of APD: On the mild end, you might see someone who cheats on their taxes and cyber-bullies. Serial killers tend to have shown sadistic traits and wet the bed as youngsters and often are fascinated by fire-setting. Contrary to popular belief, most are not “evil geniuses” but have low to average IQ. Most are male (Hickey, 2010; Vronsky, 2007).
How Did They Become Killers? There is no one clear reason why someone becomes a serial killer. Probably, a lot of reasons add up to a seriously disturbed personality. These include “nature” (genes, high testosterone levels, low serotonin levels, head injury, developmental brain anomalies) and “nurture” (antisocial parents, family problems, severe abuse, bullying, societal factors). The fact that there is not a definitive “recipe” for homicidal behavior may be one of the most disturbing aspects to think about: If there is no one obvious reason people become serial killers, how can we prevent them from developing?
A Little History There have likely been serial killers throughout history. Some believe that werewolf and vampire legends were inspired by serial killers (Schlesinger, 2000). One of the most famous historical murderers, often called “the first modern serial killer,” was Jack the Ripper. He killed at least five women in London in the late 1800s and was never caught. The story of these killings spawned a media frenzy, countless movies and books, and one of the earliest “profiles” of a killer (Canter, 1994).
Picture from The Illustrated Police News, October 6, 1888.
In the United States, there have been approximately 2625 documented serial killers. Disturbingly, 76% of all known serial killers in the 20th century were from the U.S. What does that say about our country? I guess it should not be that surprising, given our overall violence compared with many other nations: For example, in looking at homicides in cities around the world, rates in U.S. cities are much, much higher than those in Europe and Asia (Violent Crime).
Why Do We Like Killers? OK, perhaps like is too strong a word. But, maybe we are fascinated by serial killers because they are different from the norm: We are curious about what is unusual. And, we may consciously or unconsciously admire those who don’t care about rules, follow their darkest impulses, and act as they please with no conscience. Glorification of the “outlaw” fits with the history of the United States, built on rebellion, violence, and independence (Edlund, 2017). Americans also have a very complicated psychological relationship with power, dominance, sexuality, and control, all elements of many serial killings.
Some of the characteristics that allow some serial killers to succeed with their crimes may be part of their allure: The ability to charm and manipulate is often in their makeup. Take Ted Bundy, for example. There is something both fascinating and horrifying about the idea that that charming but controlling guy you talked to at a bar or work with could secretly be hiding bodies in his basement. It also makes one think twice about online dating. Other serial killers are not particularly charming but can fly under the radar, living ordinary lives, with others not realizing who they are and what they do.
We may be drawn to stories about serial killers for the same reasons why some people love horror movies. One is that reading or watching tales of serial killers is a safer way to face our fears of violence and death and even experience some excitement and arousal around killing. Murderers’ lives may also hold a dark appeal because it seems taboo to wonder about them. Many people have a desire to seek out what is forbidden or at least have a curiosity about what is outside the realm of everyday life.
Serial Killer Favorites I want to share some of my favorite depictions of serial killers, in case you, like me, have a curiosity about them. My favorite by far has been The Fall,a dark and disturbing three-season Netflix series (2013–2016) set in the U.K. and starring Gillian Anderson and Jamie Dornan. Anderson does a stellar job as the troubled detective tasked with finding serial killer Dornan. The acting and story are what kept me riveted, but I have to admit that the fact that the killer was a mental health counselor added to the draw.
The Silence of the Lambs (1991) is a classic serial killer movie. Anthony Hopkins as the homicidal and cannibalistic Dr. Lecter epitomized the Hollywood image of a psychopath, and Jodie Foster was a compelling and vulnerable hero. The only thing I didn’t like was the movie’s implication that killer Buffalo Bill’s penchant for cross-dressing had anything to do with his murderous instincts. A little-known fact is that one of the inspirations for Buffalo Bill was Philadelphia psychopath Gary Heidnik (who was not a cross-dresser or transgender, by the way). Another inspo was Ed Gein, who was believed to have been trying to make a “woman suit” out of the skin of victims so he could pretend to be his dead mother. (Gein was also an inspiration for Norman Bates in Psycho.)
Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) is certainly another classic of the genre, unfortunately also featuring a cross-dressing killer. Of course, Norman Bates was not necessarily dressing in women’s clothing for sexual or identity reasons but because he was embodying his (deceased) abusive mother. Sorry for the spoiler if you never saw the movie, but come on—if you have any interest in serial killers, you must have watched it!
I really enjoyed the cultural satire of American Psycho (2000), starring Christian Bale. I mean, it’s quite a feat if you can make serial killing humorous. And that business card scene is such a biting send-up of 1980s business culture.
You can bet he’s playing Huey Lewis and the News.
Cormac McCarthy’s novel No Country for Old Men (2005) and the Coen brothers’ 2007 movie adaptation starring Tommy Lee Jones and Javier Bardem are terrifying. McCathy’s novel does a better job of fleshing out the psychological torment of good guy Bell, while the film version better depicts the horror that is Bardem’s Chigurh.
A few runners-up for me have been the Netflix series Mindhunter (which follows FBI agent Ford Holden through his groundbreaking research in the 1970s), the 2007 film Zodiac (about the San Francisco killer), and the Netflix series Manhunt, which humanizes the infamous Unabomber, Ted Kaczynski (and which I mentioned in an earlier post). There are lots more, and some I have not even checked out yet.
For some reason, I am able to “shut it off” pretty easily after reading or watching serial killer tales. However, if you’re more likely to lie awake and afraid afterwards, do yourself a favor and save these stories for daytime consumption!
References American Psychiatric Association (2013). Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders: Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition. Arlington, VA: American Psychiatric Association.
Canter, David (1994). Criminal Shadows: Inside the Mind of the Serial Killer. HarperCollins.
Well, dear reader(s), it’s been another minute since I posted. I’ve thought about writing many times, but life has gotten in the way. OK, sometimes laziness has gotten in the way, but life, too!
Moving to the Outer Sunset neighborhood of San Francisco a few months ago made me curious about the area’s history and also got me to thinking about how the characteristics of different neighborhoods can impact our thoughts and emotions. I’ve written before about the psychology of color. Like color, scale and design can shape the way people interact with neighborhoods. As I’ve walked around my new environs, I’ve thought about how the building scale, uniformity, design, and colors make me feel.
Aerial shot of the Outer Sunset, looking north.
History To call the Outer Sunset a “working-class” neighborhood today is a bit of a misnomer: The average house here now goes for about a million dollars. But when they were built, they were meant to allow families with modest means a way to have their own homes. Formerly called “Outside Lands,” comprising acres of sand dunes and scrub, the area started to be developed in the late 1800s when tourist attractions were added to Ocean Beach and Golden Gate Park was created. Initially, it was mostly settled by white Americans, primarily Irish and Italian. Mass home building didn’t take off until after the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. Large tracts of nearly identical houses were built from the 1920s to the 1960s. There are several commercial strips scattered throughout the Sunset.
Starting in the ’60s, the neighborhood saw a steady influx of Asian (mostly Chinese) immigrants following the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965, which lifted racial quotas and allowed more non-Europeans to immigrate to the United States. Today, the Outer Sunset is primarily Asian and Asian-American, with Chinese being the dominant culture; the second-largest ethnic group here is European-American.
One of the commercial streets of the Sunset is Irving Street. This shot is on Irving near 24th Avenue, technically in Central (not Outer) Sunset. Photo from sanfranciscodays.com.
Design and Scale The Outer Sunset has a very distinct look and a fairly uniform design. Friends who are not that familiar with the area but have been to San Francisco often look blank when I try to explain where I live, but when I describe the way Outer Sunset looks, their eyes light up with recognition: “Oh, I drove through that neighborhood on my way up the coast!” “Oh, yeah, all those pastel houses!” “I think I was there on my way to Golden Gate Park!”
In some ways, Outer Sunset reminds me of working class neighborhoods in cities back East, where I’m from. Philadelphia, where I spent almost 20 years, has many districts that were built for working people throughout the centuries, and all share a certain style and economy of materials: small homes, often connected in rows; modest design; similarity to the neighbors’ homes (as many were built en masse); generally small (or absent) front yards; human scale.
Unlike the working-class neighborhoods of other cities, Outer Sunset is made up of blocks and blocks of (mostly) pastel stucco houses. The majority of the homes are two-story row houses with a garage on the ground floor and living quarters above. Because property is so ungodly expensive in San Francisco, many homeowners have added an in-law apartment on the ground floor, behind the garage. There are a few three-story homes here and there, and there are some blocks on which the houses have a touch more individual design than on others. Contemporary homeowners seem to be choosing richer paint colors and grays over pastels.
A typical block of homes in Outer Sunset, probably built in the 1940s or ’50s.
Psychology of Design In some ways, the neighborhood’s sameness provides comfort and familiarity. You instantly know it’s a quiet, residential neighborhood when you see all those little pink houses, one-car garages, and quaint touches that help each often-bland facade stand out just a little. There is a sense of peace and orderliness.
Houses along Great Highway, the western-most street in the Outer Sunset.
While you might think that the human-scale architecture, soothing color palate, and walkable streets would promote a sense of community, other design elements fight against it. One is that garages take up most of the first floor, and entrances are hidden by locked metal gates; these features take away from homes having a warm or accessible feel. Also, it’s rare for anyone to be sitting or hanging out in front of their house—most homes lack porches, stoops, and front patios that would allow residents to spend time out front where they could chat with neighbors and passers-by. Houses feel private and hidden rather than open and inviting.
Sunset over the Outer Sunset, with the Pacific in the distance.
One Canadian researcher, Colin Ellard, has found that people are strongly affected by building facades (Bond, 2017). Complex and interesting facades affect people positively, whereas boring and impersonal building fronts can have a negative impact. The Sunset contains a mix of “interesting” versus bland facades, leading pedestrians to feel varying degrees of discomfort versus engagement. Some Outer Sunset streets are much more uniform and uninteresting than others.
According to Danish urbanist Jan Gehl, a well-designed city street should allow the average pedestrian to see an interesting new sight about once every five seconds (Ellard, 2015; Weintraub, 2015). In some ways, the Sunset’s lack of dramatic architectural variety may be offset by the small and interesting details that are visible to those on foot: plantings, murals, interesting paint colors, attractive metalwork, sculptures, benches, and decorative stones. Still, many have criticized the Outer Sunset as being boring and monotonous.
Interesting murals on a house and garage door.
Another much-studied element of the psychology of urban neighborhoods is green space: Access to greenery amidst city buildings is linked to better psychological health. The Sunset lacks a lot of green spaces—some blocks are virtually all concrete—although some streets do boast small trees and strips of yard containing anything from rocks to artificial turf to flowers to succulents. As with other psychological elements of design, the Sunset provides some positives and negatives here.
Pretty planters.Funky yard.
Final Thoughts I’m slowly feeling more at home in my new neighborhood. I can’t say that I have strong positive or negative feelings about the area—for me, it’s a mix. I can say that I wish there were more people out and about when I am walking around, and I also would be happier if the houses had more inviting fronts, with porches and yards. But that said, I am enjoying the Outer Sunset and continue to discover the small details that break up the overarching uniformity. I love seeing the ocean when I’m waiting at the bus stop. I love being able to walk to Golden Gate Park. I love the beachy feel on some of the streets and the interesting mix of cultures. On the surface, it may all look the same, but if you take a closer look, there is a lot to see.
Trigger warning: Artworks depicting injury and pregnancy loss.
Frida Kahlo wearing a plaster corset, which she decorated with the Communist hammer and sickle, c. 1951–’52. Photo: Florence Arquin.
Through a combination of recent family medical crises and my reading Barbara Kingsolver’s book The Lacuna (a novel from the point of view of a cook employed by Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera), I became interested in reading more about Frida’s life and art. I have always liked her art and fondly remember a wonderful retrospective exhibit of her work I saw at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art in 2008. The Lacuna brings her to life in vivid (and not always flattering) ways, highlighting her strong personality and marital infidelity (although, to be fair, Rivera was also frequently unfaithful). The novel also shows Frida to be a clever, passionate, and resilient woman and artist.
One aspect of Frida’s life and work that grabbed me as I read more about her life and looked at pictures of her work was the prevalence of pain and medical trauma. As is widely known, at age 18, Frida was a victim of a terrible bus accident that resulted in serious injuries to her pelvis and spine and condemned her to a life of chronic physical pain, numerous surgeries, and pregnancy losses. Even before her tragic accident, she had serious health problems, having contracted polio at a young age, which left one of her legs shorter than the other and withered.
My family going through numerous medical events in the past few years, my own growing awareness of my mortality now that I am 50, and the suicides of three people I know over the past year have led me to think about health and death quite a bit. These experiences have made Frida’s focus on her own pain and mortality more poignant to me.
My perception of several of Frida’s paintings depicting medical imagery is that creating these works simultaneously exposed her pain while providing her with a vehicle for processing and coping with it. Frida herself noted that painting was a solace to her: “I lost three children and a series of other things that would have fulfilled my horrible life. My painting took the place of all of this.” As she approached her death at the young age of 47, she also stated, “I’m not sick, I am broken. But I am happy to be alive as long as I can paint.”
“Henry Ford Hospital” was painted in 1932, shortly after Kahlo lost a second pregnancy. The artist depicts herself lying naked on a hospital bed in a pool of blood. Frida’s bed is surrealistically placed in a desolate landscape to heighten her sense of isolation and vulnerability. She is shown as a small, naked, crying figure with six umbilical cords emanating from her body, connecting her to objects with personal meaning to her: a medical model of a female torso (referring to her inability to carry a pregnancy to term), a male fetus (her lost fetus), a snail (said to represent the excruciating slowness of the pregnancy loss), a machine (thought to indicate the technology that saved Frida but not her unborn child), a purple orchid (a gift given to her by Diego Rivera; the flower also resembles a uterus), and a pelvis (referring back to Frida’s debilitating accident).
Frida Kahlo, “Henry Ford Hospital” (1932).
Not surprisingly, many critics at the time recoiled from the graphic and shocking imagery in this painting. Frida showed courage and passion in making her personal and devastating experience public. This courage is needed in breaking down the secrecy and stigma that many feel in relation to medical trauma, particularly around birth-related traumas. Healing is often done in private; however, community, connection, and the ability to share one’s story on their own terms are often important aspects of moving forward after a tragic loss.
A lithograph from 1932, “El Aborto,” also deals with this pregnancy loss. Several similar versions were created by Kahlo. The artist’s naked body is central and once again is surrounded by symbolic forms: a fetus (whose umbilical cord is wrapped like a bandage around Frida’s damaged right leg), dividing cells, a crying moon, and growing plants. These images contrast burgeoning life with death. The heart-shaped palette Frida holds speaks again to the transformational power that creative expression held for her.
“The Broken Column” was painted in 1944, shortly after Frida had undergone a surgery on her spinal column. Although the original injury to her spine had occurred almost 20 years prior, it had a lifelong impact, frequently resulting in pain and disability and necessitating several surgeries. The 1944 operation left Frida bedridden and forced to wear a corset to help alleviate her chronic and intense pain.
“The Broken Column” by Frida Kahlo, 1944.
The classical column in the painting represents not just Frida’s actual spine but also the foundation of her body and spirit, which, while broken, continued to support her. As in other works, there is a dichotomy in the representation: Frida depicts herself as vulnerable in a barren setting, crying, split open, and riddled with nails. Yet, her posture, expression, and exposed breasts speak to her strength.
Like Frida, other professional artists, as well as amateurs, can find expression and solace in creating art. Those who do not make their own artworks can heal and process the pain of life through the shared experience of viewing art. There is something so powerful about the visual expression of emotion. It touches us in ways that words cannot always do. And, the bravery of those who choose to put their feelings and experiences on display can make us feel less alone, make us feel connected to others and to something larger than ourselves.
As the finale of Game of Thrones approaches, I, like many fans, am waiting with a mix of excitement and dejection. Excitement because the show has been a wonderful fantasy and escape, with some thrilling highs. Each episode has been something to look forward to. Dejection because the series is ending, and also because this last season, Season 8, has on the whole been a big disappointment.
The level of anger and disgust displayed by many GOT fans this season over the writing and plot twists seems unparalleled. In fact, one disgruntled fan created a petition demanding that the show’s creators re-do Season 8 with better writers. I share some of the same feelings about the decline in quality of the show, particularly this final season. (And I did sign the petition, although I am not very invested or confident in the possibility of a rewrite.) Some GOT fans can even seek specialized therapy if needed, and sadly, some will need it. (Even the GOT stars are expressing disappointment in Season 8.)
But witnessing the GOT superfan outrage unleashed on Twitter and Facebook made me wonder, why do fans have so much stake in the show? Why, for some, does their investment in a fantasy TV series seemingly overshadow other, more important issues about which they could be expressing their anger and demanding change? Racism, for example. Abortion issues. Global warming.
What Is a Fan?
First off, how do we define fan? Short for fanatic, a fan, according to Merriam-Webster, is “an enthusiastic devotee (as of a sport or a performing art), usually as a spectator” or “an ardent admirer or enthusiast (as of a celebrity or a pursuit).” In some cases, enthusiastic is too mild a descriptor. For some, fandom can resemble addiction, with withdrawal, depression, and loss of motivation occurring when the person can’t access their obsession, or the TV show, movie, or sports season has ended. The “addicted” fan has a hard time separating their life and emotions from those related to the show (or sports season, book series, etc.). Defeats and disappointments, as well as victories and highs, from the object of their obsession are more powerful than those in the person’s real life.
In a world where people are more and more isolated from face-to-face contact and live much of their lives staring at screens, being a fan has increasingly become more than just showing appreciation for something enjoyable. For many, fandom is a way to live a heightened life and to share their lives with one another. What’s more, the preponderance of social media has allowed being a fan to become more of a participatory act than ever before. Fans not only watch, but they can write online reviews and fan fiction, create and share memes, and start online chat groups and forums. And, IRL, fans can participate in conventions, or “cons” (e.g., Con of Thrones). It’s a whole new world of fandom. For some, it’s just fun. For others who lack real-life connection with others and/or don’t derive enough meaning from their relationships, jobs, and hobbies, fandom can be an extremely important source of satisfaction, meaning, and identity.
Fandom Research
In 2016, researchers Samantha Groene and Vanessa Hettinger developed a psychometric test of fan identity (how strongly fans of particular shows or other phenomena identified with the object of their fandom) that they called the Fandom Measure. Through several studies looking at Harry Potter and Twilight fans, they determined that “media fandoms operate in a manner similar to other social groups, with members of average and above average levels of group identification demonstrating sensitivity to group categorization and the psychological benefits and costs of engaging with their chosen media fandom.” In other words, fandom can be both psychologically healthy and enriching but also damaging, depending on whether a person’s connection to the object of their adoration is reinforced or threatened.
This reminds me of sports fandom research. Just like media fans, some sports fans take it to the extreme. These superfans are so heavily invested in their team that it defines their identity. If you think about it, “the biggest fans are more devoted to their team than the players are,” says Daniel Cavicchi, an associate professor of American studies at the Rhode Island School of Design (Leitch, 2012).
Saturday Night Live‘s Chicago Bears superfans.
Some research on sports shows that extreme fans experience not only psychological effects from how their team is doing, but they can also undergo hormonal changes. When their team wins, they exerience an increase in testosterone levels; conversely, after a loss, they undergo a decrease in testosterone (Leitch, 2012).
Through watching sporting events and identifying with the culture of sports (especially violent ones), people tap into their violent instincts. As much as some of us don’t like to acknowledge those parts of human nature, they are there. All of us have a capacity for violence, and to be able to function in contemporary society, we have to repress many of our animal instincts. According to George Orwell, “Serious sport has nothing to do with fair play. It is bound up with hatred, jealousy, boastfulness, disregard of all rules, and sadistic pleasure in violence. In other words, it is war without shooting.” While some research has emphasized the negative, destructive aspects of sports and sports fandom, other studies highlight the healthy outlet sports can provide for the violent parts of our nature (Kerr, 2005).
Final Thoughts
Fandom is a part of many of our lives. Some of us just dabble in being a fan: We enjoy certain celebrities, shows, sports, and books and gain pleasure from as well as connect with others around them, but they don’t define us. Others are superfans who base a large part of their identities on the object of their fandom. Fandom is a complex phenomenon.
As a GOT fan, I hope that I am more excited than disappointed tomorrow with the finale. Whatever happens, my life and identity will go on.
Further Reading
Groene, S. L., & Hettinger, V. E. (2016). Are you “fan” enough? The role of identity in media fandoms. Psychology of Popular Media Culture, 5(4), 324-339.
Kerr, J. K. (2005). Rethinking Aggression and Violence in Sports. New York: Routledge.
There has been too much untimely death in my periphery the past couple of years. This past week has been difficult, and my mind has been turning over ruminations on death, life, mortality, and age. That’s all I wish to say about it, but I will share this beautiful poem by Sylvia Plath.
Who
The month of flowering’s finished. The fruit’s in, Eaten or rotten. I am all mouth. October’s the month for storage.
The shed’s fusty as a mummy’s stomach: Old tools, handles and rusty tusks. I am at home here among the dead heads.
Let me sit in a flowerpot, The spiders won’t notice. My heart is a stopped geranium.
If only the wind would leave my lungs alone. Dogsbody noses the petals. They bloom upside down. They rattle like hydrangea bushes.
Mouldering heads console me, Nailed to the rafters yesterday: Inmates who don’t hibernate.
Cabbageheads: wormy purple, silver-glaze, A dressing of mule ears, mothy pelts, but green-hearted, Their veins white as porkfat.
O the beauty of usage! The orange pumpkins have no eyes. These halls are full of women who think they are birds.
This is a dull school. I am a root, a stone, an owl pellet, Without dreams of any sort.
Mother, you are the one mouth I would be a tongue to. Mother of otherness Eat me. Wastebasket gaper, shadow of doorways.
I said: I must remember this, being small. There were such enormous flowers, Purple and red mouths, utterly lovely.
The hoops of blackberry stems made me cry. Now they light me up like an electric bulb. For weeks I can remember nothing at all.
I recently watched the Netflix series The Haunting of Hill House, loosely based on the 1959 book of the same name by Shirley Jackson. One of the things I liked, aside from its compelling psychological dive into the impact of trauma, was the beautiful and creepy titular house. In Hill House, as in many haunted house stories, the house was evil and had a mind of its own. (NOTE: Spoilers ahead.)
Hill House‘s Red Room
An important element of this theme is Hill House‘s mysterious “Red Room,” a seemingly locked and inaccessible chamber. However, each family member is able to enter the room and use it for a different purpose. What’s more, the room looks different to each person. The room takes on a shape and function that will entice each inhabitant to lower their guard and make them want to stay forever. The ghost of Nell, in explaining the Red Room to her siblings, declares, “Mom says that a house is like a body. And that every house has eyes, and bones, and skin, and a face. This room is like the heart of the house. No, not a heart, a stomach.” In other words, the family members are food for the house to digest.
Dream Analysis
Hill House and other haunted house tales made me think about dream analysis. Granted, as a psychologist, I see people’s dreams as largely personal. Often, one dreamer will interpret an image completely different than would another. However, people living in a society do pick up conscious and unconscious symbolism based on cultural beliefs and experiences. For instance, many of us have had similar nightmares about taking an exam. We could not find the testing room, were late, or had never taken the class on which we were being tested. These dreams usually represent anxieties about feeling unprepared, being scrutinized, or feeling inadequate.
“Dream dictionaries” explain the meaning of dream imagery. They state that when one dreams of a house, this symbolizes the dreamer’s self, and the rooms inside the house relate to various aspects of the self and facets of personality. For instance, the attic refers to the mind or intellect, and the basement represents the subconscious.
Going back to Hill House and its Red Room, a notable feature was its impenetrable red door. In dream analysis (which can also be applied to stories), a door symbolizes new opportunities. A locked door represents missed opportunities or openings that are denied or not available. The color red has a number of meanings in dreams including raw energy, force, passion, aggression, power, impulsiveness, danger, violence, blood, shame, and sexual urges. Putting these symbols together, the Red Room could be seen as a place to indulge one’s powerful yet inaccessible or denied emotions and urges. In the context of the TV show, characters spent time in the Red Room playing games, reading, or dancing. The pleasures of the room made the “real world” pale in comparison and, for some characters, become threatening.
Analyzing Dreams and Stories About Haunted Houses
In looking more broadly at haunted house tales, a common plot line is that “things were fine until we moved into this house.” The house is evil or harbors evil forces such as restless ghosts that aim to harm, kill, corrupt, or possess the inhabitants. Typically, things get progressively worse the longer the residents live there. Taking a psychological view, these stories provide us flawed humans, prone to mistakes and bad behavior, with an “out” for our actions: We are not responsible for the evil we do but are simply helpless vessels for destructive spirits. And, from a dream analysis perspective, houses represent people, so the symbolism fits.
A final thought about haunted houses: To dream of one symbolizes unfinished emotional business related to childhood and family, dead relatives, or repressed memories and feelings. It’s not hard to see how many books, TV shows, and movies about haunted houses espouse this idea. The whole concept of ghosts is that they are spirits that are not resting in peace due to a violent death or unresolved matters before death. Many haunted house stories explain the haunting as being caused by a wrong or violence that occurred in the house or on the site on which the house was built.
Fitting with the dream dictionary explanation of haunted houses, in Hill House, most of the characters had serious emotional or mental health issues. (That is, unless you are a true believer in the supernatural and interpreted some of the main characters’ behaviors as being caused by haunting or possession.) And, traumatic events had occurred in the building throughout its history.
I think we are all drawn to ghost stories and tales of haunted houses because of their symbolism. Whether we harbor an unconscious desire to blame our flaws on evil spirits, have a longing to connect with long-dead relatives or lovers, or believe in the justice of karma (those who have committed past wrongs will be haunted by their victims), these stories continue to intrigue, thrill, and frighten us.
