Notes on Monstrosity #6
Notes on TV: Goodbye, All of Hannibal Lecter
As of writing this, it’s November 2021, and I’ve had a complex relationship with the American psychological thriller and crime drama series Hannibal for eight years. The show has occupied my heart and mind to some capacity or another since it premiered on NBC in April 2013. That was a whole other lifetime ago, it seems. I’ve loved Hannibal, hated Hannibal, typed angry posts about it, written loving fanfiction about it, and penned long, winding, messy essays about the space it held in my life.
To say I’m a fan would be an understatement, and perhaps a funny one. I have artwork, postcards, prints, tarot cards, fanzines, Funko Pops, plush dolls, keychains, enamel pins, and pillows. Let’s not talk about the face masks and antlers that cropped up throughout the apartment. I even tried to bid on props and costumes when the production shut down and sold everything off at auction. Fortunately, I was saved from these questionable purchasing decisions by the angels of my better judgment—and some fans with more disposable cash than me.
People have asked me about Hannibal in interviews. They’ve invited me on multiple podcasts to talk about the Thomas Harris universe and its fascinating, frequently disappointing constellation of books, films, and TV shows. There’s a good chance you’re one of the many people who remember my Hannibal livetweets and shitposting sprees on Twitter. I might be better known for my fandom proclivities than my own work, and that’s a distressing thing to contend with in and of itself.
But the thing about Hannibal is…I think I’m over it now.
Fading interest in a long-canceled, nearly decade-old TV show isn’t particularly newsworthy, I know. Tastes change. People find new things to occupy their free time and the rooms they walk through. Our old favorites are allowed to rest comfortably on the shelf with the other stories that have shaped our tastes and aesthetic inclinations over the decades. Hannibal isn’t any more or less notable now, nor am I saying that it’s bad, actually. It earned its place in the current media landscape as an incredible visual feast realized by immaculate performances that ranged from severe to camp. Dripping with blood and drowning in red velvet, Hannibal was something dark and warm and sumptuous—and then it was gone.
At least, it probably isn’t odd to say this for most people who watched Hannibal over the years. Loved or hated Hannibal and then released it back into the universe. Maybe it left a mark on them, and maybe it slipped away cleanly. For me, there was no getting out of it without a scar to show for myself, something to prove what the show meant to me.
That’s why in 2021, it feels strange to talk about Hannibal. A thing that has lived in my heart for nearly a decade. A thing that has defined so much of how people have seen me, known me, spoken to me. Understood me, as much as anyone reading the things I write can understand me, I suppose.
Because this isn’t the first time I’ve written about Hannibal, as I’ve mentioned before. I wrote one essay, in 2017, about the essay I tried to write in 2015. The 2015 Hannibal essay was about Hannibal because Hannibal was how I coped with the emotional breakdown I had that year. One day, at my demoralizing library job, I simply became untethered from reality. Then I somehow just…found myself at home, some 30-45 minutes away from the campus where I worked and attended college. I stayed in my room for the next few months, leaving only to go to classes. In my cocoon, I kept the lights dim, sat on the floor with my dog, and watched Hannibal.
Art is like a funhouse mirror. What you see reflects what you put into it, jagged pieces mirrored and refracted into infinity. What I put into Hannibal was what I needed to get out of it. Disconnection. Loneliness. Otherness. The terror of being seen. The joy of being understood.
The unholy act of becoming.
Becoming something else.
Over and over, every day. 39 episodes of television on repeat for months. My room was warm and dark, and Hannibal was like a soothing voice. A friendly touch that I could rely on. Watching two predators circle each other in love and death until there is nothing else but one another, nothing but the cliff edge and the sea below awaiting them. Over and over. Nothing else in my life felt real or stable, but at least I had Hannibal.
Alone in a crowded house, with a family that left me there until I came out of it, or just…didn’t.
I was resourceful enough to get myself out and find a therapist sometime later to try to deal with all the things that put me there. I did that. And now it’s 2021 and Hannibal…well. It doesn’t need to hold the same place for me. It doesn’t have to comfort me or stand in as a familiar presence in the dark. I still love it, with all the soft spots and foundational flaws that got its broadcast run cut short. It’s a beautiful mess, and…I think it’s okay to put it on the shelf for a while.
So, right now, in the waning light of the year, at around the six-year mark since I went into my bedroom and closed the door, I’m alright to let Hannibal go. The art is coming off the walls, and I’m replacing it with other things that don’t feel so heavy when I look at them. The trinkets and toys can stay, but as reminders rather than sacred objects. I no longer need such protective charms. I’ve grown past the need for them, like scales fallen away to reveal something new underneath.
Becoming something else.
But we can talk about that later.
Notes on Fiction: An Erotic Encounter Between Gabriel Isadore and Dorian Villeneuve
Alright, this next section is going to be hard to explain.
So, if you follow my work or social media to any extent, you probably know who Dorian Villeneuve is. Genderqueer goth vampire, monster hunter, known dipshit, and romantic lead from The Southern Gothic Series. In the books and short stories, he’s dating Cash Leroy, a monster hunter, and beautiful pure perfect himbo. Prior to this, Dorian dated a mothman detective named Gabriel Isadore.
Gabriel Isadore will appear in the sixth and eighth books in the series. Nobody really knows who he is yet, since I’m not even done writing the second book in the series as of putting out this newsletter.
But! I wrote a sexy little story about Gabriel and Dorian set during their relationship. This is absolutely me writing my own fictional pairings for my amusement. I am posting my W’s, okay? People on social media asked to read it, because everyone is excited to find out about the sexy mothman detective ex-boyfriend, so I posted it for discerning readers to enjoy.
If you’re interested in mothman/vampire sexual congress, go with God and click the link below, my friend. If not, just keep scrolling, baby. It’s not on me to judge.
Other News: Leather and Lace Available for $0.99
The holidays are coming up, so give yourself the gift of monster-hunting romance. Leather and Lace: Book One of the Southern Gothic Series is on sale for $0.99. It features the rollicking misadventures of Dorian and Cash as they hunt cannibal weredeer, fall in love, and try to their crap together.
Pick up your copy today. You deserve something nice, and this book would look very good on your e-reader of choice.
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