I had this dream once where my characters were
partaking in cannibalism. So instead of deciding what sort of sexual act would
be appropriate, it was more like, “Well, if I just slice off some of your leg,
it won’t kill you, so let’s do that.” When I woke up, I was horrified and
confused, and slightly nauseated. I mean, I love dreaming about my characters,
but then it finally happens and this is what I get?
It took me a few months to realize that my subconscious
was, as usual, way ahead of me. And if I’m going to be honest, I’ve had a mild
fascination with cannibalism since I was little. There’s something sexual about
it, even though the realistic thought of it nauseates me. So what if I think of
it symbolically? If I boiled it down,
my book is about food and hunger and sex and consumption. Suddenly I realized
that my dream wasn’t really that off track.
I’m crazy about symbolism. But I love it even more
when it’s so ridiculously subtle that most of my readers won’t even get it. I know,
it’s weird, but I like that sort of ambiguity. That’s exactly what I wanted to
do when I decided to use cannibalism as symbolism in my novel. Ok, bear with
me. One of my characters is a cook and a repressed ephebophile (like a
pedophile, but attracted to post-pubescent teenagers). And the other is
basically offering himself up in exchange for getting the things that he wants.
He exchanges sexual favors for food, so he puts himself on the same level as
food, as something being consumed. Genius, right?! You can say crazy; it’s ok.
The hard part is figuring out how to work in this sort of symbolism. One of my favorite lines
that I’ve written is, “Of course, if I got a taste, then he got one, too.” But I
have to go beyond just some random little quips. Since I’m constantly writing
about food, I figured I could parallel these ideas of hunger and consuming—not just
how they relate to food, but to sexuality.
And so…food equals murder.
Before my characters have their first kiss, one of
them is making pasta from scratch—the idea being that he is as careful and
delicate with his ingredients as he eventually is with my narrator once they
become intimate. But once dinner is ready, the narrator sees the vibrant red
tomato sauce and thinks of blood spattered against a wall. Then as he eats, he
uses words like “severed” and “stabbing” and “attacked.” To most readers, this
might go unnoticed—he’s just really hungry. But to some it might seem like a violent,
animalistic moment. And honestly, either way is fine with me.
I can’t help myself when I get an idea I love. I just
run with it. Even if it only makes sense to me.