Carrol's Verdict: "a long-winded exercise in common sense"?

In the last 10-20 pages of his work, Carroll summarizes his solutions to the paradox of horror (which is introduced on the bottom of the cover, below a painting that holds a debatable place in the subject genre of the book). However, he admits that his solutions seem intuitive, even after his exhaustive examination and categorization of all aspects of the genre (the monsters, the emotions, the plots, etc.). At this point, Carroll's reader is faced with two possible opinions:



1) The book was a worthwhile read.

2) The book was WAY too long to arrive at such simple conclusions, and I could get everything I needed from a one-page summary.



I'm going to argue for option 1.



Carroll's careful consideration of all parts of the horror genre gives credibility to his argument. First, he gives a definition, then describes the plots, and third describes the flaws in competing explanations for horror's appeal. He tightly defines the genre, with his definition leaving out some notable works. This precise definition gives his solution more oomph, because the appeal of works of pure suspense and art-dread (not included in the horror genre) is much different than the appeal of something aberrant and disgusting. Carroll's discussion of the plots allows the reader to distinguish between his general and universal theory (with the general applying solely in disclosure narratives). In the end, both the monsters and the plot play an important role in Carroll's solution.

While each of these may play a part, we are not universally drawn to horror by religious tendency, cosmic awe, repressed childhood emotions, or ideological concerns. Carroll points out the flaws in each of these philosophies to give more strength to his own argument. We are drawn to horror because we are fascinated, and fascinating things command our attention. We're fascinated because we're disgusted, and we're fascinated because we need to know what will happen next to these normal characters that we can relate to. Carroll's answer really does just make sense; isn't pretty hard to imagine that the reason that we pay millions (or billions) to directors, theaters, publishing houses, and haunted houses is a result of repressed childhood castration fear? Carroll correctly judges that we're fascinated by what terrifies us, and, in my opinion, the best answer really can be the one that seems the most intuitive.