The only thing that triggered a response like that was a book on cannibalism. By the third chapter I was feeling queasy and just couldn’t handle it anymore.
It didn’t really disturb me mentally (it was actually fairly fascinating), but it seemed like something unconcious in me just did not like what it was hearing and revolted.
There is also a new book, “Crime Album Stories—Paris, 1886-1902,” by Eugenia Parry, that I found too creepy and disturbing to finish. And this is ME, The Queen of the Dead, we’re talking about, here!
My SIL (Sarah) is schitzophrenic and I hope I spelled that correctly. She wrote a book, a sci-fi story that included tons of rape. The two main female characters were virtually identical and the male characters were all bastards and named after my husband and friends of ours whom the SIL has met. The males are all violently murdered by the female leads. This is probably the only thing that has ever made me sick to my stomach to read, since the border that boxes in reality for Sarah is quite blurry.
I read a book when I lived in Belfast called “The Shankill Butchers” by Martin Dillon. It was about a group of what can only be called serial killers who loosely cloaked themselves in pro-British loyalist terrorism. They killed their Catholic victims, chosen entirely at random, in some of the most horrific and brutal ways possible, in several cases at a pub in an almost celebratory way.
It made me feel sick, and it’s the closest mere written words have ever come to making me vomit.
Spoilers to follow if you haven’t read “The Cobra Event.”
The opening sequence of well, “The Cobra Event.” It was a very hot day and I was in Barnes and Noble. I was starting to feel a bit sick anyway, and figured I should pick up a book and stay still for a few minutes (I had just had lunch and walked 20 blocks in 90+ degree heat, so I figured I was just in need of some quiet cooling off in the B&N air-conditioning).
So I’m standing there reading and before I know it I’m getting this wonderful description of the violent, painful, bloody and self-cannibalizing death of 17 year old Kate. It was hypnotic, I couldn’t make myself put it down despite the fact that I was getting faint by this point and could feel my vision going screwy! I finally sort of tossed it down and ran for the restroom, where I figured I could lock myself in a stall and have some privacy while I passed out rather than doing it in front of the entire sales floor. There was, of course, a line, so I was sort of clinging to the wall trying to stand up straight-- caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror; I was gray.
It eventually passed, but to this day I’m bothered by the fact that not one person asked me what was wrong (I think I’ve mentioned that on the board before). That, however, is a rant for another thread…
The Wasp Factory by Iain Banks; very very disturbing, sickening and yet a compelling read, It’s a brilliant piece of writing that I wish I’d never seen.
While perusing some “erotic story” websites, I came across a scat story. Not knowing at the time what scat was, I started reading. By the time I figured out what was doin’ (it turned out to be an incestual scat story, btw), I had the pre-vomit sequence fully under way. I had to stop before the end of the story to keep from tossing my cookies.
A few years ago I was asked to work on a new play. I read the script before accepting the job and thank goodness I did. It was a horrible story about a boy who is sexually abused by his own father. One scene took place in a bathroom and the father is forcing his son to . . . No I can’t describe it! Makes my throat tighten up just thinking about it now. Can you imagine rehearsing this scene? Not that I would be one of the actors, I am a stage manager.
I returned the script to the author and told him I was not going to accept the job. He said that I was repressing memories of abuse and I should come to terms with it as he had. I was not abused just grossed out by his play!
I feel for the poor man but did not need to be a part of his therapy.
A work of “art” can be powerful but not enlightening.
“The Other Side of Midnight” by Sidney Sheldon had an abortion scene that made me get out from under the drier (I was having a perm at the time) and visit the restroom. To make it worse, you sort of are into it without realizing that is where it is going. Not only did I stop reading THAT book, I will NEVER read another one by that author. NEVER!
In his short story collection - Piers Anthony has a short story (probably “On the Uses of Torture”) where a Terran is tortured to prove his worthiness to meet the governors of the planet. Shudders just thinking about it.
“In the Barn” (same book) didn’t bother me the same way, tho friends found it quite disturbing.
Some of the Holocaust literature has affected me as well.
There is a 3 page, lovingly detailed description of a nose job in a Thomas Pynchon novel (I think it’s V, but I’m not sure; it’s been a while) that made me truly ill. It took me three tries to get through it (I was reading it for a class) though I’m not sure why. I’m usually not squeamish about that sort of thing, but for some reason it really got to me.
Putting aside a typical Jack Chick tract, the only incident I can recall was while reading some of the child abuse/torture scenes in Chung Kao. Gouging out a kid’s eyes, filling them with maggots, then sewing the lids closed … ewwwwwwwwwwwwww!
In “Rainbow Six”, the part where the terrorist leads the disabled girl in the wheelchair to believe that she is being reunited with her parents at the bottom of a hill. He kills her by shooting her in the back and pushes her down the hill in the wheelchair to her waiting parents. I’ve often said that I applaud any author that can make me feel sick while reading a book, Clancy did it.
can’t remember the name of the book, but it was kind of cheesy. about a nanny who was murdering children. there was an opening scene where it actually describes her placing the baby on an overburner, and describes the melting skin, burning flesh, and crying baby. horrid.
i actually don’t know much else of the book, because I didn’t read much more of it…
There’s an excellent book called Bury Me Standing which is about gypsy communities in Europe in the 20th century. The parts about the holocaust made me feel faint and dizzy. The holocaust is always emotionally disturbing, but that was the only time I can remember being actually physically unwell.
In her autobiography ‘Dream On’ Cyrinda Foxe Tyler (Steven Tyler of Aerosmith’s ex-wife) describes the time when her upstairs neighbor in NYC killed himself and no one knew until maggots were spilling into other apartments. She saw the body before it was taken away and the description was one of the most gratuitous, revolting, stomach-heaving things I’ve ever had the misfortune to read. And the book just went downhill from there. Poop on a stick.
American Psycho … especially the last torture and murder scene (you know … the one with the rat and the Habittrail tube.) It almost seems as if the author is taking pride in his invention. Truly horrendous.