Horror as therapy
Quebec author challenges himself and readers to face darker impulses, emotions
You may not be familiar with Patrick Senécal’s name yet, but be prepared. The Montreal author has been sending shudders down spines for 25 years, having sold more than a million copies of his novels in Quebec and in other parts of the world.
Early in his career, Senécal was dubbed the Stephen King of Quebec literature for his unique brand of raw psychological horror. He was cautioned that he would never enjoy a career as a full-time writer; his books were too dark, too heavy, too violent. But given his success and longevity, critics no longer make comparisons to King or other horror writers like Clive Barker. “Now I have my own voice here,” Senécal says.
Finally, English Canada has the opportunity to catch up with Quebec readers thanks to Simon & Schuster Canada, which has picked up two of Senécal’s older novels in translation. Out this month is
Seven Days (Les Sept Jours du talion), followed by his 1994 debut, Silent Move (5150, rue des Ormes), in June. Both books are translated by Howard Scott and Phyllis Aronoff, who just won the Governor General’s Literary Award for their work on Edem Awumey’s novel Descent into Night. Other than Against God, a 2012 translation of Senécal’s novella Contre Dieu, this marks the first time any of his major works will be available in English.
Seven Days follows the aftermath of the rape and murder of a seven-year-old girl. As her father, surgeon Bruno Hamel, grieves the death of his beloved daughter, a suspect is charged. Bruno’s anger escalates into obsessive thoughts of revenge. Employing his extensive medical knowledge, Bruno concocts an elaborate plan to kidnap the suspect out of police custody and to methodically torture the man. The titular seven days refers to how long Bruno plans to keep the child predator alive before killing him. But he doesn’t account for tenacious Hervé Mercure — a police detective who lost his own wife to a tragic murder — who is on a personal mission to track down Bruno before it’s too late.
The anxieties of parenthood and loss of loved ones appear often in Senécal’s novels. Seven Days coincided with the birth of his daughter, who is now 18, and provided him with a safe outlet to question what he would do if someone harmed his own child. Writing gave Senécal a means to examine his fears, and to control them.
“I didn’t want this book to tell people that if you’re full of hate because someone in your family was killed that you’re a bad guy or you’re wrong,” he says. “I think it’s very normal to have hate. But is violence a solution? Is it a good idea?”
Seven Days asks tough questions, but be forewarned, this book isn’t for the faint of heart or the squeamish. The torture scenes become increasingly more gruesome throughout the book (you’ll never look at a sledgehammer the same way again), but with a purpose in mind. Senécal wants to shock readers who stand by Bruno’s actions into examining their reasons why. He was tired of American movies in which revenge is portrayed as a means to happily ever after, which is why Bruno makes any one of Liam Neeson’s avenging dad characters look like Mister Rogers.
“If I want people to question themselves, I have to show people what violence is. You know what revenge is? Well, it’s gory and it’s hard and it’s dirty like this,” Senécal says. “I don’t want to give hope to people and I don’t want people to finish my book and say to themselves, ‘oh, OK, life is beautiful, everything’s gonna be fine.’ But there is a little light at the end.”
When writing his chilling torture scenes, Senécal strived to find the right balance of drama and believability. His first draft was excessively blood-soaked. Too much gore, Senécal knows, can come off as comedic or grotesque. But he wanted to maintain a high violence quotient because otherwise readers would emotionally stay on the side of Bruno, the grieving father.
It’s hard to imagine Senécal, with his open laugh and easygoing manner, as the architect of such gruesome crimes against a human body. When his wife, who is a psychologist, first read the book, Senécal says she asked herself many questions, like why her sweet husband was writing such violent material. “Our theory is that it’s better that I wrote it than I keep it inside of me,” he says. “It’s like therapy to exit the darkness and keep the lightness and the good things for real life.”