Born Whole

It’s that time of year again when shops and households are getting ready for a night of spooky fun; I’m talking about Halloween of course. My daughters are looking forward to going trick-or-treating with their friends next week and who am I to be a spoilsport?

While they’re excited I am feeling a little uncomfortable about the prospect of wandering the neighbourhood amongst scores of people in fancy dress costume. I used to think this was because I didn’t grow up with the Halloween tradition; back in the 70s and 80s Halloween hadn’t yet reached Sweden and by the time it had caught on I’d left the country.

But there’s one thing not to be that interested in Halloween, another to feel actively uncomfortable with it.  It’s not the ghosts that scare me, nor the zombies; it’s the use of facial disfigurement to represent horror that I take issue with.