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Snow - Ronald Malfi

            Snow is the story of Ted and Kate’s struggle to survive against horrible spider monsters that get inside people.

           

            Erm, sorry. That’s Todd and Kate’s struggle to survive against horrible snow monsters that get inside people.

                                                                  

From the very beginning, I felt like I’d read this story before. I have, a few times now. For me, there was nothing particularly remarkable about Snow as a whole. It was a pretty standard group of survivors vs. monster apocalypse type story with a small town setting. The cop sacrificed himself, the kids got axed, and the pregnant lady was a psycho. Nothing new here.

They also killed off my favorite character, Shawna. Also nothing new here. I did find her refreshingly tough while she was alive. I really admired her will to survive, and felt a little betrayed when she was killed during a scene in her POV. For some reason I never expect a character to be killed in a scene when it is their POV, especially if they are the only character in that scene. Major expectation adjustment.

The only thing I found nonstandard about the book were the characteristics of the monster. Snow is, no surprise, largely about monsters that live in, or are part of the snow from a particularly large storm that covers the Midwestern United States. I’ve never seen a monster that takes the form of glittering, gravity defying snow in any sort of medium, other than a few select monsters in Dungeons and Dragons. When paired with the setting, which is a remote town in the center of a blizzard, the snow beast is well suited to its environment. In much the same way the alien from Alien uses its environment to its advantage, the snow beasts blend with their surroundings, amplifying the paranoia and fear that they could be anywhere and anytime.

As if incorporeal snow monsters with enormous hook arms that turn solid just long enough to hack and slash you and your shelter to smithereens wasn’t terrifying enough, the snow beasts are also capable of possessing their victims. Some of the human skin suites are used as disposable corporeal toys, and behave much like zombies. The interesting ones are the humans taken for more permanent residence. These retain some semblance of humanity, and are capable of blending in with the human population long enough to move about undetected (as seen in the epilogue), though they inevitably have a strange and alien demeanor that puts normal people on edge. This made me wonder how much, if any of the original personality remained in the possessed being. With Eddy Clement, I had the distinct impression there were still some remnants of his former self, but twisted and strange. This was the element of the story that held the most potential for me, and I was disappointed it wasn’t taken further.

An interesting thing also happens to children in this novel when they are possessed. They lose their faces. Something about the snow beasts doesn’t quite mix with prepubescent humans and the result is corrupted. The children appear to be outcasts from both the surviving humans, and the society of snow beasts. They take to roaming the woods in silent packs, and though disturbing, they never harm any of the human characters in the story, which was fascinating to me. I really want to know more about the feral, faceless children, their motives, and the state of their consciousness.

And lastly, there was totally a penis monster. And it was gross. I think there is something telling about ending the semester with a mention of a penis monster. Somehow, it says more than all my blogs ever could.

Relic - Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child

            Relic is the only book this semester that has made me squirm on the first page.

“Lighting a cigarette, he applied its tip to the forest of ticks on his shin and ankle.”

The forest of ticks. Have I mentioned how horrifying I find ticks? This has no particular relevance to the rest of the novel, but it still deserves a mention. I shuddered on the first page. Good on you Relic.

                      

As for the rest of the story, I found it to be more of a mystery than a horror. The pace was slow at points, and there were times it dragged for me, but the good moments of the novel made up for the low points. What Relic lacked most for me was the presence of strong characters. The only character I developed even a tiny attachment to was Smithback, and this was due to his obnoxious quirkiness, and possibly the moment of complete understanding I shared with him when he hit the buffet table and refused to be stopped even by absolute catastrophe.

What I enjoyed most about Relic was the setting, and the science. The giant labyrinth of the museum, stuffed with countless artifacts was at the same time lonely and compelling. I imagine if I was lost in the museum vaults, alone, afterhours I would be a bit apprehensive. Yet, at the same time, the beautiful realism and details that went into crafting the museum made me really want to go to one. And unlike the frozen Artic wastes, or vast spacecrafts, I can actually go to a museum. Relic actually inspired me to seek out first hand experiences with the diversity of other cultures and time periods. I am now planning a trip to the Smithsonian. Relic will doubtlessly be on my mind the whole time.

The other aspect of the book I enjoyed was the science. Natural science has always been an interest of mine, and I dabbled in a fair amount of biology during my undergraduate degree. Though the science in Relic took its creative liberties, it was clear to me it was based upon the author’s solid understanding of accurate science. One of my favorite puzzles in the novel was figuring out the machine’s predictions before the scientists could interoperate it for me.

Speaking of the machine’s prediction’s… what a fascinating beast! I found myself more intrigued by the museum beast than I was frightened, but this intrigue kept me turning pages. Though we never got to read in the POV of the beast, it still became a sympathetic monster to me. It was the last of its kind, living in a squalid and pitiful environment compared to the lush, green, expanse of its native home. It was drawn to the figurine of itself. It appreciated things of beauty. Then the beast was slowly hunted down, collecting bullets and injuries as the quiet lonely existence it had was disrupted, then destroyed by ignorant humans. I’d be pissed too. I’d probably go on a murderous rampage too. The beast, despite the opinions of several characters, wasn’t evil to me. The novel succeeded in turning the beast into a natural phenomenon, that like so many, is threatened and destroyed by the advancement of human society. It was a symbol of an old world, still wild, that was lost before it was fully understood, like the dozens of plant and animal species lost every day in the world’s rainforests.

Because I felt this way about the beast, I did not like the epilogue. I felt making the beast into Whittlesay and then having Kawikita attempt to harness the plant that caused the transformation, undid some of the work I appreciated most in the novel. I would have preferred if the beast were a natural born phenomenon, or simply one of the Korthoga, transformed by the virus. This adaptation seemed to destroy the ancient roots the beast represented to me. I prefer the conclusions Margo and Frock drew at the end of the novel.

Now, one last thing. While the science for the most part impressed me with its believability, this made the one flaw stand out in stark, annoying contrast to me. “All big game-lion, water buffalo, elephant- have eyes on the sides of their head”

No. Wrong. Lions, like all predatory mammals, have forward facing eyes. Predators have eyes in the front of their heads because it gives them the advanced depth perception they need to calculate distance to their prey. Herbivorous, prey animals have eyes on the sides of their heads to give them a wider field of vision to spot stalking predators. 

The Thing - John Carpenter

            I first saw The Thing years ago, and I must say my memories of the film do not do it justice. Or perhaps it just gets better with time. John Carpenter makes great John Carpenter films. There's no other category of comparison for them. The first scene involves the worst marksman ever, a helicopter that says “Caution rotating blades” with an arrow, and what is possibly the most glorious beard ever caught on film. Then every scene thereafter pretty much has equally great components along the same vein. 

            The Thing itself is our second alien of the semester, and like Rawhead Rex, is an ancient terror unleashed by foolish humans who won't stop digging. This beast, more than another I've encountered this semester, is terrifying because it is not understood. It is first seen on film as a dog with a strange habit of staring at things in a very poised and ominous way (the animal actor deserves an oscar). Even more than the gross out scenes where the Thing shape shifts, the first scenes where it is in the shape of a dog, but clearly not a dog are the most disturbing for me. It takes something familiar and makes it strange. 

            As the story progresses and it consumes other organisms and replicates itself, we receive very limited information about it. All we know is that it absorbs other organisms, mimics them perfectly, and reproduces in this fashion. Even though it seems to gain intelligence from the beings it consumes (which is perfectly terrifying in its own right), and developed the ability to speak, we never glean any of its motives beyond reproducing. As a matter of fact, every time we see the Thing, it is something else. In this way it is impossible to know the enemy, it is a truly faceless opponent, and that is the true horror of the Thing. 

            I love this movie. I love the monster. I even love the cheesy scenes and the amazing Yosemite Sam hat Kurt Russell insists on wearing with snow goggles and some kind of head wrap. However there is one problem I must point out for the sake of science and common sense. In the scene where Mac tests the blood of his companions with a hot wire and proves that each part of the Think is an independent organism, a lot of sentient blood escapes. The others were too busy burning the once human looking masses of Thing to apparently notice, but that blood would in theory be enough to continue the infection and menace. Also, the thing totally exploded all over everyone in the room and could have infected them that way. It seems odd that they had the foresight to suggest eating only canned food to avoid contamination, but weren’t concerned about being rained on by Thing-goo.

            To end this post I’d like to pose a question about something in the film. There are a lot of theories about the end of the film and whether or not Childs was a Thing. A lot of these theories have to do with the bottle of scotch they share at the end (in one of them it is suggested Mac replaced the scotch with kerosene, and because Childs was a Thing, he wouldn’t know what scotch or kerosene tasted like so that’s why he drank it and Mac had that weird crazy laugh). I paid close attention to the film this time around trying to see the significance of the scotch. Though I was unable to find any concrete evidence, the prevalence of alcohol in the film was very obvious. Liquor was centered in a ton of shots, especially Mac’s bottle of Jim Beam (I think that’s what it was) which was seen in his first appearance, and his last. To me, it seemed intentional, so I think there may be something I missed there. Did anyone see anything relating to the significance of the scotch or have any interesting theories?

The Wolfman - Jonathan Maberry

            I love werewolves. Of all the monsters and supernatural creatures that abound in fiction, werewolves are my favorite. I love all kinds of werewolves, evil werewolves, insane werewolves, monstrous werewolves, tragic werewolves, romantic werewolves; the whole spectrum. Of all the readings for this class, The Wolfman was the piece that had me the most excited.

            It was terribly underwhelming.

            It was just meh. Maybe it was because Maberry’s piece is a novelization of a film, but there was something off about the work as a whole. I never got into any of the characters (the omniscient narrator contributed to this), I never got a chill or a laugh, I never felt any tension. The whole time I read I was painfully aware of the fact I was reading. I will now point out a few of the factors that contributed to my disappointment.

            This was a novelization of a classic film, which has been done a few times. I kept that in mind. I made myself at all times aware of the fact the work was supposed to follow the film. But even with this in mind, the whole thing read like a giant cliché. It felt like one dramatic cliché after the other. Mysterious stranger, gothic manor, widowed beauty, gypsy wise woman, all of it. When I read the scene with the mysterious Frenchman with the silver wolf’s head sword-cane, I groaned inside aw, I wonder what he’s gonna do with that. I knew it was supposed to be this way, and in the end it didn’t matter a bit. It bothered me anyway.

            Then there was the language. The novel was set in 19^th century Europe. The writing tried to emulate the gothic novels of the time, but it came out all clunky and weird. An actual 19th century gothic novel is easier to read, Wuthering Heights was smooth and quickly immersed me in the language and style. Not so with The Wolfman.

            And then there was the Wolfman itself. This beast was the universal studios monster, and clung to the cannon. Great. I love werewolves, but… it did not lend itself to writing well. Where we could see the torment and rage in the expression of the Wolfman in his many appearances in visual media, on paper I was beaten over and over again with a hundred kinds of “rage” and then bloodlust this bloodlust that. And The Goddess of the Hunt, The Goddess of the Hunt, The Goddess of the Hunt, RAHHHH!!! I get it!

            All of the scenes in the Wolfman’s POV evoked images of Hollywood B-movie gore. Every time someone got decapitated by the Wolfman’s claws I shuddered inside. I'm sorry, I don’t care how strong the beast is, I just don’t see that happening unless his claws are ten inches long and sharp like a battle ready katana. And then there was the one severed head that tried to scream. Ugghhhh. I couldn’t take it seriously. It was like the novel was making a parody of Lawrence’s devastating struggle.

            The idea of the Wolfman style monster is potentially terrifying. The beast kills and eats, kills and eats, dozens, hundreds if it could catch them. It’s never full, it will kill, begin to feed, and then be distracted by the next fleeing morsel. The Wolfman is a nightmare of gluttony and excess in the most violent of ways. And it is virtually indestructible. The monster’s body eats lead bullets like they’re candy, and recovers from broken bones in seconds. The Wolfman also possesses just enough intelligence to make it more frightening than a beast, but not familiar like a man. Even more frightening is the potential for the Wolfman to be anyone. But for a few hours once a month, it could be your neighbor, your father, yourself. And on that one night each month whoever the Wolfman was doesn’t matter anymore. The transformation is irresistible, and total (barring a few seconds hesitation when faced with the power of love, awww). For me, the total loss of identity is the most frightening aspect of this monster. It kills a lot, so do other monsters, but the idea of being this monster is what is truly terrifying.

            But, alas, Maberry’s execution of this great idea didn’t do it for me.

            Yet, to end on a high note, there was one scene and one sentence that made me geek out in a good way. First is the scene. When the Wolfman enters the masquerade and is pacified by the blind soprano’s voice (yes, music lulls the beast is a trope, I know) I immediately recalled my beloved Grendel, torn apart by the Shaper’s poetry. It gets an A for making me recall Grendel.

            And now for the sentence. “Somehow his mass increased-perhaps drawing substance from Hell itself.”

            Thank you Jon. Thank you. Is that really so hard? Looking at you Pinborough.

Alien - Ridley Scott

This was my first experience with the Sci-Fi horror classic Alien. Yes, I am one of those people who saw Prometheus first, and yes, I enjoyed it. More importantly I also enjoyed Alien. Considering the film is from 1979, I was really impressed with the effects and filming techniques used to overcome the limited technology. I can count on one hand the number of scenes that looked disruptively hoaky, which is no small feat for a movie coming out of this time period. Many high budget modern horror flicks have failed to reach the level of tension I felt during key scenes in Alien.

            The first factor that contributed to the effectiveness of this film even decades later, is the cinematography. The film deliberately shied away from showing the alien in close up, well lit, and full detail. Instead the dark, claustrophobic, and inorganic aesthetic of the ship was reflected in the bits of the alien we were shown. As the film progressed, the setting and the monster seemed to blur until there was something hostile in every shot, even when the monster itself was nowhere to be scene. The feeling that the monster could be anywhere was more effective than actually having it pop up everywhere. In addition to the uncomfortable hostility of the setting, the parts of the monster that were shown with most detail were carefully selected to be the most dangerous and least human. The long glossy head, dripping double mouth, segmented tail, and perhaps the part I found most disturbing, the hands, which bore an unmistakable resemblance to human, but were corrupted, dark, wet, clawed things that moved with a disturbing fluidity in the scene at the end. In this way, the film drew attention away from the humanoid body of the monster (which was, in a few brief scenes, clearly a man in a suit) and kept the focus on the truly alien aspects of the beast.

            The second contributing factor to the success of this piece as a horror was the acting. I enjoyed the performance of every actor in the film. The screams were realistic; the growing terror in Lambert’s voice as she tells Dallas the alien is coming right at him was convincing. That scene was one of my favorites. There was something in the simplicity of the white blip on the radar marking the monster that served to heighten the terror, in the same way the static on your computer monitor makes you almost pee yourself when you play Slender. Weaver’s performance in particular struck me. Between her sweat drenched appearance, ragged breathing, and wide eyes, I felt anxiety with the character, who was also admirable and resilient to boot.

            The alien itself is an apex predator. It has multiple life stages, similar to many species of wasp. And like these wasps, each of the aliens life stages are terrifying, from the mouth-raping face-hugger, to the toothy little chest popper, to the fully formed adult (how did it get so big so fast anyway? What did it eat?).  Its blood is super corrosive, it’s incredibly adaptive, and it can probably eat four adult humans in less than twelve hours. On top of all that, it is also perfectly camouflaged with your claustrophobic spaceship.

            Oh, and there’s an evil android who’s most sinister quality is the level of ambiguity he operates in. for me, my inability to pin down how alike, or how unlike Ash was to humans made him particularly monstrous. He starts off seeming like he acted out of regard for Kane’s wellbeing (aw, how human), then we learn he only wants to preserve the alien and the humans are expendable (woah, how synthetic), and then right at the end he has that really uncomfortable scene where he tries to essentially orally rape Ripley to death with a rolled up nudie mag (WTF? What is up with this robot? Uncanny valley… *rocks*).

            In hindsight after conducting a little research, I’ve come to realize just about the entire Alien franchise is built upon the fear and horror of rape, but when first viewing the film, other than the obvious scene with the android, I was totally oblivious. I'm going to go ahead and keep the impression I had about the story of a tough girl, a scary monster, and a cat.

World War Z - Max Brooks

Officially my favorite piece so far, World War Z hit a level of depth and character the previous stories fell short of. I had my reservations coming into the piece, not being a fan of war stories, or stories with too many POVs, but by the end I was blown away by the novel. The strong voices really distinguish this piece from all of the others. Each interview reveals a POV ripe with culture, philosophy, and diversity in every way imaginable. This gives readers the chance to view the apocalypse from angles all over the globe and human spectrum, from suburban mom, to international space station astronaut.

For my favorite part.                      

I was majorly impressed by Brooks’ ability to create well developed characters in a handful of pages. So many of the characters came alive from the get go, but for me, the truly incredible feat revolves around my favorite character. General Raj Singh was a larger than life hero, and this fantastic image of him was built without ever giving him his own POV. The square he had is men form to fight off a zombie swarm became world famous, and was mentioned by many POV characters. The moment one of his men had to knock him unconscious to get him to evacuate the lost battle was viewed from space via satellite. His final moments were brought to us through a third party POV character who witnessed him run off to detonate the charges that would avoid a nuclear strike when the remote failed. Through the thoughts, eyes and ears of other characters, whether right in front of the General’s face, or literally a world away, Raj Singh was brought to life in a way that will stick with me even after many of the POV characters fade. This was one of my favorite parts of the novel, and really shows the power of characterization.

Now, about the zombies. The monsters in World War Z were an unstoppable plague that tore apart the planet. Science and technology were dreadfully underprepared for a disaster of this magnitude, and so were the social structures of every country. The book said it best, but to summarize, what made Zack so effective for me was that the monster’s destructive powers weren’t an inherent thing the creature possessed, but rather the exact way they combined with the faults of humanity. Another race, a better race, one more sophisticated, ethical, and united would never have succumbed to Zack the way humans did. The zombie is humanity turned against itself, both in the literal sense (zombies were people) and in the metaphorical sense (much of the devastation in World War Z came from people not getting along and doing things like launching nukes at each other.) I appreciate this poetic symmetry.

Another thing that really hit the spot with this work, was that it did the exact opposite of what many previous works earned my nerd rage for. World War Z acknowledged the scientific faults in it, and it made it more believable. Characters bring up both the fact that Zach somehow doesn’t rot in sea water, and the miraculous survival of the zombie’s brain tissue even after being frozen and thawed.  This made my nerd heart feel so warm. Thank you. Thank you for acknowledging the fact that science exists and should work, but doesn’t and no one knows why. That’s all I ever wanted.

The only thing I really found at fault with this piece is the lack of clarity in naming the different POV characters. The interviews are titled by location, and in many cases, the narrator’s opening narration leaves out the name of who he is interviewing. Though the voices were so strong I could usually tell when a repeat POV came up, it would have been nice to have the names readily available at the beginning of the POVs. Especially when you have to write a blog post. I don’t know the name of the Air force woman with the imaginary sky watcher “Mets” off the top of my head. And there are wonderful characters I can only refer to as Astronaut Man, Dog Man, and Resorted to Cannibalism Girl without pouring through the pages. They sound like bad superheroes.

But overall, World War Z has become a personal favorite.