Zombies. The risen dead, perhaps animated by black magic and its practitioners, obscene arts, or by pure evil, with a taste for human flesh torn straight from the living—can there be a story about such that has a social message? Can there be a zombie tale that is a love story? Aren’t zombie stories about gore and lots of it? In his new novella, Asylum, Mark Allan Gunnells, gives an answer to all three of those questions: yes. Curtis, a twenty-year-old college student, is taken to a gay club, Asylum, by his best friend, Jimmy, to dance, to drink, to have sex. This is the first gay club for Curtis and, perhaps, his night for his first sexual experience.
Then, the dead rise and attack the club. A handful survives the initial assault. They lock themselves inside, as the risen dead howl in the darkness, beating at the door, lusting after the flesh of the living. This is where Gunnells goes beyond the blood and the entrails and “nightmare visions made flesh” (not that he doesn’t have a lot of nightmare visions) and explores being human and human experience—falling in love, coming of age, the wounds and scars of bigotry and prejudice, the fragility of goodness. Inside this besieged nightclub, Curtis and the stunned Jimmy find themselves trapped with other survivors, who include a drag queen, a male stripper wearing only a thong, a gruff bartender, a DJ haunted by religion-induced guilt, and a pretentious gay couple. This situation is a familiar one in zombie stories and could easily stay familiar: panic, despair, terrified confessions, and the living turn on each other as the dead continue their attack. Gunnells does include such familiar motifs—at least one of the living turns on the others, but he also makes the risky move of exploring who these survivors are and how they came to this club, and he takes the greater risk of examining these survivors as who they are outside this club: gay people with histories who have experienced what is also familiar: homophobia, bigotry, and prejudice. And he examines what is perhaps less familiar—their humanity, and that even as the zombies beat on doors that must eventually yield, it is what makes us human that is triumphant: love, overcoming such adversity as addiction, and emotional isolation, and traumatic childhoods and dysfunctional families. Curtis, even in the middle of nightmare, finds the beginnings of love. We are, it seems, at our best, when things are at their worst. The risky moves pay off.
Yes, perhaps, at times, the social message, the indictment of homophobia, does veer toward the sermonic, but what saves the story is that the message is made very human: the drag queen was once a “sissy boy” abused by his father, the Vietnam vet was kicked out of the Army that he loved for being gay. These are people we know. Gunnells skillfully weaves such back stories into this night of the risen dead, creating the intersecting layers that are a part of being human.
Asylum is a risky, dark, and compelling story, with an innovative take on the zombie tale that is both well told, with vivid details, and has an equally compelling social message. I’m not usually a fan of horror, but I found myself wishing Asylum had been longer. Recommended.