There was a time when I'd hear about this book in horror circles as one of the scariest ever written. But over the past five years, I've ceased to hear about it anymore. "Goat Dance" is not a new novel, being Douglas Clegg's debut in 1989. So what happened? Had the novel enjoyed a resurgence in popularity and then got quickly forgotten? Is it an underappreciated diamond in the rough, an acquired taste, a horror great that somehow stays under the radar of contemporary fandom salivating over the next new "extreme" gore fest? Or is it just not all that memorable?
Well, let's analyze it. It's a small-town evil story, partially a Christmas horror, and (would you believe it?) a Founder's Day horror. Ironic since we have a new slasher movie coming out called "Founder's Day". The setting is a fictional village in Virginia. Now, Virginia is a weird enough place as far as I'm concerned. There's almost the feeling that the whole state is a suburb of Washington DC, yet it also has the heartland Main Street Americana feel of Indiana, some rural Appalachian mountain man moonshine aesthetic, and enough patrician Southern charm to make you drunk just off the smell of mint juleps. Douglas Clegg takes full advantage of this nebulous Virginian identity and makes his town of Pontefract feel almost like a liminal space, a disorienting amalgamation of places from your dreams, with homicidal rednecks living next to some Hogwarts prep school for debutantes and future golf instructors. His writing proves that prose can be accessible without being insultingly childish, and in fact, can be quite beautiful and thoughtful, likely leading to some dog-eared pages and a few underlined passages in your copy.
It's also highly nostalgic for those of us who grew up in the Eighties. The local cinema marquee announces Nightmare on Elm Street 3. "We're the Dream Warriors!" (Sorry.) Kids are working concession stands during winter break or running around in the streets playing football, making snowmen, stealing bones from dogs, assaulting homeless people, and breaking through police cordons of homicide scenes instead of texting their friends on smartphones. You know--old fashioned normal kid stuff. People use answering machines and pay phones, and 9-1-1 is still a novelty. And teenage boys still think they have a chance with Jodie Foster.
Let's talk about the negatives. It was unnecessarily convoluted. Perspective, location, and time perpetually shift back and forth until the reader feels like an ADHD kid watching SpongeBob while playing Terraria at the same time. It took me almost a third of the book to get my bearings, but not before almost having a seizure once or twice. But you know what this means. A chapter ends on some cliffhanger, and now you have to wade through five more chapters featuring different characters and situations, each ending in their own cliffhanger, until you get back to a thread you've already forgotten about. As a result of all this intentional hocus pocus to make an otherwise simple plot that we've all seen before more complex than it is, we get a book that stretches out to almost 500 pages, at least in my version. That's not terribly long for a book you really enjoy, but it didn't have to be "big like King".
Douglas Clegg does understand comedy as well as horror, and in this story, he uses it to good effect in order to spice up the characters, especially the main protagonist Cup Coffee.
Yes. Cup Coffee. Get it?
I do believe Clegg takes the humor a bit too far here. It feels like he went on a binge of Erma Bombeck, Shirley Jackson, and David Sedaris before writing this book. For the most part, all the funny bits work, and he manages to create some engaging and quirky characters this way, which is very much needed. The book is otherwise too full of unlikeable caricatures. Bullies so evil they should be in a prison rather than in school constantly endangering the safety of other kids. Neurotic wives who hate their husbands. Narcissistic husbands who abuse their wives and wonder why they won't have sex. Rageful fathers socking their kid in the eye for not cleaning their room. Lonely spinsters with perpetual curlers in their hair shoveling sweets while gossiping on the phone to the neurotic wives who hate their husbands. Snobby inbred Southern aristocrats who run the local historical society but still think the Confederates won the War between the States. Rednecks in flannel clinging to their Bibles and their guns. The cast is nothing but the kind of pessimistic cliches that elitist politicians think comprises most of America. But even when Douglas Clegg tries to spice up the wit and intelligence with the few characters who are not despicable, it feels too self-consciously quirky, the dialogue too self-referential, as if the author wanted to show off how witty he was when he wasn't trying to gross you out or scare the living shit out of you.
Which then circles us back to my main question. Is it scary?
Yes, I suppose it might be considered scary to casual fans of horror. But it's more gross than anything. Drowning in vomit. Scratching oneself to death. Vagina dentata. Blood and guts everywhere. And worse. Oh, much worse. This is one ridiculously splattery, brutal nightmare that will make you run for the showers faster than the Duke boys can drive the ol' General Lee. Fans of Evil Dead will love it.
The final result reads like a small-town zombie outbreak (or ghouls) mixed with the obligatory Native American folklore, a tale of tainted ground, body horror, demonic possession, and splatterpunk slasher mayhem, making this a greatest hits of Eighties paperbacks told with tongue-in-cheek sarcasm through serialized vignettes of unnecessary complexity and multiple perspectives of a bloated cast used for cannon fodder. Whew! It's nothing horror fans haven't seen before, but the whole package is so over-the-top that it's a fun ride, even if it outlasts its welcome. It won't have a lasting legendary cult status, but I can certainly see why it may go through some surges in readership with reprintings and younger audiences rediscovering older extreme horror books. Overall, an impressive debut!
Now, if you'll excuse me, this book gave me a hankering for some ham biscuits and a MoonPie washed down with an ice-cold RC Cola, and I simply must indulge.
SCORE: 3.5 cups of coffee, rounded to 4/5