Well, that was… something, I guess? To give credit where credit is due, I will say that up until about the halfway mark I was holding steady at a two-star review, but after that… well, the one good thing it had going for it was really not enough for me to say I liked it, in the end. So, let’s start with what’s bearable about this novel:
It has the same overall feeling as an ’80s monster flick. It’s sort of like a cross between Silver Bullet, The Monster Squad, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2: there’s a spunky, precocious teenage protagonist who comes out on top despite the fumbling and bumbling of inept small-town law enforcement officials, his loyal but floundering best pal, his dotty but doting grandparents, a couple of hot teenage girls with whom he can flirt when not hunting monsters, an old Romanian Gypsy seer who imparts ancient but cryptic knowledge about the vile monster upon our young hero, a Native American who appears just long enough to provide supplementary knowledge about the rumors among indigenous people of a walking wolf-beast before disappearing back into the woods, and a monster of unknown origins and purpose who seems to exist solely to revel in over-the-top carnage.
Now, that’s not to say that all of those things made this novel likeable. Not at all. It’s like flipping through your television channels, passing all sorts of things you genuinely like but for which you are just not in the mood, only to land on what you identify in a nanosecond as The Gate – suddenly, the voice of your inner child squeals with glee at the memories of those ridiculous demon things, and the next thing you know, you’re rolling your eyes through the entire remaining hour of this movie for which you haven’t given a second thought in three decades and which, if asked, you would readily admit was a dreadful, dreadful movie.
The catch, of course, is that The Gate – and movies like it – were made 20 – 30 years ago, when it was acceptable to have such stereotypical characters and people didn’t expect much from their horror save gallons of blood and buckets of bits. But now it’s 2019, and I just…
I expect more from a modern horror novel. At the very least, I expect the author to know how to use some goddamn punctuation. Maybe it’s different in the DTF version (Dead Tree Format – i.e., paper) of the novel, but in the digital version, the punctuation is a damn mess. It’s all over the place. The overuse and misuse of something as basic as the common comma was a terrible diversion – they appear in place of an ellipsis, to separate coordinating adjectives, and just seemingly at random.
But beyond that, I expect so much more. I’m not the sort of reader who holds all books to modern standards and expectations, regardless of when they are written or in what context certain attitudes are expressed (i.e., I’m not outraged at Gone with the Wind‘s use of the “n” word, I don’t grow indignant at Catcher in the Rye‘s throwaway attitude towards women in general, and I don’t become exasperated in the least by the punctuation or prose of Austen, Dickens, or Swift), but with a book written in 2016, I expect more.
I expect the inclusion of a Native American character to mean more than some guy in the woods with a name like “Sam (Insert-Adjective-Here)-Feather” whose sole purpose is to regale our teenage wunderkind with the indigenous local legends surrounding the werewolf. Which, in case everyone’s forgotten in these post-Twilight years, isn’t really a Native American “thing” – some indigenous tribes have legends of skin-walkers, but the werewolves as we know them are a distinctly European invention.
I mean, with the inclusion of the old Romanian Gypsy seer, we pretty much had our go-to for exotic foreign wisdom, right? Oh, and let us not forget that the old Romanian Gypsy seer has a granddaughter, who is, predictably, very beautiful, very close to her aged grandmother, and a talented seer herself.
The remaining characters are pretty familiar to anyone who grew up watching those 80s horror films, as well: the over-zealous but well-meaning deputy, the bumbling and swaggering sheriff, a few fluff characters who are there solely so they can die gruesome deaths, a couple of fluff characters added as diversions, and, of course, the big, bad beasty. Who is… y’know… big. And bad. And clawed. And fanged. And fuzzy all over. Y’know… basically a werewolf, but without the wer.
There are a couple of scenes where characters try to make stands against said werewolf and another couple which demonstrate the unreliability of vehicles in the direst of circumstances. Some people go missing, but that’s okay, because they’re mostly non-entities, anyway. A couple of dogs go down hard, which is lamentable and unnecessary, but they died defending their humans, so I guess most people would find that noble and acceptable.
The ending had that Night Gallery: The Caterpillar feeling (you know the one: “… and females lay eggs…”) – you knew before you even got to that point that it wasn’t over, there was no way it was over, but when you hear it, all you can do is throw your hands up, because of course it would go that way.
If you’re in the mood for some 1980s monster-slasher nostalgia, you may be into this one. Personally, when I’m in the mood for that sort of thing, I just go watch one of my childhood faves, so I’m going to walk away from Bane County and hope to never return.