The Rats by James Herbert
4.35 rounded down to 4 🔮🔮🔮🔮orbs
Pan Publishing
1970s, The docks in London’s East End, a lonesome cheddar…
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Orbs Prologue:
“They put cheese on my sandwich,” yells the lactose-intolerant dockworker. His grimy hand grabs my creamy frame and tosses me over his burly shoulder. End over end, I plummet to the frigid waters below. Surprisingly buoyant, I float like a lost wooden raft towards the murky canal, where the gentle lapping waves leave me on the garbage-strewn banks, marooned like a shipwreck. Vulnerable, like a beached whale, I await the pecking crows with their blackened beaks to pick me apart, yet they do not come. From the corner of my periphery, I see a wave of darkness swimming towards my resting place. Dear reader, my name is Cheddar, and my story is one of bewilderment, loneliness, and bitter endings.
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Nuts & Bolts:
Mr. Harris, teacher extraordinaire and unsung hero, stands at the front of the class. One gets the impression he enjoys the challenges of the school where he works. One fateful day, a student complains of being bitten by a rat and is soon rushed to the hospital for further examination, where he eventually succumbs to the infection. Through quick deduction, Mr. Harris knows these rats are not normal. These rodents are abnormally cunning, with physical prowess to match. Most notable is the sheer size of these vermin. Huge, black, and beady-eyed, often appearing as big as the largest house cat. In his own rendition of London’s apocalyptic Black Death, author James Herbert’s wave after wave of unrelenting fear is cast upon teary-eyed readers. There is no escape, for the sheer number of rats overtakes any obstacle that stands in their way. As the jaws clamp and blood flows, Harris must help devise a plan to escape the meaty clutches of these killer rodents. All that remains are the gnawed bones of freshly stripped carcasses, the meaty tendons torn, and the entrails long since gobbled up. The clock is ticking, for these rats reproduce quickly, morphing into a new and improved version with every litter. One is left to wonder, is there even a solution to this ever-growing problem?
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Orbs Pros:
As a child, I owned gerbils, so you would think a rat would not present me with any problems, yet, in my old age, I loathe rats. They terrify me, and the mere thought of this book invoking any sort of reality cast a shadow of heebie-jeebies onto the walls of my room as I read this. James Herbert’s action-packed prose left me wheezing in a self-induced asthma attack. Initially, I wondered just how horrendous a book about rats could be. Herbert brought this world to my front door, rang my doorbell, and laughed as he scurried off, not looking back. Upon opening my door, filth entered my abode, leaving me speechless. Scratching and clawing, they kept coming; my skin prickled at every calculated move by these beasts. Scary!!!
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Orbs Cons:
Some sex-filled scenes upend the breakneck pace that Herbert employs to give the reader time to breathe. This had the intended effect, although I am not always a fan of “romantic” excursions during my experience.
Highly Recommended!
This was horror awesome sauce. Herbert’s genius in writing a diabolical novel starring rats, while somehow making it entertaining throughout, is a testament to his skill. Seriously, I really enjoyed this in the most heinous way!
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Orbs Epilogue:
The scourge from the pit of hell descended upon the embankment as the sun set. Inky-furred creatures, cats? No, not cats, rats? RATS!!! My arch nemesis's love of devouring my kind is legendary. Surely their salacious appetites would seek out any morsel within the immediate proximity, a piece of cheese being the prime target. So here I sit, waiting to be torn to shreds, my poor body preparing to be consumed by these ugly creatures. Yet, something bizarre happens. The mountainous wave of long-tailed scavengers scampers past me, ignoring me. What in the world is going on? I feel a bit self-conscious; am I not good enough to be eaten by the likes of these ravenous things? Days fly by, and I hear the remnants of a war between humans and these vermin. From their sneering faces, the rats seem to be enjoying a victorious celebration of human flesh as their trophy. My body is decaying; a green mold is starting to take shape on my body. An ineptness creeps into my minuscule, cheesy mind. What purpose have I served in this tumultuous place where everything has been eaten but me? So, as I simply decompose, let it be known that I, Cheddar, last of my circle, tried to live a true and honorable life, yet it was not meant to be.