Manhattan, 1978 (or thereabouts). During a September heatwave, a sailor gets mugged in the middle of Central Park. Unfortunately, at the time, he'd been carrying a box with some precious and dangerous cargo inside: a live black mamba.
Of course, the deadly reptile gets loose. From there, we should all know the drill, right? Everyone's seen "Jaws" and its knockoffs (like "Piranha"). With the seventies eco-horror craze reaching its apex, the killer animal formula had gotten predictable by this point.
Yet "The Snake" managed to surprise me. Reptiles seldom fare well at the hands of Western authors. More often than not, lizards, crocodiles, and especially snakes are written off as callous, dim-witted, and bloodthirsty. Made-to-order bad guys, if you will.
Godey is different because if anything, his story is pro-snake. And refreshingly so. As a lifelong herpetology enthusiast, I really appreciate that positive outlook on some of the animals I love the most.
True, the mamba bites quite a few people. But Godey never misses a chance to remind us that most reptiles don't like being around people in the first place, and his snake is no exception. She just wants her privacy. I can respect that.
Even when things get dark, the book never loses its sympathy for the title character.
At least a few paragraphs in each chapter are told from the mamba's perspective. Here she is in this strange place, an ocean away from home, just doing her best to get by. (And munch on a squirrel now and then.)
All in all, the mamba herself is a compelling, even likable character.
Compared to some of the humans who populate this story, I'd call her a breath of fresh air.
In the city that never sleeps, an eleven-foot, highly venomous reptile can't stay hidden for long, in spite of her efforts to keep a low profile. After biting a pickpocket who'd tried to kill her, our mamba learns the hard way that not all publicity is good publicity in the Big Apple.
The body of her first "victim" is barely even cold when a media circus invades her new territory. Armed vigilantes sweep Central Park, hell bent on killing the snake, or at least taking her picture. Whatever comes first.
Tensions escalate once the city electorate gets involved. In the sweltering heat, our snake becomes a political football and Gotham's favorite new villain.
Everybody's got an opinion. Protesters want the park shut down; counterprotesters think they're nuts. Pranksters have a field day scaring the hell out of bystanders with rubber snakes on strings. One well-to-do socialite organizes the city's dog owners and has them sweep the park with all their poochies in tow--on the theory that man's best friend is also man's best snake-wrangler
Worst of all, you've got a religious cult telling anyone who will listen that the wayward mamba is Satan incarnate. Against such evil, only their fearless leader can save us. (When he's not too busy committing financial crimes downtown.)
I don't know anything about John Godey. Reading "The Snake," I got the distinct impression that he's either spent a lot of time covering city politics for a daily rag, or he knew people who did.
In this novel, the horror and chaos don't really come from the snake. They come from partisan squabbles, from political posturing. See the mayor who's so image-conscious that he's willing to round up 500 cops and have the lot of them comb Central Park, inch by inch, on a 100-degree day. All so they *might* catch one stray reptile who probably wouldn’t survive the winter anyway.
"The Snake" is a pretty good read, more thoughtful than I expected. It annoyed me that Godey kept calling venom "poison" and I thought the ending was a mild letdown. Still, fans of retro horror should get a kick out of this one.