The Violence by Delilah S. Dawson is not a good read. It’s a terrible read. It’s best described as therapy writing that unfortunately got published. I feel that the phrase “unfortunately got published” isn’t used enough when describing today’s book offerings. The Author’s Note at the beginning of the novel describes the book as just that—a part of her own healing process. Dawson says that some of the domestic abuse scenes her main character experiences are based on past episodes she and her mother lived through with her father, the abuser. Domestic violence and abuse are not to be taken lightly and I’m glad the author healed (is healing) from that. If reading this book helps others, then that’s good too. However, as a novel of terror and survival (and not a self-help/trauma/therapy-recovery book) it’s ineffective and unconvincing.
Chelsea has a nice big house, two beautiful daughters and a handsome husband…who beats her and terrifies her and controls her movements. When a mysterious murder epidemic strikes Florida, Chelsea decides she is desperate enough to use it to her advantage. The Violence, as the murders are collectively called, is a plague that causes those infected to go into uncontrollable rages and brutally kill anyone near them. If you are suspected of being infected, the government hauls you away to a quarantine until you can be tested. Chelsea knows that convincing the police that her husband has the Violence is the only option she has of saving herself and her children.
The beginning of this novel is not bad. I sympathize with Chelsea, her husband’s an abusive prick and I want her to get out. The pace is tense and suspenseful. Then…whole lotta nothing.. Once Chelsea turns to her bitch of a mother for help and the family separates, the story loses its steam and turns absolutely ridiculous. The ending is very soap opera predicable and overly dramatic but anticlimactic at the same time and then it all deflates like a days’ old party balloon.
I can’t really buy the premise of this novel because it doesn’t go far enough. Okay, so people start going nuts and kill someone near them (usually with bare hands or with help of a heavy object; not with a gun) but there has to be some physical limit on this. I mean, if a 90 lb 80 year old woman gets infected, is she really going to be able to beat up her 22 year old grandson? Even with the help of a lamp (assuming she can lift it)? Eventually, I’d say people would start arming themselves (listen to silly me: start arming themselves…as if the whole USA isn’t a walking arsenal of assholes with guns shooting at anyone for any damn reason or no reason at all) and shooting anyone they meet just in case they might be infected. You wouldn’t have an outbreak of deaths from the Violence. You’d have a whole lot of murders by guns. (Oh, wait, we have that now. What do we call it? Oh, yeah, the right to shoot people who don’t look like me bear arms.) But this doesn’t happen in the novel. Eventually towns and neighborhoods get deserted as everyone stays inside and the economy collapses. And what’s even dumber than this is that it only affects the southern states. Why? Because it’s been discovered that the infection is passed by mosquitoes and we all know that mosquitoes only live in southern states. I mean, when it’s 80 degrees in Pennsylvania, I never see a mosquito. Absolutely never. So the novel portrays the northern parts of the States as happy-go-lucky fine and dandy but the south is a mess of Violence. I’m guessing this is a subtextual message from the author. Or maybe not subtextual at all because this novel is way too political and preachy and heavy-handed in all its themes.
Chelsea’s husband, the judge, Patricia’s husband, the (male) police, the daughter’s boyfriend—so many of the men are portrayed as abusers. There’s no subtlety to it; the message is clearly: men are abusers. Well, a certain group. The author divides the men into good and bad, and the good men are the ones Chelsea meets when she starts healing and becomes a wrestler…eye roll on that twist of the novel. But the political bent of the novel is too much because the monologues by the characters on the evils of prison (392) or the disgust aimed at the novel’s current president (obviously a fictional Donald Trump, 372) are the author’s opinion and have nothing to do with the plot. The whole side story of Ella just happening to run into River and their friend Leanne (who just happens to know how to make the vaccine in their RV) is a whole lotta are you fucking kidding me? The development of a vaccine by a lone grad student is complete nonsense. We just went through a pandemic and how many countries and scientists and pharmaceutical companies cooperated to create vaccines? A whole damn lot. And it still took a couple of years before vaccines were considered decent enough to give to humans. So, yeah, one grad student figured it out? In Florida? Nope. And Leanne’s (who is described as smirking “fondly” as if you could actually do that) explanation for why the government hasn’t come up with its own cure yet is also insane. It’s there to take a political potshot at the previous president. Whether I agree or not isn’t the point. That type of crap doesn’t belong in a novel. If I want to read something anti-Trump, there are plenty of nonfiction books out there.
When Chelsea runs out of money and realizes she’s in danger from Joe Blow, her husband’s cop buddy (thus bad guy), she decides to take refuge with her bitch mom. Bitch mom says, the kids can stay but you can stay only if you become my housekeeper/maid/whipping post. Chelsea says no way but leaves the kids so she can get a job and find her destiny in a northern town. She learns about a professional wrestling gig for people who have the Violence. Chelsea says, sure, this sounds GREAT and after some misfortunate mishaps (I won’t give it all away), she arrives at this place and blah blah blah trains to become a professional wrestler. And when I mean professional wrestler, I mean fake wrestling, like the WWF, with all the theatrics and trash talk and fake injuries. I think the whole wrestling thing is incredibly fucking stupid, but I don’t have the Violence and an abusive husband, so what do I know? I get the meaning behind the whole thing—Chelsea was beat up, now she’s going to take control and get strong and be the abuser—but only in a nice, fake way, of course—but it’s so damn dumb.
Bitchy Patricia’s transformation from mom/grandma from hell to generous and kind and tough grandma is also not believable. The woman goes from a block of inhumane ice to a Hallmark card grandma and mother. Nope. Ridiculous. The extensive side trips down memory lane don’t help either. They’re boring and stop the action of the novel. It’s all ridiculous, but still. I don’t want to pause to relive memories with Wrestler Mom and Grandma.
The Violence is ridiculous. It starts out fairly well, but soon lapses into a nonsensical plot that really pushes my willingness to suspend my disbelief (I couldn’t). I’m glad the author found healing and worked through her trauma by writing this novel, but maybe she should have only let her fellow group therapy members read it and written a better novel for the rest of us.