The Unearthing of Ancient Horrors: A Review of Bentley Little's "The Return"
Bentley Little’s 2002 novel, "The Return," delivers readers into the sun-scorched landscape of Arizona, where the past is not past but actively, malevolently, seeking to claim the present.
Known for horror fiction that finds the sinister and the absurd in the mundane, Little here braids cosmic dread and archaeological nightmare with absurd apocalypse.
The Return follows two protagonists whose paths converge in Bower, Arizona. Glen Ridgeway, a single man in his forties, is sampling existential drift after his mother's death. Seeking a change, or perhaps total escape, Glen quits his white collar job and embarks: fantasizing himself as the hero of the classic TV series “Then Came Bronson.”
Similar to Glen’s journey is that of Melanie Black, a junior high school teacher approaching the age. Reluctant to move on her hometown, Melanie volunteers for a summer archaeological dig near Bower.
Little populates his narrative with a narrow spectrum of WASP characters: summer students and archeology academics, local bureaucrats and genuine desert oddballs. Each character, meticulously located within the novel's unfolding plot, ultimately find themselves in a "fiery furnace" beyond season or reason.
An ancient entity locals have dubbed the "Mogollon Monster" has made a reappearance after the discovery of a skull in the Bower dig site. Far from a simple Bigfoot-type cryptid, this entity is capable of reanimating the artefacts of long-vanished Anasazi culture, transforming the everyday into a canvas worthy of Hieronymus Bosch.
One of the novel's distinct charms is Little's adept use of antiquarian supernatural effects akin to those of M.R. James. These subtle, creeping horrors are very effective in his depiction of pottery shards that contain moving and constantly changing images of our protagonists and their loved ones -- showing fates homely and but never certain.
Glen reached down, picked up a broken piece of pottery off the floor. On it was a picture of Alyssa McCormack with her legs spread wide, a carved wooden spear—like one that was lying at his feet—shoved deep inside her.
Embarrassed and chilled at the same time, he covered the picture with his hand, not wanting anyone else to see. But the lines seemed to shift as his fingers closed over the shard, some lengthening, some straightening, and he peeked surreptitiously at the face of the pottery to see that it was now Melanie with her legs spread, being violated by a small doll with a very long penis.
This unsettling divination through ancient artifacts underscores the protagonists' helplessness as they face fragmented, terrifying realities. Are their destinies etched in clay by malevolent, long-dead hands?
"The Return," like many apocalypse narratives, finds its greatest narrative power in early chapters: characters individually identify clues, but cannot get a clear sense of the puzzle until they find allies and link-up. Much like an archeological dig.
The second half of the novel accelerates, playing with snappy scenes and brisk dialogue as our main characters come face to face with that which has returned. The Arizona landscape itself emerges as an ominous character: stark beauty veiling revenant energies below.
As the ancient power fully awakens, the world begins to unravel with terrifying speed. Little paints vivid, cinematic scenes of societal collapse.
Several large fires burned in different parts of the city, and the freeway was strewn with abandoned cars and dozens of dead animals. In the sky, odd-looking crows spiraled up above a tall rectangular building that appeared to be slowly melting….
Even smaller settlements are not spared. A once-familiar village is grotesquely transfigured:
Where the gas station and the restaurant and the houses and the church should have been stood a hideous hellish structure that appeared to be made of dirty rusted metal, a sprawling monstrosity that looked like a demon’s house designed by a lunatic. To either side of it, alternating scenes kept winking in and out of existence: bucolic countryside, poor but picturesque village, craggy canyon wall, fire-ravaged forest. In front were three large holes in the ground, ringed with human skulls.
Amidst this escalating chaos, a small group, including Glen, Melanie, Professor McCormack, and Vince, begin to understand the magnitude of the threat and their peculiar connection to it. They are not random survivors but individuals seemingly immune to the onslaught, leading to the chilling hypothesis that they have been chosen to make a stand.
As Vince explains their theory about the interconnectedness of the Mogollon Monster and the force that destroyed the Anasazi, he posits:
“We’re immune, we’re resistant. Whatever force or power or energy emanates from that creature or from the bones of its ancestors doesn’t affect us. And maybe . . .” He paused. “Maybe there’s a reason for that. I’m not religious, and I’m not superstitious. At least I didn’t used to be. But maybe we’ve been chosen.”
“Chosen?”
“Not necessarily by God or some higher power—although I’m not ruling that out. It could be a natural occurrence; we could be like the antibodies attacking a disease. I don’t know. I just think that . . . well, I think we’re the ones who can fight it.”
This reluctant acceptance of a terrible destiny moves the protagonists forward, even as their 2002 Arizona is erased. The destruction of Bower is total, leaving Melanie homeless, free even of the niceties of a bank account or a job.
Little masterfully portrays the unmoored individualism of his characters, whose aspirations for a settled, comfortable small-town life are not just challenged but melted down in an orgy of cosmic horror.
Little suggests their fight is not for the preservation of their old lives, which are irrevocably gone, but for the very survival of humanity against an enemy that defies comprehension.
In the end, when Glen asks if their part is over, McCormack’s grim reply, "We don’t think so," confirms an ongoing, desperate struggle.
At the risk of sounding old-fashioned, I would say that the theme of the return is not to warn against digging, but to stay out of Arizona.