Though Shaun Hutson has developed a reputation as an extreme horror author (one of the originals, to be precise), I do think he is more than that. When it comes to literature, he is the equivalent of the British New Wave of Heavy Metal, a comparison he no doubt would relish. There is a technical proficiency to his work, much like the complex compositions, lyrics, and hooks of his beloved Iron Maiden. But also like the band, he applies classical themes to an in-your-face, confrontational style of art.
He wrote and published this sequel to his famous nature-amok novel "Slugs" during a time in British history when much of the population was feeling the effects of Thatcherism. The Miners Strike of 1984-1985 was a direct result of coal pits being shut down, costing thousands of jobs and literally putting entire villages and towns on the dole. Protests were put down with violent force, making people question whether they were living in a democracy or a police state. Punk was still a thing, but losing relevance as industrial music was reaching its peak, the new voice of the working class who was growing more restless and feeling disenfranchised. A crammed and crime-ridden London was seen as a place you tolerated if you couldn't afford to move out into the country, and serial killers like Peter Sutcliffe were the talk of the pubs, all making London feel like it hadn't advanced much beyond the dark and foggy days of Jack the Ripper.
Hutson's writing reflects this gritty reality of Eighties Britain, crafting classic horror stories that did not focus on characters that represented the elite or feudal peerage, but rather dealt with everyday people--punks and speed freaks, farmers and laborers, minor government officials, guys with filthy jobs, single parents, divorcées, the disabled and the homeless. Instead of haunted houses and cozy mysteries set in a country priory, his settings were places like bathroom stalls, peep shows, morgues, and sewers.
And he takes that grimy aesthetic further in "Breeding Grounds", delivering some of the most notorious and bombastic scenes of horror that certainly had rarely been written about before, but which we still remember to this day. Early on in this novel, two skinheads discover a body soaked in urine and vomit in a public bathroom stall while sniffing glue. You didn't see that in Stephen King novels, or at least not in that kind of visceral detail. This is the literary equivalent of an album by Whitehouse.
The story picks up exactly where "Slugs" left off. After an infestation of viscous carnivorous slugs is seemingly defeated, a batch of lettuce carrying surviving larvae is delivered to a produce dealer in London, spreading the slimy beasties and the disease they carry into the big city. The result is one extremely disgusting story of carnage and slime trails.
Speaking of Iron Maiden, singer Bruce Dickinson even mentions in his autobiography a particular scene of this book that made him almost lose his lunch, which was better than winning the Nobel Prize for Hutson. However, there are so many moments that might fit the bill that I am not sure to which one Dickinson was referring.
As disturbing as this novel can be, there is one element that might dampen the scares and take some readers out of their immersion. Hutson continually utilizes the slugs more as an aquatic threat. He does this in both novels. The slugs breed in sewers and swim very well. They invade homes through plumbing pipes. But these are not marine slugs, so they should drown in water after a few hours and not be capable of swimming. Of course, these are no ordinary garden gastropods. These are mutant science-fictiony monster molluscs that eat human flesh faster than a school of piranha. So I guess anything goes in these stories--and does. Still, he treats them more like mutant amphibious hagfish than slugs. What's worse, slugs do carry flukes, and so Hutson raises the stakes by making the flukes highly infectious, but then confuses the flukes for the slugs themselves, having the flukes form cysts in the brain which magically hatch more slugs. I can't say more for fear of spoilers, but yeah. Be prepared for some silly slug shenanigans that defy scientific possibility.
If you can suspend your disbelief enough, then you gore and gross-out hounds will have a blast with this raw and brutal classic. Now, I must warn those of you who've ever had a phobia of nasty public restrooms, or personally dealt with clogged toilets or broken septic systems, that this might be a little too mucky to handle. Hutson takes this fear of contamination, which likely drives our natural aversion to fecal matter, and exploits it to the fullest. Slugs, after all, do look like little living turds. Yet Hutson, being a mullet-sporting rockstar, was not content to limit his horror to the sewer. Combining body-horror, eco-horror, rage zombies, and slashers, this insane sequel tries and succeeds to top its predecessor by throwing at you anything gooey enough to stick.
So let me be clear--this novel is lewd, gross, ridiculous, sleazy, and campy. In short, it's just the kind of OTT stuff people have come to expect from Eighties horror, and especially from an author as metal as Shaun Hutson.
Perhaps someday we'll get a third Slugs outing, but I, for one, can stand to wait until I can bring myself to eat a salad again.
SCORE: 4 repugnatorial secretions out of 5