Apocalypse Cow Sets the Modern Moood

When he fractured his funny bone, Scottish journalist Michael Logan went to the Emergency Room at Saint Horror Genre Hospital. He was sent home with a standherd narrative splint and a pill that would dull the ache and leave him feeling more bovial, er, jovial. He’d herd that when taken with a glass of milk and a pinch of salt, the medicine might produce as a side-effect some udderly insane dreams.

The next morning, Logan woke feeling drained, but in his mind the plot of Apocalypse Cow was fully pasteurized, and he was ready to raise the steaks and milk the zombie subgenre for all it was worth. The barn doors of creativity had been opened, and Logan got to work in writing his parody.

Apocalypse Now was introduced to the Horror fiction herd in 2013, by which time the Zombie Renaissance had already caught the post-9/11 bull by the horns and was riding a rising tide of postapocalyptic terror.

Authors as diverse as Stephen King (Cell), Max Brooks (World War Z), Brian Keene (The Rising), Mira Grant (Feed), Colson Whitehead (Zone One), M.R. Carey (The Girl with All the Gifts), S.G. Browne (Breathers), Tim Lebbon (Coldbrook), Robert Kirkman (The Walking Dead), and Seth Grahame-Smith (Pride and Prejudice and Zombies) were successfully and skillfully processing real-world nightmares into phenomenal works of fiction.

Filmmakers were doing much of the branding, with 28 Days Later (Danny Boyle), Dawn of the Dead (Zack Snyder), Zombieland (Rubin Fleischer), I Am Legend (Francis Lawrence), Shaun of the Dead (Edgar Wright), Land of the Dead (George Romero), Rec (Jaume Balagueró and Paco Plaz), and Dead Snow (Tommy Wirkola) kicking up plenty of dust in the arena.[i]

With Apocalypse Cow, Logan didn’t add very much to the zombie stockyard. Nevertheless, it is hard to imagine that fans of the zombie subgenre would have much of a beef with this tongue-in-cheek parody, having already embraced far cheesier works dedicated to hunting out the narrative possibilities of zombified animals, with everything from cats to kangaroos … and the occasional beaver.

As a first-time novelist, Logan did what he cud to have some fun with the zombie trope, getting in a couple of snorts before the real-world fell apart when the city of Wuhan started coughing and the postapocalyptic zombie narrative became too “real” to handle. (The undead icon continues to stumble forth, with the likes of Colony, The Last of Us, and 28 Years Later gaining traction. But the zombie narrative is no longer an echo of the larger cultural zeitgeist.)

And while Apocalypse Cow is far from being among the finest works of zombie fiction, Logan’s parody certainly doesn’t deserve any overly harsh criticism. You’ve got to be forgiving of the cookie cutter plot, a concept about a bioweapon created by British scientists for the purpose of destroying an enemy combatant’s food supply with what has come to be understood as a “Rage Virus” (thanks to the 28 Days Later franchise). 

When infected by the bioweapon, mammals eager to share the disease turn violent toward other mammalian species, with humans seeming to be the most obvious target. Given their great numbers, domesticated livestock animals make up the most obvious part of the anti-human contingent, but the waves of infected sewer rats coming up from the drains appear overwhelming, as well.

The virus escapes the laboratory and finds its way into a slaughterhouse.

Cows and sheep may not have canine teeth, but like horses they have weight and size on their side. And then there are pigs, whose sharp tusks enable them to sow a lot more than seeds of discontent into any gathering of barnyard workers.

By the novel’s midpoint, the virus has expanded from field mice to city rats, from cats to dogs, from harts to hares. Those pesky raiders of backyard bird feeders now turn straight to the human homeowners, and end up going straight for the nuts.

This new mad cow disease is spread through bodily fluids and aerosolized particles in the most unpleasant way. Biting ensures infection through saliva, as does coughing or sneezing. But carriers also break out in nasty skin sores that ooze viral-laden pus.

Don’t let Puss near your boots.

The fictional scientists of Apocalypse Cow have also gone for yet another avenue of transmission by engineering a behavioral modification into infected creatures, leaving them hyper-sexualized. With bulls and goats feeling especially “horny,” human victims find themselves on the horns of a dilemma as the spread of irony goes into narrative overdrive.

Their commitment to biting, spitting, sneezing, urinating, and shagging makes these zombie beasts especially contagious.

Bad dog! 

This rage virus doesn’t actually reanimate, but it kicks an infected animal’s hormones into overdrive, leaving them so full of furry — sorry, fury — that they don’t notice they’re injured until their hearts give out. That makes them hard to kill.

Like most works of pop fiction, Apocalypse Cow sticks with story over meaning. That’s just fine. Sometimes you need a sugar hit, right? And so, it feels unfair of me to tally up the novel’s flat characterizations as literary deficits, but eventually a reader must grow tired of the stereotypical figures: the journalist with daddy issues, the slaughterhouse worker spiritually slaughtered by his work, the vegan parents too focused on saving the world that they fail to care for their own son, the meat-obsessed couch potato whose carnal appetites put him on the warpath with everything botanical. And, of course, there are the cardboard kids: the adolescent twins who seem to carry a genetic trait for bullying, and their timid math-nerd victim.

Despite these not-unexpected flat figures, Apocalypse Cow surprises in a good way by including depictions of protagonists reacting to loss with grief, withdrawal, and even despair.

That might not seem like much, but far too many zombie novels seem to have been authored by adolescents. In those immature imaginings, parents disappear or friends are killed in front of them, and the survivor protagonists barely seem to notice as they ready their guns for another raid on a warehouse retail outlet. (Many of the titles that once vomited from the stomach of a publisher-who-shall-not-be-named were of this ignorant and immature fold of fiction. Just sayin’.)

In Logan’s narrative, the infection spreads islandwide throughout Great Britain. Human survivors are forced into camps by the military, or remain barricaded within their homes. At this point, any discussion of “a future” for the United Kingdom includes a consideration of how the island’s entire mammalian animal population can be exterminated.

The idea feels ridiculous for its impossibility, even to the protagonists themselves.

For contemporary readers, however, the “goal” of survivability being based upon the total elimination of all non-human life feels even more terrifying than the notion of all animals becoming predatory. Intelligent readers understand that ecosystems are intricate webs of connection, and the disappearance of one species would likely lead to a collapse of the entire environment.

When Apocalypse Cow was published in 2013, institutional “climate change denial” efforts were already firmly established, with think tanks like The Heritage Foundation, The American Enterprise Institute, and the Institute of Economic Affairs receiving money from the oil industry and incredibly wealthy conservative advocates such as the Koch brothers. These rich donors used their money to shape the larger discussion toward challenging rational science, intelligence, environmentalism, and any form of “green” energy that wasn’t nuclear.

Running alongside this anti-life parade float was the killer clown car of the anti-vaccination movement, the “anti-vaxxers.”

Then came the year 2016, when climate deniers and anti-vaxxers started attaining new heights of political power, placing clowns into the White House and Number 10. A decade later, rational folk who respected education, compassion, and life, were waking up with the realization that their worst nightmares were starting to become real. All the money spent by conservative millionaires paid off, and countless lives in the United States and around the world were lost.

As of this writing, the U.S. federal bureaucracy has been sent to the abattoir run by a fictional department calling itself DOGE, and mannequins have been placed into positions of power from which they continue to devastate life-enhancing systems of healthcare, medical research, emergency response efforts, and educational institutions. Even the U.S. economy and the military have been weakened, while China expands its martial power and Russia revs up the engine of its war machine.

Reading Logan’s novel in this current climate gives readers entirely different emotional and intellectual responses than it likely would have had upon those who dove into it at the time of its release.

Reading the characters’ discuss exterminating all animal life in Apocalypse Cow comes across like a horrifyingly prescient reveal of the near future, of our modernity in which ultra-conservative fanatics in seats of power are de-regulating and removing environmental protections that were meant to keep air and water clean.

This shit is really happening.

Adding fuel to the fire is the arrival of Artificial Intelligence, a dangerous technology that seems only more likely to lead to the creation of a bioweapon such as the one depicted in Logan’s novel.

By the end of Apocalypse Cow, the virus has mutated into a form that can infect and be directly transmitted among humans. At this point, the relatively light-hearted parody takes a step closer to Horror. (There remains chuckle-worthy comedy in the final chapters, especially the exchange between the British survivors and the French defenders within the Chunnel, but by this point this witty banter is more of a welcome relief than the main flow of storytelling that it was throughout much of the narrative.)

As a Horror author, Logan is effective in displaying minds given over to sexual and physical violation. His infected human protagonists are capable of using dialogue and a thin veneer of near-persuasive rationality to mask the deeper insanity of their microbe-driven desires for violence.

Terrifying!

By the novel’s closing chapters, Great Britain is blockaded by NATO so that the infection might not spread to Ireland or the European continent. Leaders in the EU and NATO debate whether or not to carpet bomb the island’s entire population (human and non-human alike) out of existence.

Apocalypse Cow ends with a contemplation of how easily the flow of insanity could pour forth from the isolated British island into nearby Ireland and the European continent.

The final chapter relates a television interview between a Paris-based English journalist and a former Labour Party politician named Tony Campbell who had proclaimed himself the new Prime Minister of Infected Britain.

Campbell speaks on behalf of a “new” British civilization — one with a noticeably smaller population — as he appeals for the island nation’s European neighbors to maintain their quarantine “for the moment” and recognize the infected population’s right to exist unmolested while European scientists work to create a cure.

This closing scene establishes both the novel’s credibility as a piece of political commentary and its role as a jumping off point for what would become a sequel titled World War Moo.

The sociopolitical aspect is a playful, yet relevant jab at the Western historical project of liberal humanism.

Among the most important principles of liberal humanism are a respect for individual rights, and the belief that humanity is a rational species capable of making decisions that are morally correct and capable of advancing the ethical principles upon which legal structures are established. It is the beating heart of our contemporary democratic structures of governance, each of which assumes that citizens are educated and mature enough to make rational choices.[ii]

The notion of human reason is at the forefront of the book’s final conflict, when Prime Minster Campbell tries to persuade EU leaders away from demands for the extermination of all life from the English isle. “As you can see,” Prime Minister Campbell tells the television audience, “I am completely rational.”

Spreading his arms in a gesture of reasonableness, Campbell pleas for “time” until a cure for the virus can be achieved: “We are all aware of the debate about what should be done with the infected, as we have been dubbed. I think it is scandalous that governments are countenancing doomsday solutions. We are still people. People with a horrendous illness, but people nonetheless, who need your help, not your hatred!”

When challenged with the claim that if they were allowed to, the infected citizens of the English homeland would want to “rape and eat the rest of humanity,” the Prime Minister counters with a seemingly philosophical idea: “The virus wants to do that, not us. You can’t blame the sufferer for his illness. We are victims….”

Campbell again appeals for “the right to live peacefully, here in Britain, until a cure is found. And I want to stress Britain is now peaceful. Everyone is infected, so there is no more unpleasantness.” Now that Britain is united in the commonality of contamination, they as one wish for no more than to be left alone while they learn to control their new “appetites.”

The journalist challenges Campbell’s claim by pointing out that the politician is glossing over “the full horror of this virus,” and accuses his call for “acceptance” as a ploy meant to buy time until someone from the island can break quarantine and spread the disease globally.

“Can I point out that boats of sex-crazed infected constantly attempt to cross the English Channel and Irish Sea? That NATO jets have had to shoot down airlines, once again full of infected, heading to the US? … If we don’t develop a cure soon, I don’t see any other option than fire-bombing Britain and taking out all of these zombies,” she says.

The Prime Minister erupts in anger at the “Z-word,” finding it “offensive.”

“We are sick, that’s all.”

With a bit of taunting, the journalist manages to push the Prime Minister over the edge, whereupon he snarls. His smile reveals the virus has physically changed his teeth into jagged, shark-like projections. He ends the conversation with the warning that no matter what the European Union nations and NATO might do: “It’s too late. … It’s already in the house.”

Rude, Brittannia!

This three-page exchange effectively parodies both sides of our modern liberal humanist assumptions, cleverly poking at the sensitivities of both liberals and conservatives.

For the liberal reader, the Prime Minister’s appeal for greater linguistic sensitivity challenges our contemporary experience of “politically correct” speech acts and execute regulations that aim to impose egalitarianism — the same sort of programs that the U.S. Supreme Court ended with its rulings against anti-discriminatory hiring practices and Affirmative Action, and which the second Trump Administration (with tech trillionaire Elon Musk in the lead) purged as part of its anti-DEI obsession.  

For the conservative reader, the Prime Minister’s claim to peace being achieved through universal infection challenges a variety of arguments that express a longing for “the good old days” when “diversity” and “multiculturalism” were not guiding social or legal principles — the postwar era when the United States was proud to call itself a socioeconomic smelting pot.

For both camps, the hypocrisy of the shark-toothed Prime Minister and his calls for peace must feel especially horrific. His smile reveals the truth of aggression hiding behind his words of peace. This is especially powerful in today’s global geopolitical environment, in which colonization is once again fashionable — so much so that even postcolonial nations support it through hypocritical policies of “neutrality.”

Talk about being thick as a bric.

Making our modern nightmare even worse, the “America First” president enacts economic policies that reward the aggressor nation, kidnaps and murders leaders of other nation states, and starts unnecessary wars that end up weakening his own nation’s military readiness.

The outlandishness of our present-day scenario guarantees that anyone reading Apocalypse Cow today will feel the pointed tusk of Horror a bit more sharply than they would have experienced 13 years ago when Logan’s parody was first published.[iii]

Now, its time to change the mood and find another book.

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[i] My personal list of most-loved cinematic toros de terror must also include Pontypool (Bruce McDonald) and The Crazies (Breck Eisner), though these did not do well at either the box office or the video rental store.

 

[ii] As the philosophical pinnacle of classical Greco-Roman thinking, the Renaissance, and the Enlightenment, liberal humanism firmly believes in “progress.”

 

[iii] Apparently, the World War Moo sequel takes the terror to atmospheric levels, with an “intelligent” infected British military threatening to use nuclear weapons and missiles loaded with viral payloads should NATO choose to wipe out Britain’s population. 

The Courage of Conviction?

In an essay translated into English and published in the December 2004 issue of The Chinese Pen, writer Choong Yee Voon delivers an interesting look at her own understanding of the way decorative or ornamental items can adopt talismanic energies. Choong’s ideas on talismans, especially the gemstone jade, are introduced more closely in a recent post at the “Hu Reads Horror” site.

In her essay — entitled “Jewelry--Not to Ornament” — Choong convinces the reader of her belief that jade can absorb into itself the psychic energies of those who handle it or keep it close to their skin. “I have an indescribable fondness for jade bracelets,” Choong writes, “because I instinctively feel that … the stone is itself a microcosm, and it can sense the changes in human bodies.” The gemstone, she says, “records time, and it grows old with us….”

“Wearing ornaments is like keeping poltergeists,” she warns. This contemplation alone made her conjure up “macabre scenes in horror films. She moved even further into that direction by introducing “folk prescriptions for amassing energy with certain objects” such as the roots of mandrake (in the nightshade family) and Ginseng. “Mandrakes not only invite love, but also bring along death. Love and death, the two are always inexplicably tangled together.”

Why is it, then, that Choong inserts into her essay a step back from her conviction?

“Perhaps beautiful stones always stir up people’s imagination,” she says. This is a statement that mildly detracts from the belief that the stones in and of themselves hold a power, an energy, or consciousness that is their own. (Choong’s essay draws my attention especially because it skirts into the territory of Panpsychism.)

Choong follows this sentence with the following: “Legends say that crystals are transformed from thousand-year-old ice, and agates are coalesced demon blood.” Well, all right. That’s a “truth” in itself: “Legends say.” Stop there, and the reader will absorb that “legend” as a possibility. Most definitely the ancient storytellers who spoke of ice and blood were convinced that crystals and agates are more than what they seem.

Sadly, the writer goes on to rationalize those ancient, prehistoric understandings by saying, “Such tales probably owe their origins to the fact that the colors of the stones are simply too teasing to one’s imagination.”

In her discussion of diamonds, Choong destabilizes the idea that diamonds are connected to “love” by interpreting that association with clever marketing. “I always see the business conspiracy hidden behind the diamond ads — it is precisely because love is a short-lived trade with a high replacement rate, that diamonds have a market.”

From this she proclaims: “So, let ornaments regain their simple beautifying function.”

Why, then, had Choong spent so much time presenting gemstone “ornaments” as something more powerful than mere ornamentation? Why did she so persuasively display her belief that pendants, rings, and bracelets were for her powerful talismanic items?

It seems Choong, by essay’s end, has given way to the strong forces of modern society that raise scientific rationalism over the ancient respect for mystery. “It’s probably hard for a pragmatic person like me to be obsessed with ornaments,” she says toward the end of the essay. It feels as if she has recanted her belief in otherworldly energies as a momentary weakness, lest anyone think her to be, gulp, superstitious.

There’s a sadness in that reversal away from the mysterious. It reminds me of those readers and writers of Horror who proudly proclaim they do not believe in ghosts, even while they admit that ghost stories give them a shiver. There is something shallow and false about that desire to embrace the rational, the demand that something be proven by the scientific method.

We can embrace a wider view of the way the world works without becoming narrower in our behavior. Indeed, that is one of the lessons we might learn from the Horror Genre. This world is so much more than what we can see. (Thank you, Hamlet.)

Sermon ended. Go in peace.

The Unbearable Fear of Inferiority

They are dying on both sides of the treeline.

In the last half of 2025, bear attacks upon villagers in the north-eastern regions of Japan and the northern prefecture of Hokkaido had increased noticeably over the already significant numbers of incidents (and injuries) reported in 2024. Seven people died, and over 100 had been injured — including a Spanish tourist mauled while waiting at a bus stop. News reports focused on the mayhem of a bear that meandered into a supermarket and couldn’t find its way out, or the bloody signs of a struggle and the missing villagers believed to have been dragged away by bears eager to load up on calories before the start of their winter hibernation cycle.

In response, the Japanese government stepped in and oversaw the culling of thousands of Japan’s Asian black bears and the larger brown bears that are indigenous to the Hokkaido region. The bear is a sacred being for many traditional Japanese villagers in the north, but even they are supportive of the government’s effort to cut back the growing bear population.

Less frequently reported is that these culls have for the past few years been racking up thousands of wild bears killed in order to reduce the potential of harm inflicted upon an increasingly aging population of people living in small towns or villages in the mountainous north.

Environmentalists have advanced a number of reasons for the rising incidents of bears hunting humans, chief among which are demographic changes and global warming. As younger Japanese leave their family villages and build new lives in urban areas, farmlands that once served as a barrier between forests and residential neighborhoods are going fallow. Meanwhile, global warming is negatively affecting the growth of the beech nuts that provide forest bears their primary source of calories.

The violent reaction to the reports of bear attacks in Japan can be seen as evidence of an ancient human emotion: fear.

While the number of human/bear encounters is still statistically small in comparison to the size of the nation as a whole and its population of 124 million, and the media reportage may easily be understood as profit-enhancing hype, it cannot be denied that the reaction is in some way an expression of what might be thought of as a genetic memory.

Humans are, after all, among the weakest creatures within the animal kingdom — this despite our astonishing ability to decimate entire ecologies, drive species to extinction, and send the entire planet into a death spiral. With neither fangs nor claws, our species has always been easy prey for better-equipped predators: lions and tigers and bears, oh my.

Some researchers have even concluded that children hold a deep fear about “nature,” and only a very few are eager to see the forest as a playground.

Ignore that this idea of a “genetic memory” may be nonsense and that our fear of “the wild” may be a hand-me-down from centuries of storytelling endorsed by parents who wanted to keep their children alive. Ignore also the tendency to “soften” apex predators by making them into stuffed animals and playtime toys. For every Paddington or Tigger, there is an awareness that the “real thing” is a massive grizzly or a man-eating tiger. As city dwellers we may not speak very much about the actual animals, but quietly, subconsciously, we know what they are: stronger than us.

The news going around the world about bear attacks in Japan is a sign of our understanding and fear of our relative powerlessness as animals. Perhaps the first boogeyman our prehistoric ancestors knew was not a divine being, but a hungry animal that could see very well in the dark. Too well for comfort.

I wonder if the stuffed animal we embrace as children or the overfed cat asleep on the windowsill our way of taming fear, of symbolically enacting power over our potential killer?

Hex Life: Not Entirely Enchanted

The subgenre of “Witch Horror" is one of Speculative Fiction’s most intriguing categories.

Academic critics and professional reviewers alike have praised “Witch Lit” as uniquely, and admirably, “feminist.” Horror and Fantasy stories within the category are rich with both iconic stereotypes inherited from medieval Europe and more modern derivations of female resistance strengthened by “magic.” Of course, these positive readings can often feel “forced,” and the wisest of readers must accept that ambiguities will always be a part of the subgenre as far as feminist theories or concepts of feminine empowerment are concerned.

When authors Christopher Golden and Rachel Autumn Deering combined their talents as editors of the Hex Life anthology, they came away with a wicked brew of 18 short stories that run the gamut of depictions of the iconic witch — from the Monstrous Female woodlands witch to the Wise Woman healer and guardian of the city, with pretty much every combination in between. (To celebrate the 2020 release of their book, the editors offered the fabulous Ginger Nuts of Horror review site a brief essay on popular misconceptions about fictional witches.)

At the time of the book’s release, a Publishers Weekly review said of the 18 tales in Hex Life, “Nothing here really wows.” Snappish little put-downs like that are no longer popular in this online age of trolls, trigger warnings, and pile-ons. And so the Publishers Weekly reviewer then tries to soften the blow by saying that “fans” of the subgenre will find the anthology “a pleasant diversion.”

Set aside the truth that calling the book “a pleasant diversion” is itself a negative comment, and focus on that first stab: “Nothing here really wows.” This is where the Publishers Weekly quick-bite review gets the book all wrong, because there certainly are stories in Hex Life that can “wow” a reader.

Unfortunately, those stories are not the focus of this Z-Street Shuffle review. For that, you’ll have to look at the Hu Reads Horror blogsite, where I hone in on five stories in the collection that really do “wow” me. Of course, what turns me on about those stories is their depiction of the witch as a force of nature, a keeper of an ancient cosmology that has been lost to most of us within the industrialized modern societies worldwide. These are stories of female power, and they range from the “positive” portrayal to the “negative” portrayal of witches.

What is provided here is a rapidly written “fan” nod to the other 13 stories in Hex Life, the ones that didn’t make the cut for a longer and more focused rave only because they do not match the criteria of imagining the witch as a cosmic power. (Though admittedly a couple of them do fall short of even being “a pleasant diversion,” but I don’t want some disgruntled publisher’s assistant, outraged podcaster, or social media figure to go ballistic.)

There is gold in this anthology’s “13 others,” but if there’s anything I’ve learned from television it is that to get the shiny nugget you have to dig through lusterless soil. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, because for this book the “soil” is fertile, ready to nourish a mind that needs a bit of unchallenging entertainment, maybe a fun bedtime read before sleep overcomes the reader.

Among the most “successful” of these entertaining shorts are those that reach into pulp fiction territory with one hand while keeping a firm grip on the narrative landscape of creative, compelling, even surprising storytelling.

Innovativeness is a key quality here.

Among the best of these is Alma Katsu’s “Gold Among the Black,” which plays with a medieval setting and mixes in some werewolf lore.  Like other contributions to the anthology, Katsu’s story offers the witch as a shape-shifter, a creature of the wilds, and a determined commitment to self-survival.

“Toil & Trouble” by Sherrilyn and Madaug Kenyon similarly sets itself in the past, assumedly sometime in the 17^th Century when Europe and England threw themselves with a fury into persecuting women accused of practicing witchcraft. “Toil & Trouble” seems to draw inspiration from Shakespeare’s “three sisters,” with the focus twisting not to the witches but to their indentured servant girl who harbors a secret hatred for “the three Stygian bitches and their sing-songy lies” (283). Somehow, “Toil & Trouble” ends up being a devilishly tricky morality tale.

Rachel Autumn Deering provides yet another nod to Shakespeare’s trio of witches with her story “Where Relics Go to Dream and Die.” Deering’s story includes many of the common tropes: the cauldron, child sacrifice, even the succubus. It is a tale of final wish fulfillment — the good death — and romantic sacrifice. The finest twist in the story is a witch being trapped as a candle, “an act of spite” that left her alive and lonely/longing for as long as the candle remained intact, unconsumed by flame. This suspension of death would only be ended by flame.

Amber Benson quite successfully plays with the police procedural “confessional” format with her story “This Skin.” It is entirely chilling, albeit with a possibly disappointing and somehow overdone twist at the denouement.  

Kelley Armstrong’s “Black Magic Momma” likewise plays with the crime subgenre, her witch being something of a private detective searching for lost grimoires that she then sells to the highest bidder. The story feels like it belongs within the world of Harry Potter, which means it is fast-paced and fun. Witch candy, anyone?

Equally fun and flat is Rachel Caine’s “Home,” a story that tosses the undead into the mix and cooks up as something resembling a Charlaine Harris’ vampire novel.

Kristin Dearborn seems to be drawing blood from the same vein with her story “The Dancer,” yet another “nothing new under the sun” narrative about a psychic investigator looking into the case of an adolescent with a terrifying telekinetic power.

“The Memories of Trees” is admirable for author Mary SanGiovanni’s attempt at mixing Folk Horror, Science Fiction, and Dystopian Narrative together.

Hillary Monahan’s “Bless Your Heart” is among the finest in the collection insofar as it makes use of events that many readers may be familiar with in the real stories of their lives: bullying, single parenthood, class-based inequality, and educational systems that sometimes fail their students in the most regrettable ways. Monahan’s contribution is heartbreaking in its depiction of a smart, gentle child being bullied to the point of self-hatred. Teasing the image of a housewife learning to cook from a Julia Child cookbook, “Bless Your Heart” portrays witchcraft as a means toward “revenge” and the reclamation of justice for the powerless who have been brutalized by the powerful.

Two of the stories in the book build directly from the pre-Civil Rights period of segregation in the Deep South. Here is Chesya Burke’s “Haint Me Too” and Tanarive Due’s “Last Stop on Route Nine.” Of these, Burke’s narrative is the strongest in its presentation of the supernatural being used as a tool for resistance to the violence of lynching.

Yet another historical period of madness is called forth by Helen Marshall for her story “The Nekrolog.” Marshall backgrounds her story in the oft-overlooked time of ethnic violence and genocide that exploded into warfare in the Balkans following the dismantling of the Soviet Union. This is a praiseworthy literary work, offering a narrative that shifts with slyness between two expanding plots. It is heartrending to see a family separated by deceptive state agencies, the kind of story that has global echoes in the actual histories of indigenous, colonized peoples around the world. “The Nekrolog” eventually directs its energies into a story of government-sponsored Psi-Op training, leading to one of the collection’s best images of young women quietly turning tables on their captors and using what they learn against their oppressors. Marshall’s is a story of resistance that hits its target, while other stories of a similar vein merely try to aim.

The collection ends with Theodora Goss’ “How to Become a Witch Queen,” a creative retelling of the Snow White fable but with a pinch of political and military strategy. Like Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods, this tale is most appealing for making the familiar less so while adding a dose of feminist resistance to the hard power of state authority.

These are the stories that somehow fail to weave a complete enchantment. What the editors have pulled together is impressive for its diversity, and taken as a whole the collection is an entertaining book that serves well as a bedtime read. That’s not a very enthusiastic compliment, but neither is it a put-down.

Readers who love Horror will probably be disappointed by Hex Life.

Fans of an entertaining reading experience who don’t demand much of their TBR pile will probably find the anthology more to their liking, and like me they’ll breeze through it and feel no qualms about donating it to the secondhand bookstore.

Graphics: 
The Weird Sisters, 1782, by Johann Heinrich Fuseli.
John Henry & the Witch Woman, 1935, by Fred Becker.

Daryl Dixon in France ... Très Bien

As someone who is always late to the party, I only recently completed my watch of The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon, the fifth spin-off of the franchise. Composed of only six episodes, the show dropped for audiences in September-October 2023, and received generally strong reviews from critics and audiences alike. My own response is similarly positive, and for some of the same reasons.

At the top of my list is the removal of the very American title character (played by Norman Reedus) into a French setting, which begins with Dixon waking to find himself washed ashore on a beach where he is almost immediately confronted by a “burner,” a new type of super-strong and super-speedy zombie with acidic body fluids that burn whoever they touch. Of course, Daryl is touched but he prevails and begins his journey inland, toward Paris and onward to Normandy beach where he ends the six-episode first season torn between catching his scheduled ride across the Atlantic back home, or saving a child who seems to be in danger of being swarmed by zombies.

Between the two beaches Daryl is caught up in the contest for power that is taking place between two groups: the bad guys being the fascist-identified Pouvoir des Vivants (Power of the Living) paramilitary organization headed by Madame Genet (played by Anne Charrier) and her team of mad scientists, and the good guys being the “resistance” guerrilla group Union de L'Espoir (Union of Hope) and brave Catholic clergy who inspire them.

Daryl is dragged into the fray by Isabelle (played by Clémence Poésy), a nun who persuades Daryl to protect a teenage boy named Laurent (played by Louis Puech Scigliuzzi) whose odd ability to psychically control the new superzombies endows him with a messianic aura. The boy is a John Connor-like figure whose youthfulness makes him vulnerable... for now.

A majority of the online reviewers pointed out that the cinematography was possibly the strongest element in this spinoff, and I am pretty much in agreement with them. The locations were obviously “exotic” when considered in contrast to the backwoods persona of Daryl Dixon and the North American forested settings that much of the original series was filmed in. Suddenly the incredibly stereotyped American icon (representative of the ironic knowledge that comes not from formal education but from the school of hard knocks—and Daryl has gotten a lot of knocks) is set within a background that represents a more ancient European cultural history. The contrast is beautiful.

Given that I viewed the series on a low-quality streaming service from China which offered a sometimes hazy screen, a mismatch between image and audio, and the constant interruption of advertising banners, it says a lot that the visual beauty of the Parisian and French countryside settings could still pop through the haze.

But like the zombies that are ever present in the background of all Walking Dead narratives, so too we could see behind the magnificence of French art and architecture the shambling undead European history of violence in both physical and philosophical forms.  

Daryl has been plucked from his homeland and plunked down in the midst of this ancient empire of clashing ideals, kidnapped as fresh blood for the experiments being carried out by the mad scientists of the fascist Pouvoir des Vivants organization that is trying to create a new army of superzombies. (There’s nothing new here for fans of the Nazi zombie subgenre. Move along, now.) Of course, the indomitable Daryl Dixon breaks the chains that bound him, becoming both the white whale destroyer and the sole survivor of the shitwreck, er, shipwreck.

While he’s in France, however, Daryl has a chance to root his personal history into the soil of the larger European history. His grandfather had volunteered to fight in the Second World War, and the elder Dixon’s grave is part of the veterans’ memorial that Daryl will visit when he finally arrives at Normandy. This is a noticeable and important theme, the grandson inheriting the pain that is born of the ancestor’s choices. Apparently the Dixon kin passed along a resentment of the grandfather’s decision to volunteer in a war they did not see as their own. Similarly, Daryl does not see himself as belonging to the ongoing struggle in France between the fascists and the liberal humanists, both groups seeing themselves as inheritors of a noble past.

The art that features so beautifully in this show also highlights the schism between the two ideologies. Madame Genet reveals that in the “Before” she was a night watchman in the Louvre — “just me and the art: thousands of eyes followed me around.” Those eyes of history have transferred to her a grandiose vision of a future in which the individual is less important than the whole, the nation. Hers is a prototypical form of fascism born from the myths and legends of supernatural inheritances. The fall of the world to a zombie plague is merely another opportunity to re-invigorate the fascist idea of a nationalist utopia. Inspired by the eyes of the historical artwork figures, Genet takes upon herself the goal of resurrecting the ancient warrior history of fiefdoms and kings. And like so many villains, she is given some of the best lines: “We are the future for the future; we do the hard things.”

The supernatural is also a part of the resistance movement that is built upon the leftover representatives of the Catholic Church and their belief that the life of every human is sacred in the eyes of God. Theirs is a simple goal of re-establishing the political structures that guaranteed the ability of every person within the society to choose to do good for everyone, not to be forced into obedience. They carry on the hope that humans will make the right choices because the spark of divinity, of love, rests within the human spirit.

Surrounded by the latter group, Daryl cannot help but be pushed into conversations about serious ideas. While he starts off arguing that “this isn’t my fight,” he eventually displays an awareness that he is following in the footsteps of his grandfather who sacrificed himself as a player in yet another clash of ideologies, the ending of which would impact human societies around the world. Daryl’s grandfather understood that and volunteered to fight fascism. Daryl would eventually come to the same choice, actively supporting the Union de L'Espoir movement by protecting the teenaged messiah figure.

Placing an adolescent at the center of the plot helps to highlight Daryl’s own mixed feelings and gradual shift in ideological commitment. Daryl carries within himself the pain that came of an abusive father whose brokenness can be traced directly to the grandfather’s decision to leave his family and serve a larger goal. Now Daryl can confront his grandfather and forgive him. The suggestion, of course, is that Daryl’s presence upon the European continent is a continuation of a Divine intervention, of God placing him into as a chosen warrior within a larger fight between ideologies.

Whether Daryl follows his grandfather’s footsteps and continues to battle the spread of fascism within the homeland heart of Western culture, or steps onto the boat that will take him back home is something we will only find out if and when there is a second season of The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon.

Closing Note

Daryl Dixon is both the highest critic and fan-rated show in the entire Walking Dead series, which is made up of six shows of varying lengths. Here they are in order:

The Walking Dead (11 seasons) – 79% critic score, 78% audience score

Fear the Walking Dead (8 seasons) – 73% critic score, 59% audience score

The Walking Dead: World Beyond (2 seasons) – 46% critic score, 35% audience score

Tales of the Walking Dead (1 season) – 74% critic score, 57% audience score

The Walking Dead: Dead City (1 season, renewed for 2) – 81% critic score, 79% audience score

The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon (1 season, renewed for 2) – 90% critic score, 89% audience score.

Source: Paul Tassie, reviewer at Forbes Magazine.

Shark Snark

The puns that are dropping online to accompany the social media splash caused by the new Netflix horror film “Under Paris” are clever, and maybe one of the best things about the amateur review space that is YouTube, Facebook, and other assorted sites of rapid-fire response.

My favorites for this action film about man-eating sharks snacking on marathon swimmers in the Seine River include:

“This film is in-Seine,” “Talk about the Chomps-Élysées!” and “Le Fins.” Mind you, the film has only just dropped, so we have more time to chum the waters with bloody bad puns.

None of this low-hanging fruit in any way serves as bait for you if you are hoping to hook a review that will help you decide whether or not to watch this French-language shark film.

Having said that, “Under Paris” seems to have made something of a splash with an awful lot of social media users. It might just be that there is so little to talk about in the genre. And of course, now that Summertime is almost upon us, it is open season for shark snark cinema.

Sadly, I'm going to contribute nothing to the discussion except to say the opening (pre-titles) scene is visually effective. This is the first shark attack, and it takes place beneath the “Great Pacific Garbage Patch” where ocean-dumped plastic trash goes to die. Or never die.

I couldn't conceive of a more unappealing setting for the inevitable slaughter that you know is going to happen when a freakishly large shark shows up for the feeding frenzy that follows the death of a baby whale — with its mouth full of plastics — that has been caught in a net beneath all the human trash.

The most horrific-yet-stunning moment of this opening scene is when one of the super-shark’s victims rises gasping from the water, a stark blue sky highlighting the reflective glow of all that unrecycled trash.

Unfortunately, that's also the film's high point as a work of horror. What follows is plenty of clichéd tropes, including the foolish activist, the stubborn police team, and the arrogant but incredibly deaf politician who puts personal pride before public safety.

The denouement is also pretty entertaining, but mostly because it goes in a direction that is pretty unexpected. Unfortunately, it is also low-hanging fruit insofar as it panders to the zeitgeist, calling forth a final image that viewers will automatically associate with our fears about our ongoing environmental meltdown.

Indeed, today’s news broadcasts are reminding us of that all the official governmental attempts at reducing the levels of carbon dioxide being spewed into our atmosphere are failing miserably. The tons of earth-warming carbon dioxide in our planetary atmosphere is at all new highs. The United States is already experiencing extreme temperatures, and technically the astronomical start of summer is still over two weeks away.

India is having it much worse, with temperatures in parts of Delhi reaching almost 53 Degrees Celsius (that’s an astonishing 127 Degrees Fahrenheit) a few days ago. (CNN)

Worldwide we can all expect extreme storms as typhoons, hurricanes, and cyclones take on new orders of violence. And have we all already forgotten the annual forest fires that have become almost everyday news events? Tragically there are fires happening in continents worldwide that we in the “industrialized” (I hate to say “developed”) world are not likely to hear about given the parochial tendencies of our news outlets and our societies.

Given this real-world unfolding of crisis, it feels a little exploitative of this newest shark flick to cull from our (unspoken) terrors with a  image of Paris flooded and finned just so viewers can leave a “thumbs up” at the Netflix app when the credits start to roll. Even so, it’s a moment that is awash with surprise, and that alone makes it worth waiting for.

Articles Referenced

"There is More Carbon Dioxide than Ever in the Atmosphere." NPR News. 7 June 2024.
https://www.npr.org/2024/06/06/nx-s1-4992290/carbon-dioxide-record-high-atmosphere

“India’s Scorching Heat and Lack of Water Leave Delhi’s Poor to Suffer Worst of Climate Crisis.” By Esha Mitra. CNN Website. Online.
https://edition.cnn.com/2024/06/01/india/india-scorching-heat-climate-crisis-intl-hnk/index.html

Ninth House and the Place of Magic

I've just posted a review of Leigh Bardugo's 2019 novel Ninth House at my "Grandfather Hu" blog site. In that post I go on and on about this novel as being wonderfully "mature" for its portrayals of complex protagonists who are developed at a comfortable pace.

What is not in that review is my delight in the novel's idea of "magical" spaces, or places endowed with "power" of some sort. This is a theme I would love to investigate more deeply someday. Ninth House is a mystery fantasy novel about a woman who investigates a murder, and uncovers a massive nest of vipers among the eight frat houses on Yale University (remember, I said this is a "fantasy" novel) that specialize in magic. The book is rich with suspense and ghosts, lots of ghosts. Flowing beneath the entire narrative is the assumption that each frat house has been built upon a spot that was already naturally flowing with energy, with power. 

Think about ley lines and feng shui, about cathedrals and temples, about ceremonial spaces and sacred lands. That is one off the topics I'm fascinated by, and that is an idea at the heart of Bardugo's novel. 

Have you read Ninth House or its recent sequel? If you have, visit my "other blog" and let me know what you think of this book.