Since my review of The Steel Remains seemed to get a good reaction, I'll review another piece of interesting, sexually innovative, ultraviolent fiction that readers here might not have encountered otherwise.
There are four War Against the Chtorr books: A Day for Damnation, A Matter for Men, A Rage for Revenge and A Season for Slaughter. They came out in the 1980s, and I believe they're all currently out of print. However, they were fairly popular when published, so used copies are easy to find from Amazon.com or other sources.
I read two of these books when I was much younger. I thought they were great, but really disturbing. Recently, I decided to hunt down and read or reread all four of them. That's what I've been doing this last weekend instead of reading The Nurtured Heart (I could not imagine a more diametrically opposed book!) Though, oddly enough, there is a major adoption connection.
David Gerrold, the author of the War Against the Chtorr books, is perhaps best known as the screenwriter of the classic "Trouble with Tribbles" Star Trek episode. He's had a long involvement with Star Trek. His original science fiction is uneven, not consistently bestselling, but often shockingly good. He's won both the Hugo and Nebula awards. In a total departure from his usual genre work, he recently published a quasi-memoir called The Martian Child, an account of adopting an older special needs child from the foster care system, describing his experiences as a single gay adoptive father.
I respect David Gerrold for his talent and tenacity. He deserves some kind of lifetime achievement medal, perhaps entitled "Heroic Resistance in the Face of Unending Multimedia Homophobia". His creative output has been subjected to decades of de-gaying. For example, in 1987, Gene Roddenberry had promised to break the final social frontier and actually have gay people in the Star Trek universe. He asked David Gerrold to come back and write a gay-themed episode for Star Trek: The Next Generation. Gerrold wrote one. Then everyone chickened out and decided not to produce it. Gerrold quit in protest. Here's a good summary of the depressing controversy.
In 2007, The Martian Child was made into a movie starring a John Cusack. And they turned the father heterosexual. How insulting! The movie still wasn't a box-office success. I have not seen nor read The Martian Child, but after doing this research, I think I'll go ahead and order the book.
Back to the Chtorr. These books, on first glance, appear to be run-of-the-mill military science fiction. Space marine stuff. I normally cannot stand this subgenre of science fiction; it's only one step above video game novelizations in terms of formulaic dreariness. In fact, there's probably a lot of overlap between military science fiction and video games and video game novelizations. The Chtorr book covers feature space mariney people with big guns shooting at giant caterpillars, cheesy alliterative titles and a surplus of exclamation points. If you're serious about good science fiction, however, you might want to give them a second look.
The premise of the series is that the Earth is being colonized by alien lifeforms. There are no humanoids in spaceships involved. Instead, the invasion happens from the bottom up, starting at the unicellular level. Alien spores are presumed to have ridden in on meteorites. The first sign is a wave of plagues that kills three-quarters of humanity. The survivors have to deal with ecological infestations of increasing complexity and virulence. The most deadly life form is the Chtorran gastropede or "worm", an only semi-intelligent, huge, toothy caterpillar-looking monster that likes to eat its prey alive. As someone who has read a lot of armchair evolutionary biology (mainly Gould and Dawkins) the biological/ecological imagination of the series seems convincing and compelling to me, though a real biologist would probably find a ton of impossibilities.
The book is told from the point of view of Jim McCarthy, a young man who starts off the first book as part of an army group trying to research an infested area. Jim would have been in college studying biology if national emergencies hadn't funneled everyone his age into the army.
The infestation presents a scientific, economic and political puzzle as much as a military one. How is it possible to attack the Chtorrans without also destroying the native Earth ecology? In a political climate where American imperialism is distrusted by all other nations, how is the world going to form the necessary cooperative efforts? Since 75% of the world has died off, and there are a lot of commodities lying around waiting to be reclaimed, what happens to inflation? The series is marked by a refusal to paper over any of these problems in order to get the plot moving faster.
But the plot does move fast. Really fast. There's a ton of action. The worms are scary. They are not an absolute evil; in fact, the scientific component of the plot relies on trying to understand their unique motivations. By the second book, we're introduced to humans who are capable of cooperating with the worms, and we start to put the ecological puzzle pieces together, and things get really scary from that point.
Jim McCarthy is always getting into horrendously dangerous situations and then fighting his way out using incredible bravery and resourcefulness. But in all other areas of life, he's a hot mess. He's massively insecure about his sexuality. He's prone to fits of rage and despair, and when he can't take it anymore, he gets really high, and then he passes out. Every fifty pages or so he screams, collapses into sobbing, or faints, in reaction to miscellaneous (often self-inflicted) emotional trauma. His main love interest (he's bisexual) is his commanding officer, a woman who's taller than him, older than him and vocal in her irritation about having to act as his mother figure. He's a rather unique hero for a fast-paced military science fiction story, to say the least.
The third book, A Rage for Revenge, is the most disturbing, because a major theme involves traumatized children and the horrible things that can happen to them. After I finished rereading it I did some research on it and stumbled across a very illuminating comment by Gerrold.
Hanley: Now, what year did you take the EST training?
Gerrold: May of ‘81.
Hanley: And what impact did that have on your writing?
Gerrold: The most immediate impact was I got the definition of bullshit which is anything that you use to avoid accountability. So it’s rationalization and lies and excuses and justification and explanation. I was struggling with the Chtorr at that time, and I went through the manuscript with a big black marker and crossed off every sentence that was an explanation or a justification or a rationalization, every sentence that wasn’t experiential. And the book got cut way, way down, but what was left was really compelling reading. So right there I got a very clear sense of communication – that it’s about creating an authentic experience. I wanted people to feel it. I wanted them to experience it. So the most immediate effect was what I now call experiential writing. In the process of writing, I am creating experience. First, I create experience for myself then I find the words that would evoke it for the readers.
And that brings us to the est. Oh boy. For anyone who doesn't know what est is, I would suggest
reading through these accounts at cult watch site rickross.com, starting with this 1975 article,
"We're Gonna Tear You Down and Put You Back Together". Or you could just read
A Rage for Revenge. In a special foreword to the book, Gerrold basically says, "yes, this book is didactic, but I swear, it's not est." It's est. The est makes it almost unreadable. However, I could not imagine the book without it. Est for these books is like libertarianism was for Heinlein. Heinlein and his approach to fictional didacticism were certainly a huge influence.
I agree with Gerrold that the est-inspired editing does make for really compelling reading. The book covers some incredibly disturbing ground: everything from the looming probable death of the entire human race to a situation in which several different authority figures articulately advocate for child sexual abuse (I almost stopped reading at this point). And these things are filtered through the perspective of a main character who's basically a walking emotional open wound. It's almost dizzying in its intensity.
Maybe it will be easier to describe if I draw a comparison. Cormac McCarthy's
The Road is a very comparable book in terms of postapocalyptic bleakness, even though it's stocked in a totally different section of the bookstore. The author does not tell us what we're supposed to be feeling, and most of the time, the characters don't even tell us what
they're feeling. It's show-not-tell, which is the most basic and primal way (though not the only one) to create an awesome story. However, the moral compass of the book is still very strong, and we, the readers, always know where we stand, what we should think, who we should judge. The boy says "we're carrying the light". This brief piece of dialogue, repeated just a few times, orients us symbolically and morally. I don't want to give away the ending, so I'll just say that by a certain point, I think it's obvious to the reader that no matter whether the boy lives or dies, he'll have
won, because he represents everything that's good in humanity.
We don't get that kind of moral compass in the Chtorr books.
There are a lot of things in these books that struck me as racist, sexist,
even homophobic, and hateful towards disabled people, but I'm not sure how much of that is because it's filtered through the experience of an unreliable narrator. There's little to no authorial guidance. I don't think Gerrold pulls this off successfully all the time. For example, halfway through the series he decides to make Jim McCarthy multiracial, though it seems to have almost no connection to the plot other than an excuse to use certain racial slurs. At many points, it's hard to tell whether the really objectionable stuff is there as an oversight, or if it's there on purpose, in order to bring out some kind of intense but unpleasant reaction.
Here's a fairly successful example from the second book. Jim McCarthy is taking a break between assignments. A beautiful "Chinese" woman stares at him in a restaurant and comes to sit next to him. He says something to effect of "wow, I thought all Chinese women were kind of submissive and shy -- I guess you're not!" At this point, as the reader, I'm getting angry. Stupid yellow fever... blech.
The woman reveals that she's actually hosting the downloaded consciousness of McCarthy's ex-boyfriend, Ted.
They go off to her apartment. Ted explains that in his telepathic group (it's digitally-based telepathy, not the paranormal kind) he's part of a "pool" that takes over bodies to run important assignments. He loves being in the pool, describes the process of moving from body to body, and says has no attachment left to his original body. Presumably, someone else is using it, but he doesn't care who.
Jim McCarthy then has mind-blowing sex with Ted in the body of the "Oriental Goddess". But when he wakes up, Ted is gone, and the Asian woman, who looks "mean" now, not beautiful, tells him to get out so she can take a shower, because she feels dirty. Jim asks her why she's mad, since according to Ted, she's a telepath who's transcended identity and attachment to the physical body. She says, "that's what some of you boys like to think... just get out."
I think this episode really reinforced the problematic nature of relying on Jim's experience in order to make sense of the post-Chtorr-infested world.
The really weird part is that the est-related didacticism of the books inspired this kind of experiential writing, but it also works directly against it. When Gerrold gets excited about making some point about human psychology and "commitment" and "responsibility" and "accountability", his ability to write dialogue
completely flies out the window. Every lecture given by every person in the books (and there are many lectures) is given in the exact same voice as every other lecture. All of a sudden you're removed from an emotion-soaked experience into an auditorium where someone is dryly barking some psychobabble about your mental processes. It's maddening.
At this point, I should probably note that the fifth book in the series should have been published
20 years ago. Gerrold is still trying to finish it up. If you go to Amazon reviews for any of the Chtorr books, half the entries are something like "I HATE YOUR GUTS, GERROLD YOU &$#@! THERE IS A SPECIAL PLACE IN HELL WAITING FOR YOU, FINISH THE NEXT BOOK OR I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND FEED YOU TO THE WORMS!!!". I was rather taken aback. I mean, I'd like to see a fifth book too, but I'm not personally angry at Gerrold. He says he's been very busy being a dad and getting through his son's rough adolescence, and as someone who is in a similar situation, I sympathize 100%.
To sum it up, reading the War Against the Chtorr series is like zooming down a highway at full speed, adrenaline pumping, driving a fast, powerful, complicated race car. But the car has a major steering problem and you constantly have to jerk the wheel to stay on the road. Then at random intervals, a policeman pulls you over, waves a gun in your face and gives you a lecture about accountability, then lets you back on the highway. And you know in advance that the highway ends in a pile of dirt with an "UNDER CONSTRUCTION" sign sticking out of it.