Brian Keene's Blog, page 143

Deadly Species and Fabulous Fiction

Mike Oliveri’s name should be familiar to you, as he and I have collaborated on a number of things over the years (most recently with To Fight With Monsters which you can buy here).

Mike’s first novel – the absolutely stellar Deadliest of the Species – has been out of print for many years. Now, thanks to the miracle of digital publishing, it’s available on Kindle and Nook for just $2.99. Hit up Mike’s blog for the details.

Nick Mamatas should also be familiar to you, as he co-wrote The Damned Highway with me (which you can buy in paperback, Kindle, Nook, and Kobo here).

If you live in or near Berkeley, California, Nick will be teaching a 9 week workshop focusing on genre writing. Hone your skills at writing commercial genre fiction—romance/chicklit, mystery/detective, science fiction/fantasy—that aren’t always given the credit they deserve. “If ghosts and witches, lost loves and conflict were good enough for Homer, Shakespeare, and Dante,” says Nick, “they’re good enough for me. The techniques practiced in this class work just as well for ‘literary’ fiction.” Full details can be found here.

GUEST BLOG: ‘The End of the Symbolic Liminal: Brian Keene and the Rise of the Fast Zombie’ by Andrew P. Williams (North Carolina Central University)

In George Romero’s seminal film Night of the Living Dead (1968), John, who will later become zombie fodder, jokingly warns his sister, “They’re coming to get you, Barbara.” Flash forward five decades later and all one has to do is browse the shelves of the local Barnes and Noble or the newest release section of Blockbuster to see that the living dead have certainly come for us. In film, books, television, video games, and even academic conferences, it seems as if the pop-cultural zombie apocalypse has finally arrived, and I, for one, cannot be more delighted.

Ever since sneaking into the Monroeville Mall in Pittsburgh Pa. shortly after my thirteenth birthday to catch a glimpse of the filming of George Romero’s 1978 classic Dawn of the Dead, I have had an unapologetic affection for all things zombified. Upon its release, I was able to circumvent the film’s initial prohibition against anyone under the age of 17 from purchasing a ticket with the assistance of some older, horror-loving friends who propped open an emergency exit long enough to let a skinny high school freshman to slip in.  Thirty-five years later I appreciate the subtle irony of subverting the traditional economics of consumer exchange and the ideological prohibition against my youthful eyes witnessing such a product in order to see the film that Kim Paffenroth deems a “blistering, frightening, and hilarious critique” of “American consumer culture” (55).

Paffenroth’s citing Romero’s Dawn of the Dead as a metaphor of American consumer culture is just one of the numerous figurative applications assigned to this particular brand of  “undead.”  Within critical discourses associated with a variety of socio-cultural anxieties such as rampant capitalism and consumerism, racial and ethnic “otherness”, fear over pandemic diseases, especially AIDS, and the general absurdity of the human condition, the zombie remains a signifying component of a useful and rather flexible paradigmatic metaphor. The zombie has been, and still remains, an iconic figure within American culture, a convenient catch-all for representing “the other” regardless of what group is being slipped in the category of “self.” That the zombie represents something more in American culture than simply a flesh eating automaton does not seem too debatable. But rather than solely provide a reading of the zombie with a particular text or body of texts as a metaphor for something, I would like to take this opportunity to briefly address the components of the zombie metaphor within the linguistic sign.  It is commonplace to address the zombie metaphor citing that the “zombie stands for this” but as an element of a sign, the zombie itself cannot function as an autotelic signifier; rather, its signifying efficacy is contingent upon it being a component of a phenomenological event where an observer recognizes its uncanny nature and responds to it. It is this combination of zombie and observer, the simultaneous presence of the undead and the living whom is conscious of the implications and immediacy of the zombie threat that functions as signifier within the metaphor of zombification. Contained within this model of signification is what I term the symbolic liminal, a conceptual threshold that demarcates the process by which the living transitions into the undead through direct contact with the zombie, manifested by the visible and physical spaces that separate the living and the undead as well as the distinct forms of agency by which that space can be crossed or defended. Thus the barricade that keeps the zombie at bay, or the physical distance and spatial limitations that separate the undead from the potential victim act as the symbolic liminal and is elemental to the signifier inherent within the zombie metaphor.

Recognizing the liminal component of this tripartite model of the zombie signifier allows the critic greater flexibility to negotiate the fluid dimensions of conceptualizing the zombie as metaphor within the ever evolving parameters of the representation of the zombie in America literature and cinema. Of particular importance is the emergence of the “fast zombie”, a sleek variant of the traditional walking dead brought to the forefront of American pop consciousness in the early years of the new millennia with such works as the 2002 film Resident Evil and the 2003 Bram Stoker Award winning novel, The Rising, by Brian Keene. Unlike the traditional slow and shambling zombie depicted in films White Zombie (1932) and I Walked with a Zombie (1943), as well as H.P. Lovecraft’s literary classic, “Herbert West-Reannimator,” and, more recently, splatter punk sensations John Skipp and Craig Spector’s edited collection Book of the Dead Vols. 1 and 2(1990, 1992), the fast zombie retains the physical speed and dexterity of the living after it has succumbed to the process of zombification, and in fact, often exhibits hyperbolic degrees of strength and agility fueled by  its insatiable hunger for human flesh. Unlike its slower cousin, the fast zombie can chase down human prey, scale walls, leap over barricades and, in the case of Romero’s recent remake of his own Day of the Dead (2008), develop the ability to crawl atop ceilings and demonstrate world class parkur proficiency. The fast zombie has also been routinely depicted possessing various levels of self-awareness and sentiency as in Keene’s The Rising and sequel, City of the Dead (2005), David Wellington’s Monster trilogy (2006), and George Romero’s Land of the Dead (2005). Not only does it move faster, the fast zombie, for lack of a better phrase, thinks faster than its predecessor, and proves a relentless force of (un)nature unless it can be properly dispatched through the agency of the living.

The introduction of the fast zombie into the genre did much more than amp up the dramatic action within the context of its various cinematic and literary incarnations; it destabilized the tripartite model of signification by shrinking the liminal space that exists between the living and the undead, thus fundamentally altering the phenomenological event that produces the zombie metaphor. The absence of the clearly demarcated symbolic liminal exacerbates the permanent status of urgency and threat to the stabilizing influences of civilization central to the zombie metaphor’s function as a sign, and begins to dismantle the familiar and comfortable terrain by which the living-self and undead-other remain fundamentally separate regardless of what metaphoric trope is being negotiated. The agency of the fast zombie violently brings these two elements of the linguistic signifier within closer proximity making more problematic the tenuous space between “self” and “other.”

The fast zombie enters the public arena an upgraded version of an old monster whose status as a threat resonates within a post-9/11 consciousness; it is a postmillennial figure who serves as an uncomfortable reminder of the dangerous immediacy and catastrophic potential of the power of the “other.” Where the traditional slow zombie lumbered and proved dangerous within groups, the fast zombie has the ability to cross the symbolic liminal at any time, striking without warning both individually and collectively, thus less “mobcentric” and more prone to what blogger Tim Hulsey calls “a taste of individualism” (Quoted in Levin). No longer does the living “self” enjoy the small luxury of preparing for the threat of the undead “other” inherent within the warning, “They’re coming to get you.” With the fast zombie, they are already here.

Brian Keene’s 2003 novel The Rising ushered in the era of the fast zombie in fiction. One of the first literary explorations of a post-zombie apocalypse, The Rising is the story of Jim Thurmond’s attempt to find his son amidst the devastation of a zombie-infested world. Embarking on a perilous cross country journey, Jim encounters increasingly dangerous and sentient masses of the undead all the while clinging to the slim hope that his son is still alive. With echoes of Richard Matheson’s classic zombie/vampire novel, I Am Legend as well as the occasional homage to Romero’s classic zombie trilogy, The Rising succeeds in fusing many of the traditional and often, necessary tropes of the genre, while simultaneously reconceptualizing the zombie “other”.  Keene writes, “The zombies were representative of all walks of life. . . . Black, white, Hispanic, and Asian-death did not discriminate. Some carried weapons while others carried nothing but their hunger. . . Some moved along at a quick pace while others lagged behind” (287). In Keene’s zombie universe, the undead also retain the core memories of when they were alive, can speak, fire guns, and even ride Harley Davidson motorcycles down the middle of the highway while cracking wise about the consistency of human flesh.  At times comical, and always gory, The Rising virtually abolishes the symbolic liminal by making zombification less a hindrance to awareness and mobility and more of an absurd existential quandary.

Similar to Matheson’s novel, The Rising begins after the zombie infection has eradicated most, if not all, of the planet’s human population.  Though the origins of the infection become evidenced midway through the novel, Keene’s protagonist, Jim, is less concerned with how his fellow humans became zombies and more with the ramifications of their presence. Unlike Matheson’s Robert Neville who spends years researching the virus that has transformed his friends and family into zombie/vampires, ultimately believing he can “cure” the infected, Jim can only focus his attention on the immediate reality of survival in this post-apocalyptic environment. But Jim’s efforts are aided by his postmillennial consciousness where years prior to the zombie outbreak, he had constructed a survival shelter beneath his home in case society’s worst Y2K fears came to fruition. Later, after the incidents of 9/11, Jim further upgrades his shelter and keeps it well-stocked for what he anticipates as an inevitable breakdown of civilization.  In Keene’s postmillennial zombie apocalypse, the liminal space between the continuation of socio-familial norms and collapse is measured, not by degrees of possibility as it is in Matheson’s novel, but in its own inevitability.

Recognizing the difference between the responses of the two protagonists to their respective zombie infestations helps to elucidate the shifting significance of the inherent threat posed by the zombie “other.” Robert is not prepared by the forces which create the zombie virus, but he still views it as something that can be controlled  through science or social engineering-he will either find a cure for it which will return the world to “normal,” or he will eradicate the threat and rebuild a new society based on the rubric of the old. In the metaphorical paradigm of the slow zombie, the “other” is manageable and possibly reclaimable through the power of the “self.” However, in The Rising Jim recognizes that no such reclamation is possible. The threat of the “other”, marked by the fast zombie, proves more than the agency of the “self” can handle. It heralds the promise of a new order, a new normal where the space between the living and the undead has become so blurred that without the display of some of the signifying badges inherent within the genre, it would be difficult to distinguish the “self” from the “other.”

The blurring of this signifying element is primary to the “horror” of The Rising and marks an important thematic comparison to Matheson’s I Am Legend where a diachronic reading of the two works can shed some light on the role of the symbolic liminal. In both novels, the undead possess a certain degree of sentiency, speech, and a particular desire for the protagonist to join their ranks. The zombies are not all mindless in their attention; in fact, it seems as if they have made the zombification of Jim and Robert a personal goal.  Both characters are taunted by the undead and are even the object of sexual attention from female zombies who try to lure the male protagonists from the safety of their homes. In Matheson’s novel this type of liminal transgression is primarily manifested by a several undead female neighbors who make suggestive overtures toward Robert, as well as his former friend who can do no more than call out to him and ask him to join them. In response, Robert is able to drown them out by turning up the volume on his still working record player as he listens to classical music. The violation of the “other” into the symbolic liminal, in this case, can be easily deflected by the “self” by retreating to those things that had previously defined normal life. As long as the barricade holds, turning up the volume or pouring another drink can successfully keep the zombie at bay.

Such is not the case with the fast zombies of The Rising. Jim is also subject to sexual taunting, but in his case it is from his recently deceased wife who is still carrying his unborn, undead child. Her taunts are not confined to deviant promises of sexual release, but are overtures for Jim to join her and the baby in a newly configured nuclear family, one whose status as “other” is not bound by any socio-sexual norms. And unlike Robert Neville who can distract himself with the trappings of civilization long enough for the temptation to subside, Jim cannot. It is, after all, not a promise of temporary pleasure the zombie brings, but a recreating of everything Jim valued and loved. This sentient, “fast” zombie poses a new threat; instead of it having to cross the liminal space to ensnare its victim, it can entice the living to cross that space of his own volition. In this new paradigm Keene offers, the zombies possess much of the criteria that defines “normal” society- family, community, and a clearly delineated sense of order making, in many ways, their “otherness” an attractive alternative to the diasporic existence of the living “self.” That zombification would even be considered a viable option for humanity significantly shrinks the liminal space between the “self” and “other” and reconfigures the semiotic value of difference within the metaphor.  For the first time in zombie fiction, the zombie has something the living, like Jim, desperately crave, social order.

Jim does not succumb to the temptation and sets off to find his son from his first wife in an attempt to reclaim what is left of the traditional, living, family unit within this apocalyptic terrain. Keene has stated that The Rising is more the story of one man’s attempts to sustain and protect the ideal of the nuclear family and the familiarity of the “American dream” than an apocalyptic tale of the undead. According to the author, the zombies is a genre specific trope that can “represent all of the very real, modern threats to that ideal” (Interview, 1/11/2013). Though not the only metaphor by which the novel can be read, the destabilization of the familiar social norms in a post-millennial society does offer a useful context for a critique of the zombie infestation as a phenomenological event.  In the land of the slow zombie, the survivor can maintain a prolonged semblance of normalcy as long as the fortification remains solid and the supplies are restocked. Robert Neville is able to survive this way for over three years; his weekly routine of going to the grocery store, refueling his car and generator, and doing repairs around the house, in spite of the constant threat of the zombie hordes, succeeds in mimicking the routine and rhythm of pre-apocalyptic, suburban, American culture. As such, the metaphorical implications seem to suggest that as long as the symbolic liminal is not transgressed, if careful, the “self” can function indefinitely within a self-contained environment and economy with little interference from the omnipresent “other.”

However the agency of the fast zombie makes it virtually impossible for the living “self” to recreate any type of pre-zombie state of normalcy and order. The best the “self”, in the form of the survivors, can do to fend off the intrusion of the “other” is to remain mobile, always in a state of flight where, in the case of The Rising, the monuments of American social and economic culture no longer offer any refuge or comfort. As Jim and a small band of survivors hurry toward where they think Jim’s son is hidden, Keene writes: “Monuments of their former civilization sat just off each exist they passed; houses and apartment buildings, churches, synagogues, and mosques, shopping centers and strip malls. The golden arches of a fast food restaurant hung askew” (311).  Unlike Robert Neville who can still go to the supermarket or the gas station for his supplies, Jim and company can only view these reminders of the past from afar. They are irrelevant in the new world.

Keene’s reference to the shopping center or mall brings to mind another pair of zombie infestations whose metaphoric interpretations are also impacted by the difference that exists between the fast and slow zombie. Namely, George Romero’s 1978 film Dawn of the Dead and its remake a quarter century later. Much has been written concerning their symbolic applications to American consumer culture, and it is out of the scope of this presentation to address that issue in detail; but, it is illustrative to briefly address the impact of the “speed” of the zombie as an element of signification in regard to how the films handle the spatial component of the symbolic liminal. In both versions, a band of survivors has found refuge within a shopping mall. And in both cases, they eliminate the few zombie stragglers who wander about the food court before setting up residence among the mall’s many stores. However, in Romero’s original, slow zombie version, the limited agency of the undead allows the survivors to create, what they believe to be a permanent homestead within the seemingly endless bounty offered by the mall’s many outlets. There are literally enough resources to last the surviving trio for a lifetime. Even when the zombies have been able to breach the fortification of the mall’s doors, the survivors have built a false wall separating their personal living space from the rest of the mall. As such they find a way to coexist with the zombie “others” without the normalcy of their lives being impacted. In fact, it is not the zombies who destroy this workable compromise; the arrival of a bike-riding gang of marauders destroys the balance that has existed for nearly a year between the living and the undead and causes the disintegration of the symbolic liminal. Similar to Matheson’s take, Romero’s slow zombies prove a symbolic “other” that can be dealt with and managed by the efforts of the “self”- as long as the walls hold and the supplies last, the metaphoric threat of zombification can be held at bay by the effort and inherent resiliency of the “self.”

This is not so much the case with the Zack Snyder’s 2004 remake which pits the band of survivors in a similar shopping mall, but one surrounded by fast zombies. This time the speed and stealth of the undead make the complex a temporary safe-haven, at best. Unlike those in the original film version, these survivors do not view the mall as a permanent or even long term solution to the zombie threat, and there is certainly no implication of a guarded co-existence. In the post-millennial version of Dawn of the Dead, in an era of internet connectivity and online shopping, the mall has become obsolete. It offers no lasting protection from whatever metaphoric “otherness” the zombies represent, and is overrun by the undead within a matter of weeks. The shopping mall, along with other monuments of normalcy offering the potentiality of stabilizing the symbolic liminal in the era of the slow zombie, collapses under the weight of the fast zombie’s power to transgress the threshold between the living and the undead. Unlike the end of the original Dawn where the two remaining survivors fly off in a helicopter with a chance to find another safe-haven, the remake ends without hope as the remaining survivors are discovered on an unnamed island by a swarming pack of the undead. Ultimately, the “self” is inadequate to deal with the threat of the “other”; it can only be devoured by it.

Like their cinematic counterparts, Robert and Jim can survive for only so long in this new world of the undead. Similar to the original Dawn of the Dead, Robert Neville’s demise comes as a result of the action of the living. His home is invaded by a group of survivors who suffer from the zombie virus but have found an antidote that allows them to manage its effects. They have become the new “self” in the post-apocalyptic world while Robert, the last uninfected man in the world, has become the dangerous “other” who must be eradicated. For Jim, like the last survivors in the Dawn of the Dead remake, he simply runs out of time and space. Having found his son and taking refuge in, yet another temporary haven, the zombie menace finally catches up with him because, literally, there is nowhere else for him to go.

In the end, and we must recognize that zombie fiction and film rarely end well for the living, the metaphor of zombification is shaped by the degree to which the undead can transgress the symbolic liminal. When the zombie is slow, the metaphor implicitly contains a range of hope and potential for the “self” to maintain its identity as such in the presence of the “other.” When the zombies are fast, the symbolic liminal evaporates and the “self” is inevitably consumed by the “other.”

But as I write these last lines, a new zombie film has opened called Warm Bodies where the power of love allows the zombie hero to reclaim his humanity and place among the living. Perhaps this is the next step in the evolution of the literary and cinematic zombie- the undead as both “self” and “other” at the same time. I prefer the flesh eating variety but if this new strain of evolved undead can help the “self” to not fear the “other” it will be well-worth letting this monster finally rest in peace.

***

If you enjoyed this presentation, be sure to check out Professor Williams’s latest novel, The Corruptor.

***

Works Cited

Dawn of the Dead. George Romero. Laurel Group, 1978. Film.

Dawn of the Dead. Zack Snyder. Strike Entertainment, 2004. Film.

Day of the Dead. Steve Miner. Millennium Films, 2008. Film.

Keene, Brian. City of the Dead. New York: Leisure Books, 2005. Print.

—. The Rising. New York: Leisure Books, 2004. Print.

—. Personal interview. 11 January, 2013.

Levin, Josh. “How did movie zombies get so fast?” Slate.com, 24 March, 2004.  Web. 8 November, 2012

Matheson, Richard. I Am Legend. New York: Gold Medal, 1954. Print.

Night of the Living Dead. George Romero. Image Ten, 1968. Film.

Paffenroth, Kim. Gospel of the Living Dead: George Romero’s Vision of Hell on Earth. Waco: Baylor University Press, 2006. Print.

Warm Bodies. Jonathan Levine. Summit Entertainment, 2013. Film.

Reader Orientation

Being a bi-monthly information dump for new readers (an old)…

My name is Brian Keene. I’m 45, single, the father of two boys, and live in the backwoods river-bottoms of rural Pennsylvania. I write books, comics, stories, and journalism for money. My most recent book releases are Earthworm Gods, Earthworm Gods II: Deluge, and Earthworm Gods: Selected Scenes From the End of the World. You can find a complete listing of all of my books (including links to buy them) HERE.

My most recent comic book releases are The Last Zombie: Before the After #5 and the forthcoming Masters of the Universe: The Origin of Hordak. You can find a complete listing of all of my comic books (including links to buy them) HERE.

Several of my books and stories have been turned into movies. Ghoul and The Ties That Bind are on DVD. Fast Zombies Suck is in post-production. Dark Hollow is in pre-production. Darkness On The Edge Of Town, The Cage, Castaways, and The Siqqusim Who Stole Christmas are all under option. You can find a complete listing of all my movies (including links to buy them) HERE.

The best way to contact me is via Twitter. I also maintain an active presence on Facebook and Branch. I have a Tumblr which serves as an inspirational Blog for creative types. I can also be found on YouTube and Google+ (though I seldom use the latter). Things can be mailed to me at PO Box 281 Craley, PA 17312. Please be aware that I am unable to respond to every email that is sent to me (because I average about 100 new emails each day).

This month (April), I am editing the uncut anniversary edition of The Rising, and writing the final draft of a novel called The Lost Level, the final draft of The Last Zombie: The End #5, and the first draft of a novel called Hole In the World.

Maelstrom IV Line Up

Maelstrom Set I (2010)

A Gathering of Crows by Brian Keene

The Rising: Deliverance by Brian Keene (no reprint until 5 years after pub)

Six Days by Kelli Owen

Cover art for all 3 volumes by Russell Dickerson

Maelstrom Set II (2011)

A Conspiracy of One by Brian Keene (never to be reprinted)

Alone by Brian Keene

Once Upon A Time In Midnight by John Urbancik

Cover art for all 3 volumes by John Urbancik

Maelstrom Set III (2012)

Earthworm Gods II: Deluge by Brian Keene

Sundancing by Brian Keene (never to be reprinted)

Answers of Silence by Geoff Cooper

Cover art for all 3 volumes by David Ho

Maelstrom Set IV (forthcoming late-Summer or early-Fall 2013)

The Rising: Uncut, Anniversary Edition by Brian Keene

Kat (a Levi Stoltzfus novella) by Brian Keene

A Necessary End by F. Paul Wilson and Sarah Pinborough

Cover art for all three volumes by Kealan Patrick Burke

Pre-orders will be announced later this year. This is your early warning system so that you may begin saving money.

Biggest Cliffhanger Ever

On sale today. If your local comic store doesn’t carry it, buy direct from the publisher HERE.

It’s all been building to this! Doctor Federman has been suspicious of Ian. But what dark secrets is Federman himself hiding? And will what he does next threaten the lives of the team and jeopardize the mission? Don’t miss the shocking conclusion!

This is the one issue you cannot miss. It’s all led to this moment. The beginning of… The End. And the explosive finale will leave you screaming.

BUY IT HERE

On Marriage Equality

I rarely allow the public to see things on my private Facebook page (which is why I have this public page instead) but I’m copying and pasting something I wrote for my private page, because it needs to be said:

Marriage equality isn’t a Conservative issue or a Liberal issue. It isn’t a Republican issue or a Democrat issue. It’s a HUMAN issue, and one that speaks to the very heart of Libertarian-ism. Everyone — be they straight, gay, bi, or trans-gendered — should have the freedom to marry whom they choose. Thus, I urge my fellow Libertarians to get off the couch on this one, and make your voice heard. We want less government interference in our lives, and the right to pursue the freedoms guaranteed to us under not only the Constitution and Bill of Rights, but under basic human nature, as well? Well, then, this issue is a fine place to draw the line in the sand and tell the government to butt the hell out.

I’m not a member of the Left or the Right, and once again, I stand here shaking my head while those two sides shout at each other, and all meaningful conversation gets lost in a cloying miasma of political dogma and cable news talking points. Same thing happens when we try to talk about gun violence, or the fiscal budget, or national defense, or health care, or anything else, and I’m sick of it. FOX News and MSNBC are nothing more than propaganda machines for their chosen alignments, and CNN – instead of seizing the moment and truly representing middle America – is about as informative and effectual as an episode of The Golden Girls.

And I’m pissed at the dismantling of our space program, because I really want to go to Mars and get the hell away from 90% of the people on this planet.

When I am installed as World Leader Supreme, there will be some fucking changes.

End of rant.

This Weekend

I’ll be signing in Columbus, Ohio as a Guest at MARCON this weekend.  Other guests include F. Paul Wilson, Tim Waggoner, Lucy Snyder, and many more. For those of you attending, here is my schedule:

FRIDAY:

7pm – Meet and Greet

8:30pm – Panel: ‘Women at the End of the World’

SATURDAY:

11:30am – Panel: ‘It’s a Wonderful Apocalypse’

1:00pm – Autograph Session

4:00pm – Panel: ‘What’s Up With Zombies’

SUNDAY:

11:30pm – Autograph Session

How to Help Rick Hautala’s Family

As often happens at times like this, we are turning to you, the readership, and asking for help. Christopher Golden reports: “Rick’s sudden death could not have been more untimely. The life of a freelance writer is often one lived on the fringes of financial ruin, and Rick struggled mightily to stay afloat in recent years. Just within the last couple of months, that struggle became difficult enough that he could not afford to continue paying his life insurance bill, and allowed it to lapse.” To make matters worse, Rick’s social security benefits are not available to his wife, author Holly Newstein Hautala, until three years from now. If you were a fan of Rick’s work, or perhaps an author who he inspired, and you’d like to help the family with his final costs, you can donate directly via PayPal to holly_newstein@hotmail.com.

Rick Hautala R.I.P.

Apologies in advance, because there’s just no way I can write about this one in a detached, journalistic voice simply listing the deceased’s accomplishments. Somewhere along the way, I became the necrolog of the horror genre. I guess it’s because of Jobs In Hell (one of the first email newsletters for horror professionals, which I used to edit way back in the early days of the internet). The fact is, folks come here to get not only news about my work, but news about the horror genre in general. So, when someone passes, I write it up. But I can’t just “write this up”. Not this time.

Rick Hautala should be no stranger to anyone who’s read horror. Over 30 books in print (under his name as well as A. J. Matthews), and an essential part of the 80’s horror wave. I remember reading Moonbog in High School, and am happy to have that same copy still on my shelf, and personalized by Rick. My favorite by him was always Little Brothers. It had a definite impact on my own writing. I was delighted over the years to go from being a fan of Rick’s to being a friend of Rick’s. On those nights when the writing just isn’t worth it, the one thing I am grateful for is how many of my literary heroes have become friends and mentors to me — guys like Richard Laymon, Keith Giffen, Jack Ketchum, Edward Lee, Brian Hodge, Tom Monteleone, F. Paul Wilson, Chet Williamson. And Rick. Oh, yes, Rick.

I was friends with his wife, Holly, first. Holly was part of my generation of writers — and part of our Central Pennsylvania writing circle. Eventually, she moved up North. I got a call from her one night, and she said, “Guess who I’m dating” and when she finally told me who it was, I lost my shit and begged her to tell me everything and peppered her with questions and sobbed with gratitude when she promised she’d introduce me. And she did, and like so many others, Rick was gracious and generous and kind to this new guy. He gave me a lot of great advice over the years, both in my writing life and in my personal life. Just yesterday, I got an email from him asking for a cover blurb and I was delighted and honored to do it (but hadn’t yet responded, because I’m terrible at answering emails in a timely manner).

I know that I’m rambling, and I’ll write a more fitting remembrance later, but right now this is raw and somehow not real. Rick and I often talked cigars and bourbon. I’m going to go smoke a Gurkha and drink some Knob Creek riverside in his memory. After that, I’m going to come back inside and re-read his last short story collection, Occasional Demons. Please remember him in your own way, as well. I know it’s coming on the heels of David Silva and James Herbert, but this one is still a gut-punch.

James Herbert R.I.P.

Still reeling from last week’s news of David B. Silva’s death, the genre learned yesterday of another unexpected passing. James Herbert died in his sleep at the age of 69.

One of the modern-day giants of the genre, Herbert wrote more than twenty novels, several of which were adapted for film, television, and radio. In total, his books have sold over 42 million copies. The impact his first novel, The Rats, had on my generation of horror writers cannot be overstated, as well as subsequent novels such as The Fog, The Dark, and Fluke. While known primarily as one of the pioneers of hardcore horror, Herbert’s later works, such as The Ghosts of Sleath and The Secret of Crickley Hall, showed that he was just as adept at quiet horror, as well. An Officer of the Order of the British Empire and a former Grand Master of the World Horror Convention, Herbert was also the winner of the World Fantasy Award and many others.