My wife picked this up for me at our local library—I know, right?—because she knows how much I love the role-playing game (RPG) this book is (loosely) based on. This world, the setting, means a lot to me; naturally, I have some problems with how it was treated in this novel.
Let's start by discussing the RPG this novel is set in, Deadlands. When the game was first published, in 1996, the setting was the American West in the year 1876, 13 years after the Battle of Gettysburg, after The Reckoning. In real-world history, General Robert E. Lee's defeat and failure to invade the Union tipped the scales in favor of the United States of America. But Deadlands is set in an alternate history. On July 3rd, 1863—the final day of the battle—the Earth shook, the skies trembled, and the dead littering the battlefield decided being dead was too damn boring and stood back up. The armies ran. Neither side took the advantage, and the war raged on. Rumors of the battle spread, and were dismissed as the mad ramblings of overstressed soldiers. All the same, fear spread on both sides of the Mason-Dixon. And fear is what it's really about.
What happened at Gettysburg, across the nation and, most likely, the rest of the world, was no accident. A pugnacious, young Native American warrior-turned-shaman named Raven and his followers rent the veil twixt the corporeal world and the Hunting Grounds—the spirit world. Why? Well, if you have a public education, you're probably well aware these United States of America weren't always as white-washed as they are today. You may also be aware this nation only got so white after the red was bathed in crimson. Raven didn't ken to that, watched his own family slaughtered by white folks. It's sad, but that's actual history, folks. His ploy to rid the nation of white men gave beings of immense power—and incredible evil—a gateway into the mortal realm.
These beings, these spirits, they feed on fear. Human fear. The Civil War had already wracked the nation with it: fear of oppression, fear of subjugation, fear of facing your kin on the battlefield, fear that everything the forefathers fought and died for would wither. It was already palpable, and the Reckoners—those are the spirits I've been yammering on about—feasted when Raven opened the door and invited them to dinner, but it wasn't enough. They were still hungry. The problem was it wasn't opened wide enough for them to get through completely; they could leak some power out, so they did. They spread fear using their influence, cultivating it, tending it like a garden. Real farm to table stuff, organic, non-GMO. The good shit. Often, their hench-spirits, Manitous, serve as their middlemen, granting life to beasts of legend: ghosts, vampires, the undead, chupacabras, you name it. If people believe in it, even just a little, they can make it real and make it eat you. But killing folk isn't the point; it's simply fertilizer for the garden of fear.
For a time, the fear the war spread, and the fear the Reckoners spread with ghosts and spooks was enough for them, but the war waned. Frontline skirmishes receded. Both sides came to a kind of understanding. The food source dwindled. Aphids in the garden. What do you do when your garden starts dying? You wipe it of pests, you replant, and you fertilize again. And that's what the Reckoners did. In 1868, the territory of California buckled, rattled, and shook. Huge chunks of land slipped loose, swallowed by the Pacific. Millions perished. Small land masses, islands leftover from the quake, dotted the territory, running from Oregon down to Baja. In the aftermath, veins of copper, silver, coal, and, yes, sometimes gold were found along the islands, deep withing the Earth. And another ore was found, a new one that looked like coal. It looked like it, but it burned hotter and longer and with more power than coal. When it burned, it wailed, and so people took to calling it Ghost Rock. It fueled new engines of war because, as we all know, war has always necessitated invention. People are always looking for new ways to kill each other.
As you can see, I can talk about this world at great length. I love it. It's been a part of my life for almost twenty years—I got my copy of the core book in 1998. It's rich with real world history and characters. Ulysses Grant is the president of the USA, Jefferson Davis in the CSA (until the continuity of the game entered 1877 with the second edition, and Robert E. Lee was elected president). Abraham Lincoln did die, but nothing stays dead in the Weird West; he poses as the enigmatic head of the Western division of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, the Ghost.
Now, Jonathan Maberry's novel isn't the worst thing I've read, but, as a Deadlands story, it's pretty bad. Things start off being simply weird but never become frightening, not even for the protagonists. What weirdness there is quickly devolves into banality, becoming mundane, almost common. There are undead, far too many to cultivate any real fear, and even the heroes begin speaking about them as if they're as common as saddle sores. By the time we meet our first undead (I guess) velociraptor, you begin to think, "Well, it can't get any sillier than this," but you'd be wrong. You haven't seen the giant worm yet or the part where Cthulhu (again, I guess) heals our necromancer/scientist/fashionista antagonist, the enigmatic (not really) Aleksander Deray.
There's no fear here, nothing for the Reckoners to eat. They'd starve to death. I don't want to give too much away as far as the plot goes, but know this: some of the Deadlands lore is there—the NPCs are mentioned, events are talked about, and Ghost Rock is everywhere—but it isn't Deadlands, not really. It reads like a High School kid's first game. He got the world but not the point.
That being said, it's still fun, and Maberry has done something I haven't—wrote a whole story. It's not a great Deadlands story, but it is still complete. If over-the-top action, deus ex machina conflict resolution, and wondering why in the Hunting Grounds a Sioux is a geologist with a British accent are your thing, you'll love this.