I’m not rating this book, because I only took it out in order to read the title story. I have no idea of the quality of the rest of it. I’d rate that novella either two or three stars, depending. I have to admit that, while I read it, I swung from hating it to almost liking it, and back to not liking it all that much again.
“A Plague of Demons” starts out as a sort of James Bond-in-the-near-future story, descends into a Bug Eyed Monster invasion tale, and somehow winds up trying to be a Miltonian epic. It is easily the most “masculine” or homo-centric story I’ve ever read: not only are there no female characters with speaking parts, there aren’t any included as window dressing or even random bystanders as far as I can recall. The main character exists in a world that is totally, 100% male. The closest thing to a love interest in the book is a brain damaged hulking sailor, which gave me the impression that the author was gay, although there’s certainly no open acknowledgement of that, either. Apart from that, much of the story is an odd celebration of the main character’s increasing dehumanization into a perfect combat unit. At the end, this had reached such an extreme that I was reminded of Norman Spinrad’s “The Iron Dream,” which, let’s remember, was a deliberate attempt at writing science fiction from a fascist perspective.
So what’s to like about it? Well, acknowledging the rules and limitations of Laumer’s universe, he’s fairly creative in escalating the warfare from a highly localized, to an increasingly cosmic level. The pacing is impressive – there is rarely a letup in the constant imposition of increasingly dire threat to the protagonist, and action is pretty much non-stop, somehow without being tedious. Laumer’s writing style is an interesting adaptation of hardboiled detective fiction in a sci fi setting. His use of metaphor, though it can get out of control, is often amusing. Here are some examples:
Page 71: “I was as weak as a diplomatic protest.” (That one got a laugh out of me, and then another one when I learned that Laumer had worked as a diplomat before becoming a writer).
Page 72: “The minutes crawled by like stepped-on roaches.” (Chuckle).
Page 73: “I heard feet on the deck now – and a soft padding that sent a chill through me like an iron spear.” (Hm).
Page 74: “The fever had drained my strength as effectively as a drained artery.” (All right already!).
It started to take a toll, on me at least, but I admit that some of those were clever.
In the end, the whole story hinges on his effort to make it a cosmic battle for freedom against slavery, and for me, there just wasn’t enough to sell that. Laumer’s strength is in describing action and combat, but when he tries to examine motivations and philosophy, he just seems to collapse into cliché and Cold War slogans. I’ll admit that reading this story was an interesting experience, but I don’t think I’ll seek out any more of his work.