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modernzorker 's review for:
Bats
by William W. Johnstone
"Bats" is absurd escapist horror for the turn-off-your-brain-and-just-go-with-it crowd on roughly the same level as Leigh Clarke's "Carnivore". And like my review of that book, I will admit readily that "Bats" is awful. I will also cop to the fact that I don't care, because like "Carnivore", once you start it up you just have to keep going until you reach the last page. So shut down the cerebrum, deactivate your logic circuits, prepare for plenty of Johnstone's blend of conservative/survivalist/military hawkish political philosophy espoused by his main characters, and dig into the first chapter. Hell, I don't agree with half of what his good ol' boy, former full-bird Colonel-turned-government-spook survival expert protagonist spouts off, and I'm STILL giving this book four stars. Maybe I am as crazy a liberal nutjob as Johnstone would have thought? :)
As one might gather from the title, the antagonist comes in the form of those winged rodents of the night. But these aren't your ordinary everyday brand of fruit bats or vampire bats. Oh no. These are genetically-engineered, science-bred, Christianity-defying, slavering-fanged hellspawn bats (and I wish I was making even one of those labels up): rabid, pissed off killers out to destroy everything crossing their path down in one unlucky parish of Louisiana. I'd say you can't make this stuff up, but clearly the book sitting here in my hand tells me otherwise. Published today this would be the sort of Kindle-only eBook that struggled to compete in the marketplace of dinosaur-themed erotica and "me too" versions of "Fifty Shades", but fortunately for all of us, Zebra was around to give it the legitimate attention it deserves and 90's horror is all the better for their unfettered zeal.
Johnstone might create characters so two-dimensional they're effectively invisible when viewed from the wrong angle, but the man never claimed to be writing great literature, and so I won't judge it as such. "Bats" works because, while Johnstone might struggle to make well-rounded characters, he has no trouble at all producing scenes of horror and violence to keep us turning pages. What's more, he approaches the subject matter with an almost insane desire to showcase a plausible outcome from such an implausible scenario. His approach is one of chronicler, not storyteller. "I was there," his narrative suggests, "and I saw what happened. Now I'm telling you about it." That it's fiction doesn't matter--you'll be checking the night sky regularly for a few weeks afterwards because 'what if...?'. For this reason, the book gets four stars. I read "Bats" for the first time all the way back in high school, and twenty years later I still think about it from time to time. I don't care how ridiculous the storyline is, if you're thinking about a shelf-worn paperback horror novel you checked out from the library two decades later, the book did something right, and I'll happily award those props.
Perhaps the best thing "Bats" does, far better than "Carnivore" could manage, is generate atmosphere. "Bats" generated in me a very strong sensation of a siege mentality, because the characters (and thus I as a reader) never knew where the attack would come from next, and Johnstone had no problems drawing out the suspense and even head-faking us a few times. His creature features are both intelligent and cunning. It takes everyone a while to get a grip on exactly what's happening, and just like in Jaws, human stupidity ensures that even when the proverbial poop begins dribbling on the fan blades, most of the characters are still caught off guard. These animals lay traps, target stragglers, draw their targets out into the open, and then strike with otherworldly ferocity. Necks are ripped open, eyeballs plucked out, hair torn off, skin peeled to the bone, and Johnstone's hapless characters soon understand just how close they are to involuntary exsanguination at all times. I was ready to reinforce the windows and rig up some electric fencing myself by the time I was done reading; fortunately my mother let me do nothing of the sort to our condominium.
Johnstone usually manages to offset his dead-serious characters with a few clowns and caricatures, and this book's no exception. Deputy Mark is the guy who can't stop joshing around and is also apt to eat you out of house and home, but for true comedy gold, you cannot beat the dynamic duo of the die-hard KKK-supporting white supremacist and his dyed-in-the-wool militant Black Panther-flag-flying counterpart-slash-nemesis. The apocalypse has come upon these two racist yahoos, each of whom is bound and determined to blame the other's entire race for the plague of winged fanged fury descending upon the state, and one of the absolute funniest scenes in the book involves the pair of them being handcuffed together in the back of a police car and 'accidentally' left to work out their differences. Stereotypical? You better believe it. Gut-bustingly funny anyway? You ain't just whistlin' Dixie, son. The plight of two reporters (one male, one female) trapped in a bat-covered car who realize A) they won't be getting out anytime soon and B) they REALLY need to pee is handled with equal levity. I don't remember the exact quote, but it's something along the lines of the girl telling the guy, "I'll trade you a rubber band for a cork." I laughed hard enough at this to convince my wife I was still thirteen years old. =D
"Bats" is not literate. It is not intelligent. You will not improve your social standing, get the girl/guy of your dreams, or become any better of a human being for reading it. It contains no great truths, a lot of political ranting of the right-wing variety, and pages of utter carnage. Your life will not change upon completion. That's because it's a horror novel about a bunch of enormous goddamn bats murder-fanging everything in sight. It's just what you're looking for to kill a few hours on a cold winter's night...even if you're a left-wing libtard pacifist snowflake sort like Johnstone no doubt would have categorized me had we ever crossed paths. If that isn't high enough praise to get you to read this schlockfest, then I've got nothing left to sell you on it. Read it to laugh, read it to cringe, just don't read it expecting Voltaire or Nabokov. Read it to expect Satanic bats, because that's what you're going to get.
As one might gather from the title, the antagonist comes in the form of those winged rodents of the night. But these aren't your ordinary everyday brand of fruit bats or vampire bats. Oh no. These are genetically-engineered, science-bred, Christianity-defying, slavering-fanged hellspawn bats (and I wish I was making even one of those labels up): rabid, pissed off killers out to destroy everything crossing their path down in one unlucky parish of Louisiana. I'd say you can't make this stuff up, but clearly the book sitting here in my hand tells me otherwise. Published today this would be the sort of Kindle-only eBook that struggled to compete in the marketplace of dinosaur-themed erotica and "me too" versions of "Fifty Shades", but fortunately for all of us, Zebra was around to give it the legitimate attention it deserves and 90's horror is all the better for their unfettered zeal.
Johnstone might create characters so two-dimensional they're effectively invisible when viewed from the wrong angle, but the man never claimed to be writing great literature, and so I won't judge it as such. "Bats" works because, while Johnstone might struggle to make well-rounded characters, he has no trouble at all producing scenes of horror and violence to keep us turning pages. What's more, he approaches the subject matter with an almost insane desire to showcase a plausible outcome from such an implausible scenario. His approach is one of chronicler, not storyteller. "I was there," his narrative suggests, "and I saw what happened. Now I'm telling you about it." That it's fiction doesn't matter--you'll be checking the night sky regularly for a few weeks afterwards because 'what if...?'. For this reason, the book gets four stars. I read "Bats" for the first time all the way back in high school, and twenty years later I still think about it from time to time. I don't care how ridiculous the storyline is, if you're thinking about a shelf-worn paperback horror novel you checked out from the library two decades later, the book did something right, and I'll happily award those props.
Perhaps the best thing "Bats" does, far better than "Carnivore" could manage, is generate atmosphere. "Bats" generated in me a very strong sensation of a siege mentality, because the characters (and thus I as a reader) never knew where the attack would come from next, and Johnstone had no problems drawing out the suspense and even head-faking us a few times. His creature features are both intelligent and cunning. It takes everyone a while to get a grip on exactly what's happening, and just like in Jaws, human stupidity ensures that even when the proverbial poop begins dribbling on the fan blades, most of the characters are still caught off guard. These animals lay traps, target stragglers, draw their targets out into the open, and then strike with otherworldly ferocity. Necks are ripped open, eyeballs plucked out, hair torn off, skin peeled to the bone, and Johnstone's hapless characters soon understand just how close they are to involuntary exsanguination at all times. I was ready to reinforce the windows and rig up some electric fencing myself by the time I was done reading; fortunately my mother let me do nothing of the sort to our condominium.
Johnstone usually manages to offset his dead-serious characters with a few clowns and caricatures, and this book's no exception. Deputy Mark is the guy who can't stop joshing around and is also apt to eat you out of house and home, but for true comedy gold, you cannot beat the dynamic duo of the die-hard KKK-supporting white supremacist and his dyed-in-the-wool militant Black Panther-flag-flying counterpart-slash-nemesis. The apocalypse has come upon these two racist yahoos, each of whom is bound and determined to blame the other's entire race for the plague of winged fanged fury descending upon the state, and one of the absolute funniest scenes in the book involves the pair of them being handcuffed together in the back of a police car and 'accidentally' left to work out their differences. Stereotypical? You better believe it. Gut-bustingly funny anyway? You ain't just whistlin' Dixie, son. The plight of two reporters (one male, one female) trapped in a bat-covered car who realize A) they won't be getting out anytime soon and B) they REALLY need to pee is handled with equal levity. I don't remember the exact quote, but it's something along the lines of the girl telling the guy, "I'll trade you a rubber band for a cork." I laughed hard enough at this to convince my wife I was still thirteen years old. =D
"Bats" is not literate. It is not intelligent. You will not improve your social standing, get the girl/guy of your dreams, or become any better of a human being for reading it. It contains no great truths, a lot of political ranting of the right-wing variety, and pages of utter carnage. Your life will not change upon completion. That's because it's a horror novel about a bunch of enormous goddamn bats murder-fanging everything in sight. It's just what you're looking for to kill a few hours on a cold winter's night...even if you're a left-wing libtard pacifist snowflake sort like Johnstone no doubt would have categorized me had we ever crossed paths. If that isn't high enough praise to get you to read this schlockfest, then I've got nothing left to sell you on it. Read it to laugh, read it to cringe, just don't read it expecting Voltaire or Nabokov. Read it to expect Satanic bats, because that's what you're going to get.