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A review by perilous1
Invasion of the Body Snatchers by Jack Finney
4.0
3.5 Stars
I felt like this 1956 neo-classic was something I owed to my sci-fi fascination to make sure I experienced. I don’t regret it—though I did find it surprisingly more psychological than science fiction. The pacing is well measured, and the steady buildup of trepidation toward the finale gives it an almost horror feel. It is told entirely in the past-tense, first-person POV of Dr. Miles Bennell, a 28-year-old divorcee and general practitioner in a rural town somewhere in northern California.
I think this paragraph gives a decent impression of both Miles, and the prose itself:
“I saw my father’s wooden filing cabinet, his framed diplomas stacked on top of it, just as they’d been brought from his office. In that cabinet lay records of the colds, cut fingers, cancers, broken bones, mumps, diphtheria, births and deaths of a large part of Mill Valley for over two generations. Half the patients listed in those files were dead now, the wounds and tissue my father had treated only dust.”
The author doesn’t try too hard with any scientific explanations. Which is good, because it would likely have detracted from the what-it-means-to-be-human focus. What does attempt to be explained gets a bit boggy, and the effect isn’t entirely satisfactory. (This might be a bit disappointing for anyone hoping for much by way of plausibility.) What we have here is a story wedged somewhere between eerie and campy.
One of the biggest disappointments is Becky Driscoll, former high school sweetheart and new love interest to Mile Bennell. Becky is about as one-dimensional and prop-like as they come. Which I suppose shouldn’t be a huge surprise in terms of standard female portrayal in the mid-1950s. I’m already forgetting her personality, because there wasn’t much there to begin with. The only word I can come up with to describe her is a screamingly bland “nice,” and the only words that Miles uses to describe her all seem to involve the physical attributes he finds most appealing.
Still, the tension became incredibly absorbing at the point where Miles is trying to find help and convince people of the strangeness he’s observed. The confusion and self-doubt are palpable, and the disbelief so understandable yet frustrating. It made me wonder how I might try to accomplish the same thing with any more floundering success than the story’s protagonists… and how much I’d be forced to question my own sanity.
Not exactly spellbinding in terms of characterization, but definitely worth a read.
I felt like this 1956 neo-classic was something I owed to my sci-fi fascination to make sure I experienced. I don’t regret it—though I did find it surprisingly more psychological than science fiction. The pacing is well measured, and the steady buildup of trepidation toward the finale gives it an almost horror feel. It is told entirely in the past-tense, first-person POV of Dr. Miles Bennell, a 28-year-old divorcee and general practitioner in a rural town somewhere in northern California.
I think this paragraph gives a decent impression of both Miles, and the prose itself:
“I saw my father’s wooden filing cabinet, his framed diplomas stacked on top of it, just as they’d been brought from his office. In that cabinet lay records of the colds, cut fingers, cancers, broken bones, mumps, diphtheria, births and deaths of a large part of Mill Valley for over two generations. Half the patients listed in those files were dead now, the wounds and tissue my father had treated only dust.”
The author doesn’t try too hard with any scientific explanations. Which is good, because it would likely have detracted from the what-it-means-to-be-human focus. What does attempt to be explained gets a bit boggy, and the effect isn’t entirely satisfactory. (This might be a bit disappointing for anyone hoping for much by way of plausibility.) What we have here is a story wedged somewhere between eerie and campy.
One of the biggest disappointments is Becky Driscoll, former high school sweetheart and new love interest to Mile Bennell. Becky is about as one-dimensional and prop-like as they come. Which I suppose shouldn’t be a huge surprise in terms of standard female portrayal in the mid-1950s. I’m already forgetting her personality, because there wasn’t much there to begin with. The only word I can come up with to describe her is a screamingly bland “nice,” and the only words that Miles uses to describe her all seem to involve the physical attributes he finds most appealing.
Still, the tension became incredibly absorbing at the point where Miles is trying to find help and convince people of the strangeness he’s observed. The confusion and self-doubt are palpable, and the disbelief so understandable yet frustrating. It made me wonder how I might try to accomplish the same thing with any more floundering success than the story’s protagonists… and how much I’d be forced to question my own sanity.
Not exactly spellbinding in terms of characterization, but definitely worth a read.