Thursday, 19 December 2019

Why Bournemouth?

The Fog There's no hanging around waiting for things to happen in The Fog. James Herbert has disaster strike at the end of the first chapter and follows up with scenes of violence and madness that tumble one after the other. It's as if he's imagined as many unconnected examples of people and animals behaving in a deranged, uncontrolled way as possible, then makes up the "fog" as a spurious device to link them. About half way through, after the Bournemouth episode, the plot eventually kicks in and the authorities, aided by the hero Holman, must work out how to stop the horror.

The horror is of course the point of the book. Other reviewers have pointed out some of the very graphic scenes, but what Herbert really does well in The Fog is to induce tension through anticipation. The reader imagines what is going to happen: What will that man do with that axe and those nails? What will he do with those gardening shears? You don't need to read on to picture the horror, but to confront your own worst nightmare.

There's an anti-establishment theme running through the book. Some of the people affected by the fog feel they've been treated badly by those in authority; the poacher had "been dragged along by his collar as though he were riff-raff"; the office security man earning a "pittance of a salary and the privilege of having snot-nosed execs bidding him 'Good morning' or 'Good night' when they felt like it." The protagonist Holman carries out undercover investigations for the Department of Environment, but his reports rarely lead to action because "when politics - business or governmental - became involved, he knew the chances of prosecution against the offenders were slim." He wonders cynically "how you qualify to be a "special" person" to gain access to the underground bunkers, and asks if there are other shelters "for the ordinary people."

Unexpectedly there's also a bit of black humour in the horror. I chuckled at the vicar and sniggered at the homing pigeons. Then, remembering a holiday in Bournemouth, I tittered at the seaside resort's tragic fate. Had James Herbert himself spent a week's vacation there?

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