Review of Sarah Pinborough’s FEEDING GROUND

Here is the latest in my All New Books review series. For more on what the reviews are about, how I choose the books, find the link to the original post here. So far this fall the blog’s been mostly book reviews and I plan on doing more. I’ll also be getting some interviews in and will be writing some posts on the Crimes of Heaven and Hell series as well as the book that will follow Slash of Crimson. For now, I hope you enjoy this review of Sarah Pinborough’s Feeding Ground:

Back when my wife Sarah and I lived in Brooklyn, we often met at a saki bar in Williamsburg on Friday nights after work. The place served a kind of pan-asian tapas, squid dumplings and the like, along with carafes of dry saki, ice inside bubbled glass so it didn’t dilute. But it wasn’t these attributes that brought it into a book review of a horror novel. Rather, it was the monster movies playing perpetually on its TV screens.

Instead of the football game or the latest reality show, this place gave you complimentary Godzilla, Rodan, King-Kong. They also played more obscure films, stuff I didn’t recognize at all involving giant lobster men and phantoms on futuristic motorcycles.

Most of the time we chalked these films up to kitsch and camp and swallowed our saki and laughed at the rubber lobster claws.

Occasionally, though, they played something with a more serious tone. Here was the first place I encountered sci-fi noir film 2046, the story of a lovelorn gambler caught in a web of time travel in a vast urban dystopia. This film was utterly kitsch-less. And while it did have action scenes, love scenes and the like, it took its time when necessary with elaborate portraiture and the allowance of the environment to reflect the emotions of the characters.

It is this sort of mood I felt when I began reading Sarah Pinborough’s Breeding Ground. When I first picked it up, I could see that it was the second in a series and the first wasn’t on the shelf. But something about the first chapter led me in and implied that I didn’t need to have read the first installment to get the story.

Thus I descended into a post-apocalyptic London drenched in warm rain and crawling with spider-like creatures that feast voraciously on human flesh and blood. At the opening of the book nearly all of the world’s women have been killed in the process of being used as vessels to give birth to these monsters. But in Pinborough’s flooded, blurry apocalypse, nothing can be quite so clear as ‘killed’ or ‘survived’, as the creatures seem to carry some of the memories of their victims with them.

The story follows several sets of characters, students from an inner city school, students from a private academy, and a group of cocaine dealing gangsters, as they try to deal with this fang-encrusted catastrophe. Most all of the narrative is solemn and shadowy in its tone, and the instances of humor entertainingly grim. If you like to laugh at slapstick zombies throwing limbs at each other, this is nothing like that. It is about constant threat, darkness and the minds of the characters as they try to deal with these circumstances.

A few of the characters come close in their own way to being heroic—Charlie Nash and Blane Gentle-King, the two notorious gangsters both in their own way transform and transcend their circumstances. But ultimately this is a world where darkness is waging a war of attrition to which even the strongest and smartest remnants of humanity will have to in some way succumb.

Back in our Brooklyn days, it was this sort of grim portraiture which occasionally changed the flavor of our weekend saki treats when a serious movie came along. I remember walking home some nights after a J-horror flick or the aforementioned 2046 and taking extra note of the boarded up windows on the crumbling brick buildings as we made our way east. The number of such buildings along adjacent empty lots increased as we came closer to the border of Bushwick and Bed-Stuy where we lived in a once abandoned and minimally restored mattress factory. It is this kind of beauty of decay and of the tragic, along with the triumph of that which is alien, that makes Feeding Ground a gem of a horror novel for those with the palate for it. Indeed, I feel like it’s a tone the genre could use more of these days, for survival is so much more precious when the obstacles are so severe.

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