First Things First…
When I read this the first time a few years ago, I almost felt pressure to love it because it’s the final story in Volume One of Clive Barker’s Books of Blood, and I enjoyed the rest so much. Thinking back on it now as I’m about to reread it for the first time since, I remember the story, but I don’t remember quite how much I liked it. It’s NOT my favorite, but I don’t remember if it’s my least favorite.
2 Things I Like
2. The Lonely Hills of Yugoslavia
This book of stories was published in 1984, so Yugoslavia was still a country. And I really like the setting. I’m a sucker for a story set in isolated hills or forests, which is something I enjoyed about reading and reviewing a few Washington Irving stories recently.
Early on, you get a sense of the cities’ isolation when Mick and Judd get lost. At one point when they’ve been driving on an endless road, it says…
“In front of them, the hills formed an impenetrable line. There was no sign of life ahead; no frail wisp of chimney smoke, no sound of voice or vehicle… They drove on. The road was deteriorating rapidly, the potholes becoming craters, the hummocks feeling like bodies beneath the wheels.”
I enjoy settings like this for their own sake. But in this case, there’s more to it…
The absolutely insane, psychotic ancient ritual these twin cities engage in every 10 years couldn’t happen anywhere else.
That’s why it’s so telling that, when Mick and Judd are eating dinner with the Yugoslavian family that takes them in, after they’ve seen the aftermath of the unimaginable tragedy that’s taken place, they still believe things will be back to normal in the morning…
“By dawn the bodies in the field would be being quantified, identified, parceled up and dispatched to their families. The air would be full of reassuring noises, canceling out the moans that still rang in their ears. There would be helicopters, lorry loads of men organizing the clearing-up operations. All the rites and paraphernalia of a civilized disaster.”
They still don’t understand that this is no civilized disaster.
There would be no clearing-up operations, no helicopters, nothing reassuring at all.
There are no families to return the dead to. They’re ALL dead.
This is a tragedy that would go undocumented outside these hills. And it can only occur because of these hills, which separate these two cities from the rest of the country—and from all of modern civilization.
1. Ancient Battle Ritual
Popolac and Podujevo have been left behind by civilization, free to engage in this monstrous battle both towns live for. It’s something every able-bodied townsperson participates in. Not only that…
“Not even the sick or the old were neglected on this day; no one was to be denied the spectacle and the triumph of the contest. Every single citizen, however young or infirm, the blind, the crippled, babes in arms, pregnant women—all made their way up from their proud city to the stamping-ground. It was the law that they should attend: but it needed no enforcing. No citizen of either city would have missed the chance to see that sight—to experience the thrill of that contest.”
This ritual goes hand in hand with the isolated setting, which allows for a disaster of this magnitude to go unnoticed. I love the idea of an ancient ritual between these secluded twin cities occurring every decade, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world.
2 Things I’m Mixed On
2. Two Lovers Passing Through
“Love and life and sanity were gone, gone like the memory of his name, or his sex, or his ambition.”
Narrator
As outsiders just passing through Yugoslavia at the worst possible time, Mick and Judd are good audience stand-ins. They don’t know anything about these cities, or their ritual, and they’re beyond dumbfounded and awestruck by what they witness. Judd is killed by the rampaging Popolac giant after Podujevo has fallen, and Mick is driven mad and literally tries to become part of it.
The story works well thanks to their reactions. But they’re just not a lot of fun to spend time with.
The opening few pages of the story shift from one perspective to the other—with each man bemoaning spending this vacation with his lover.
Mick refers to Judd as a “political bigot” in the story’s very first sentence. He goes on to say that Judd, like most reporters, feels obliged to have an opinion about everything. He calls it “mind-numbingly boring.” And he thinks…
“Worse still, Judd didn’t seem to notice how bored Mick had become, or if he noticed, he didn’t care.”
Judd, for his part, refers to Mick as a “political lightweight” with no interest in economics or politics or, presumably, anything of consequence. He says of Mick…
“His mind was no deeper than his looks; he was a well-groomed nobody.”
Apparently, this is one of the first stories of its kind centered around gay characters. It deserves credit for that. I just wish that, in a story with so few characters, the ones we spend the most time with were more fun to be with.
1. The Giants
“They were good at the game of giants. It took many centuries of practice: every ten years making the figure larger and larger. One always ambitious to be larger than the other.”
Vaslav Jelovsek
The giants these cities turn themselves into is incredibly original. The townspeople—all of them—come together and, through an intricate system of ropes and harnesses, build one giant comprised of everyone. They represent the entire body—limbs, head, internal organs…
It sounds so cool. But when Vaslav tells Mick and Judd, “You wouldn’t believe the engineering of it,” he’s right. Because it’s nearly impossible to actually picture these giants’ full size and scope, and the engineering they entail.
When Podujevo falls, we’re told the number of casualties…
And I can’t even begin to picture what 38,765 people spread out on the ground after the fall would look like, let alone what they’d look like when bound together in the shape of a giant person. My ability to imagine these giants probably ends around 100 people bound together.
That’s why, as much as I love this idea, my inability to picture it means I struggle to fully embrace it. I’d love to see what this would look like in an adaptation—although I wonder how a movie or show could even pull off something so massive.
Tim Matassa
