Victory At Any Cost

Triumph
by Philip Wylie
p. 1963

Something about Triumph feels really familiar to me... and I don’t think it’s because I just happen to read a lot of Cold War era post-apocalyptic fiction. The basic plot of Philip Wylie’s Triumph is almost exactly that of Mordecai Roshwald’s Level 7, the book that initially sparked my interest in this very specific genre some years back, so the comparisons in this review are inescapable. Both novels feature protagonists sequestered in a secure, deep, underground base following worldwide nuclear holocaust and their struggle to survive in a world they destroyed in an instant.

Triumph’s chief protagonist is Dr. Ben Bernman, a scientist who happens to be spending a weekend at Sachem’s Watch, the estate of millionaire, Vance Farr, when the world’s arsenal of nuclear technology is unleashed. Luckily for Ben, Vance Farr is The Man Who Thought of Everything, so when the sirens go off, Farr and his friends and family retreat to his vast underground shelter, where anything they could possibly need to survive a long nuclear winter awaits. Not much of import happens in the two years they spend underground; despite a lot of attractive young people of various races congregating in limited space, a few extramarital attractions, and one character’s rampant alcoholism, nothing really dramatic takes place amongst the ranks of the survivors of Sachem’s Watch. People learn to cooperate pretty quickly and—with the exception of one moment of insanity near the end of their internment—jealousy and racism are miraculously not issues.

I found this novel a bit dry, especially in comparison to Level 7, which is strange when you consider that Triumph focused on fourteen civilian survivors (including a billionaire who built a miracle bomb shelter, his alcoholic wife, his Italian-Irish mistress, and a wunderkind Japanese technowhiz, among others) whereas Level 7 was a vague narrative focusing on military personnel who lacked even first names. I think this is because where Level 7 maintained an air of mystery by being so stingy with the details, Triumph tended to overload us with facts, particularly with dry interludes on the remaining American military and their vengeful attempts to bring down the ‘Russkies.' If Vance Farr is The Man Who Thought of Everything in regards to bunker life (he even thought of providing roller skates for entertainment!) then Philip Wylie is The Author Who Thought of Everything in regards to surviving nuclear holocaust. However, I thought the most engaging parts of Triumph were the sporadic diary entries of one survivor describing daily bunker life in her words, and not the 'scientific' or philosophical rambling of the men. I tended to zone out when Ben and Farr were talking tech.

Then there were the jarring segments where the violence of the surviving outside world were described in shocking detail that was atypical of the rest of the book. I feel these were done for shock value and added very little to the story.

naïve.

My initial feeling towards Triumph was dislike. When I read Level 7, I was impressed by its progressiveness. The language was vague and provided no indicators of whose point of view we were getting; it could be ‘us’ or ‘them’ and in the end, neither side mattered because everyone perished at their own folly. Triumph, on the other hand, was not so subtle in their ‘Us’ versus ‘Them’ attitude. The constant references to ‘Reds’ and ‘Russkies’ getting ‘what they deserved,’ the revenge-driven interludes with the military, and the obsession with being the ‘winners’ or the last men standing all left a bad taste in my mouth, as it seemed terribly naive.

However, I am willing to lend Wylie the benefit of the doubt and say that this opinion was presented solely as a contrast to the progressive peaceful stance taken by the survivors of Sachem’s Watch. Many times throughout the book, the characters discuss racial relations and how interesting it is that the survivors are so amalgamated—white, black, Japanese, Chinese, Jewish, Italian, rich, poor—it’s a real 'We Are the World' down there. The attitudes presented may seem dated by today’s politically correct standards, but at the time, they were progressive. Everyone gets along and race is rarely, if ever, a matter of contention, so it seems fitting that in the end the fortunate, well-meaning survivors of Farr’s estate—and not the men whose revenge drove them to the inevitable murder-suicide of the entire northern hemisphere—seem to be the only living things to escape the ruins of America unscathed.

 

Apocalypse Meow

[and other melodramatic turns of phrases!]

The Devil's Cat
by William W. Johnstone
p. 1987


"The evil crept in on little cat feet..."

In small town Louisiana, Satan plants the seeds of his latest apocalyptic endeavors, his entrance heralded by a horde of evil cats. Why? Who knows? WHO CARES? Not even Satan, since he never actually shows up. Probably because he’s realized his followers are a bunch of crazy idiots who half-ass the apocalypse and proceed to be totally shocked when their grand ‘plans’ are foiled by a small passel of clueless hicks, including a four-year-old child and a shotgun-wielding granny. C’mon, Satan, you can do better than that.

It wasn’t until I started reading The Devil’s Cat that I realized it was only one in an actual series of novels about the Devil and his apocalyptic antics (the fourth, to be exact). This became evident when the main characters were not even remotely described and past events were clunkily referred to in passing. I don’t think the prior ‘Devil’s’ series is required reading, however, as William W. Johnstone’s intentions here are not to write an intense, religious-themed series about good versus evil, so much as a gory, shock-value-dependent orgiastic romp. And also, there’s cats.

But seriously here, let’s take a minute to talk about the cats. One would assume, reasonably, I think, that in a book called The Devil’s Cat, that cats might play—oh, I don’t know—some sort of crucial role in the plot? They appear like ominous anvils all throughout the beginning of the story, people are mauled and scratched, one dude is attacked and begins to think he IS a cat, there’s even a ‘good dog’ foil bestowed upon the heroes in chapter one. ... But nothing ever comes of it. They just lurk and hiss and are vaguely menacing and in the end, those that aren’t blown away with shotguns are defeated by housepets for Chrissake.

Those aren’t the only elements of Johnstone’s story that are built up only to be quickly and metaphorically shot down. There are plenty of ‘what the fucks’ to be had left and right. Sam and Nydia are pegged as the heroes (as they are the recurring characters from the previous three books). Nydia is a witch and a former Satan follower and Sam is just a regular dude... but for the fact that he somehow has a fully grown daughter who is also somehow Satan’s daughter (don’t ask me how that one happened). They have a psychic connection and their inexplicably precocious four-year-old son has some sort of destiny to fulfill, possibly good, possibly evil, but none of this is important. Nydia—potentially the most interesting character—disappears for 90% of the novel and their son’s big showdown with a demon lasts all of two pages. Instead, this book is an ensemble mess of people coming together and discussing how weird it is that the town has all these ominous cats and everyone seems to be uncharacteristically engaging in orgies and rape lately. As a matter of fact, out of a 380 page book, 345 pages are spent building up to the incredibly disappointing ‘final battle.’

I find Johnstone’s reasons for writing this book highly suspect. I’m not sure what he intended to accomplish. If I thought the gradual buildup and anticipation were meant to be shot down in a witty subversion of expectations, like Indiana Jones bringing a gun to a knife fight, I would be willing to give him more credit, but I didn’t get that impression. Johnstone literally spends the entire book revisiting a corpse in small half-page excerpts as it slowly reanimates and escapes its grave... only for it to be promptly disposed of again after proving to be a minor menace. I have no idea who the person was or why their reanimation was meant to be momentous, but after hearing about it for 300 pages I [reasonably] expected a little bit more than what I got. I felt the same way about how quickly the Devil’s feline minions were disposed of.

Basically, The Devil’s Cat is a great book if you’re in the mood to be horribly offended for 380 pages. There’s this whole useless subplot with a group of fanatical Christians running around trying to burn books and ban pornography in an unsubtle commentary on religious zealotry. One member spends more time fantasizing about fried chicken and is eventually deterred from his fellow mob’s rampage when he is distracted by pornographic magazines (I’m not even kidding). All the people possessed by the Devil are not given a second thought and gunned down in the final battle, regardless of age or prior associations. Also, if there’s a female under the age of 50 in this book, the chances are high that they were raped. Possibly more than once. The book frequently detours into graphic descriptions of rapes and orgies that are way more detailed than the physical description of any character.

And if you’re not offended by any of that, the prose is terrible enough to offend any self-respecting reader. If you’re not convinced, I will end this review of the awesomely bad Devil’s Cat with some noteworthy snippets lifted verbatim from this masterpiece:

It was just that she didn’t appear to have any emotion in her eyes. They were flat, like when she was looking at him she wasn’t really seeing him at all. Kind of like when a person looked at something without really seeing it.

You know, kind of like that...

A chill covered Javotte, a cold, clamby, numbing chill touched him. He knew what it was he’d been experiencing for the past several months. It was...

... evil!

A pack of them, Sam thought. One sees dog packs, but one seldom sees large cat packs.

Sam could never remember seeing one this large. A car came slowly down the road in front of the house. The headlights picked up dozens of eyes, gleaming in the night.

All staring in the direction of the house.

All looking...

... straight at Sam.

“How are we going to get a couple of buses?” Sonny asked.

“Steal them,” Father Javotte said.

“Father!” Don protested.

The priest lost his temper. “Dammit, Don! Get it through your head that we’re in a war. A war! And we’re badly outnumbered. Now move your ass, boy!”

(Actually, scratch that. That one was kind of awesome...)

And my favorite one, after the heroes have mercilessly run over a teenage girl possessed by the Devil:

“Connie,” Sam heard Romy whisper. “I was her softball coach two years ago.”

“She just struck out,” Sam said shortly.