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.

Your Front Row Seat to the End of the World

Good Omens 

by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

p. 1990

Good Omens is a book that wants to be read.

It doesn’t want much else. It doesn’t want to be revered or lauded nor does it want to be proverbially ripped apart (though if you ask its two loving fathers, it would very much like you physically beat the crap out of it, at least enough to show some wear and tear). Good Omens wants you to be amused and entertained and to love it dearly for 300-odd pages. Then it wants you to tell all your friends. It may not be able to articulate exactly why, but it’s insistent that once you’ve read it... you’ll know.

From the history surrounding this comedic tale, it seems that this work of fiction—much like the universe and humanity itself—happened through a confluence of events that appear very much like an accident. Terry Pratchett was a somewhat established writer in the fantasy genre and Neil Gaiman was just starting out and a fortuitous interview of the former by the latter inevitably led to a plot several years in the making. Two authors just trying to pick the other’s brain and make them laugh led, quite appropriately, to the story of an angel and a demon, unlikely friends in the end times, just trying to do their jobs and maintain a sort of friendship.

Crowley and Aziraphale are the demon and angel characters respectively, and they have cultivated their unusual companionship since the beginning of time—which, contrary to scientific belief, was only about 6000 or so years ago. They, along with a cast of characters as equally charismatic as themselves, must navigate the impending apocalypse as Heaven and Hell prepare to duke it out over the soul of a young boy, the Antichrist, who doesn’t know what he is yet. Also entwined in this convoluted plot are a young woman, descendent of the author of a book of prophesies that predicted this mess, a couple of witchfinders, a fortune teller, four precocious children, a not-quite-of-this-earth dog, and the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, appropriately reincarnated for modern times in the form of bikers.

I generally liked all of the plot threads; though it skipped around quite often, I didn’t find it too hard to pick up where I left off. Everything involving Dog’s point of view was gold, as was Shadwell, the last head witchfinder, whose richly-depicted dialogue was a delight to pick apart every time he spoke. Every character in this book had a ‘voice’ that you could really hear in your head, transcending the pages on which it was written.

I found myself, at times, a little impatient with the children's plot, especially about halfway through when it took over the novel for a time. They got a bit tiresome, especially seeing as the heart of this novel is the friendship between Crowley and Aziraphale, who vanished for a time to let the others take center stage, and weren’t reunited until the end of the story.

Reading this book, I couldn’t help but feel that the TV show Supernatural took some of its cues from Gaiman and Pratchett. The Horsemen evolution was one thing—though in the Supernatural-verse, the Horseman drive fancy cars as opposed to motorcycles, and then of course there are the striking similarities between each story’s version of the demon Crowley, though I would have to say that Supernatural’s Crowley has a definite agenda that Good Omens’ Crowley explicitly lacks. That is one thing that struck me about this book as being a distinctly British quality: the characters, though often in positions of considerable power, never seem to take things too seriously and rarely seem to have any idea what is going on. It is a classic trait of farcical literature that makes this book so darkly comical. Here are characters literally deciding the fate of mankind and their thoughts are preoccupied by old books, expensive cars, and childish games. It’s hilarious in its absurdness.

It was impossible decipher which parts were Gaiman’s ideas and which parts were Pratchett’s because these two authors blend together so seamlessly. Being that this was also my first foray into Pratchett’s repertoire, I expect I wouldn’t have much say on that topic in general, but I certainly intend to seek out more of his work now. The efforts of these two authors, over the course of some years, has certainly paid off in the form of this cult favorite, and their ability to create a story that—in spite of its absurdity—makes perfect sense is what I had always hoped to accomplish writing stories with my friends growing up (and may still do one day!). They just fit together.

Gaiman and Pratchett share a common interest that many book lovers and aspiring writers can relate to; they don’t want their book to change the world. They just want people to read it and to love it and to pass it on to all their friends, and I intend to do just that.