Chosen as an entry for
Horror: 100 Best Books by none other than notorious gore-king Shaun Hutson, the nature thriller
The Totem is the third novel from
David Morrell, and his first in the horror genre. Morrell isn't a huge figure in modern horror fiction - although he wrote one of my favorite horror stories ever,
"Orange is for Anguish, Blue for Insanity" - but he created one of the '80s hugest and most recognizable pop-culture fictional figures, one John Rambo, the protagonist of his 1971 debut title,
First Blood. Although I've never read that, I know you can dig this first edition paperback of it:
The Totem is another one of those books that was edited down
greatly from its original manuscript form, then republished years later
(in this case, 1995)
with all edits restored. I read the 1985 Ballantine
books paperback (seen below; at top is the first paperback, Fawcett Crest August 1980, fantastic cover, thanks to
Secondhand Horror) so I don't know first hand what was "missing," and
don't think the book needed much more than it had: it's a dour,
no-nonsense, single-minded tale that grimly presents flawed and
frightened men trying to forget past failures as they confront... well,
somethings from the hilly wilds just above a small Wyoming town, something making mincemeat, and more, of innocent citizens. There is disease running through the veins of these somethings, a new kind of rabies - but it brings the same old kind of death.
Opening with a cinematic and suspenseful scene in a working-man's bar,
The Totem wastes no time introducing us to Potter's Field, that small Wyoming town residing beneath a gorgeous mountain range. The usual cast of characters show up: the police chief, Slaughter, newish in town from back east; the old coroner, Markle, who'll be dispatched promptly; the younger medical examiner, Accum, who'll replace him, but who hides a hideous secret; Parsons, the wily, oily mayor/newspaper publisher; Dunlap, the alcoholic journalist returning to town after disgrace; and various other cops and love interest and town-folk and their children. Potter's Field comes complete with its own dark past: once in the early '70s a caravan of back-to-nature types, under the aegis of rich and eccentric Quiller, took to the unforgiving mountains to live in their own compound. But:
They didn't know what every six-year-old around here knows instinctively. You try to take on nature. It'll kill you.
Morrell, in this version of the book, has made what might be a reduction of prose and character and motivation from his original manuscript that might take some getting used to; he has a habit of referring to people simply as "he" or "she" and even "it" when describing the monstrous and possibly inhuman creatures. His prose also has that weird mix of clarity and obscurity favored, I feel, by writers influenced by Hemingway. But none of this affects the power of scenes dealing with Dunlap's drinking, Slaughter's guilt about something that happened to him back in Detroit, or especially a terrifying and saddening scenario with a little boy beset by disease. The account of Accum's moment of weakness years before is deftly and quickly told, but leaves a real chill. Action scenes come thick and fast, but that's where Morrell's talents are (you can see that element highlighted in the '90s reprint below).
The Totem isn't truly original - time and again I was reminded of other books and movies (
Rabid,
Raw Meat,
'Salem's Lot, even Morrell's own
First Blood). The climax is underwritten but believably chaotic and satisfyingly weird - evolutionary atavisms and ancient religious iconography figure in. It's a gripping read, mostly, even in this apparently "edited" version, and while I don't agree with Hutson that it is one of horror's 100 best novels,
The Totem definitely deserves to be tracked down and read.
Such horrific delight. You don't get covers like these anymore. Enjoy.
The Other is set in a rural New England town in the 1930s, evoking both "The Waltons" and Bradbury's Dandelion Wine, with the young Perry twins, Niles and Holland, enjoying a carefree childhood. Except - well. I won't spoil it for you. Childhood is never quite "carefree" is it? Harvest Home takes place in a country village in Connecticut where a New York artist and his family relocate. The farmhouse they buy is ancient and charming, while the villagers in the town of Cornwall Coombe still hew to "the old ways." Which of course are always terrible, right? Right.
Mr. Tryon and his '70s sideburns 
