From Hell

As a part of the additional/alternative reading I chose to read Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell's From Hell. I found Alan Moore’s From Hell to be surprisingly slow paced for a horror novel. Especially so for a horror graphic novel. But it wasn’t at all disappointing since all of the information from the beginning – including Gull’s verbose conversation with Netley - tied together so well at the end.

Moore quite brilliantly uses the horror genre to comment on sexism and misogyny (perhaps even deliberately drawing attention its problem within the genre). The real Ripper may not have had as clear or as ambitious a vision for a male-dominated society as his fictional self, but he most certainly was a hater of women. Although it’s possible the horrors Moore’s fictional Ripper is really out to represent are the horrors of the twentieth century, the holocaust in particular. The only real suggestion of this is when Gull writes, “The Juwes are the men who will not be blamed for nothing,” and claims to have delivered the twentieth century, yet it is arguably the most memorable scene.

Despite this, Moore’s Ripper doesn’t come across as intrinsically evil but rather he simply lost touch with reality and humanity. His psychology is so different from everyone else, even those he’s working with, the queen and the freemasons. When he could have easily defended himself from Mr. Lee’s allegations he put up no effort to do so. It could be said that Moore is implying those who enabled the horrors of the twentieth century were not evil either, but rather the ideologies they adopted had - like the royal family’s – become self-serving and lost sight of humanity. Even the vicious beings around Gull, like the queen who requested he commit a mass murder, were at first appalled by his unashamed savagery. They simply enabled Gull with the power to do horrendous deeds and couldn’t stop him until it was too late.

The theme of time appears all throughout this book, not a typical subject for the horror genre but appropriate given the setting. If there’s anything we fear about time it’s the unknowns of the future, the finite quality of life, and the never-ending brutality in the world. And the Ripper portrays all of these very well, as he laments his dull visions of the industrial and technological twentieth century, attacks innocent women, and, although he may be literally immortal like a vampire, is still eternal in the sense that his story, mystery, and influence lives on. The “fourth dimension” has made the Ripper, and his crimes, immortal, which brings the dead seagull seen on the beach – an obvious symbol for Sir William Gull – in question. Was it only to say the Ripper is now physically dead? Or that the remnants of Jack the Ripper still remain? 

Monster Island

The first part of Monster Island was both thoroughly enjoyable and understandable. Everything had an explanation: we knew how Gary’s ingenuity saved his dead brain from brain damage and we knew just enough about the Epidemic to believe it was a widespread disease of some sort. The second and third parts I found to be rather bewildering. The novel jumped from being science-fiction based to fantastically magical. The rules became a bit unclear too. Gary, a zombie, “snacked” on mummy after it was explained that the dead hunger for life, explaining why they don’t eat each other. Nonetheless is was a fast paced format and kept you at the edge of your seat.  

Being animated corpses, I always thought of zombies as being primarily a mass personification of death. They show, in a way a single fictional being like the Grim Reaper can’t, the extent to which death claims the human race. Everything – or rather everyone - that would be buried six feet underground is now up and about walking before your eyes, reminding you of your own fate and what certain unfortunate friends and loved ones have become. But then it seems more and more zombies are distinguished not by the contradiction of their existence but by their hunger, lack of intelligence, or as it was described in Romero’s Night of the Living Dead: their trance-like state. Anyone of us can succumb to the masses by becoming something else, something unable of original thought or thinking for itself. This makes Wellington’s Gary character so interesting. Even though he preserved his intelligence he wasn’t able retain his most human qualities for long, as he eventually not only gave into his new cravings for human flesh, but also lost all sense of shame in such self-proclaimed evil doings. (Typically, comic-book-like villains who are openly evil are very flat and lacking a convincing personality, however, I think this works in Gary’s case given that he should be undergoing this psychological transformation into something less than human.) In the sense that Gary lost sight of himself, he became every bit as much a zombie and all they represent. By use of Gary, Wellington is able to how giving into the zombies can be easier and at times more appealing than constantly fighting them. Or alternatively, the arrogance that one can join life’s metaphorical zombies without also becoming one.

There’s no character quite like this in Night of the Living Dead nor any of the other (albeit few) zombie movies I’ve seen, so Wellington’s approach appears fresh.