Yawnbringer

by Tony Fonseca

08/21/2006

Smith, Bryan. Deathbringer. New York: Leisure, 2006. 342 p.

I almost feel guilty trashing a novel by a writer who is as generally well-received as is Bryan Smith.

Almost.

But my reaction to writers of this caliber is so visceral that I find I cannot hold my tongue when reviewing them. I have the same reaction to Smith’s fans as I have to the throngs of people who profess that Francis Ford Coppola and Steven Spielberg are brilliant directors. To put it bluntly, I just don't see it, and moreover, I get the feeling that these so called brilliant artists are doing nothing more than pulling the wool over people's eyes by passing off formulaic hack work as being “new,” “different,” and “masterful.” It just goes to show, having a big production company name, or publisher-imprint name, can make all the difference in the world in how your work is received.

Let's start with the biggest problem I have with Smith's fiction: it is unreadable. Granted, I would love to read a novel where the author has revamped the zombie story in such a way as to introduce new themes, character types, and experiments in point of view. But to find out that Smith has achieved such feats in Deathbringer, as Smith-friendly reviewers have argued, I would have to be able to get through the triteness of expression, the clichéd scenes of attacks by the newly undead, and the absolute silliness of a monster like the deathbringer—envisioned here as a disgruntled "state worker" or bureaucrat who just wants to stir up trouble for management, in this case, God.

I tried to come at Deathbringer with an open mind. I made it through the opening scene, a prologue of sorts, which was so predictable it could have been written by a program. I made it through the first appearance of the deathbringer him/her/itself. I kept  thinking of Mr. Shhh in Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead  (forgive me, Steve Buscemi) or the “bad motherfucker” Jules Winnfield  in Pulp Fiction. I found myself wondering why this book had a body count by page 20.

I finally decided that this novel deserved no kindness when Melinda, an over the top psychopath who somehow had confused fucking with mental/physical torture and murder, made her appearance. Again I found myself thinking tangential thoughts, like what is it with this convention of creating bad-ass characters who have every criminal working with them so afraid that they just don't grab the first gun they see and blow these bad-asses away? I mean, Melinda has no bodyguards nor special powers. She is just mean and abusive, and is outnumbered two-to-one by her male cohorts in crime who simply shrivel up when she bosses them around.

Tangential thoughts are never a good sign when you are reading a work of literature. These particular thoughts made me wonder to what reality such writers of tales, novels, and screenplays subscribe.

I also find outrageous the possibility idea that Deathbringer is the first novel to bring to life speedy, semi-intelligent, somewhat human zombies, as some reviews argue. This feat has been accomplished before in both print and on film, at least a dozen times. So I find it difficult to award brownie points for originality.

All that being said, I will admit that readers who look more for a thrill-a-minute ride and lots of gore and don't pay too much attention to style, character, or story will not find themselves disappointed. Smith may also have some appeal to readers who like ultra sexual violence (of the non perverse type, but more on that shortly), such as fans of Edward Lee (the master of body counts) and Richard Laymon (who never met a rape fantasy he didn't want to write about). Being there are very few horror writers who do utilize the violence of rape or the thrill of down and dirty sex, I can see where Smith would have a niche. To me personally, such sex comes across as gratuitous, not as  disturbing and therefore integral to atmosphere, as when it is  perverted and used masterfully by better writers, like Charlee Jacob,  Gary A. Braunbeck, Victor Heck, or John Shirley. But then again, I get the feeling that atmosphere has little to do with the design of Deathbringer.

So what we are left with finally is yet another literary foray into zombie territory, a place that has been trodden so routinely lately that it seems difficult, if not impossible, for writers to not get stuck into the well-worn ruts of those that have come before them. In other words, there is little to be said of originality when looking at the works of many authors who have tested their skills on reanimating the dead. I believe that discerning readers who pick up Deathbringer will find that Bryan Smith, unfortunately, is no exception to the rule.