In 1984, science fiction writer Thomas M. Disch surprised many readers when he published a full-blown novel of the supernatural, THE BUSINESSMAN: A TALE OF TERROR. Yet right from the start of his writing career, he had used horrific imagery and nightmarish concepts in many stories: in "Descending" (1964), in "The Roaches" (1965), and especially in his first novel, THE GENOCIDES (1965).
This American book followed the example of many British "catastrophe stories" of the kind written by H. G. Wells, John Wyndham, and J. G. Ballard. Like Ballard, Disch took this form into new, personal directions; also like Ballard, he wrote without compromising the logic of his concept. Ballard's catastrophes offered his protagonists a psychological fulfillment, a liberation of the mind and emotions. Catastrophe in THE GENOCIDES offers escalating horrors and a cruel, inescapable extinction for humanity.
That a book so disturbing, so bleak, should be so light on its feet and effortlessly readable is a testament to the writer's artistry. The prose maintains a tonal consistency from beginning to end; it is clean, clear, understated, even when it deals with topics like mass murder and cannibalism:
"The fish were all eaten, and Blossom began gathering the bones. The moment everyone had been waiting for -- the dreadful moment of the main course -- could be put off no longer. While Blossom brought round the bowl of steaming polenta into which were stirred a few shreds of chicken and garden vegetables, Lady herself distributed the sausages. A hush fell over the table.
"Each of them had a single sausage. Each sausage was about nine inches long and three-quarter inch in diameter. They had been crisped over the fire and came to the table still sizzling.
"There is some pork in them, Alice reassured herself. I probably won't be able to tell the difference.
"Everyone's attention turned to the head of the table. Anderson lifted his knife and fork. Then, fully aware of the solemnity of the moment, he sliced off a piece of hot sausage, put it in his mouth, and began to chew. After what seemed a full minute, he swallowed it.
"There, but for the grace of God . . . Alice thought.
"Blossom had turned quite pale, and under the table Alice reached for her hand to lend her strength, though Alice didn't feel an excess of it just then.
"'What's everyone waiting for?' Anderson demanded. 'There's food on the table.'
"Alice's attention drifted toward Orville, who was sitting there with knife and fork in hand, and that strange smile of his. He caught Alice's look -- and winked at her. Of all things! Or was it at her?
"Orville cut off a piece of the sausage and chewed it consideringly. He smiled beamishly, like a man in a toothpaste ad. 'Mrs. Anderson,' he announced, 'you are a marvelous cook. How do you do it? I haven't had a Thanksgiving dinner like this since God knows when.'
"Alice felt Blossom's fingers relax and pull out of hers. She's feeling better, now that the worst is over, Alice thought.
"But she was wrong. There was a heavy noise, as when a bag of meal is dropped to the ground, and Mae Stromberg screamed. Blossom had fainted."
By focusing on what interests him, and by leaving out the rest, Disch keeps the book in swift motion. (In his SF IMPULSE review from January 1967, Brian Aldiss called this method of telling a story in "rapid bursts," a "staccato" style; Disch makes the method work well.) The result is a short book that covers a lot of ground rapidly. Boring, bloated writers of today could learn from this.
The book gained positive reviews by Aldiss, Judith Merril, and E. C. Tubb. Its best-known detractor was Algis Budrys, who, in his review column in GALAXY, December 1966, complained about the influence of J. G. Ballard (despite Ballard's very different methods, intentions, and style). He accused Disch of being an "apt pupil" of Ballard, and supposed that THE GENOCIDES "reflects a deep and dedicated study of the trappings of a book everybody says is good." (As if Disch had no imagination and purpose of his own.)
This non-review, an insult to Disch, an insult to Ballard, should have been a terminal embarrassment to Budrys. It brought up the notion that science fiction "takes hope in science and in Man," and proclaimed that optimism should win out over pessimism. (As if science fiction had any reality beyond the writings of disparate individuals with their own perspectives on life and art.)
For me, this matter of "pessimism versus optimism" is not only a waste a time, it avoids a more searching question: "How much of the real world do we expect in a science fiction story?"
For Disch, as for so many writers associated with the magazine NEW WORLDS during the 1960s, science fiction was a forceful way to confront reality. Like Aldiss, Ballard, Michael Moorcock, John Sladek, and Norman Spinrad, Disch was compelled to face the realities of contemporary politics, economics, media, imperialism, warfare, art; these provided the energy, the drive, to write science fiction that engaged in speculation without ignoring the crises and possibilities of the day. Disch, like the others, took on this challenge in his own fashion, and worked in his own ways -- ways that often echoed or contrasted with methods used in the past.
For example: when H. G. Wells wrote THE WAR OF THE WORLDS (serialized in 1897, published as a book in 1898), he made explicit connections between his invading Martians and the imperialism of his own times; he also had his Martians killed by an earthly ecosystem for which they, given their evolution on a distant planet, were unprepared.
Disch implies more than he spells out, but those who read THE GENOCIDES might be reminded of American imperialism, of American military force being used to impose the will of American corporations (like United Fruit) over the economic and agricultural needs of third world countries. At one point in the book, Disch includes a bureaucratic memo written by the unseen aliens that reads exactly like a corporate request for "excessive force" to be used against the natives.
Unlike the Martians of Wells, the aliens of Disch target not only human beings, but the entire ecosystem of planet Earth. Their monoculture crop out-competes and smothers local plants, and leads to the extinction of animals and birds. Again, readers of the book might be reminded of corporate assaults on natural environments here and now.
There is more to the book, and more that makes it hauntingly relevant to the American "polycrisis" of today. Disch offers no heroes, no experts with sudden solutions at the height of disaster; instead, he pits ordinary people of the cities against ordinary people of the countryside, authoritarian religious communities against atheists and outsiders. He shows the danger of stupid people who take on "leadership," and the frustration of basically-decent people whose efforts to help each other are thwarted by aggressive morons. America, in this book, is divided, conflicted in ways familiar to us now, and like today's America, as it faces collapse, it lashes out against its own people and against the world, with isolating policies, pointless retreats into solipsistic fantasy, and of course, genocide.
Above all, genocide.
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