Apocalypse
has become one of the primary motifs of science fiction. Starting as early as H.G. Wells The War of the Worlds’ alien invasion,
it moves through the psychological examinations of humanity involved in
environmental catastrophe by J.G. Ballard in the 60s and 70s. It is in the 21st century, however, that one
sees the motif really take hold. Post-ap
texts a sub-genre of their own these days, the stories the past decade
utilizing end of the world scenarios are many, many. It’s precisely in this context Maureen
McHugh’s 2011 collection After the
Apocalypse becomes (ironically) so unique.
Hinted at
in the title (the eschewing of the standard term ‘post-apocalypse’ to relate
the same idea with different words), After
the Apocalypse is what Paul Kincaid mildly calls in his review “different ways of looking at how our future
has failed us.” The stories so
personal as to almost defy the social implications of the term ‘apocalypse,’ McHugh
focuses all of her attention on the human aspect of disaster, nearly, but not
quite, rendering the term immaterial.
Containing nine stories, two of which are original to the collection,
McHugh’s unvaryingly understated usages of disaster are far more relevant to
emotion and human interest than the overwhelming majority of post-ap fiction,
i.e. that trying to capitalize on the zeitgeist or pure sensationalism.
The
collection opens with “The
Naturalist”. A classic zombie setup
schewed toward humanism, it is the cynical story of a prisoner turned loose in
the wastelands of Cleveland populated by the living dead. Taking a sharp twist about halfway through,
the theme is fully developed via the prisoner’s evolution, even if the setting
begs for expansion. The apocalypse more
likely to appear in economic or resource form, “Useless Things” is a
hauntingly beautiful and incredibly realistic vision of near-future America set
in rural New Mexico. The story of a
real-doll sculptor, McHugh imbues the woman’s day to day life with a sense of
quiet desperation as she scrapes by with what talents and materials she
has. Subtly tragic, it is a story that
seeps into the mind and fixes itself in empathy for the woman and the dread of
just how close the economic state of America portrayed actually is.
A major
usage of ‘apocalypse’ in the collection is the blanket fashion in which the
system is capable of taking advantage of people. Catch-22 set in a near-future China where companies are more than just a place
you come and go from everyday to work, “Special Economics” examines a scenario
wherein a young Chinese woman signs on for factory work and gets more than she
bargained for. Not only her place of
employment, it’s also her dormitory, clothing shop, restaurant, and social hour
rolled into one, and getting out of debt to the system may just be
impossible. In “Honeymoon,” a carpe diem type of woman realizes in the
nick of time that her fiancé is just not the one for her, and has their
marriage annulled when he fails to come through on honeymoon arrangements. Starting afresh, she finds herself strapped
for cash, and as a result involved with laboratory drug testing for quick
money. She does get her honeymoon—after
a major spot of luck.
“The Lost
Boy: A Reporter at Large” is less a story and more a character study about a
young mechanic who survived a dirty bomb attack on Baltimore, and as a result
may be suffering from Dissociative Fugue (partial memory loss/personality
disorder). Raising awareness about the
little known syndrome, McHugh utilizes a trope of science fiction to poignant,
purposeful effect. Defying the title,
“Going to France” is in fact before the apocalypse—seconds before. The shortest piece in the collection, it describes
a couple of hours in the life of a young woman, and while those few seconds
have impact given the story set up, they beg to be developed further—the
proceedings more vignette than story.
With the environment deteriorating to the point rolling black outs are
required year round to balance power supply, “The Kingdom of the Blind” is the
story of a computer programmer who, working late nights with her classic geeky
programmer workmate, begins to see strange quirks visible in their operating
system.
Closing
out the collection are the two previously unpublished stories. “The Effect of Centrifugal Forces” is about a
young woman trying to come to terms with many things about her mother. If it
isn’t her impending death, then its her legacy of hoarding, and if it isn’t the
immense collection of things, then its her sexual orientation—or lack of
clarity regarding. And the last tale,
“After the Apocalypse,” closes matters as cynically as “The Naturalist” opened
them. The tale of a mother and daughter
making their way north to Toronto from Texas after a resource shortage has
crippled America to the point of bare survival, it is a tragedy brought about
by some more unfortunately more understandable than fate.
In the
end, After the Apocalypse is sure to
disappoint readers looking for the latest splash-bang in post-apocalyptic fiction. By the same token, it is sure to be a
pleasant surprise for readers looking for human-centric stories with light
science fiction motifs—the wording of the title worth looking into deeper. McHugh’s regular readers will not be
surprised at all. Possessing a more
refined version of her minimalist prose and subtle, emotive stories, it’s a
collection flying under the genre radar.
Published
separately between 2007 and 2011, the following are the nine stories collected
in After the Apocalypse:
The
Naturalist
Special
Economics
Useless
Things
The Lost
Boy: A Reporter at Large
The
Kingdom of the Blind
Going to
France
Honeymoon
The Effect
of Centrifugal Forces
After the
Apocalypse
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