C. J. Leede

American Rapture

Thanks to Tor Nightfire, NetGalley, and Macmillan Audio for the ARC. Holy shit, this was fantastic.

While listening to this, which I knew would be an extreme examination of religion, I also happened to start reading Stephen King’s Carrie—which I had somehow avoided all spoilers for, and did not know it was involving religion as well. Both of them start with a kind of deep dive into the bounds in which Catholicism is designed to hold down and punish women simply for existing. While Carrie’s mother seems to be well off the deep end, Sophie’s family is simply force feeding her guilt on a biblical scale. While Carrie is so religiously uneducated in womanhood that she is unaware of menstruation, Sophie is showcased to be so far removed that she truly doesn’t even know how the world itself functions. And while she secrets away forbidden books, she still lacks that openness that comes from being allowed to explore. While my own experiences can never truly impart in me the same struggles as a girl or woman in the same religion, I did note much of the same experiences and darkness that sermons secret away as the word of god.

The truly unimaginable depths the author builds—the abyssal pits of paranoia and despair—create such a vivid atmosphere throughout the entirety of the book. I am endlessly impressed at how the author has managed to create this dual horror narrative. While Sophia struggles with guilt, sin, and existing in a world where men of all ages notice a pretty face, she also has to exist through the genuine terror of a venereal apocalypse. Men and women alike are becoming enraged, animalistic, and predatorily sexualized. The near scares of sexual assault and rape mirror Sophie’s own base desires, and while her curiosity is innocent, they’re conflating her guilt. She cannot let in to her desires, though she may try, for fear of becoming infected—and isn’t that the same thing her parents have been spoon feeding her her entire life?

The novel is also, functionally, a powerhouse of a survivalist story as well. Even if the religious factors were dialed back, there is this reminiscence of Bird Box and Your Shadow Half Remains where although not undead, the population is virtually divided and then slowly eradicated all the same. The continuous desire to group together keeping the looming threat of outbreak ever present. And this novel hits all the notes of zombie breakout perfectly. The separation or loss of loved one, the unsuspecting hero turned important member of any group, a gymnasium turned tomb scene, even the quintessential stop-for-fuel gas station mistake. The fact that these two sides represent the same coin is still blowing my mind even after finishing.

The crux of the story is that to survive, to cross whatever hurtles exist between Sophie and her twin brother Noah, she must first survive the examination and brutality of accepting herself. If she cannot find and truly accept that inner self, she can never overcome the trials before her—whether they’re Christian guilt or mindless beings. And maybe, within that, they’re all already infected.

C. J. Daley 

Thanks to Tor Nightfire, NetGalley, and Macmillan Audio for the ARC. Holy shit, this was fantastic.

While listening to this, which I knew would be an extreme examination of religion, I also happened to start reading Stephen King’s Carrie—which I had somehow avoided all spoilers for, and did not know it was involving religion as well. Both of them start with a kind of deep dive into the bounds in which Catholicism is designed to hold down and punish women simply for existing. While Carrie’s mother seems to be well off the deep end, Sophie’s family is simply force feeding her guilt on a biblical scale. While Carrie is so religiously uneducated in womanhood that she is unaware of menstruation, Sophie is showcased to be so far removed that she truly doesn’t even know how the world itself functions. And while she secrets away forbidden books, she still lacks that openness that comes from being allowed to explore. While my own experiences can never truly impart in me the same struggles as a girl or woman in the same religion, I did note much of the same experiences and darkness that sermons secret away as the word of god.

The truly unimaginable depths the author builds—the abyssal pits of paranoia and despair—create such a vivid atmosphere throughout the entirety of the book. I am endlessly impressed at how the author has managed to create this dual horror narrative. While Sophia struggles with guilt, sin, and existing in a world where men of all ages notice a pretty face, she also has to exist through the genuine terror of a venereal apocalypse. Men and women alike are becoming enraged, animalistic, and predatorily sexualized. The near scares of sexual assault and rape mirror Sophie’s own base desires, and while her curiosity is innocent, they’re conflating her guilt. She cannot let in to her desires, though she may try, for fear of becoming infected—and isn’t that the same thing her parents have been spoon feeding her her entire life?

The novel is also, functionally, a powerhouse of a survivalist story as well. Even if the religious factors were dialed back, there is this reminiscence of Bird Box and Your Shadow Half Remains where although not undead, the population is virtually divided and then slowly eradicated all the same. The continuous desire to group together keeping the looming threat of outbreak ever present. And this novel hits all the notes of zombie breakout perfectly. The separation or loss of loved one, the unsuspecting hero turned important member of any group, a gymnasium turned tomb scene, even the quintessential stop-for-fuel gas station mistake. The fact that these two sides represent the same coin is still blowing my mind even after finishing.

The crux of the story is that to survive, to cross whatever hurtles exist between Sophie and her twin brother Noah, she must first survive the examination and brutality of accepting herself. If she cannot find and truly accept that inner self, she can never overcome the trials before her—whether they’re Christian guilt or mindless beings. And maybe, within that, they’re all already infected.

American Rapture

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