The Premise
An unsuspecting group of friends travel to a lone cabin near the Maine coast, where their friend has shacked up for the summer to finish a book. Unfortunately, their presence is noticed by an inbred family of cannibals that has lived in hiding for generations, periodically preying upon unsuspecting tourists and locals.
In Review
This is not a book that I can readily share with just anyone. It is so graphically violent, I am actually a little anxious about posting a review about it. Why the hesitation? Because, for those readers who cannot stomach the cold description of acts of cannibalism, one question immediately comes to mind: why read anything that is so blatantly disgusting to begin with?
That is, in fact, a good question – and there were times when I asked it myself. Why should someone pick up a book like Off Season, and subject themselves to its brutality? Mind you, I use the word subject knowingly. Even for those who lovingly refer to themselves as gorehounds, there are passages in this novel that will provoke recoil, nausea, and at the very least, discomfort. To read these scenes, you must bear the content within.
Skeptics may be asking, how bad can it be? Without giving away scenes, or laying it on thick, suffice to say that there are numerous descriptions of evisceration; sexual content, some of which is outright bizarre; amputations of just about every appendage the human body has to offer; torture; and passages that describe the preparation of human body parts. Everything is told in a straightforward manner, with few adjectives or metaphors to “pretty” it up. When someone is cut to pieces, they are cut to pieces – period. Jaded readers – especially those who have embraced the True Crime genre – may be able to stomach this content without frown or outburst; I, on the other hand, squirmed in my chair more than a few times, and even skimmed a few parts to get them over with.
That having been said, it is time for a confession: Off Season is an exciting read. After an awkward opening, the novel turns into one extended chase that occupies about 200 pages, all told in clean prose that bows to pacing more than anything else. Each scene soars by, and even when it delves into gross content, it is difficult to arrest the natural flow of the prose, and dwell upon the atrocities. Thankfully, I don't remember the worst of them. I do recall, however, a dizzying sense of urgency that enveloped the surviving characters, and kept their fates in question until the final page.
This is one of the more outstanding aspects of the novel – outside, of course, the gore and violence. Off Season is Jack Ketchum's first published novel, and while he does commit some of the follies that are associated with this kind of thing, he avoids rehashing a conventional structure that prevents a lot of fiction from being anything other than mediocre. Rather than construct a typical plot around outrageous acts of violence, Ketchum dictates the story through the action itself. This is something I like to refer to as “writing by consequence”; in other words, everything that happens is a direct consequence of what came before.
I tend to prefer this type of writing, because, for one thing, it keeps you guessing about the ending. More important than foiling reader expectations, however, is the fact that stories told in this vein establish a context – or world, if you will – that is uniquely their own. When this happens, characters feel more real – which is a subjective statement in itself, yet those who read for pleasure will, I think, understand what I'm getting at. This is not to say that the characters in Off Season are deep; they are not. Their actions, however, come across as genuine in the context of the story, rather than forced or contrived. Ketchum is in touch with his story, and tells it well.
In fact, Off Season isn't just violent – it's weird. The premise of the story is reminiscent of an urban myth, while the realization of this idea treads some bizarre territory. Just how would an inbred family of cannibals live in the 1980s? Ketchum has his own ideas, and he doesn't hesitate to share. Sometimes he actually writes from the perspective of these preliterates, and these scenes probably constitute the weakest parts of the novel. Ketchum is at his best when he describes what is going on, without trying to plumb the psychology of those involved. And the crazier events get, the better he writes.
Off Season is a fun read. Despite my earlier omission, I'm glad that I came across it. Whoever made the decision at Dorchester Publishing to release this unabridged has my appreciation. In fact, this edition of the novel includes a thoughtful afterward by Ketchum, who describes the novel's complicated publishing history. It's sad how squeamish some publishers can be, especially since most of these reactions stem from profit-anxiety.
As for that question: why read something this disgusting? For starters, to see if you can. If you enjoy the viscera that paints the walls in films such as Romero's zombie series, Braindead, or the Troma canon, this is the literary equivalent. It is also just a strange little tale, one that demonstrates how fragile the human body is – and how tough the psyche can be in times of extreme stress. And, as stated earlier, it's fun. For those reasons, taking on this nasty novel is worthwhile, and (selectively) memorable.
7/9/06
