Synopsis:
A virus is spreading across America, transforming the infected and making them feral with lust.
Sophie, a good Catholic girl, must traverse the hellscape of the midwest to try to find her family while the world around her burns. Along the way she discovers there are far worse fates than dying a virgin…
The end times are coming.
Review:
If you’ve read anything that I’ve written in the past few months, there’s a good chance I brought up C.J. Leede’s “American Rapture,” and just how upset I am that it doesn’t come out here in the UK until June 26th. I have been waiting in anticipation, fingers itching, yearning, watching friends across the Atlantic devour and obsess over this one. Well folks, it turns out complaining endlessly does get you somewhere, because a very kind stranger sent me a copy. If you’re reading, thank you again. Having had my faith in humanity briefly restored, I needed something to rip it away from me again, and whilst of course that can be done by merely watching the news or scrolling for 5 minutes, it seemed fitting that it should be this book. A road-trip through the Upper Midwest during an apocalypse that is uniquely American, Leede’s latest met and exceeded every single damn one of my mounting expectations. A piqued, propulsive and pitiless reflection of the pandemic and the state of the states, as well as a seething condemnation of religious fervor, and the shielding that arises from it, “American Rapture,” just about consumed me for the three days I was reading it. For fans of Clay McLeod Chapman’s sensational “Wake Up and Open Your Eyes,” as well as McCammon’s “Swan Song,” this is an utter must read, and I look forward to finally seeing it in bookstores over here in the Summer.
After a virus mutates, face masks and sanitiser are no longer enough to protect yourself. “Sylvia,” turns those who have contracted it into sex-crazed lunatics, and with the disease being carried through bodily fluid, it’s spreading fast across the states. Of course, until she comes face to face with it, Sophie Allen has virtually no idea. An America overrun by carnal sex zombies would be a challenge for anyone, but raised to be a good Catholic girl in a household that shielded her almost entirely from the big, bad world, when she’s suddenly thrust out into it, two parents down, it’s really a lot. Whilst she’s quick and fortunate to make friends, the idea that Sophie and co. (co, including the goodest dog) can successfully navigate what can only be the rapture, is at the best of times unlikely.
This is an undeniably strong apocalypse story, but what absolutely makes it, is the fact that we read it through the eyes of Sophie, who through no fault of her own has an incredibly narrow world-view, that we watch crack and expand in real time. Her parents are incredibly religious, she attends church and a Catholic school for girls, and at 16, has no friends, no phone, and frankly no idea. Her way of life is dictated entirely by her mum and dad, and the fact that they’re suddenly not there, (or at least the strict Catholic folk that she was raised by aren’t) is the real horror of this novel, apocalypse aside. We follow her through an incredibly guilty sexual awakening, through physical changes, through the same issues as every teenager- but amplified by 100, and these at times feel secondary to the end of the world.
From the age of 14 I was drinking in moderation with my parents, something I reckon would make Sophie’s parents clutch their pearls, however… by the time I hit adulthood I’d never blacked-out at a party, I was never sick in a doorway, I didn’t tend to wake up regretting the night before, or wondering why I’d stolen a traffic cone. Building that tolerance, that healthy relationship, in a safe environment, was ultimately much less dangerous than discovering it by myself in the form of cheap shots. I feel like that’s a big part of what C.J. Leede is getting at in “American Rapture.” Sophie’s extreme sheltering ultimately does more harm than good. By keeping her entirely shielded from the world’s realities: its temptations, its chaos, and its ugliness, she is completely unprepared to face it, and when thrown headfirst into a literal apocalypse, face it she must. It’s not naivety; it’s a lack of tools. She has genuinely no idea how to reconcile the world she’s been taught with the world she’s suddenly experiencing. By keeping her untainted, and ensuring salvation, her parents almost completely sealed her fate.
Subtle flex incoming, when I had the opportunity to chat with Nick Cutter, he suggested that there are two types of novel that come out of the pandemic. Hopeful, and hopeless. The bringing together of humanity… Think back to those fleeting moments of solidarity: shopping for your elderly neighbours, chatting with people over the fence, here in the UK we applauded healthcare workers in the street every Thursday at 7. Then there’s the hopeless pandemic novel. Remember the US government suggesting you inject yourself with bleach, or the toilet-paper hoarding, or the anti-vax super-spreader protests. We really can’t be trusted to do the right thing, even when it’s life or death. “American Rapture,” does not fall squarely in either category, but certainly leans more into the “humans are a disaster,” camp. Fleeting moments of teen romance, companionship and genuine acts of kindness are balanced out, perhaps even outweighed by tribalism, religious extremism, and humanity’s stead-fast, sure-fire ability to get it wrong. This is a novel about how we deal with crisis and how we prepare our children to deal with crisis, and Leede doesn’t flinch when demonstrating the cracks in our foundations, and the ugliness that can boil to the surface when we’re desperate.
Both amplified by and tempered with raw humanity, “American Rapture,” is part-pandemic, part-roadtrip, part-blistering social commentary, and, in a word, unforgettable. If you’re looking for an apocalypse novel with teeth (and claws, wings, and bodily fluids), this is absolutely the book for you.
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