The Millennium Quartet, Book 1:
Symphony
by Charles Grant
Tor. © 1997, Charles Grant. 343 pages (paper).
Of course, it could be the heat. Maple Landing, like much of the east,
is in the grip of a heat wave of uncommon ferocity and duration, a heat wave
that is choking off the tourist trade that keeps the town alive. Animals
are behaving oddly, tempers are flaring, and imaginations are running wild.
There are rational explanations for everything, even Father Casey's
"miracles."
Except for the bell. No one can explain the bell.
While Maple Landing tries to survive the summer, a large white luxury
sedan speeds eastward toward the troubled town. In the car are Lupé,
an abused and abandoned woman harboring a murderous rage at her ex and at
life itself; Stan, a softspoken drifter whose good manners and shy demeanor
hide a violent temper; and a mysterious third passenger known as "little
one." Under the tutelage of the driver, a young woman calling herself Susan,
these three commit a string of unprovoked mass murders of such scope and
violence as to be mistaken for terrorist attacks. Perhaps it is not coincidental
that the strangeness afflicting Maple Landing becomes steadily more pronounced,
that people become increasingly locked into a symphony of destructive behavior,
as the car approaches.
Perhaps it's not just the heat after all.
There is one person in Maple Landing who suspects Susan's true identity
and who somehow poses a threat to her plans: Reverend Casey Chisholm. But
Casey is afraid--afraid to believe what he suspects, more afraid still
to face the woman who threatens his friends, his parish, his life, his
very soul. And who can blame him? How can any human being do what God seems
to be asking of Casey? How can even a giant of a man, even a priest--even
one with the thunderous voice of an Old Testament prophet and the seeming
abilitiy to perform miracles--stand in the way of Death itself? What mortal
can hinder the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?
Thus begins Charles Grant's Millennium Quartet, a series
of novels that loose the fearsome riders of
Revelation
6:1-8 upon the modern world in modern guise. This is hardly the
first fictional depiction of the Apocalypse or even of the Horsemen--the
brief appearance of the four motorcyclists in the film The Rapture
comes to mind--but it promises to be one of the most interesting.
Casting Death in the form of Susan, who to the unsuspecting eye resembles
nothing more sinister than a yuppie on a cross-country road trip, is a stroke
of genius and bodes well for the remainder of the series. There is no question
that Grant can depict the fantastic convincingly.
But the fantastic alone cannot carry a story, not even in the genres
of science fiction, fantasy, or horror. One of the hallmarks of a truly gifted
author, even an author specializing in the fantastic, is the convincing depiction
of "ordinary" characters. Grant shines here as well, though it took me a
while to realize this. Perhaps because I have never lived on the East Coast
and am unfamiliar with the sorts of "characters" who live there, I initially
found some of the cast of Symphony a bit unconvincing, even
goofy. But as the novel progressed, I was surprised to find myself caring
about them. Although I could still quibble with the odd rough edge here and
there, the characters grew on me to the extent that I found myself shocked
and sorry to see some of them meet their doom in the novel's final confrontation
between good and evil. Grant had made the denizens of Maple Landing real
to me without my even noticing--an impressive accomplishment.
More impressive still is the author's ability to find, and briefly
fan, the spark of humanity left in even some of the most depraved
characters. There is no question that Lupé and Stan become monsters
once they elect to ride with Susan, and Grant in no wise lets them off the
hook. Quite the contrary: The author leaves no doubt that it is their own
harbored hatreds and resentments that make them susecptible to Susan's
blandishments, that they freely choose to stay with her and gleefully participate
in her murderous plans. They are all too willing servants of evil--and yet,
there is something poignant about the tentative romance that begins to blossom
between these two damaged people, because we know that romance is doomed.
By the time they catch a fleeting, heartbreaking glimpse of what their lives
might have been like had they not succumbed to hatred, it is already too
late. They're riding the pale horse, and any chance to get off is long
past.
As strong as Grant's other characterizations are, they are all eclipsed
by Father Casey Chisholm, who is nothing short of a triumph in the fictional
depiction of Christian clergy. In my experience, the entertainment industry
seldom creates credible clerics. Instead, it falls back on stereotypes, typically
making men and women of the cloth either unbelievably good or unbelievably
bad. And in addition to stereotyping the personalities of ordained characters,
fictional depictions of Christianity also tend to vastly oversimplify the
religion itself. The vast spectrum of Christian belief, tradition, and practice
is reduced to a few types the entertainment industry feels certain that even
the most secular audience members are familiar with: (1) Roman Catholicism
(whether well or poorly understood, it is too large an organization to overlook);
(2) Fundamentalist and/or Charismatic denominations (vocal, political, and
much in the news); and (3) a homongenized, generic, Mainstream Protestantism
(depicted so blandly and vaguely as to run no risk of identification with
any exisiting denomination). Fictional depictions of Christianity and its
clergy seldom probe any deeper or venture beyond these stereotypes.
Casey Chisholm, however, breaks the mold: he is clearly identified as
an Episcopal priest--if a rather unconventional one--and he is not
a walking cliché but a real, flesh-and-blood human being with
hopes, fears, and desires. He prays, he believes, he doubts, he struggles.
In making Chisholm real, Grant also makes him a man who has experienced the
life-changing grace of God: Casey is a priest because a prison chaplain had
the faith to see something positive in a young man who was serving time for
attempted robbery. That chaplain got Casey out of prison and into seminary.
The ex-con graduated and became a man of God of great compassion and deeper
faith than he himself realizes. It's refreshing to discover an author of
fiction who takes the grace of God seriously, and Charles Grant does just
that.
That said, I must admit that I was nonetheless somewhat disappointed
in Symphony's treatment of certain theological questions. One of these
is the status of death in the Bible: Is death a normal part of the created
order (at least since the Fall), or is it an enemy that Christ has conquered?
Or is it somehow both? Symphony would seem to be an excellent
device for examining this theological conundrum, but sadly, the author does
little more than touch on it. Casey notes that dealing with Susan and her
"friends" would be simpler if they were demons, because he could just abjure
them by the cross to return to Hell. Death, however, seems to have as much
right to be in Trinity Church as Casey himself does, because both of them
have "the same boss" (p. 314). The strong implication is that Death is not
truly evil; it's just doing its job. But if that is the case, why does Susan
tempt Lupé and Stan to sin? For tempt them she does, as surely
as if she were the Devil rather than Death. If Death isn't evil, why
does it so enthusiastically promote human evil?
A closely related question concerns the whole concept of opposing the
Apocalypse: If it is God's will to end the world, is attempting to preserve
the world the correct course of action? If Casey and Death both "work for
God," then why would God command Death to do things He commands Casey to
try to prevent? Grant hints at some possible answers, but I find them
contradictory and unsatisfactory. Perhaps I ask too much. Symphony
is a horror novel, not a treatise on systematic theology--after
all, the Horsemen don't even appear in the biblically correct order--but
given the author's otherwise thoughtful treatment of religion, I expected
better.
Finally, Casey's attempts at dealing with Susan reveal an odd omission:
He never once mentions the Resurrection, never says with Paul that "death
is swallowed up in victory," never asks, " 'Death, where is thy sting?' "
Rather than standing on the Word of God, Casey chooses--or has thrust upon
him--quite a different way of dealing with the supernatural visitation. Casey's
method, though not entirely without biblical precedent, does have the effect
of short-circuiting what might otherwise have been some interesting theological
speculation.
There are also a few non-theological glitches, minor and major: On one
occasion, a family that is mentioned as being in the Moonglow Diner somehow
ends up across the street in Arlo Mackey's bar, without any mention that
they ever moved. When the Moonglow's owner/cook is bashed in the hip with
his own guitar by an enraged girlfriend, he inexplicably bleeds from his
head. On two occasions, Grant expends considerable time and ink seemingly
in grooming a character for a major role in Maple Landing's private
Armageddon--only to make little or no use of that character when the time
comes. A local villain with links to organized crime simply vanishes,
his whereabouts unknown at the close of the story. Perhaps Grant will tie
up some of the loose ends in subsequent volumes, or perhaps some of the apparent
inconsistencies are intentional attempts to be mysterious. However, they
feel more like simple oversights--odd failings for an experienced author
like Grant, who has written at least eighteen published books and edited
at least six others.
All criticisms notwithstanding, Symphony is an enjoyable
read that treats theological topics with more depth and understanding than
is usual in fictional works. It creates a memorable and believable clergyman
and through him presents the Christian faith in a positive light. Its characters
come alive, and its depiction of the apocalyptic heat wave is convincing
enough that I was glad to be reading it in the winter on California's Central
Coast rather than during a summer in my native Nebraska. Symphony
is also probably the only novel ever to use musical metaphors for
the Apocalypse. I look forward to reading the second volume,
In the Mood, and the rest of what
promises to be a fascinating series.
Edited February 29, 2000. Revised May 26, 2000.
Copyright ©2000 by Steven R. Solomon. All rights reserved.
Book Review
by Steve Solomon
IT IS THE EVE OF THE THIRD MILLENNIUM, and strange things are afoot,
most noticeably in the sleepy hamlet of Maple Landing, New Jersey. In
the dead of night and apparently of its own accord, one and only one of three
interconnected bells in the steeple of Trinity Church tolls. A little boy
hears birds telling him that everyone in the town is going to die. Swarms
of bees fly at night, and dead moths by the hundreds are found heaped inside
locked buildings. A number of the locals hear hoofbeats, and some even see
a ghostly white horse. After a long period of peace, Father Casey Chisholm,
rector of Trinity Church, is once again plagued by a recurring nightmare
from his troubled past. Shortly after the nightmares resume, he seems to
gain the power to perform miracles.
Please send comments to
srsgm@pacbell.net.