Summer of Night

Summer of Night is Dan Simmons' stab at the ubiquitous celebration-of-childhood novel, where alongside the splendours of childhood, the author can harp on at will about the loss of innocence, a theme ravenously sought after by the reading world at large (because everybody's got at least one: the reading of fiction is about self-identifying or escapism after all). In this novel the loss of innocence is mostly represented by a supernatural presence, which makes this besides one of the best coming of age (practically, yes) novels I've ever read, also one of the best horror novels I've ever read. Which is pretty much what I've come to expect from Dan Simmons. He's one of my favourite writers for a reason, you know.

We have about seven main kid-characters, of which Duane is the most intelligent one. He's hard working, conscientious, overweight, supportive and responsible, he never stops fighting and is definitely my favourite of the bunch. Second up is is Mike O' Rourke, who is very alike to Duane in most respects except that Mike has some form of dyslexia, which has set him back some, and he is catholic, which is rather important to the story.
Then we have Dale Stewart and his younger brother Lawrence, who together with Kevin Grumbacher are the more regular kids. Except that Kevin's the rich kid, Lawrence is the never-back-down fighter, and Dale himself, revealed in the introduction, is mostly everything concerning a young Dan Simmons' and his road to a writer's aspirations, making this an almost autobiographical novel.
Then we still haven Jim Harlen, who is the foul-mouth, though that's internalized mostly, and then you have Cordie Cooke, who is the bad-ass outcast dumpster girl with a gun and violent dogs.

It's a great book and left me feeling very satisfied, but things didn't start out that way: the first half, (or the first quarter at least) felt a little trudgy, a little slow, and a little overwritten, with too much repeating of the same words within consecutive sentences, and sometimes even within the one. This is nitpicking, I confess, but if you're gonna call Hemingway one of your idols you need to abide by his rules, after all. (Was it Hemmingway or was it that other one, I can't remember.)

The scene-setting is labourious, and as I said, can get a little trudgy, but when the ball starts rolling it rolls hard. Simmons also manages to tug on the heart strings quite a bit. I thought I was prepared, having glanced at the ridiculously lengthy introduction (22 pages in small print) before reading the novel, and having paid heed to the warning shots, fired early on. But when the first casualty fell I discovered I had placed my bets wrong, and in return Simmons gifted me with one of the most hideous murders I've ever seen dealt to a kid character. Said death made all the worse, because of all the sympathy and promise so well built up.

He also manages to weave his literary chops into the narrative, mainly due to the character of Duane, the aspiring writer, but also by pulling a deft trick or two himself.

And like in the Terror, the theme of Catholicism rears its head. In that novel the theme is brought home through use of the Eucharist, the act where one receives the consecrated bread on the tongue. This act is made crucial to the narrative, built up slowly and subtly throughout the whole novel to pound the reader in the face when flashback and foreshadowing merge into a horrifying climax.
Here we have something more subtle. A sexual awakening stifled by an undead priest as a metaphor for religion stifling natural sexual urges. Lovely touch, that.

And for those who wonder how kids can still be kids after all the pure, unadulterated horror they've been put through, Simmons will show you how, and I'll tell you beforehand that he can end his novel with heart-breaking, tear-inducing nostalgia. Which for me is all the more special, because I, being very much a loner, even as a child, have never had a childhood like this, never hung out with a group of friends, unless it was on the playground at school, and despite that I still felt it all: every beautiful moment that comes with being a kid..

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Last day of school,

endless minutes, endless seconds,

interminable suspended breath

before the reign, the peace, the possibilities,

the everything of Summer.

Portent of doom;

Wail of wind and wail of woe.

Storm and hidden death.

First days of Summer,

Be a child, enjoy it all.

Innocence. Fervour.

Reverence. Friendship.

Unholy happenings,

precursor of evil.

Grey twilight and Summer Dark.

Rot and decay, the hell on wheels.

A chase into fields and the murder of love.

Investigations on the one end,

rich and timeless exhilaration

of the no-holds-barred feast

that is childhood on the other.

Summer's last transcendent joy

before everything devolves

irrevocably into blackest terror.

More death and the burrowing

of horrible shadow creatures.

Jesus Christ, fucking murder.

I mean, wow, that was some

unwarranted, despairingly, totally

over the top brutal ending, for a

character who couldn't have

deserved it less. All the fight in

the world won't stop the reaping.

Machetes, axes and guns in the night.

High on adrenaline and euphoria

and terror. Confirmation, there is a

human element. Kill the live ones,

and the dead will follow.

The Arena of learning transformed,
a nest of monsters,
horror.

Kids, undaunted, past all terror, past
all horror, remain children yet.

Nostalgia. Heart-breaking nostalgia