“The old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born; now is the time of monsters.”
— Antonio Gramsci
The diminutive Italian philosopher was only partly right. Our world as we’ve understood it is, indeed, dying, and a new world will soon emerge.
But monsters don’t suddenly appear. They’ve always lurked in the shadows just beyond the flickering campfire light. It’s only during times of upheaval and tumult that the monsters step into full view, fangs bared, claws extended.
And if truth be told, not all monsters are out there. They lurk inside as well.
For human beings, all stories are ultimately about monsters and the savagery they wreak upon us. The worst monsters possess indomitable power and unrelenting will. Left unchecked, monsters destroy everyone and everything we hold sacred.
When I’m invited to cocktail parties—which is mostly never—I’m often asked what I do for a living. The smart answer would be, “I’m a thriller writer” because the term still carries a certain cachet. But I’m nothing if not honest so my usual reply is, “I sit in a room by myself and talk to imaginary people.” The response is invariably the raised eyebrow or the nervous laugh. Medication is sometimes suggested.
I’m proud to be a thriller writer. We write about monsters and the heroes that defeat them, and if we do our jobs well, we tell the truth about the world and ourselves. Thrillers affirm the undeniable reality of evil, its “hideous strength,” and yes, even its attraction. They also affirm the need for a hero to rise, and remind us that self-sacrifice, ingenuity and grit are needed to win the fight—or else, all is truly lost.
I’m particularly blessed to write for Clive Cussler’s Oregon Files franchise. This legacy series features a heavily armed, high-tech spy ship cleverly disguised as a rust-hulled scow. It’s captained by the intrepid Juan Cabrillo and crewed by mostly former military operators who battle “monsters” of every sort around the world. It’s big adventury fun but also deadly serious work because I write about monsters that are all too real.
In my upcoming novel, Ghost Soldier, Juan Cabrillo fights a nemesis from the past plotting to kill thousands with murderous vengeance. Juan and the steadfast Oregon crew charge into the breach against impossible odds with courage, cunning and selfless sacrifice. There’s no price they’re not willing to pay to save the lives of complete strangers. Why? Because it’s the right thing to do.
From the earliest days of our species we’ve huddled around the comforting warmth of the night fire, our frightened eyes scanning the darkness for the terror prowling in the gloom. Our racing hearts quieted when the myth-tellers stood and recounted the glorious deeds of heroes past rising up against all odds to defeat the haunting Leviathans of yore—often at the cost of their own lives. In the guttering light of the faltering flames the myth-tellers reminded us that heroes restore the balance, call beauty out of chaos, and put justice back on her throne. Each word they uttered was a spear thrust into the heart of the savage night until hope rose in our quailing hearts like the breaking of a new dawn.
Am I overselling it? Probably. But we live in perilous times. Whatever you think about Western civilization, the sun has set on that empire of the mind and beasts prowl among us. Worse, we’re all migrating onto our own separate, high-walled islands of reality as the darkness closes in. The tragedy is that many no longer recognize what is true. The horror is that others deny the possibility truth even exists. Fiction seems the only bridge between us and perhaps our last, best hope to build a brighter future. Thrillers are a form of “entertainment”—serious work given its etymology, i.e., to “enter into” and to “seize” the human heart. How else can the truth be heard and, more importantly, felt, in this age of mindless demagoguery and soul-numbing technology?
Monsters, Monsters Everywhere
Knife-wielding serial killers, bomb-strapped terrorists, criminal masterminds and other fictional monsters infest our novels. All villains share in common the egomaniacal imposition of their wills onto their unwilling victims. Criminals break the law and social norms. So do terrorists. A serial killer murders one at a time. A bomber’s well-placed explosive kills dozens—maybe thousands—in a single flash of light. They use different methods but the results are all the same: mayhem, chaos and death. How they do it is the stuff of plot.
But why do they do it? The most compelling villains are driven by forces that shine a light into the human condition. Though they stand in opposition to a hero, they are no less human. (And every villain is the hero of their own imagination.) Jealousy, hatred, envy, ignorance, the will to power…every human foible run amok fuel their frenzy. The soul-shearing forces ripping through the monster threaten to fracture us as well.
Thrillers show us that when heroes defeat villains—even the mechanical ones—they also defeat the worst in ourselves. The danger rises when desperate heroes become monsters themselves in the name of stopping the monsters. That sort of tragedy is the bedrock where we mine some of the deepest truths. They geolocate the dark borderlands of morality and the consequences of transgressing them.
Like villains, heroes are all too human. They exemplify the best human qualities but also carry flaws within themselves, as we all do. They’re not perfect but they are good. Sherlock Holmes is an unmatched genius who defeats cunning criminals despite the heroin that courses through his veins.
The very best heroes vanquish the monsters beyond by taming the monsters within. They teach us how to live bravely, wisely, nobly even to the point of self-sacrifice. In the end, our heroes defeat monsters not because they’re stronger, but better. Heroes are in a (loaded) word, virtuous—despite their flaws.
Ennobling heroes teach us to be better people, and in so doing, show us how to make a better world. They prove to us that there can only be justice if we ourselves are just and are willing to suffer ourselves on behalf of others suffering injustice. They remind us that we don’t have to be perfect in order to choose to do good.
Writers certainly aren’t heroes. But they chronicle the heroic virtues of the one-legged former spy, the amnesiac assassin, the drunken detective, and even the hairy-footed Hobbit on perilous journeys of hardship and hazard. Every time a cop cuffs a killer, an operator drops a terrorist or a journalist exposes a traitor, the writer affirms that evil will not prevail if we brave the warrior path.
As the old world dies and monsters roam the liminal shadows, we huddle around the faltering fire hoping for a better dawn. Until that morning comes, I’ll follow Juan Cabrillo into his next adventure, hurling my spears into the dark.
I pray Ghost Soldier strikes true.
***
