Richard Matheson (1926–2013)

In I Am Legend, Matheson inverts the traditional vampire story on two levels. First, humans are the minority and vampires are the majority. Second, humans are the "other", the creature of 'legend' instead of the vampire. This was a creative leap and would be highly influential. Why was it so successful? Because the inversion alienates the hero of the story, and alienated heroes became popular around this time in history. After WWII American middle class youth began to romantically associate show more with outsiders, the other, like Holden Caulfield in Catcher in the Rye, beats and hippies. Through the inversion of the vampire story, I Am Legend reinforces the alienated outsider world view, at least in fantasy. No wonder it's been such a perennial cultural favorite. Like a virus the story carries on with each new generation creating its own adaptation in comics, film and so on. "I Am Legend" indeed. show less

It may be both inaccurate and unfair to label Richard Matheson's novel 7 STEPS TO MIDNIGHT as a post-traumatic sufferer of Shyamalan's Curse. Inaccurate, because STEPS was written and published years before M. Night Shyamalan released his trend-setting thriller THE SIXTH SENSE. Unfair, because it may lend the impression that Matheson ripped off Shyamalan's penchant for last-act twists in the narrative.

Nevertheless, the comparison, while admittedly strained, proves accurate when one bothers show more to read STEPS. Because as much as one may want to enjoy a novel by the author of I AM LEGEND and HELL HOUSE on its own merits, our culture has been hijacked by Shyamalan's Curse, and we all now have to suffer.

Not to say that Shyamalan's films lack any merit. Indeed, SIXTH SENSE is a dark and moody character piece, and his companion films UNBREAKABLE and SIGNS show the same sure hand in balancing character development and atmosphere with plot shenanigans, ensuring that the now-standard Shyamalan plot twists are rooted in characters the audience cares about.

Sadly, despite the inarguable talent that lies behind those films, the main cultural offshoot, in Hollywood anyway, is the `surprising' twist at the end, forgetting that Shyamalan took care in laying the groundwork beforehand. Now, we are inundated with lame-brained `thrillers' like GODSEND, THE SKELETON KEY, and HIDE AND SEEK, films that assume that a late-act left-turn will distract the audience from the fact that the films as a whole are fairly poor. Even Shyamalan is not immune; his last film, THE VILLAGE, was weakly written, silly, and had a surprise ending you could see coming from the moment the opening credits rolled.

So by today's standards, Matheson's novel is too obvious by half. And what is worse, from a writer of Matheson's stature and prestige, a novel as poor as 7 STEPS TO MIDNIGHT is cause for grief.

The plot starts off strongly enough, with befuddled mathematician Chris Barton leaving his mysterious job for home. Along the way, he picks up a hitchhiker, who warns that Barton's grasp on reality may be on the verge of serious slippage. Getting home, he finds that another man, also named Chris Barton, now occupies his house, and the real Barton has appeared to have been replaced. Taken into custody, he finds himself on the run, living a nightmare where little makes sense.

So far, so good. While the story may not be riveting, at least the reader is still interested. If not up to par with his earlier work, there are possibilities to work with. Perhaps STEPS will be a tale akin to Matheson's scripts for THE TWILIGHT ZONE, or perhaps Barton will begin flipping his way through multiple dimensions ala Robert A. Heinlein's enjoyable if preachy JOB: A COMEDY OF JUSTICE. Maybe the whole tale will become an exercise in insanity, a trek into the netherworld of the subconscious, such as in L. Ron Hubbard's FEAR (incidentally, the only novel Hubbard ever wrote that truly deserves far more than its current cult status).

Yet it quickly becomes apparent that Matheson has less on his mind than an examination into the self, and is more concerned with getting Barton from Point A to Points B, C, D, and E as rapidly as possible. As Barton meets strangers who utter nonsensical instructions, assassins who are unable to kill him, and an alluring spy who is the embodiment of every Hitchcockian cliché of the femme fatale, it becomes rapidly apparent that Matheson is not interested in making STEPS his version of Franz Kafka's THE TRIAL, and more interested in just keeping things moving.

Granted, he does all this well enough. For all its facile and disappointing nature, it is a far more entertaining chase novel than, say, anything Dan Brown has ever produced. But keeping the audience confused is not enough, something Brown, for all his unearned success, has never learned; there has to be something to care about, a character to empathize with, a tendril of realism the reader can cling to. Matheson provides nothing of the sort, mistaking action for plot development, and surprise twists, for mystery, ending with a revelation so obvious and silly that it actually hurts.

Coming from Matheson, this is remarkably poor. In I AM LEGEND, he turned the vampire legend on its ear, giving us horror with bite, and ending with one of the most haunting denouements in modern literature. THE INCREDIBLE SHRIKING MAN gave us humanity at a sub-atomic level. WHAT DREAMS MAY COME found pathos and redemption in the bowels of Hell itself.

7 STEPS TO MIDNIGHT is not a novel, it's a B-movie, with nothing on its mind but movement. Coming from Dan Brown, it would be a step up. Coming from Richard Matheson, it is a cheat. show less

I buddy read this with Nana! It was a re-read for me, my first read being in junior year of high school, and I have to say, I really enjoyed it once more!

How quickly one accepts the incredible if only one sees it enough.

Honestly the best thing about this book is Robert Neville. He's sad and alone and a little bit crazy, and I loved him. The poor guy deserves a nice long hug and a good ol' dog. He's such a fantastically complex character, and I really savored his sarcastic conversations with show more himself:

Crossing your fingers, Neville? Knocking on wood?

He ignored that, beginning to suspect his mind of harboring an alien. Once he might have termed it conscience. Now it was only an annoyance. Morality, after all, had fallen with society. He was his own ethic.

Makes a good excuse, doesn’t it, Neville? Oh, shut up.

*sighs contentedly* That's the good stuff, right there.

The very ending sort of bothered me on the second go, despite enjoying it the first time, and I didn't like Ruth as much as I had either. It was still pretty fantastic though.

Now, could Hollywood get it right for once? They've tried like 4 times and they still can't do it for some reason. Maybe Netflix should have a go this time.

Read this review and more on my blog here! show less

This book, follows a small platoon during two weeks in December, 1944, through the eyes of Ernest Hackermeyer, an 18-year-old replacement, just over the French border in Germany. “Hack” soon shows an aptitude, or at least a recklessness, with regard to fighting, and Cooley, the platoon sergeant, a much older man takes Hack under his wing, soon promoting him to assistant squad leader after the death of his other corporal. It’s not fun: cold, wet, moving back and forth, seeing little of show more the big picture, seemingly fighting for the same area over and over, having nothing to do but clean weapons.

"Wish I was a crab sometimes," he said. "Nice and warm down here. Lots of places for houses too." Finally he sighed. "Aw, you can't catch them," he said. He grimaced and drew in a quick breath. "Look like real crabs though," he said."

"What exciting comestible do you prepare, Hackermeyer?" "Huh?" "What's cooking?" "Pork and egg yolk." Guthrie blew out smoke. "Baby poo," he said. Hackermeyer didn't know what he meant until he opened the can.”

The intermittent shelling and its effect on the troops is vividly portrayed.

"More shells exploded. Hackermeyer felt as if the deafening bursts would crush his skull in. Suddenly, he realized that the cotton had fallen from his right ear. He looked around for it, then gave up and jammed the end of a gloved finger into his ear instead. Overhead, the mortar shells screamed shrilly as they fluttered downward. Infrequently, one of them passed through the latticework of boughs and exploded on the ground. . . "Now he noticed the colorless slime that was dripping from the lacerated tree trunks. As if many men had blown their noses on them. Hackermeyer's gaze moved dumbly from tree to tree. He couldn't stop because he knew that he was looking at all that remained of Linstrom. His stomach started heaving as nausea bubbled in him. Abruptly he remembered what he'd said when Linstrom had asked how close the shells could come.”

Cooley, Hack’s sergeant, is much older -- and wiser -- than the recruits, fresh as replacements, and he has a son in Guadalcanal so he despairs every time another 18-year-old replacement joins the platoon. He sees Hack has a son-figure, but worries that Hack, after only a week at the front, has become manic for killing Germans. Hack, who had lost his father at a young age, wants nothing better than to please Cooley, a sees him as a father figure, but then when Cooley orders him to do something, takes it as a criticism and he despairs of being unable to please the sergeant.

"Nope." Cooley shook his head once more. "I'll tell you what you got to relate, and it ain't weapons to the ground. It's one guy to another guy. You got to teach a man what he can expect from his buddies in combat. If he knows that, it don't matter if the ground ain't worth anything or if his weapon don't even work. He'll still know what the score is." Cooley picked up his new hand. "How do you teach soldiers human nature? . . . He paused. "Look, Hack," he said. "I know I told you it's your job to kill Krauts. It is-and you're doing a hell of a job. But ... well, you got to watch out you don't get so-fired up about it you can't stop. It's a job, Hack, not a way of life, if you know what I mean." Cooley spat to one side. "Let's face it, son," he said. "When we kill, we ain't men, we're animals.”

Matheson, before he began writing science fiction, served as a replacement infantryman and fifteen years after the war wrote this to document his experiences. This was his first novel and some of the characters seem stereotypical, but they work as seen through the eyes of Hack. Cooley is perhaps a bit almost too good to be true, the omnipotent and omnipresent sergeant, but his character fits also. The true horror is that we older folks send off children to fight our battles. Probably one of the most authentic appearing books to come out of WW II. I Would rank it up with the [b:The Naked and the Dead|12467|The Naked and the Dead|Norman Mailer|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1276221820s/12467.jpg|2223651]. show less