Alas, Babylon

This was more fascinating as a time capsule than as a book. What did people who actually lived through the height of the Cold War imagine a nuclear exchange and aftermath would look like? Most depictions we're familiar with come from the latter part of the war, the 70s and 80s, bleak portrayals inspired by nuclear accidents and better models for what mass nuclear fallout looks like, bigger stockpiles of higher yield weapons at that.
Alas, Babylon doesn't describe that bleak radioactive hellscape; instead, while a lot of people close to military sites die, life keeps rolling along afterwards. Society's reliance on technology is on the order of radios and telephones, not integral to every part of existence. Electric washing machines are show more still a luxury item, primitive hand cranked tools are still all around. There are looters and thieves, but no roaming bands of raiders or people reduced to cannibalism because nature is dying or toxic.
Perhaps the most dated part of the book is the characters who appear like thin stereotypes to a modern reader. The cultural biases of the 50s abound in the depiction of women and some race relations. For a nuclear apocalypse where good hearted people can shrug their shoulders and put their back into rebuilding, this is it. show less

Perhaps the most well-balanced of the 1950s post-apocalyptic fiction boom, Pat Frank's Alas, Babylon is certainly a fine counterpart to the meticulous apocalyptic saga Earth Abides by George R. Stewart and the more mundane and literary On the Beach by Nevil Shute (I've not yet read A Canticle for Leibowitz, the other oft-mentioned title in this company). Whereas those other books have their odd elements that the reader has to push through in order to appreciate them, Alas, Babylon is the closest to being a crowd-pleaser. That is, if 'crowd-pleaser' is something you can say about the depiction of a nuclear holocaust and its aftermath, something that was terrifyingly plausible to Frank's first generation of readers.

On such a, well, show more apocalyptic scale, Frank's book works because it invests in its characters. Though sometimes a bit obvious in its drivers and its flashpoints (leadership pressures, food, security, companionship), these character conflicts work. We invest in Randy Bragg's rise to become leader of his isolated community; we share Mark's fatalism as the impending nuclear war enters its first stages; we even care about Dan's medical tools and Alice's travails at the library. Each of the characters, even the minor ones and the minors (i.e. the children), get their moments to shine, and we get PoV chapters from them to help with this. The big moments are well-staged and well-written, and the small details (such as the message from Jacksonville stopping instantaneously (pg. 112)) can be disturbing. Horror and hope and everything in between are delivered ably by the author.

If Alas, Babylon sometimes feels routine in its reading, it's because the post-apocalyptic genre has been done to death since Frank's book was published in 1959. This can hardly be said to be a mark against the book, for Alas, Babylon is one of the originators of all those tropes: the sober gut-punch of the nuclear flash as the world ends; the survivalist tropes of getting clean water and sustainable food; the problems of defending against bandits; the sense of purpose as unlikely candidates rise to the challenge of rebuilding their community.

The author's background as a journalist and political commentator sometimes comes through. Frank intended the book to be a public service, a warning against atomic brinkmanship and M.A.D., as well as a basic guidebook on how to prepare for the aftermath, how to find a good water source and be aware of radiation and so on. To this end, certain passages can feel didactic, with Frank directing the story towards scenes where his characters can become his mouthpiece, delivering a pointed opinion or educatory example. That said, this never grates, for Frank has invested in his characters and his writing ability is enough to smooth the edges of these inserts and asides.

When you take a step back, the book can look quite unremarkable, but when you are turning its pages you appreciate every moment of it. It is an easy, character-driven story that also gets across the strange horror of atomic destruction and the regenerative hope that can be found in the people who survive it. Whereas most post-apocalyptic stories focus on the misery, the destruction and the degeneration of law and order, Alas, Babylon argues that "the world changes… [but] people don't" (pg. 197). For all that the book can seem routine in retrospect, it is this optimistic tack which places it on a different footing to all the post-apocalyptic imitators that came after it. show less

A famously memorable read, probably the only post-apocalyptic nuclear-war novel that could classify as a pleasant beach-read. That's partly because this is the only nuclear-war novel that I can think of where arguably the protagonists are better off after the war than before it. The community at the heart of the story draws together more closely, even to some extent eliding racial divisions, and the lead character matures and becomes a respected political leader. Most of the people within the community who suffer direct consequences from the war are greedy or foolish. It's not that the book is optimistically in favor of nuclear war, but many of the assumptions it makes about what such a war would be like were overriden by the later show more growth of nuclear arsenals and an improved understanding of the likely consequences of such a conflict. show less

Alas, Babylon was one of the more perplexing literary experiences I’ve had this year. Written by Pat Frank, it’s the story of Randy Bragg and a small Florida town, Fort Repose, after America and the Soviet Union declare war in the late 1950s.

Randy’s doing nothing much in the family house in Fort Repose, Florida except drinking and charming local women–with the exception of his neighbor Florence, who suspects him of being a Peeping Tom–when his brother sends a cable with their code phrase, Alas, Babylon.

“As the minutes and hours eroded away, and no word came from Moscow, he became more and more certain that a massive strike had been ordered. He diagnosed this negative intelligence as more ominous than almost anything that show more could’ve happened.”

Randy begins grocery shopping while Mark packs up his family in Omaha to send them to Randy’s house and together with the neighbors, they navigate survival after a missile strike.

“The sight of war’s roseate birthmark on the sky choked back their words.”

A Review in Three Parts

The Time Traveler’s Version: five stars

Most likely, the ideal way to experience this book published in 1959 was to be born in 1935-1945. Much of the story has a strong philosophical tone best contextualized by the time period. I found it fascinating that Frank is partly aware of the influence of cultural epoch: “The incident was important only because it was self-revelatory. Randy knew he would have to play by the old rules. He could not shuck his code, or sneak out of his era.” However, there’s so much contained that is commentary on the conflicts of the era: the tiniest beginnings of Civil Rights and Equal Rights reflected in Randy’s relationships with women and the black family living next door remain strongly influenced by his chivalry and paternalism. Then there’s the general confidence people have that there is an ‘after,’ as in ‘after the government comes and restores everything," and the hope that nuclear strikes are survivable. In the decades since, our confidence in systems has diminished while belief in the survival of the strong has grown.

Nonetheless, it was an influential book during its time, and one of the few early apocalyptic that have the feel of reality as people then understood it. Frank was a career journalist who worked in New York and Washington and as a war correspondent during WWII and during the Korean War, and I felt like Mark’s experiences at the command post sounded real.

The Audio Version: five stars

The second best way–to those lacking access to Kemper’s time-mower–is to listen to the Audible version read by Will Patton. It won a well-deserved Audie in 2012 and was even more enjoyable than my reading. Patton is a fabulous voice actor and brought each word to life. Although it is mostly from Randy’s point of view, there are other view points, along with specific and general dialogue. Patton nailed almost every one, with the only exception being a “Boston Radcliffe” accent. The southern inflections sounded genuine and even a ten year-old girl was done well, but my favorite were his variations on the radio. From the verbal swagger of a radio jockey to the clipped tones of a Civil Defense broadcast, I too felt like I was listening to a broadcast. When Patton voiced Randy’s thought, “squashed his face like a potato,” I laughed out loud at a line I hadn’t noticed when reading. Clearly, a superior reader who won me as a fan.

The Modern Version: three and 1/2 stars

I tend to skim a lot, particularly toward the end of a book. It’s been a lifelong habit and likely one of the reasons I enjoy re-reading books. My first read through was done at my normal pace and I finished the book feeling satisfied. I started over with the audio, listening to Will Patton reading. I loved his voice acting–but started to hear the words more clearly. Frank is clearly ambivalent about equality of many kinds, and it is demonstrated in Randy’s philosophical musings, in privileged interaction with others, and with authorial choices in plotting. Let’s just say that in 2016, you wouldn’t give the black kid a spear and the white kid a gun, or have so many discussions about “going back to our Neolithic days.” While women get a whiff of equality in Randy's girlfriend, Liz, half-proposing and a woman being left in control of the United States, there's a lot ofne of Randy’s former lovers, Rita, who is basically characterized as an “exotic” “man-collector.” Then there's the bizarre episode where Mark's wife Helen has a 'mental break' and is psychoanalyzed by Liz and the Doctor.

I do believe none of the characterization is ill-intentioned, but as a modern reader, its the same-ol’ ‘-isms, and just because they seem benevolent doesn’t mean they aren’t tiresome. Further, we are now an audience that is fairly well educated on disasters, so some of the mistakes we witness Randy and the community make seem laughable.

My suggestion is to read it, but it’ll work best if you borrow a time-mower (keys hanging on a hook in the shed) or listen to Will Patton.

Many, many thanks to the people who suggested it when I was looking for an apocalypse, and a thousand thanks to Naomi who shared her audio copy. show less

There's something different about this particular post-disaster book, not only in that it doesn't allow itself to dwell on the disaster, or fear or misery, present as the emotions are. Set in Florida, the book focuses on a small community that works to survive in the wake of a nuclear attack on the U.S., when most of the nation is lost, and when most of life as they know it is lost. And yet, Frank's attention to detail and character allows for not just hard realisms, and realizations, but also hope -- and community. Yes, it is a bit dated; how could it not be, having been written in the 1950s? But at heart, it's character that drives the book, and the details of what was left in the wake of such an attack then aren't, I don't suppose, show more incredibly different from the details of what might be left now, or at any point in the future. Regardless, humanity is there in the heart of the book, and Frank's attentions to prejudices, to fears, and to what matters... well, they're incredible, and more clear than in any other speculative fiction of this nature that I've come across.

I happened across this book by accident--I think it was the title and the cover that drew me in. Now, I'm only stunned that I never heard about in school, or while growing up. Three degrees' worth of reading in English/Writing programs, and I was never handed this? Well, I'm glad I happened onto it now. It's one I'll remember, and recommend. show less

I picked up a sci-fi novel the other day at a used bookstore. The jacket said it was set after a nuclear war and written by someone who’d rubbed shoulders with a lot of military people. Well, I figured it’d be interesting to see what they imagined life’d be like after a nuclear war. (The pages weren’t blank.)

What can I say, it was slow reading. For example, the author said, “A man who’s been shaken by a bomb knows what it feels like.” So I had to stop and wonder why a woman wouldn’t know. Is he saying women never get shaken by bombs because they’re never in bombed areas? Or they are, but for some reason, they don’t get shaken by them? Or they do, but they nevertheless don’t know what it feels like?

And that was just show more the preface. Chapter one introduced Florence. Who gossiped. She didn’t design state of the art mp3 players. And she certainly wasn’t looking for the cure to cancer. She gossiped. However, “If your sister was in trouble and wired for money, the secret was safe with Florence. But if your sister bore a legitimate baby, its sex and weight would be known all over town.”

Only if my sister was in trouble? What about me? I realized then that this guy hadn’t even imagined the possibility that women might read his book. And, well, we might. After all, we can read.

And apparently it didn’t occur to him that someone’s sister, a woman, might have money of her own. Or that she might ask another woman – not a man, not her brother – for a loan.

Then of course we have the phrase “in trouble”. Being pregnant, having a life begin to grow inside your body – that’s not being “in trouble”. It’s either amazingly wonderful or incredibly devastating. But it’s not being “in trouble”.

Then there’s that word “legitimate”. First I had to back up and figure out that being in trouble meant, to him, not only being pregnant, but also being unmarried. Which would make the baby ‘illegitimate’. (And that’s why she decides to abort?) Right. As if men alone confer legitimacy to life. My, my, aren’t we a little full of ourselves. (‘Course that might explain why they feel they have the right to take it so often, so capriciously. Coupled with the gross underestimation of its value indicated by the phrase “in trouble” to describe its creation…)

And what precious information would Florence, otherwise, spread far and wide? Whether his sister survived the birth? No, apparently that’s not important. What’s important is the sex and weight of the baby. And presumably it’s important that it be male and that it be big. Okay, and why is that important? Well, the best I could come up with was that the guy has in mind a world in which food and shelter is gained by one-on-one physical combat (not our world), and the combat is such that brute force is an advantage (what, no weapons?), and he’s assumed positive correlations between maleness and size and capacity for said brute force (not a valid assumption).

Okay, onto the next couple sentences… show less

After nuclear war devastates the United States, the survivors in a small Florida town must work together to rebuild civilization in the first post-apocalyptic tale of the nuclear age.

In rereading Alas, Babylon, I find that it holds up very well as a post-apocalyptic survival story. It is very much a product of its time, in that I don't think this kind of story could have occurred at any other point than the height of the Cold War. It may seem problematic in its portrayal of women and African Americans, but I think for the time it was quite progressive. It was published when separate but equal was the rule in the South, and points out that separation of the races makes no sense when everyone's contributions are needed to keep show more civilization going. It's true that the African-American characters aren't as nuanced as modern readers would expect, but that didn't distract me from the gist of the story. As for the women, this is not a feminist book, but the women are free agents who can act without the permission of the men. The librarian character was particularly pro-active, finding solutions that the doctor hadn't even thought of and ensuring that the free exchange of ideas and knowledge would continue post-apocalypse.

At one point as I was reading this, when the narrator was worrying about the problem of salt, it occurred to me that it wasn't that long ago when all men and women lived this way. That is, without the benefits of electricity or automobiles or antibiotics. Every day was a gamble, but still, people kept on, despite not enjoying the level of security and control over our lives that we have. The real point of Alas, Babylon is how fragile our modern civilization is, yet we depend on it so much; it could all be wiped out in an instant. We almost forget how resilient and resourceful humans can be. Rereading Alas, Babylon is a good reminder of what we take for granted. show less