Stephen King–in his tribute to the subgenre of post-apocalyptic zombie horror, Cell–presents a scathing satire upon what many would agree to be the epitome of modern technology: the cell phone. Given his notoriety for producing escapist pulp horror fiction, the author somewhat redeems himself in that he challenges, not only his audience, but himself in what is one of the genre’s first truly nightmarish visions of a 21st century gone mad.
King has proven himself a master, only not in the format for which he is best known. His most rewarding efforts are to be found, not in his novels, but his prize-winning short stories. As evidence, Frank Darabont’s The Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile are based upon short works by the scribe (we readily dismiss the two other renowned works of cinema which the horror writer is associated–Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and Rob Reiner’s Misery–in that the former is so far removed from its source material that all but a skeleton remains while the latter’s prowess is acknowledged as being primarily due to the performances of James Caan and Kathy Bates). However, unlike most of his book-length affairs, Cell presents a Swifitan scenario whereby individuals receive “The Pulse,” an electronic signal transmitted through a cell phone, which metamorphoses its user into a raving, primal lunatic. Few could ignore the satire involved in that most real life cell phone users (or, by the author’s double entendre designation, “Phonies”)–act in much the same brain-dead manner as their fictional, undead counterparts. Twice over, the writer adds caustic insult to critical injury for he has his epidemic take place in a scant ten hours, thus implying that almost everyone in the world bonds to the titular devise on at least a twice-daily basis.
Shortly after King’s shotgun opening, we are granted further instances of human insanity, not on behalf of the text’s antagonists, but rather by the non sequitur scenarios in which normative people involve themselves. For instance, as our protagonist, Clayton–who is in search of his son, Johnny–leaves Boston en route to Maine (on foot no less), we witness–in a quandary analogous to the illogic which takes place in Walter van Tilburg Clark’s The Portable Phonograph wherein a person desperately clings to his money amid a post-apocalyptic dead zone–two singularly-focused individuals engaging in fisticuffs over a keg of beer, seemingly oblivious to the carnage, mayhem, and danger surrounding them.
Though Cell opens with very succinct literal as well as metaphorical observations of the world at large, the novel’s instances of critical acumen become sparser as the narrative progresses. However, to King’s credit and in lieu of the genre’s critics who complain that the medium arbitrarily forsakes the theme, the implication is made that hope cannot subside alongside technology. After separate tales involving cars and trucks which kill people and machines that consume anyone within reach, all of which are a direct descendents of the Industrial Revolution, one could easily argue that Cell solidifies King’s stature as a Luddite in that he presents a Zerzanian scenario where even those who openly renounce technology are nevertheless controlled by it (by extension as well as, toward the novel’s finale, in very close proximity). This said, far be it for King to overlook the fact that 9/11 would not have been possible had it not been for the advent of technology.
Furthermore, the author issues laconic glances at Nietzschian herd mentalities before juxtaposing them with a Hobbesian State of Nature. Wryly, many of the human elements involved in the novel’s plight are equally or more threatening than the affects or spread of zombism. Intriguing in that the writer has went on record by stating he is a believer, he nonetheless presents a set of events which support an atheist reading of the text. By permitting the human mind to be “wiped” by an electronic pulse, King–in a moment reminiscent of (admitted atheist) David Cronenberg’s Scanners–reduces the brain to a mere aggregation of chemical and electronic exchanges. Contrary to many reader’s grievances and without being facetiously dismissive or haphazardly lethargic, the author refuses to address the source of the phenomenon, the absence of such being, in and of itself, a masterful comment upon 21st century responsibility, especially at the hands of global technology.
However, despite Cell’s shrewd surveillance of the human predicament, King does eschew a handful of opportunities for rewarding reflection. Though a Materialist reduction of the human mind is presented, King foregoes the corollary tangent of how language likewise transforms our perceptions and actions as, similarly, a tentative examination of Empiricism is circumvented in favor of the progression of plot. Granted, some critics have cited King’s propensity to ignore characterization in order to invest more time in a work’s linear movement is not without basis, in Cell the lack of character development implicitly aides, compliments, and reinforces the premise for, as in John Carpenter’s The Thing, identity is not something which readily avails itself given the conflict at hand. Few would argue that one would not be permitted the opportunity to become acquainted with very many individuals on any subsequent level if a plague to erupt. Furthermore, the paralleling of anonymous undead alongside stock characterization is not without an aesthetic as well as critical function.
As such, Stephen King does well as, par for the genre, he allots one major scare per chapter as the tension and momentum steadfastly increases alongside a seemingly perpetual sense of ominous foreboding. However, unlike most of his canon and the products of his genre peers, the author begins with a germane idea and relentlessly develops it. Though by no means a masterpiece, Cell is a very admirable, enjoyable effort which, on a strictly reader-friendly level, leaves only one thing to be desired: The fate of a very sympathetic feline named Rafe, who is introduced early in the novel only to be left and all but forgotten.
-Egregious Gurnow
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