Childmare (UK: Hamlyn Books, 1980)
Tagline: "Sweet little children...crazed with bloodlust."
That's right: sweet little children crazed with bloodlust.
What more could you want for the darkest of months,
October? I searched high and low for just the right
Guilty Pleasure for this month. I knew it had to have
kids. And I knew they had to be nasty. I also wanted
something Halloween-oriented...but, sadly, most
Halloween novels are absolute crap. So, two out of
three ain't bad. Great cover. Child with a bloody blade
and a fixed, silvery gleam to her eyes. You know right
Tagline: "Sweet little children...crazed with bloodlust."
That's right: sweet little children crazed with bloodlust.
What more could you want for the darkest of months,
October? I searched high and low for just the right
Guilty Pleasure for this month. I knew it had to have
kids. And I knew they had to be nasty. I also wanted
something Halloween-oriented...but, sadly, most
Halloween novels are absolute crap. So, two out of
three ain't bad. Great cover. Child with a bloody blade
and a fixed, silvery gleam to her eyes. You know right
away she's up to the shit and, trust me, she is! Nick Sharman is a pseudonym
for Scott Gronmark. I have no idea who that is, but as Nick Sharman he really
delivers the goods. This was Sharman's fourth book of this sort, so he knew his
way around the cold cuts pretty good by this point. His first novel, The Cats, was
basically a re-working of Herbert's The Rats--one of many, many re-workings, I
might add--but that is not meant in any negative connotation, for Herbert's novel
and its subsequent sequels helped lay the groundwork for this sort of horror.
Then guys like Sharman came along, seized the blueprint, and proceeded to
throw it right off the cliff with as much blood and gore and graphic violence as
possible.
Childmare is no exception.
Basically, a food additive turns the good little boys and girls of an inner city
London school called Martin Balliol into bloodthirsty monsters who rape, torture,
and murder first their teachers and headmaster and then head out into the world
to spread the cheer. And they do spread it. A much put-upon, picked-upon
Jewish kid straightens out his bullying father:
"Samuel brought the bat down in a vicious loop...it sounded like a melon being
smashed to pulp. Samuel watched dispassionately as brain matter spewed out
of his father's skull."
An innocent woman crosses their path:
"Her clothes were slashed, as if torn by a beast's claws. They hung in shreds
from her frail body. The insides of her thighs were smeared with blood, which
ran in streams along the bevelled wooden floor... Her headscarf was around her
neck, knotted over her windpipe, digging deep into her flesh. Her skin had
turned blue. Her tongue lay out the side of the mouth like a bloated red slug
slithering out between her lips..."
Nasty little bastards to be sure. But, being kids, they still like to play as all
children do:
"A group of children was charging down the corridor...a circular object they were
kicking ahead of them attracted Donnelly's attention. A severed human head."
It all starts at Martin Balliol School, but soon spreads across greater London and
England itself. But all is not lost. The head of security at Martin Balliol, Max
Donnelly, a tough American Vietnam vet, has been very aware of the escalating
violence and the dead look in the childrens' eyes long before the infection reaches
cataclysmic proportions. Along with Inspector Tarrant of Scotland Yard's Murder
Squad, and Tracy, Donnelly's hottie teacher girlfriend, they are the first to sound
the alarm. But will it be too late? A spike is rammed through a man's eye into his
brain...an actor is crushed beneath the wheels of his own car...a man is burned
alive...gangs of teenage zombies assault police units...hordes of children
rampage through London like driver ants killing everything in their path, slashing
and gutting and dismembering all in their path. In the end, the Army is called in, of
course, and are brutally slaughtered...but then comes the final, pitched,
apocalyptic battle.
Who survives? I don't want to give anything away, but being that the BBC was
broadcasting this morning, I think you can guess.
Pros: Just about everything. The writing is quick and effective. The characters
well-drawn. Donnelly is presented sympathetically as is his girlfriend, Tracy.
Inspector Tarrant is great fun--overweight, sloppy, dishevelled, chain-smoking,
but sharp as a pin. You have to give Sharman credit for not turning Donnelly into
some crazy Vietnam vet and giving us a Scotland Yard detective of the Cracker
ilk who is not all spit-and-polish perfection. And the horror. It works. Plenty of
blood and guts and general nastiness. Cool plot, handled expertly.
Cons: I like this book and I found very few. Yes, the plot is pretty predictable in
that it follows the general direction of most of these books, but if you're put off by
that, then you've wandered into the wrong room here, my friend.
Overall: Recommended. At 205 pages, a fast, suspenseful read with good
characters and plenty of random violence and gore. Good plot. Good characters.
No subtlety. Curl up and read this some October afternoon as the leaves blow up
the streets and the tree branches creak in the wind. 100 % fun and nary an
intellectual dogma to tire the brain.
Four bloody skulls out of five.
For next month's Guilty Pleasure we return to creepy-crawly horror:
"A swarming plague of death."
for Scott Gronmark. I have no idea who that is, but as Nick Sharman he really
delivers the goods. This was Sharman's fourth book of this sort, so he knew his
way around the cold cuts pretty good by this point. His first novel, The Cats, was
basically a re-working of Herbert's The Rats--one of many, many re-workings, I
might add--but that is not meant in any negative connotation, for Herbert's novel
and its subsequent sequels helped lay the groundwork for this sort of horror.
Then guys like Sharman came along, seized the blueprint, and proceeded to
throw it right off the cliff with as much blood and gore and graphic violence as
possible.
Childmare is no exception.
Basically, a food additive turns the good little boys and girls of an inner city
London school called Martin Balliol into bloodthirsty monsters who rape, torture,
and murder first their teachers and headmaster and then head out into the world
to spread the cheer. And they do spread it. A much put-upon, picked-upon
Jewish kid straightens out his bullying father:
"Samuel brought the bat down in a vicious loop...it sounded like a melon being
smashed to pulp. Samuel watched dispassionately as brain matter spewed out
of his father's skull."
An innocent woman crosses their path:
"Her clothes were slashed, as if torn by a beast's claws. They hung in shreds
from her frail body. The insides of her thighs were smeared with blood, which
ran in streams along the bevelled wooden floor... Her headscarf was around her
neck, knotted over her windpipe, digging deep into her flesh. Her skin had
turned blue. Her tongue lay out the side of the mouth like a bloated red slug
slithering out between her lips..."
Nasty little bastards to be sure. But, being kids, they still like to play as all
children do:
"A group of children was charging down the corridor...a circular object they were
kicking ahead of them attracted Donnelly's attention. A severed human head."
It all starts at Martin Balliol School, but soon spreads across greater London and
England itself. But all is not lost. The head of security at Martin Balliol, Max
Donnelly, a tough American Vietnam vet, has been very aware of the escalating
violence and the dead look in the childrens' eyes long before the infection reaches
cataclysmic proportions. Along with Inspector Tarrant of Scotland Yard's Murder
Squad, and Tracy, Donnelly's hottie teacher girlfriend, they are the first to sound
the alarm. But will it be too late? A spike is rammed through a man's eye into his
brain...an actor is crushed beneath the wheels of his own car...a man is burned
alive...gangs of teenage zombies assault police units...hordes of children
rampage through London like driver ants killing everything in their path, slashing
and gutting and dismembering all in their path. In the end, the Army is called in, of
course, and are brutally slaughtered...but then comes the final, pitched,
apocalyptic battle.
Who survives? I don't want to give anything away, but being that the BBC was
broadcasting this morning, I think you can guess.
Pros: Just about everything. The writing is quick and effective. The characters
well-drawn. Donnelly is presented sympathetically as is his girlfriend, Tracy.
Inspector Tarrant is great fun--overweight, sloppy, dishevelled, chain-smoking,
but sharp as a pin. You have to give Sharman credit for not turning Donnelly into
some crazy Vietnam vet and giving us a Scotland Yard detective of the Cracker
ilk who is not all spit-and-polish perfection. And the horror. It works. Plenty of
blood and guts and general nastiness. Cool plot, handled expertly.
Cons: I like this book and I found very few. Yes, the plot is pretty predictable in
that it follows the general direction of most of these books, but if you're put off by
that, then you've wandered into the wrong room here, my friend.
Overall: Recommended. At 205 pages, a fast, suspenseful read with good
characters and plenty of random violence and gore. Good plot. Good characters.
No subtlety. Curl up and read this some October afternoon as the leaves blow up
the streets and the tree branches creak in the wind. 100 % fun and nary an
intellectual dogma to tire the brain.
Four bloody skulls out of five.
For next month's Guilty Pleasure we return to creepy-crawly horror:
"A swarming plague of death."
| Copyright 2010 by Tim Curran |