🟩 In the Hills, the Cities (1984) Review - Human Kaiju Battle Royale | Book Waffle

In the Hills, the Cities (1984) written by Clive Barker

"Want to fuck?"

What an amazing line.

I first read this story in 2018. At the time, I remember thinking it was just OK. And yet, something about this short story continues to eat away at me nearly a decade on. There's something distinct here. Something so strange. So disturbing. So disgusting. I can't put my finger on it.

In the Hills, the Cities follows Mick and Judd, two gay English boy toys traveling around the Yugoslav countryside. As they wind through dirt roads, past farms and cottages, they come across a startling discovery. A battlefield. Not of armies, but of colossuses. Two giants made of thousands of humans. Men, women, and children strapped and harnessed together in a feat of grotesque engineering.

Stephen King famously categorizes horror into three buckets. 

Terror. The psychological.

Horror. The shocking.

Gross-out. The repulsive.

On the surface, In the Hills, the Cities falls distinctly into that last category. That's hardly surprising. But there's more depth to it than that. In the Hills, the Cities leverages the bizarre nature of its premise to dip into the other, more visceral types of scares.

It's terrifying that this big mass of stinky, naked, fleshy bodies creates a hyper-intelligence. It's frightening that people on the lower extremities are disfigured and dead after being crushed under the weight of the people above them. Is that body horror? Maybe. I would more accurately describe it as dehumanization. A stripping of personhood. The submission of people's lives quite literally under the feet of this towering, disoriented beast.

This art by illustrator John Bolton kicks ass, btw

Indeed, the story refers to them as such. The individual people are not persons. They are "cells". Small, insignificant things that slough off when dead.

If you'll indulge the video game nerd in me, it reminds me of an audio log from System Shock 2:

"There is a joy in working towards a collective goal, in being able to put aside the things that draw us apart and make us separate. Why do we fear the loss of our individuality so much?"

Now let's bring out our inner optometrist because there are some fascinating lenses to view this story through.

Perhaps the most prominent is the commentary on post-Tito Yugoslavia. The last gasps of a lumbering, outdated, old-fashioned ideology that has left countless bodies in its wake.

This becomes most interesting when we consider the interpersonal conflict between Mick and Judd. Mick is a queen. A dance instructor, because, of course. Judd is a reporter and political pundit. So we've got artsy idealism vs rugged materialism. Clive Barker appears to tell us that these clashing personalities make for great sex but not the most healthy relationship.

Regarding Judd's constant waffling, Mick laments:

"Especially politics; that was the best trough to wallow in. You could get your snout, eyes, head and front hooves in that mess of muck and have a fine old time splashing around. It was an inexhaustible subject to devour, a swill with a little of everything in it, because everything, according to Judd, was political. The arts were political. Sex was political. Religion, commerce, gardening, eating, drinking and farting — all political. 

Jesus, it was mind-blowingly boring; killingly, love -deadeningly boring."

That's a rather damning indictment of "The personal is political" mantra that has dominated Western political thought since the 60s. Judd is a fighter. He craves the argument, and thus makes everything political. Mick is a lover. He asserts that making everything into a fight robs the joy from life. Better to experience.

And yet, there too exists a nugget of conflicting views. Mick appreciates old masterpieces and art. Traditions of beauty. The colossus is that made manifest. A living masterpiece honed over generations. Something to awe at. Perhaps, even, to worship. In contrast, Judd cannot understand it. It breaks his stubbornly modern and material brain. A war of tradition vs modernity. Old, simple pleasures vs new, analytical thinking.

And so we finish our trek through gay media on a high note. Revisiting this short story has given me a new appreciation of Clive Barker's abilities. Prose rarely makes me squirm and recoil, but this one hits the sweet spot. The language and flow are not my favorite, so it won't get full marks from me. Even so, it is still a fascinating read that deserves your attention. A real short story gem.

🟩 Rating: 9/10