Survivors of the Hive, Jason Heroux

26Mar24

The opening story in Survivors of the Hive by Jason Heroux (Radiant Press) has a newly minted private investigator interested in the idea “silence is on the verge of extinction,” in a story that pauses to note some of the banal details we use to keep silence at bay: “I looked at the screen. My tea had grown cold, and the movie was over. It was now the news.” Heroux prefers an irreverent, immensely readable approach in his writing but also plays with profound ideas, setting the stage for an impressive set of four stories.

A second story in the collection (“The No Problem”) explores a town people are compelled to say no against their will in various situations, and a series of experts are called in. There’s a flurry of interesting ideas at play here as various suggestions are put forward: “Make no mistake, this is a test, and what we do next could shape the evolution of civilization.” The story follows one particular expert eventually thanked for her time and sent packing – with an incomplete picture of the event – by an investigating agency. Heroux doesn’t overdo it, but includes the occasional poetic touch: “A loose eyelash lay on his cheek, like a comma without words.”

Next, the surrealism is kicked up a notch (or two) with a truly bizarre exterminator making a house call and triggering a somewhat vulnerable man in various ways, including helping to refresh memories of childhood. At one point the exterminator acts like a centipede in an effort to understand them: “I lay on my stomach, stretched out, started wiggling forward licking the walls. I found a little pile of poisoned powder and gobbled it up. After eating the poisoned powder, I stopped acting like a centipede. I vomited on the floor.”

The fourth (and longest) story really embraces the surrealism as a young man is pressured into judging a poetry contest, and finding he isn’t succeeding at it, asks his brother to take over. This story struggles a little under the weight of a number of ideas that are less developed, including tragic loss, brotherhood, time, corrupt contests, and talking objects. It’s repeatedly stated you aren’t an artist unless you’re incomprehensible, but I assume Heroux doesn’t believe this and is maybe poking fun at anyone with an intense distaste for the arts or those who use the arts as window-dressing for their lives, making (as Clive James said) “the pursuit of ambition look civilized.” But some of these ideas do link up in a satisfying way, and here too there are startlingly good moments in the writing: “He removed a comb from his pocket like a baton. He conducted the symphony of his hair.”

I think only the third story really troubles to confirm a sense of hope, but regardless it’s a collection I recommend as a set of inventive, refreshingly different stories that also take the time to kick around ideas. I don’t know if Heroux is a fan of Ray Bradbury, The Twilight Zone or entirely different influences, but if I ever get the chance to have a pint of beer with him I’d be interested to find out.

Filed under: Book reviews   |  Leave a Comment