David Crawford's Lights Out is
one of a constellation of underground post-apocalyptic novels written by
American authors in recent years, catering to the prepper / survivalist
subculture, which is primarily libertarian in nature, in line with the American tradition of individual freedom, of which the right to bear arms is an auxiliary belief.
Written
between 2003 and 2006, Crawford's novel began life much like those by
Dickens, only serialised in a blog as opposed to a periodical. It is
claimed that once it was made available as a PDF, the file was
downloaded millions of times. It was finally published as a print book
in 2010.
Lights Out
falls into the subset of apocalyptic fiction that explores the EMP
scenario: an event takes place that knocks out all electronics
throughout the United States, causing society quickly to fall apart.
Like Fortschen's One Second After, which I reviewed
in 2013, this novel focuses on what a man, his family, and his
community do in order to survive. In many ways, the two novels are very
similar, but Crawford has more faith in the community and none
whatsoever in the Federal government. Crawford's novel is also vastly
longer, spanning 600 pages in tightly packed print in trade paperback
format, and focuses on the detail of ensuring the health and survival of
a community, based in Silver Hills, a subdivision outside of San
Antonio, Texas, rather than a grim transformation from pampered
consummers to born-again American pioneers. Unlike Fortschen's novel,
there are plenty of guns and shoot-outs along the way.
Crawford is certainly
not a literary writer. His prose is functional and his narration
fastidiously prolix, although he can turn a ringing phrase every now and
then. All the same, for some reason he manages to keep the reader
ensnared the story, to the point that, hundreds of thousands of words
later, one is sorry to be reaching the end of the novel. He also
succeeds in planting events that have significance later on. There is
plenty of tension, which builds as the story converges towards its
climactic confrontation. And, though his characters are very
stereotyped, they are sufficiently human for this not to become a
nuisance. In fact, Crawford displays psychological insight, at least
when it comes to the way men deal with men.
The story begins with
the event itself. Mark Turner, the main character and an accountant, is at the office, working on his computer, when the lights go out. The dialogue is a
little forced, clumsy, and unnatural at first, but Crawford does a good
job at taking us through the unfolding scenario from that single point
of origin, expanding the story in ever-widening circles, adding more and
more characters, as the event's implications come into play. Throughout, the reader is left as much in the dark as the characters are: without
electronics, it becomes difficult to obtain information, and the
latter's sources are subjective, limited, and unreliable. The characters
are all groping in the dark at first, initially thinking the power will
be restored quickly, and then gradually realising—in the midst of
chronic uncertainty—to what extent things have changed and, more
importantly, to what extent they will have to change.
One amusing element in
the story is the perception of the central government authorities as
clueless, useless, and lying. Initially, the President goes on air via
the emergency broadcasts, which Turner can pick up via a wind-up radio
(why the electronics of that device survived the EMP is not explained),
and declares that the power will be restored 'in two or three days'. As
time passes, this timeframe is pushed further and further back, until
all timeframes are abandoned, replaced instead by ever more stringent
security measures. Martial law is declared, movement is restricted, and
so on. As the days go by, Turner comes to realise that the government is
simply attempting to keep people calm with deception to buy itself time
while officials figure out what to do. Any faith he may have had in the
government's ability to restore power is lost fairly quickly—the
presidential broadcasts soon become 'more of the same', until they are
forgotten altogether, obviously irrelevant.
The truth is that
replacing the damaged electronics would take years, even with people
working flat out, and their ability to do so would be hampered by the
fact that, without power, no replacement electronics can be made. At
best, any return to the electronic age would be in small pockets and
over a period of years. The implication at the end of the novel is that
recovery takes a generation.
Crawford exhibits
commendable restraint by abstaining from the sort of speechifying that
afflicts fiction in this particular subgenre. Indeed, we don't ever find
out whether the EMP was caused by, for example, a solar flare or human
agency. In the end, as the social order begins to crumble, the cause
becomes unimportant: it cannot be undone; what matters is adapting to
the new reality. And the message—obvious—is that one would have to be
pro-active, self-reliant, and community-oriented, or else you will lose
your property, your freedom, and your life.
The descent into anarchy is not instantaneous, as happens in Alex Scarrow's Last Light, a novel about the sudden end of oil. In Lights Out
it takes over a period weeks. Initially, people are still able to shop
at their local supermarket, but, with transportation very limited—only
pre-1980s vehicles work—it becomes ever more difficult for the haulage
industry to refuel and resupply, so supermarkets end up imposing
restrictions per head, leading to growing queues, theft, and robbery.
Once the food and the water runs out, cities become increasingly
dangerous, sites of looting, gang blight, and gun law. Of course, the
army, the National Guard, and FEMA are deployed, but they cannot manage
to maintain order.
In fact, they cannot
even manage to protect private property: the government urges people to
abandon their homes and report to FEMA-run refugee centres, give up
their guns, and remain there until further notice. These are all capital
offences from the traditional American point of view; private property,
individual freedom, and the right to bear arms are sacred cornerstones
of the American identity.
It goes without saying
that for Turner this would have never been an option, even if, having
rejected an offer to join his employer's compound early on, he
hadn't already organised his neighbours into arming themselves,
stocking up, and fortifying Silver Hills. The latter undergoes radical
change during the course of the book, in response to evolving
conditions, going from suburban development to self-sufficient,
fortified village. At first a couple of lone guards are posted at the
entrance; by the end there are watch towers, ditches, armed patrols,
observation points, and even army-style training for the security
details. Everyone has to share and pitch in, irrespective of gender or
age, for, in the new reality, no man, woman, or child can afford to be
an island.
The inevitable tension
between communitarianism and individual liberty is resolved in a very
American way: residents of Silver Hills are free to do as they like,
but, if wish to survive, it becomes clearly in their rational interest
to sacrifice their individual wants and desires on behalf of the
community. The choice is there in theory, but has already been made in
practice. Needless to say that there are plenty of hard choices to be
made, not to mention loss of life—the American conservative mind loves
sobering realities: once the country descends into chaos, the cities
become ruins, and city-dwellers begin traversing the countryside, as
beggars, robbers, or scavengers, the old rules no longer apply. You own
only what you can defend by force, at the point of a gun.
Despite its apocalyptic nature and the constant sense of external threat, Lights Out
is neither a despairing lament nor a cynical remonstrance. Rather, it
is an exaltation of the 'can-do', 'hands-on' attitude. The characters
are not righteous superheroes with extraordinary skills and never-ending
good luck; they are ordinary individuals who are thrown into an
extraordinary situation and must muddle their way through, making
mistakes and taking loses. Indeed, Turner, though displaying courage on
more than one occasion, is one who reacts to danger, rather than one
who seeks it or revels in it; fortunately, he reacts well and thus
becomes an accidental or reluctant hero. Similarly, though respected by
his wife and children, and enjoying authority among them and his
community, it is his wife who usually gets her way in domestic matters,
running circles around her husband. He also has difficulty with one of
his neighbours, who is strong on feminist values. Turner is a modest,
unpretentious fellow with a lot on his mind, who simply desires the
safety of his family.
One has to wonder,
however, whether Crawford is overly optimistic in the way he unfolds his
scenario. I tend to think that in such circumstances social order would
break down a lot faster and that people would be more selfish and
short-sighted, finally coming round late and only when they have their
backs to the wall. Certainly, the folk of Silver Hills all—save for
one—seem unusually decent, friendly, unselfish, and cooperative. It is in their rational interest to be so, the author may argue, but people are so often irrational.
Then again, I suspect
Crawford's aim is to show what you could do if faced with a range of
possible situations arising from an EMP.
