This is not as good as ‘Outpost’ or ‘Juggernaut’; it is boring and populated by abominable people. This is all for nothing and centres on nihilistic jerks who’d doom humanity by their own spite. The fascinating back-story of the virus is barely touched on. This was a real disappointment.
“The disease won. Game over. It owns the planet.”
“Sitting in the dark. For ever.”
“I think Galloway has been building himself some kind of nest.”
“It’s growing. It’s getting stronger. This empty radioactive world suits it just fine.”
“It’s from somewhere cold and dark. It’s travelled a long way. Unimaginable distances. It slept, thousands, millions of years. It dreamed. And now it’s awake.”
“You don’t believe in God. And he sure doesn’t believe in a loser like you.”
“It doesn’t have thoughts. It doesn’t make plans. You can’t talk to it any more than you can interview syphilis.”
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s a valuable asset. But he is also radioactive waste.”
This 2004 novel from the author of ‘In The Company of the Courtesan’ and ‘Sacred Hearts’ isn’t as good as those books. In fact, it is rather dull. Alessandra falls for a painter, there is lust, disease, the Bonfire of the Vanities and a revelation about who the painter is. This was just boring.
“When you see a grown man in good health who is not married, take it as an evil sign.”
“If the Sumptuary Police had chosen to pay a visit to the nursery now they would have had the baby out of most of its clothes and much of the furniture on the streets. Fortunately we had not come to that. Yet.”