Demon Theory Book Review

Much has been made (by the publishers and various reviewers) of the unconventional nature of Stephen Graham Jones’ Demon Theory.  It’s been classified as part of the new and exciting genre of “intelligent horror”.   That’s too bad, because I think a lot of “stupid horror” fans may miss out on a great ride here.  Don’t be fooled, this story is every bit as enjoyably creepy and gory as any of the horror films Jones mentions in his copious footnotes (more about those in a moment).  In fact, the story itself is in many respects faster paced and more cleanly executed than many a Stephen King or Dean Koontz product.  That’s due, in part, to the much commented upon format Jones chose to use.  Demon Theory is ostensibly written as a film treatment (a rather loosely defined term for a prose rendition of a story intended to be turned into a screenplay).   But aside from a few camera terms and references to film editing segues (all of which are explained in those footnotes I’ll be addressing soon), Demon Theory reads like good clean story telling.  And it packs a lot of story into one book.

What you get with Demon Theory is, essentially, a horror film trilogy.  All of it centers around Hale and a group of his med-school classmates (some clearly friends, others less friendly to varying degrees).  Each of the “films” plays out against the backdrop of a Halloween night in which Hale is forced to confront a tangled family secret layered beneath a childhood tragedy he’s loathe to reexamine–the disappearance of his crippled ten year old sister and the subsequent loss of their father who abandoned the family shortly thereafter.  Apparently, a fourteen-year-old Hale was quoted in the local newspaper as having claimed that his little sister had been snatched by a winged demon.  Of course, the true nature of the monsters at the heart of this trilogy is only revealed over the course of many twists and violent deaths and of course the final chapter yanks the rug out from under any previous theories.  There is a slippery quality to the stories that echos films like The Usual Suspects and Identity without being overtly derivative.  Just be prepared for some sharp turns.  They’re all leading to fairly rewarding destinations.  And for those of you who want some reassurance on the gore factor, fear not–the dead walk, there’s a blood-soaked hospital Christmas pageant in which at least one “angel” catches fire, strange viscous fluids abound, a few characters are eaten alive, and various tools–from gardening to surgical–are used in distinctly inappropriate fashions.

Now, for those footnotes.  The other half of what makes Demon Theory an unconventional horror novel is the mind-boggling number of footnotes used to explain and further dissect the pop-culture context into which no horror novel or film can avoid being born in our post-twentieth century (or possibly just post-Scream) uber-self-aware existence.  Initially, the footnotes do explain some screenplay jargon elements.  Shortly thereafter they evolve into an end unto themselves.  I’m not saying that they are unenjoyable, and many a horror fan will likely find some nostalgic warmth in the comprehensive annotation of source material amounting to a broad history of horror, but they are numerous in the extreme.  We’re talking about footnotes within footnotes here.  Many of them contain interesting factoids–though Jones has admitted in at least one interview to having made up one or two of them out of whole cloth–but none of them really advance the story (or stories).  Often they slow down the pace and remove you abruptly from the suspension of disbelief that blossoms so readily within the bare bones of the actual story they’re annotating.  It would almost be advisable to read the book twice in succession.  First without and then with the footnotes.

I sincerely hope that quasi footnote abuse, an unusual (film-centric) format, and the rumor of “intelligent horror” won’t deter any horror fans from reading Demon Theory.  At it’s heart it’s a glorious homage to every movie monster ever created–and a gory good time to boot.  Stephen Graham Jones is clearly an adoring disciple of the genre from the lowliest low budget slasher to the highest high-concept bogey man.  In many ways, reading Demon Theory is a lot like watching a cool new horror movie on DVD with a really smart horror-fan friend who likes to hit pause every few scenes to trade related trivia.