AIN'T NOBODY HERE BUT US CHICKENS

After an apocalypse, the last surviving people—and one aging, flatulent pooch—embark on a journey to save humankind’s future in this dystopian novel.

Humanity faced catastrophe when aliens called the Kenmoreans invaded Earth in search of tungsten, leaving behind nothing but scorched earth. Sure, the aliens may have been eventually defeated by a virus, but now the few human survivors have little to celebrate. Among them are American President Morton Buchanan, slowly losing his mind in the ruins of the White House, and reclusive SF writer Ira Hunter, who lives on Gall Island, off the coast of Maine, and whose only company is his older dog, Eve. (“One huge benefit of living a solitary life on a deserted island was the unintentional preparation for any impending apocalypse…the arrival of a hostile alien population, the outbreak of a calamitous war, and the ruination resulting from a rampant alien virus…well, these things have little-to-no impact on a recluse’s life.”) Then Zen Buddhist nun Sarah Pretlusky unexpectedly knocks on Ira’s door to say—to his dismay and utter surprise—that she has not only read all of his books, but has found the answer to humankind’s survival in them as well. Her startling statements feel even more real when CIA agents show up on a ship that carries Buchanan and an alien who purports to be 3 million years old, spouting a deranged plan to save (or possibly destroy) Earth for future generations. What’s an SF author to do but join the eclectic group? As the ragtag band of disparate heroes goes on a voyage that will determine humanity’s destiny, Ira realizes that his words have more potency than he ever knew.

This novel is ostensibly written by mysterious SF writer Sumac, who supposedly disappeared in the 1980s, leaving behind nothing but disorganized, handwritten manuscripts that are slowly being put together by his fans in the Sam Sumac Association. The group also presents readers with the author’s playlist of mostly blues songs for this story. The result here is an over-the-top, funny narrative full of zingers. The tale offers a hodgepodge of characters and threads that include Buddhist sayings, courageous seabirds and dogs, lots of tantric sex, a glacier in Iceland, Mary Shelley, and a couple of effective love stories. The book examines the power of storytelling in an oddball way that somehow works in the end. In addition, the cast is intriguing and often amusing. During Sarah’s first meeting with Ira, she asserts: “Now Mr. Hunter, if you think I’m going to be acting like the Shaolin monk Kwai Chang Caine from the television show, Kung Fu, you’re in for some disappointments. Nope, I am still a living, breathing woman, not some kind of a superhero. And, right now, I’m as cold as shit. Can I please come in?” This slightly nonsensical but fun romp is as wacky as Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, as ineffable as Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s Good Omens, and as American-centric as the film Independence Day.  

A delectably zany SF tale.