The Abyss by Jere Cunningham
We keep digging our own grave
The central conceit of The Abyss is so wonderful that it’s amazing it hasn’t been done more…
An Appalachian coal mine digs so deep into the Earth that it descends right down to Hell itself — and all the evil creatures that make their home there escape into the real world.
What makes The Abyss so striking, though, is that the horror elements — while present throughout — lurk mostly in the background… at least until the apocalyptic final act.
Instead, the book reads like the literary equivalent of a gritty 70s movie focused on the blue-collar working class; tonally similar to Mean Streets, The Deer Hunter, and Midnight Cowboy in terms of bleak rawness, unflinching realism, and unrushed pacing.
The Abyss is, appropriately, a grim read. The book’s setting, Bethel, Tennessee, is an archetypal company town. The only prospect for those living there is a life of hard labor in the mine. Even those who escape this fate (such as protagonist Seth) inevitably wind up returning home with their tail between their legs.
Seth’s brother died in a mine collapse not so long ago. His girlfriend, town nurse Crystal, is accustomed to treating blank lung and other ailments common among those who work long hours deep underground.
Everyone here is at the very base of the American working class, and many among the cast of characters indulge in the classic conservative contractions: they drink hard, they fuck around, they go to church to repent it all, then they do it all over again.
When the mine reopens, it promises that things are going to get better for this shitty little forgotten town. Suddenly, miners can afford to drink heavy each night — and premium spirits, too! They can afford to buy shiny new trucks! And their wives can afford to buy groceries without worry, which only permits the extension of their husbands’ leashes, allowing for evermore debauchery!
Meanwhile, devils and demons lurk in the shadows… Hell hounds and sharp thorns abound… Even a plague of toxic blood running out of taps all over town isn’t enough to dispel the widespread if blinkered enthusiasm for the mine.
It’s almost like the entire town is suffering from sort of mass hypnosis. They must keep digging. Dig deeper. Ignore the increasing horrors all around them. Keep digging. Keep digging. Drill, baby, drill.
This willful ignorance is chilling, yet it ensures the novel feels starkly grounded and real. After all, who among us could protest the clear and obvious rise of unequivocal evil if it means the cost of eggs is affordable?
As Grady Hendrix writes in his introduction of Valancourt Book’s Paperbacks From Hell reprint: “It’s money, not evil, that makes what’s happening inevitable.”
The Abyss is a harsh analogy of capitalism running roughshod over all else — the metaphor easily encompassing issues such as morality and environmental issues among others… It is an incredibly important book that transcends the paperback horror niche.