The Ruins and the Problem of Smartphones

I recently finished Scott Smith’s 2006 novel The Ruins. Certainly one of the best horror novels of this century, it sold its pulp story with a straight face, the characterization and atmosphere was done so well that I was completely immersed in the story. It’s a cliché to say that you can’t put a book down…but I couldn’t put The Ruins down.

Though only 11 years old, The Ruins couldn’t be written today. Or perhaps it could be, but it wouldn’t work as successfully. And that’s because of one small detail, one that you might easily miss when reading. It’s something that I call the cell phone (or smartphone) problem.

The plot of The Ruins essentially boils down to six tourists trapped at an archeological dig, held there by Mayan natives. The reasons the Mayans are doing so involves the supernatural element of the plot, which would sound laughably absurd if I described it—just read the book. The tourists are hoping for rescue and trying to stay alive until it comes, though they have only the slimmest of threads to hold onto. Only intending to be gone a day, they have a few supplies—and no cell phones.

Early in the novel it’s mentioned that they don’t have their cell phones with them on this vacation because of concerns about the phones getting stolen as well as the high cost and spotty reception. In 2006 this was absolutely true; smart phones were not quite yet the center of everyone’s universe (though they were getting there) and it was generally advised to leave them behind or pick up a cheap SIM card when you travelled internationally. In short, it is quite easy to believe that these tourists (American, Greek and German) could find themselves out in the Mexican jungle with no cell phones. In 2006.

But in 2017 I don’t think this would hold water. We are much likelier to travel with our phones these days, and reception is much better and constantly improving. You could still make a reasonable argument that if you were out in the jungle you couldn’t get jack for reception, but I think even having the smartphone present would represent a connection to the “real” world and work against the feeling of isolation that is essential for a story like this to work. A skillful author might be able to use the presence of a smartphone as an initial beacon of hope whose non-functionality eventually crushes the spirits of the trapped tourists, but it would be difficult to pull off.

The Ruins works so well because the characters are very real, very normal people. Normal people in an extraordinary (horrifying) situation. In the current renaissance of weird fiction, such stories are falling out of favor, aiming instead for a deep level of surrealism and unease. It’s a matter of taste (I love both approaches) but grounding such tales in the “real” world is becoming increasingly rare. Even a novel that does so, such as John Langan’s excellent 2016 novel The Fisherman, may not spend the whole story ground in this everyday reality. Roughly half of The Fisherman consists of backstory taking place 100 years earlier, and several sections descend into a Lovecraftian otherworld. Though the story takes place in (more or less) present day, it doesn’t feel tied to the “real” world like The Ruins. It doesn’t need that link to succeed, whereas I’d argue it’s essential for the The Ruins.

Anyway, none of this negatively effects The Ruins. I just think it would be much more difficult to pull this story off even a decade later. And I’m having a hard time finding current horror novels ground in reality, so I get pretty excited when a book like The Ruins crosses my path.

Bring Back the Doritos

I scanned past all the headlines screaming about the latest stupid thing Cheeto has done until my eyes landed on the word Robert De Niro. He had a new movie coming out, perhaps? No, he (and I guess RFK, Jr.) was/is offering $100,000 bucks to anyone who can provide evidence vaccines are safe and useful.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Pardon the swearing, but I just—is there a disease going through America that is thoroughly sucking out the last dregs of common sense, critical thinking and empathy from everyone? In any sane world, De Niro would be out that cash in seconds, but in this world of alt facts where reality is what each individual decides it is in that particular moment, damn anything else like facts or evidence, I suppose he’ll never have to pay up. (De Niro strikes me as a welsher anyway. Would you trust a Goodfella to keep his words? Mafia codes are fiction. Excuse me, “alternative facts.”) Fuck you De Niro. I’d like my kids and my family to not have to get sick because your head is so far up your own ass it’ll never see daylight. I am So. Fucking. Tired. Of. Willful. Ignorance.

How on earth do you write horror stories in this mess? Reality is a Philip K. Dick novel without any of the fun. A Cheeto Darkly. I start to write and it feels either a) trivial—is escapism dangerous right now? or b) completely out of step—small stories about matters of the heart and connection don’t matter much when there’s a riot in the house. I haven’t stopped writing by any means, but something feels off right now. And yet—how’s this for a contradiction?—it feels more important than ever right now to create. I will not let Cheeto or any of his sycophants, cronies and puppetmasters take the act of creating away from me. It would be handing them a victory. I fight until the end.

How are you coping? I’m all over the place. Got this lovely family. I’ve spent a lot of hours in January and February playing video games, not a pastime I normally indulge in so extensively. I periodically binge watch air disaster specials. Seriously, I’m obsessed with how investigators recreate a crash and figure out what caused it. One of these things I can’t explain but I could, and do, watch them for hours. What else? Writing, if not enough. I read a history of ancient Rome, an excellent novel (Ready Player One) and now I’m re-reading A Scanner Darkly (I suspect I will be revisiting PKD more this year. Dude called this shit years ago.) I limit my social media and my news reading, making sure I keep informed but not drowning in the swamp, which would only render me ineffectual. I’m learning about where activism is for me and what it means. I listen to a lot of Mark Lanegan/Screaming Trees, Metallica and bedroom black metal (but let’s face it, that’s par for the course.) I’m going to get my bike working again and start cycling the Burke. Fresh air, wipe that Cheeto smell away. Cheetos always kinda sucked, Doritos are where it is at.

I had a thoughtful post swirling in my head about how those with no curiosity should never be in leadership roles. If you aren’t curious, you can’t learn, and if you can’t learn, you can’t lead. But I couldn’t bring it together because…I mean, what’s the point of even writing it? It won’t change anything. Won’t make the world better or help me sleep at night. It’s all in the work…the work and the coping. Stay strong and put all the love into the world you can. We all need it. We gotta bring the Doritos back to the shelves.