A casino owned and operated by the Amish? The Mormons operating a sort of underground railroad for couples wanting to have children? Religious organizations joining forces with far right wing paramilitary units? What's going on here? Why, nothing more than an America caught up in the throes of the apocalypse (four horsemen optional), that's what! I went into Gregory Blecha's "Love in the Time of the Apocalypse" expecting a love story set amidst the incandescent blooms of mushroom clouds. At the very least, I thought I'd see a couple snuggling as a killer virus wiped out most of the human race. Perhaps a bout of footsie as an asteroid races toward a rendezvous with our planet? How about a young girl staring at her beau with doe eyes as a horde of flesh eating zombies tear them and the rest of the human race to pieces? Nope, Blecha's book is none of these things. The apocalypse we see here is more down to earth and less chaotic than what we would think, yet still full of the sort of surrealism one would expect to see at the end of the world. It's an apocalypse as Luis Bunuel might imagine it.
We come into the novel with an introduction to Bryan, the protagonist of the story, as he and his girlfriend Char revel in the tawdry accommodations that only Las Vegas can provide. Then again, this isn't Sin City as your parents experienced it. The Amish do indeed run a casino, loaded with gambling devices that run without the aid of electricity, as well as a hotel with the best amenities the nineteenth century has to offer. Problem is, it's the twenty-first century. Oh well. The food is good, the beds are comfortable, and Bryan and his gal (along with a few friends) can always motorbike up the road to see the Hoover Dam in operation. Of course, tooling around the countryside is a dangerous proposition in this day and age. Members of the wealthy and spoiled bourgeoisie, such as Bryan and his companions, could easily fall into the clutches of bandits, ecoterrorists, religious fanatics, or the totalitarian grasp of the federal bureaucracy. Our hero knows for certain that criminal elements in society often kidnap members of his social class in order to collect hefty ransoms from rich families. It sort of goes with the territory. Nonetheless, off they go to see the wonders of the Hoover Dam only to discover that the structure has already been defaced by the ecoterrorists. Darn.
Shortly after returning from their trip, Bryan and Char argue and separate. The consequence of this action is the abduction of Bryan by a religious organization that joined up with the Aryan Nations. They've kidnapped Bryan because he possesses something they wish to acquire, but the leader of the church, a Colonel Bouchet, won't tell him what it is. No one will tell Bryan anything, actually, but it soon becomes clear that every fringe group in the decaying country wants this guy to themselves. After the federal government launches an assault on the Aryan Nations headquarters, our hero finds himself set free in San Francisco. It's here that he runs into an ecoterrorist group that, predictably, kidnaps him for their own purposes. Again, they won't tell him why. And so it goes as Bryan falls into the clutches of corporate executives, a group of kids taken straight out of a horror movie, and the federal government. His travels take him from one corner of the country to another, from coast to coast, as he tries to stay alive long enough to figure out why he's such a valuable commodity. The truth outs in the end, of course, but I won't spoil the wacky conclusion for you. It's certainly one long, strange trip from cover to cover.
The most intriguing aspect of this story is the picture Blecha paints of a fragmented America. He seems to think our country will break down into semi-autonomous sections comprised of religious groups and class elements. How else to account for the prominence of the Mormons, the Amish, the evangelical groups, and the various social classes seen in the book? Presiding over these fractured mini-nations is a federal government totally given over to bureaucracy. There are bureaucracies in charge of killing off entire towns to stop the spread of plagues, police forces that carry out very public assassinations and abductions, and agencies that monitor traffic on the Internet. Conspiracy theories to explain all this nonsense run rampant among the population. Ecoterrorists play a role too as they blow up monuments and other structures associated with American strength and identity. Hmmm, perhaps some of these things aren't too different from stuff going on today. In that respect, Blecha's book falls under the rubric of satire. The book owes a debt to Jonathan Swift's "Gulliver's Travels" in that Bryan takes a similar journey across a weird yet at times wonderful land that mirrors in no small way the problems most readers will recognize as relevant to their own time and place.
At first reading there seemed to be little love anywhere in the book, at least beyond the first chapter or so. But love does exist in Bryan's mind. It's his love for Char that gives him the strength to plod on through weirder and weirder lands and experiences. It's love that gives him the strength to resist myriad temptations in the form of numerous females encountered all across the country. Whether that love will be enough to cure a dying nation of its ills seems unlikely, if the conclusion is any indication, but it might on an individual level. And isn't that all any of us really have, apocalypse or not?