Lea Tassie, Green Blood Rising. Smashwords, 2012. Pp. 239. ISBN 978-0-9864709-5-0 (e-book)/978-0-9864709-4-3 (print). $2.99/$16.00.
Reviewed by Kate Onyett
In a tale of ecological threat, for the protagonists of
Green Blood Rising, the world ends not with a bang of explosive force, but the soft, quiet sound of trees, growing fast and far beyond their natural rate.
This book merrily follows in the tradition of more ‘intimate’ emergencies, following a select group of people through a major upheaval; a trend begun with the founding fathers of ‘sci fi’ in the 1890s. The themes may relate to far wider concerns, but the action centres on just a few individuals, and there is much explication—the science in the fiction as important as the drama of the events. There is a considerable amount of explication in this book, rather than being simply an emotional roller-coaster ride. It harks back to a subtler style of slowly increasing menace and creeping unease. For the danger comes not from the ‘threat’ (vegetative overgrowth disrupting human society), but the reactive panic and violence that the fall of society triggers. The real threat is human in origin, and remains so. It also belongs to the sub-genre of ‘nature has turned.’ Whereas a lot of doom-laden apocalyptic scenarios rely on bombs, wars (again, the human threat), these present a blasted world on which humans scrabble to survive. This time it is the solid overgrowth of trees that brings society to its knees in a world rendered a great deal more green and pleasant than before. And one cannot escape Tassie’s implicit commentary on the fragility of modern life, divorced as it is from the natural world and its resources. With transport down and food lines disrupted, life on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, as well as odd reports from further afield, inserted in as the characters learn them, show that the world—human society, that is—is going to hell in a hand-basket.