The Girl’s Guide to the Apocalypse is Daphne Lamb’s debut
novel. It sets out to explore the human response to the end of the world –
whilst also bringing the funny.
The author gives us an interesting protagonist in Verdell, a
young woman who spends her days doing data entry. She works at what she regards
as a dead end job, in a company which appears to make products with no real
use, with co-workers whose interpersonal interactions are…questionable at best.
She has a boyfriend she’s not sure she wants to deal with, and operates a
policy of using weapons-grade sarcasm in most conversations. The opening
section of the text brings us into Verdell’s frustrating, baffling world, with
its pettiness and aggravations, and makes it familiar.
And then, of course, the titular apocalypse happens. Quite what
it is was never made clear. There’s mention of a virus. Then mutants. Then
mushroom clouds. I must admit, the sheer vagueness of the end of civilisation
did get a chuckle out of me. And our protagonist finds herself in a world she’s
entirely unsuited to survive in – a sarcastic but hardly survival-trained
slacker, surrounded by idiots.
In that respect, Lamb absolutely nails the world. She shows
us the world before, and it’s dead on, a fluorescent hellscape recognisable to
anyone who ever sat at a desk. And the world after the disaster is a greatest
hits of apocalypse fiction. There’s cannibal cults. Military quarantine camps.
People living out of shattered shopfronts. It’s entirely possible to believe in
this broken world, or at least to accept the images that Lamb evokes with some
sterling prose. At the same time, it’s trying very hard to be funny. Sometimes
this works. There’s a set of jokes about what different coloured armbands
issued to evacuees represent at the start of the book, for example, which has
me chuckling thinking about it now. Later, there’s a board put up in a
quarantine camp where people can leave messages – not in an effort to contact
loved ones, but as a simulacrum of Twitter.
There’s also places where the jokes fall flat. Some of this
is the fault of the characters. I enjoyed Verdell’s baffled irony, and cynical
dislike of everyone around her, but it didn’t manage to compensate for the
supporting cast all suffering from slapstick levels of stupidity. In
moderation, this actually works quite well as a comic device – and again, some
of the interactions hit the funnybone perfectly. But there were an equal amount
where Verdell’s rage at the oblivious idiocy or insanity of everyone around her
didn’t manage to ring true.
The plot is largely centred around Verdell’s struggle to
survive. The book is divided into episodic chapters, each given a title
relevant to the titular “Girl’s Guide…”, with a section of Verdell’s story serving
as an example. And the narrative flow works within the chapters, though there
are a few stuttering moments – but these are more visible in the start and
close of chapters. Still, Verdell’s journey around her battered city is quite
an entertaining one at the core. That’s the thing about this book – there’s a
good story lurking under everything. There’s flashes of a wry, clever humour
that it would have been lovely to see more of – sparks of humour which hit their
mark. It was great to see this, it’s a shame that much of the humour felt a
little flat.
That said, there’s a lot to like about the book. It’s
quirky. It gives us a not-often-seen point of view onto a world that’s ended.
If the narrative can feel fragmentary, and some of the humour doesn’t quite
work, that can be balanced by the times when it does, and you’re left chuckling
over the sheer absurdity of it all. It’s not perfect, but the Guide is an interesting
read, and I’m looking forward to seeing what Lamb has in store for us in the
future.
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