WARNING! INEVITABLE SPOILERS BELOW!

If you’re reading this review within a decade of the COVID 19 pandemic and nearly global lockdowns, you won’t be surprised to find speculative fiction related to the disease, especially fiction written before the relative threat of the virus was a known quantity (in the first few weeks, no one really knew how relatively harmless COVID would turn out to be). What might just surprise you though, is that good speculative fiction was written on the topic: specifically, fiction authored by one T. Alex Ratcliffe in his literary experiment, Hapless Homesteader: Vaxdemic.

Before diving into the review in full, a word ought be said about prefaces. They can be invaluable depending on the work to which they are attached. In the case of Vaxdemic, the inclusion of one served this story to the furthest ends. You see, Vaxdemic is truly within the realm of speculative fiction. Ratcliffe makes this clear: each chapter serves as a kind of answer to an unasked “What if?” Knowing this, certain allowances are made unconsciously by the reader that justify the exposition of the book as a whole. With that being said, once the story really gets rolling, these allowances are no longer necessary—but we’ll get into all that in a moment.

First, I’d like to get my criticisms out of the way. I have two: one concerns the prose; the other concerns the pacing of the first two chapters.

Vaxdemic is written in a very conversational voice. In the long run, this works to the novel’s benefit, as the narrator’s voice grows on the reader and actually enhances the believability that what the reader is reading is actually a journal. In the short term, however, it isn’t very engaging. By itself, the prose does nothing to pull the reader in. It isn’t repulsive, but neither does it display a particular literary skill. It is in a literal sense conversational. The reader is left with an impression that anyone who can speak in complete sentences (admittedly, that isn’t as many people as one might assume) could have written it.

That brings me to criticism number two. The first two chapters are painfully slow. The plot doesn’t move at all during this time, and honestly, they could have been summarized together at the beginning of chapter three. This slog makes the lack of flare in the prose seem more grating than it ought to (as mentioned, it is very middle-of-the-road).

However, here the preface comes to the rescue. Because the reader knows that each chapter is the product of the author thinking through the causes and effects one link at a time, there is trust given that once the plot and character (it’s just Bob Stackey at this point) has time to develop, so too will reader investment—and does that trust ever pay off.

Once the reader hits chapter three, the story takes off running. This is likely due to the rapid increase in characterization and conflict introduced with Bob’s housemate and surrogate grandmother, Ruth. She makes for an excellent foil for Bob, and she acts as a source of inciting incidents, spurring Bob into action (i.e. work). For you see, Bob was a shut-in software programmer before the vaccine-induced apocalypse, whereas Ruth was a farmer. She possesses much of the know-how to get Bob up to speed, accelerating his growth from insufferable lazy-body suburbanite to the titular hapless homesteader.

Bob’s character development is directly tied with his impetus and ability to explore his surroundings, and as he explores more distant and dangerous places, the tension ratchets up more naturally than in many conventionally planned and plotted novels. This is a consequence of the emergently written plot (a product of the experiment). Bob acts out of natural necessity and desire, the threats and obstacles are likewise natural (read: naturally expected by the reader, meaning that the reader is nervous on Bob’s behalf whether or not he is aware of a likely threat), and his solutions are always discovered after the fact (or else learned from prior challenges).

The end product of keeping to this writing method is an unpredictability which sucks the reader in. It is a form of unintended subversion of expectations at every turn. When the reader suspects Bob is in danger (because it is a dramatically appropriate time), he gets lucky. When the reader is then lulled into complacency, danger strikes—or it seems to strike, only to resolve in a mystery (e.g. Abby and Rusty; the appearance of Claire; the Mennonites; etc.).

By Vaxdemic’s end, the afore described likeable characters combined with the anxiety of uncertainty (as opposed to the despair of tragedy), thoroughly mixed with lots of educational material as Bob learns his survival skills, makes for a most compelling read. You cheer on every breakthrough and victory, read with bated breath at every danger, and you may even weep by the end—but I won’t spoil it.

Final analysis: Hapless Homesteader is definitely worth any readers time, just make sure you read the preface and prepare yourself to push through the first few, short chapters. Once you’re in, your enjoyment and engagement will only continue to grow. The narrator’s voice becomes like a familiar old friend’s, and you too may feel inspired to follow in his footsteps, learn new skills, and to prepare yourself for life after the fall of society.

Click the book cover above to get a copy of T. Alex Ratcliffe’s Hapless Homesteader: Vaxdemic today!