A review by halberdbooks
Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, by Seth Grahame-Smith
4.0
One must not mythologize a human being. Even the great, towering icons of the past were human, and humanity will inevitably fail and disappoint. Abraham Lincoln is such a figure, both towering in achievement and complicated in legacy. To mythologize such a man is to do him and the world a disservice, and it would do well to every teacher of history to remember that we must not remove someone's humanity in the service of a simple narrative.
But if we're going to do that anyway, why not write a bitchin' action comedy where he slaughters the undead?
I first read this in 2015 and I found it surprisingly charming. It's breezy and fun, and the action scenes are appropriately over the top. Reading it again, I am struck with how well it weaves both established fact and popular myth with its dark comedic fantasy. I know more today about Abraham Lincoln than I ever did before, and that knowledge greatly adds to my enjoyment of this book.
The rest of the things I've learned over the years have tempered my enthusiasm a bit. The second half of the book is nowhere near as kinetic as the first, and by the third act it certainly begins to drag. The simplification of the historical narrative and the gratuitous gore of the fantasy also begin to trouble me a bit.
As I reflect on this novel in 2022, I see just how indicative of its time it was. 2010 was a year that loved quirky gimmicks, new angles on established stories, a renewed fondness for the trappings of northwoods masculinity, and a delight in absurdly cartoonish violence. It was a tipping point in many ways. I myself have grown a great deal since 2010, and I have striven to examine and unlearn unconscious biases and troubling ideas that I had parroted without thinking. And when I first read this in 2015, I was similarly entrenched in a dark and difficult situation that I have worked forever since to grow from.
But for all its faults, I can't help but love this book. Its photoshopped illustrations only ever detract from the story. Its framing device often doesn't work. But its first page takes hilariously square aim at the idiotic first page of The Da Vinci code, and with every subsequent page it delivers new reasons to delight.
But if we're going to do that anyway, why not write a bitchin' action comedy where he slaughters the undead?
I first read this in 2015 and I found it surprisingly charming. It's breezy and fun, and the action scenes are appropriately over the top. Reading it again, I am struck with how well it weaves both established fact and popular myth with its dark comedic fantasy. I know more today about Abraham Lincoln than I ever did before, and that knowledge greatly adds to my enjoyment of this book.
The rest of the things I've learned over the years have tempered my enthusiasm a bit. The second half of the book is nowhere near as kinetic as the first, and by the third act it certainly begins to drag. The simplification of the historical narrative and the gratuitous gore of the fantasy also begin to trouble me a bit.
As I reflect on this novel in 2022, I see just how indicative of its time it was. 2010 was a year that loved quirky gimmicks, new angles on established stories, a renewed fondness for the trappings of northwoods masculinity, and a delight in absurdly cartoonish violence. It was a tipping point in many ways. I myself have grown a great deal since 2010, and I have striven to examine and unlearn unconscious biases and troubling ideas that I had parroted without thinking. And when I first read this in 2015, I was similarly entrenched in a dark and difficult situation that I have worked forever since to grow from.
But for all its faults, I can't help but love this book. Its photoshopped illustrations only ever detract from the story. Its framing device often doesn't work. But its first page takes hilariously square aim at the idiotic first page of The Da Vinci code, and with every subsequent page it delivers new reasons to delight.