The Rats, 1974. A pulp masterpiece. Good characters, fine prose, but built upon tremendous over-the-top set pieces of RATS EATING PEOPLE!!! As advertised. Herbert does not skimp on the details.
A plague of killer rats descend upon a poorer part of London. Harris, a teacher, gets a first-hand glimpse of the horror through both his geographic position and circumstance. He’s pretty much an everyman thrust into relative importance but it works here.
Disaster novel as much as horror novel. Half the book, and half the fun is seeing the city officials deal with the epidemic in fits and starts, half-heartedly at first, and without much true success.
Hebert is very good at getting into the heads of secondary characters just long enough so we feel bad for them when they’re eaten the fuck alive. It makes it so much more satisfying – the feasting – when we can feel and empathize with the victims.
This really is a vicious book. And fantastic. (The only real flaw is that it’s very much written from a hyper-masculine 70s perspective – the women here basically just scream and get eaten and do very little otherwise.)
My first James Herbert. Won’t be my last.