Ned's Reviews > Deliverance

My generation, and our children, are either intimately or generally aware of this as a film, in particular the “squeal like a pig” scene which manages to elicit many strains of primal fear beyond naming. I was curious to know how this was rendered in the original novel, published in 1970 and set in the mid-1960s, just before the hippie generation became popular and capitalized. The iconic statement, issued from the rotund Ned Beatty (brilliantly casted), isn’t actually in the novel. It must have been the screenwriter’s call, or improvisation by the director or actors, but it sure was impactful. But this in no way lessens the horror of the scene, which is faithfully captured from the novel. This book was a page turner for me due to its feverish action and tight prose. It held surprises for me, as expected, but it falls into that same category of brilliant novel and brilliant movie, like a few others (No Country for Old Men, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, e.g.). What makes them both so riveting is the visceral and exciting story line and the unique humanity of the actors. The physical characteristics of Burt Reynolds and Jon Voight were reversed, but the movie captured perfectly their personalities. The Voight character (“Ed”) tells the story in the novel, and it starts with him having very mixed feelings about joining Lewis on yet another of his harebrained, high-risk adventures. Lewis is intriguing to Ed, charismatic and (slightly sexually) attractive to the wild side of Ed, who vacillates between the security of his Vice President job at a graphic design company and the desire to find something new. Interestingly, a mote, a slice really, of color in the iris of an interesting young girl posing for a photo shoot sends Ed’s mind reeling with the possibilities. Here is a middle-aged man in crisis, his libido still making its mysterious siren call and he is lured by the wild dreams of his old friend. These suburban Atlanta dads, finally agree to the (now infamous) canoe trip in a relatively unchartered river on the southern border of Appalachia. A dam is planned, which will convert this wild river into a placid lake, for recreation and soft living vacationers – the end of it is near and “the boys” want a final fling, an adventure, a way to capture a point in time as a buttress for the dull, family life they see on their horizon.

The story reminded me of a time I was on a girl scout campsite with my daughters, and the men gathered up under the stars and just talked (alcohol was explicitly forbidden by one of the wives, who delivered the message to us all with great force as they let their little girls head out with dad). One was lamenting the loss of the male identity, the willingness to be violent when needed and the basic skill of being protector in our modern age (this was the late 1990s). And this is exactly what this book was about, men who want to test their mettle against nature, to see what the human body can endure and a willingness to die, if necessary, to find out. Lewis and Ed are archers, Lewis being the most talented (and overall alpha male in the quartet). Ed and Lewis bring their bows along on a bit of a lark, and for some vague sense of security (I have camped with my boyhood friend who came well-armed with surplus army knives and hatchets and machetes – these were Rambo movie days – he became a cop later till he retired). Here (p. 40), Lewis says “’…the whole thing is going to be reduced to human body, once and for all. I want to be ready…. The human race thing. I think the machines are going to fail, the political systems are going to fail, and a few men are going to take to the hills and start over’”. (p.41) “’…life is so complicated, and I wouldn’t mind if it came down, right quick, to the bare survival of who was ready to survive”. Ed listens to Lewis’ rant, drowsily, he’s heard it all before. Ed doubts his decision to join this party, but he’s drawn to it nonetheless.

The hillbillies are met, the chording with the brilliant banjo-playing one eyed maligned boy is achieved, and our foursome try to find a place to launch their two canoes. They are warned repeatedly by the locals that their mission is foolish, the gorge they pass unknown and not even mapped. The foreboding sets in for the reader. I found myself literally holding my breath and having to slow down to capture the fine prose from Dickey. As a young man of 19, I was thunderstruck by the opening of Apocalypse Now, I understood the pathos of the colonel in his room over Saigon, drunk to numbness to eliminate the fear of getting soft while the enemy outside the door “squats in the bush”. The men in Dickey’s story feel that too, they know there is violence and evil out there – they would rather have it real than cower under fear – they push the envelope. Here (p. 116), Ed realizes “..in a curious way I enjoyed being that lost. If you were in something as deep as we were in, it was better to go the whole way.” Ed is beginning to feel the elixir of that survivalist pull, living in the moment like never before as they traverse the wilds of water, stone and deepening ravines.

The encounter with the locals is similar to the movie, but the ascent to the top of the ridge after the catastrophic loss of one member and injury to Lewis, is telling. Ed’s mindset as he dares to scale, untethered and at exhaustion, the cliff is terrifying. When a modicum of safety is achieved, he clings to the earth and his diggings are almost sexual. Dickey writes this way. He begins to stalk his prey, and he begins to lose all sense of humanity, becoming animal-like as he faces his do-or-die showdown with the toothless man in overalls, a nimble mountain goat of a man. This was a strong section, and when he returns to his friends, who are injured or cowering, he is anew man, a made man, who has become a righteous murderer – he is transformed. Like Kurtz in Apocalypse Now, he takes over as his divine right and does what is needed to hide the body and, later, bury the body of their friend who finally floats down to their part of the river.

The wounded Lewis, the shocked and frightened Bobby (the one who was sodomized), and the newly empowered Ed crash through the rest of the river, somehow surviving one harrowing passage after another and finally coast toward civilization. Ed takes over for Lewis, and concocts the big lie, about how they’ve not seen any other people and their friend is lost, presumably drowned. Beat up, scared and exhausted, 3 of the 4 arrive at a bridge, call in an ambulance, and get ready for civilization. They get their story mostly right, but a local “deputy” spots an inconsistency. In a revealing passage, the local sheriff lets Ed know that he knows something more happened than their story, but he doesn’t want the trouble and tells them essentially to get out of town.

The story finishes as the 3 survivors get back to domesticity – the lie holds and doesn’t destroy any of them. Ed is the new lion, he is now amoral and doesn’t feel any obvious guilt for what he has done. The evil is buried with them, and the dam is built, and the burial grounds hide the secrets. With every foot of land covered by rising waters, the secret of the September 1965 (or thereabouts) canoe trip is erased.

This was an astonishing exploration of male psychology, a period piece of what was seen as flagrant modernity in its time, all dashed by the visceral experience of life and death, a final grasp of red tooth and claw from the old homo sapiens. Strong stuff, and most entertaining. I read it fast, breathless, I think most others will as well.