The Deep by Nick Cutter

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


Stop me if you've heard this before (actually please don't - because what I am about to say I have most definitely said before, and I'd much prefer we just suck it up and keep on trucking along together pretending this is news to us both), but I am struggling to both rate and review this book. I liked it, but it also didn't impress me the way I was hoping it would. It scared me, but maybe not in the way I think it was intended to. Certain aspects seemed eerily accurate and descriptive (because I'm clearly an expert on what should be deemed as a realistic portrayal of the bottom of the ocean), while others were just shamefully ludicrous.

For example, who knew making the eight mile trek to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean was so simple? I mean according to this book, little to no training necessary! I've had bags of Uncle Ben's instant rice that advise the user to take more caution than this novel did before shipping some poor schmuk to the depths of the big, bad ocean floor. You're a naïve, mentally scarred, "nice guys finish last" veterinarian with zero experience in incredibly difficult and dangerous deep sea diving? Come on down! Visit the Mariana Trench today! Stay a while - or, ya know, forever! Come ON.

That said, once regular Joe made it safely down to the bottom of the ocean, I wont lie, some creepy shit did occur and I didn't hate it. What I did hate, though, was the final reveal of the cause of all the chaos. The novel would have earned an extra star from me had we eliminated the lamely constructed "Fig Men" chapters all together. Thank U, Next (<-- This reference will only be relevant for the next 4-10 weeks as of time of publication of this review. Enjoy while you can.).

I also feel the need to warn people that this book is not about the extreme Alzheimer's-like disease the 'Gets (the corny ass name of this disease physically pains me to type). The synopsis of the novel, and the first chapter, leads us to think there is going to be some investment in the devastating disease and the havoc it's wrecking upon humanity as we know it, but nope. That's about all you get. It's as though the author himself caught a nasty case of the disease- of- which- we- will-not- name and couldn't recall his original premise. It was odd.

But at the end of the day, the writing style was incredibly effective at making me consider my own, and more importantly my loved ones’ mortality, and the nothingness that becomes us all once we reach the other side of this life. I found myself over analyzing the concept of death, the infinite and utter blackness it brings and what actually happens to us once we leave this reality (what is "reality" anyway..?) and make the trip to the used bookstore in the sky. Nothing is more terrifying than entering the depths of our own mind in the way that only we can... And shit, the inner working of my psyche is a scary place indeed. I don't like to make many trips there if I don't have to, ya feel me? It's like my own personal version of that bad neighborhood you know to stay away from after dark unless you fancy a casual shakedown. Hell, if that was Nick Cutter's intention with this book, then ya, I guess he scared me appropriately.



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