Rotten Gods

by Greg Barron

  Yet, by dawn, it is as if he dreamed it all. He can see inside through the windows. Nothing has changed. No one has been harmed. The men rise and eat from cardboard cartons stacked near the doors. Rehan begins to wonder if he should try to steal back inside if the doors open and the opportunity arises.

  By dusk, however, angry protests have broken out inside. Words come over the PA system that the ship has been diverted from its usual course by a storm to the north, and that they will continue to be locked in for their own protection.

  Rehan is starving and thirsty, surviving on a half-full bucket of water mixed with ropes in his filthy hiding place. At least he is out of the sun, but the hours are interminable.

  The next afternoon the nightmare begins. Rehan can see what happens through the glass windows into the hold in the narrow corridor between. He sees his former comrades start to cough, then red mucus stream from their noses. Watches them die in agony in their hundreds; drowning in the blood that fills their lungs; twisting, rolling, panicking and screaming for help. The young men who had walked, trusting, onto that ship are dying, one after another, until the hold is a hell of screams and scratching fingernails as they pry at the windows and doors.

  Rehan cannot control his weeping. Thirst and hunger have weakened him. But this is like a scene from the end of the world. By the following afternoon they are all dead. More activity. The smell of chlorine. The rooms fogged up with mist.

  After dark the doors open finally, and men with yellow suits and masks drag bodies to the ship’s rail, dropping each one overboard to splash their way to the depths with a brick tied to their waist or extremities.

  Rehan marks the spot with the phone GPS. He vows that the world will know about this.

  Finally, all the corpses are gone, the engines start, and the Isra steams away. Rehan stays aboard long enough to ascertain their direction of travel, then, in the dead of night, wraps his precious cell phone in multiple layers of plastic litter. He takes down a life ring and plunges from the side into the warm sea.

  The bow wave tosses him, threatens to pull him under, but then that ship of death passes by, with all the timelessness and power of some dark celestial body.

  Lethal Sky, available July 2014

  Interview with Greg Barron

  Rotten Gods deals with the significant themes of religion and politics. Did you set out to write about these and does the novel in any way reflect your own personal philosophy?

  Religion is, as the title suggests, a central platform for the book. I find it fascinating how religion is so often used as a reason for terror and violence, and also to justify a disproportionate response to such acts.

  I am concerned that Muslim people can be tarred with the same brush, and wanted to present a number of different characters, spread out along the spectrum from quiet and law abiding, to those in positions of power actively working with Western governments to contain militant Salafism, a movement seen by many observers as the new Taliban.

  My personal philosophy is that people have the right to believe whatever they want to believe, so long as it does not cause them to be violent or intolerant to others. Blind, unquestioning religious faith that becomes an excuse for war and terror is unacceptable. These, to me, are the Rotten Gods of the book.

  You recently studied terrorism through the University of St Andrews, Scotland. What was your motivation for this and can you tell us a bit about the course?

  To me, the object of fiction is not to present stereotypes or clichés, but to help understand the motivations and viewpoints of all the characters I present in my stories. This is only possible through knowledge, and St Andrews offers a Certificate in Terrorism Studies, designed primarily for people working in security forces active in terrorism hotspots across the world.

  The section of the course that I have, at time of writing, completed — Key Issues in International Terrorism — offers a thorough understanding of terrorist ideologies, how they use fear as a weapon, how they are financed, organised and armed. Importantly, it delves into how terrorists are radicalised in the first place — motivated enough to kill in order to bring about change.

  Generalisations are useless when dealing with terrorist groups. All are different: some aim simply to change just one or two aspects of government policy in their country, (e.g. extreme animal liberationists); others demand independence, or statehood for a specific group of people, (e.g. Hamas); and others have a regional or global agenda, such as the dozens of Islamist organisations that the media likes to call ‘al-Qa’ida linked’.

  One of the central characters in the novel, a strong young Australian woman who likes to bushwalk, seems a somewhat unlikely hero in the context of a terrorist situation. Can you explain your choice and what the character of Marika represents?

  Marika was one of the first characters that came to me, and I never had any sense of creating her. To me she is a ‘real’ person with a past and a future. If you delve into the files of any international security force you might find a farm girl from Iowa, a Canadian law school dropout, a former Parisian street tough. Why not an Aussie chick who likes beer, with a mania for fitness and the wilderness?

  In many ways she represents what is good about Western society, bearing in mind that she has had advantages many people haven’t — good school, stable family and society — yet many readers will be able to relate to these same circumstances. It is how she acts when confronted with disadvantaged people that is the key to her character.

  In Rotten Gods you are scathing of Western consumerism, debt levels and inaction on climate change. Why do you see these as important?

  Rotten Gods is set a few years in the future. While climate change is already making itself felt now, by then things will be far worse. The natural disasters we are seeing now will be far more common. The drought in the Horn of Africa will never really go away. It may come and go, but there are permanent changes happening now. The cyclones and super tides. Famines and mass relocations of refugees are features of this new world that we will have to learn to address.

  Consumerism? The concept of producing at least half a billion plastic containers a day, and throwing them into (mainly) landfill after a single use would have been regarded with disbelief and horror fifty years ago. We are so used to our own profligate waste that we don’t even see it clearly any more. How many working CRT TV and computer screens were thrown into council clean-up piles when LCD and plasma screens became affordable? Why are electronic devices made redundant every year or two when new models come along? The planet cannot afford this level of waste.

  Rotten Gods is a story, not a manifesto, but the concerns are real. It presents a vision of the future that may or may not come to pass in exactly that way.

  The novel attempts to present both ‘sides’ of the situation. How were you able to present a sense of authenticity in your depiction of both the terrorists and security forces?

  I do hate shallow, simplistic fictional representations of Muslim fundamentalists as ‘evil.’ What a stupid word! Their methods, I believe, are very wrong, but they don’t think that. They see themselves as oppressed, and that they have the right to fight back in all ways and means at their disposal. They did not invent terror, nor the strategy of targeting civilians. Politically and militarily weak minorities have been doing this since the Sicarii bought a reign of terror on occupying Romans in ancient Judea.

  However despicable some of their acts are, it is important to understand why they do what they do, and this is something I have attempted in the writing of Rotten Gods. One of the conclusions drawn must be that this jihad would not be occurring without religion, so the image of a bloodthirsty God becomes a leitmotif throughout the book.

  You grew up, and currently live, in country NSW and yet your novel has a distinctly international feel. How were you able to create this?

  I seem to have a knack for blending in with my surroundings, and have travelled fairly widely. I lived in North America as a teenager and visited eve
ry international location used in the book that was feasible, and safe to reach. Besides, I no longer feel that Australia is a back woods location. Sydney is just 13 hours on an Airbus from Dubai, and Perth even closer.

  The Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT)’s voice has been growing on the international scene for many years, and we have cemented a position as a regional leader. Australians have risen to prominence in many UN agencies, and have little fear of remote and dangerous posts.

  I think it is time that writers based in Australia are recognised as having a part to play in global popular fiction.

  In contrast to the violence and the bleak view of humanity presented in the novel you also develop a number of loving relationships, such as that between Dr Abukar and Sufia, Marika and Madoowbe and Simon and his daughters. This is an effective way to develop their humanity. Can you explain how you dealt with these situations as you wrote Rotten Gods.

  Readers, I think, enjoy romance, and of course a touch of sexual tension always spices up a plot. Generally I don’t work out relationships in advance, letting them develop as I write, almost going through the stages of falling in love myself as I do so! I find sex scenes very difficult to write, as it is hard to know how much to reveal, and what to keep hidden. Generally I find a compromise, and am usually startled to read extremely graphic sex in popular fiction, particularly if it seems gratuitous.

  The love of a father for his children was an easy one for me, being the proud dad of two boys. I believe that even a person who is generally mild, even cowardly, would lay down their lives for their children. Simon is a very bright man, yet uncomplicated in some ways. I think his love shines through the book. Nothing tricky, no hidden twists. To me he symbolises much of what is good about Western society, amongst the many, many faults.

  There is a contrast between the terrorists and their unswerving faith, and the Westerners, such as Marika, who put their faith in themselves. Can there be a way to find a compromise between these two views?

  Not all Westerners think this way, but I believe generally that people working in security organisations have to be self reliant. Faith in a greater power is a complication to obedience of superiors, the ability/need to kill when necessary and break other religious laws. That is not to say none believe in God, but there is a difference between believing in a deity and being intolerant of all others, and slavishly following rules and precepts that were in many cases developed one or two thousand years ago.

  Popular fiction springs, at its source, from Greek myth, and the cult of the hero. Our fiction, which portrays the strong individual hero who fights for good against evil, can sometimes be misguided, but he/she acts from altruism and an innate sense of justice. That sense of right and wrong does not derive from a set of scriptures, but from something older. Something we don’t, perhaps, understand …

  Rotten Gods is not the first novel you have written, but it is the first to be published. Can you tell us something about your journey to publication?

  I wrote a number of novels before Rotten Gods. But I could never quite work out what kind of writer I wanted to be. I attempted literary and historical fiction. My first thriller landed me a hard working agent, Brian Cook, and under his guidance I rewrote that book several times, then another, before I finished Rotten Gods. On the first round of submissions HarperCollins offered me a contract.

  You travelled widely as part of your research for Rotten Gods, in some of the more troubled areas of the world. Were you, at any time, in fear for the safety of yourself or your family?

  Before travelling into the Horn of Africa, I was given a warning by a friend, an ex-military man who now provides armed security for journalists and corporations in the world’s worst trouble spots. He said: ‘Ask no questions, and do not, under any circumstances tell anyone that you are a writer or you will be targeted.’

  Heeding this advice, I kept very quiet about my fact finding mission, particularly close to the Somali border. Even so, while we were staying in Lamu, Frenchwoman Marie Dedieu was kidnapped from just across the channel by Somali gunmen. This was the second violent kidnapping in the area in two weeks. At first we did not know what was happening, as Kenya Rangers, armed with AK47s arrived at the waterfront in truckloads, and planes evacuated French and American nationals from the airstrip on Manda Island.

  As a result of this we felt quite exposed and vulnerable. Most of the white tourists had already been evacuated and we stood out everywhere we went. Apart from cancelling a planned dhow trip north along the coast, however, we did not let this interfere too much with our enjoyment of this extremely special part of the world. Watch for more about this region in my next book.

  Most African cities can be confronting at times, and you need a thick skin in dealing with touts, and people begging, who can be quite aggressive. Many approaches can be friendly, but persistent. Being firm but kind at the same time is an art form that regular travellers develop.

  Finally, you are a voracious reader as well as a writer. What books have influenced you the most?

  I once read an interview with a musician who was asked if he was influenced by other songwriters. He replied that he doesn’t listen to a great song and think, ‘I want to write a song like that.’ He rather thinks, ‘I want to write a song that makes people feel like that.’

  I know where he’s coming from. Great fiction gets under your skin and into your brain and resonates with all the experiences that are on offer. It recalls the great moments of your life and those you haven’t yet experienced. I grew up in the seventies and eighties reading the big thriller writers of the day: Wilbur Smith and Jack Higgins, James Clavell, Alistair MacLean and John le Carré. Then there was Peter Carey, Thomas Keneally, Jon Cleary and a love affair with F. Scott Fitzgerald, John Steinbeck, Larry McMurtry and those giant doorstoppers by James A. Michener.

  Living on a remote property on the Northern Territory with no TV, I read every book in my English teacher wife’s collection. Everything from Thucydides to Stephen King, Gabriel Garcia Marquez to Somerset Maugham. When I’d read them once I read them again.

  Somehow along the way I guess I must have learned what works and what doesn’t; learned what is trite; learned to recognise what keeps the light on way past midnight, and the pages turning. Sometimes I even get it right. Watch this space. There’s more to come.

  Reading Group Questions

  Madoowbe could be described as a shape shifter. He can never be relied on to tell the whole truth, though he is good in a crisis. If he could write his own epitaph on a tombstone, what would it be?

  Dalmar Asad has an unusual skin pigmentation. This might be construed as a symbol for competing European/African elements in his persona. We learn that he has had a poor background. Money, it seems, is not enough. What does Dalmar Asad really want? What does he strive for?

  Rotten Gods presents the story from several viewpoints, attempting to explain the circumstances of each character’s lives. Why do you think the author took this approach?

  Isabella makes a choice at the critical moment. Is this selfless act enough to redeem her earlier actions?

  What do you think Ali Khalid Abukar decides to do at the end of the book? Does he press the trigger?

  Gods in their various guises become almost synonymous with violence in this book, or at least a very important causative factor. Both Christian and Muslim gods are, however, described by their followers as symbols of peace and unity. Are violent extremists merely psychopaths using religion as an excuse?

  The man and woman building their hut in the rain is a powerful symbol in Marika’s mind. What does it mean and why does it resonate so strongly with her?

  Rotten Gods offers a vision of the future. Do you think the picture the book paints is realistic?

  Find out more at

  gregbarron.com

  GregBarronAuthor

  @gregorybarron

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to:

  Brian Cook, my agent, who saw
something worth nurturing and stuck with me through the lean years. Your loyalty and faith are returned in full measure. To editor and publisher Anna Valdinger without whom this book would not exist. Shona Martyn, Sue Brockhoff, Christine Farmer, Jane Finemore, Kylie Mason, Kathy Hassett, Mark Higginson, Sarah Haines and Michael White. Matt Stanton for his incredible cover design. My wife and best friend, Catriona, Faye and Bob Barron (such endlessly supportive parents must surely be rare), Leanne, Maree, David and Fiona. All the extended family. My sons Daly and James, you make fatherhood such a rich experience. Readers: Bert Hingley for an honest and searching appraisal, Mark Daffey (thanks for sharing your deep knowledge and experience of the Middle East), Rob West, Sam West, Melina and Justin Murphy, Lisa Hall, David Hall, Steven Smith, Lucy Shepherd, Mark Shepherd for sharing a wealth of knowledge and personal experience on navigation and naval matters, as well as a good eye for a story. Steve and Nicky Russell, Margaret and Ron, Ged Clohesy, Lisa Heenan. Paul Daffey who has been such an inspiring friend and a great example of how to write. The staff at Eungai over the years; Lyn, Jenny, Ruth, Ashlee, Tony, Bev, Fiona, Brett and Kylie. Steven Horne, a great writer, and such a wonderful host in Dubai. To all the authors who gave me so much pleasure and inspired me to write. To Bruce without whom I would surely have been lost on that long and magical trek across Arnhem Land! And to any others who have helped me through the ups and downs over the years. You know who you are.

  Finally, to all those who risk life and limb to inform the world, this book would not have been possible without your work: hundreds of non-fiction books, thousands of websites, Twitter posts, blogs, newspaper and magazine articles. Thank you, I stand on your shoulders.