The Mountain King By George Ernsberger

The Mountain King
By George Ernsberger
1979 Berkeley
Paperback, 250 pages

 

                I read this book as a teen. In the years since, I couldn’t remember much about it, just that there were snakes, but I do remember that I liked it. I figure that since it has been over 40 years since I last read it, the time was ripe for a revisit.

 

                Four couples head out for a wilderness weekend to a remote cluster of homes (their own summer cottages) on the side of a mountain in the Catskills. Tranquil, beautiful, and restful. Except for pretty much everyone involved is a douchebag. One husband fantasizes about punching his wife in the face, many of them have had “a past” together, and assholism and cattiness runs rampant. It’s a good thing that during a massive storm, part of the mountain breaks loose and that sends hundreds of confused Timber Rattlesnakes down to make life hell for the humans.

 

                I have no complaints about the characters all being kind of unlikeable; that just means they are real. Ernsberger gives us an excellent portrayal of a group of damaged people. You know, like we all are. Of course, when the snakes are loose, I really root for them because snakes are better than humans. The Mountain King is a Timber who has been living on the mountain a long time. At roughly 7 feet, he is the king of the den. Ernsberger’s science is excellent and his passages from the King’s point of view are cogent, which is very impressive when writing for an animal who relies on instinct rather than thought.

 

                I liked the book a lot this second time around, though I’m willing to bet that I only read the juicy parts as a teen. The bickering and yammering between the humans wouldn’t have interested me and the human to snake death ratio is way one sided. Kind of like real life. Humans kill snakes way more often than vice-verse. Even though I’d like a lower snake mortality rate, this is a thrilling and well written adventure tale filled with claustrophobic situations and a feeling of dread and hopelessness.

 

                This appears to be Ernsberger’s only novel. He had been the vice president of Berkely Books prior to this book’s publication. The only other credits I can find are for two fantasy anthologies published by Avon in the late Sixties where he was the senior editor at the time.