What Moves the Dead

During the climax of What Moves the Dead, Kingfisher makes heavy use of graphic imagery to emphasize Easton’s terror and enhance the story’s associations with Gothic literature, but she also demonstrates considerable ingenuity by altering her discussion on Mycology and the Possibility of Intelligent Fungi to address the ethical dilemma involved in destroying a fungus that has proven itself to be sentient. To this end, the transformed Madeline acts as a vehicle to allow the fungal antagonist a voice of sorts within the narrative, and her physical and psychological deterioration is also the primary means of emphasizing and intensifying the terror within the climax. When Easton describes her corpselike appearance, coagulated blood, and irreparably damaged neck, the scene embraces the Gothic element of the grotesque, the literary definition of which remains elusive but is famously defined by Wolfgang Kayser’s The Grotesque in Art and Literature as a situation in which “the natural order of things has been subverted” (Graulund, Rune. “Grotesque.” Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Literature). Thus, Kingfisher envelops the scene in unnatural imagery that emphasizes the visceral sense of wrongness in her appearance, particularly in the strikingly exaggerated position of her head, which is caused by her broken neck. As Easton describes, “Her head was bent over at a terrible angle, neck horribly askew. She had to turn her whole body to face the door, while her head flopped sideways” (141). By creating a version of Madeline devoid of all natural human behaviors and characteristics, the narrative renders her a zombie-like monster occupying an uncanny liminal space between life and death. Thus, the scene foreshadows the revelation that the fungus has reanimated Madeline’s body and is using it to communicate with the other characters.

When Madeline asserts that she is dead and that the fungus has long been controlling her, this twist introduces an element of unreliability to the narrative that is just as insidious as the fungus’s pervasive progress through the house of Usher. When Madeline reveals her transformed nature, the line between her selfhood and the fungus’s dominance becomes impossible to determine, and Kingfisher refuses to clarify whether some part of Madeline’s consciousness is still active or whether the fungus is simply mimicking her behavior. However, the latter interpretation is supported by Madeline’s desperation for Easton to accept the fungus into kan body and in her aggressive attempt to break out of Roderick’s bedroom. At that particular moment, the physical description of her grasping fingers reveals the extent to which her body has been subsumed by the fungus:

The door opened a crack as he shoved [the bench] into place and I saw Madeline’s blue-black fingers slide around the edge. Bits of hyphae caught in the rough edge of the wood. The bottom of her hand had been hammered raw, dangling gelid bits of flesh and long white threads (148).

The sentience and desperation of the fungus reinforce the terror-stricken tone of Easton’s narration, and at last the true antagonist of the story embodies a distinct physical form, for through Madeline’s description of her relationship with the fungus, it is clear that the fungus is sentient and has learned about the human world by inhabiting hares, Alice, and Madeline. The deliberate ambiguity of the climactic scene further intensifies the moral dilemma involved; Madeline’s apparent willingness to help the fungus may be an illusion as the fungus attempts to coerce Easton and the others, or her behavior may be evidence of her authentic wishes. If Madeline’s assertions are correct and the fungus is well-intentioned and eager to learn, then destroying it becomes an ethically questionable act. Easton openly acknowledges this issue, admitting, “But it wasn’t evil that I was seeing here, it was alien” (146). However, despite this philosophical distinction, the impetus to destroy that which is beyond human understanding remains, for Easton follows this comment by declaring, “I wanted to shoot the thing she had become then burn the body and sow the fields with salt” (146). Thus, although Easton understands the ethical implications of eradication, ka feels that trusting the fungus poses an existential risk to all of humanity. As ka states, “We could not risk humanity on the continued goodwill of an infant monster that could puppet the dead” (154). Easton’s decision to kill the fungus suggests that humans are more likely to maintain the status quo of their perceived intellectual superiority than to tolerate the presence of another sentient being.

Although the Ushers and their house are burned and the tarn is poisoned with sulfur, the fungus is not completely eradicated from the environment, and the remaining threat posed by the infected hares results in an ambiguous conclusion. As Easton instructs Aaron, “And if you see any hares […] any animals coming to the water to drink […] shoot them and burn the bodies. It’s important” (157). This order suggests that the fungus is still alive and might reinfect the tarn, beginning its broader invasion anew. Furthermore, the chances that Aaron will be able to spot, dispatch, and burn every animal that approaches the lake is inherently illogical, and Kingfisher never definitely clarifies whether the characters themselves have escaped infection. At this point in the narrative, it is entirely plausible that the fungus has learned enough about human nature to disguise itself with the outward behavior of Easton or Denton. Therefore, the conclusion contains the unspoken implication that if the fungus has already appropriated another human vessel, it may regard the destruction of the tarn, house, and hares as the inevitable price of its disguise and progress. Because What Moves the Dead is merely the first text in the Sworn Soldiers series, Kingfisher thus implies that the insidious foe of the sentient fungus is not necessarily vanquished, heightening interest in future installments.