In the rich tapestry of fiction, few creations have captivated the public’s imagination as profoundly as Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein’s monster. This iconic figure, born from the fears and anxieties of a rapidly industrializing world, embodies our deepest apprehensions about the unintended consequences of unchecked scientific progress. Now, over two centuries later, we find ourselves enthralled by a new breed of monster – the superhuman known as Homelander. Much like Frankenstein’s creation, Homelander is a product of the laboratory, a lab rat imbued with infinite power and unleashed upon an unsuspecting world. While Frankenstein’s monster was shaped by social isolation and rejection, Homelander’s origins lie in the deprivation of a normal childhood. Deprived of any grounding influence, both he and Frankenstein’s monster find themselves adrift, unmoored from the natural order and driven by a primal need for vengeance against their creators.

Just as Frankenstein’s monster sought to destroy his maker, Homelander has turned against those who birthed him – the shadowy figures behind the experimental Compound V program. His thirst for retribution, fueled by deep-seated resentment, mirrors the rage that consumed Shelley’s tragic figure. Yet, within this twisted lineage, there is a glimmer of hope. Within the darkness of these monstrous tales lies a cautionary tale, a stark reminder of the dangers that arise when we play God and seek to harness powers beyond our control. Frankenstein’s monster and Homelander stand as warnings, urging us to temper our scientific ambitions with wisdom and humility, lest we unleash forces that we cannot hope to control.

 For generations, we have marveled at the ingenuity of fiction writers and their ability to craft stories that compel us to question our deepest-held beliefs. Yet, as the consumers of these narratives, have we truly heeded the warnings they so artfully weave into their works? No. We have created the real-life chicken monster.

The tale of the chicken monster spans millennia, a cautionary tale of our unchecked desires and our willingness to reshape the natural world to suit our needs. Once, the humble chicken roamed freely, a participant in the grand tapestry of Darwinian evolution, its form and function in harmony with the wild. But then came the demands of a growing population, the march of progress, and the advent of modern science. Suddenly, the once-slender bird was transformed, selectively bred to grow faster and put on weight with ever-increasing efficiency. The chicken became a hulking, unrecognizable creature, its bones thickened and its size multiplied several times over. We, the consumers, have created this monstrous distortion of nature. What was once an occasional treat has now become a global food enterprise. The numbers involved are so staggering that they no longer make sense. In a BBC article, the author cites that 65. 8 billion chickens were slaughtered in 2014, yet there are only around 23 billion chickens on the planet at any one time. This mathematical discrepancy is a stark illustration of the scale and impact of our industrialized poultry production. We have so thoroughly disrupted the natural balance that the very statistics we rely on to understand the industry have become divorced from reality.

In the complex web of modern chicken production, the true villains may not be the chickens themselves, nor even their direct suppliers, but rather the unseen forces of unchecked consumerism that have birthed this monstrous industry. Like the tragic figures of literature, the modern broiler chicken could be seen as a victim – deprived of a “normal” existence, unmoored from the natural order, and driven by a primal need for vengeance against its creators. Yet, as we gaze upon these creatures, they are not the villains.

How about the inhumane and impersonal chicken supply guys? Can we look to Dune an the evil despot Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, who floats above his supply chain and through a greedy, nefarious, nepotistic cabal, can eliminate any competition for his “spice” supply chain? In the industrial chicken farms that dot the landscape, the workers move with a methodical efficiency, their every action driven by the relentless drumbeat of consumer demand. There is no room for sentimentality, no space to ponder the morality of their actions – they are cogs in a machine, compelled to keep pace with the insatiable appetite of the modern world. There may not be a humane way for suppliers to slaughter and deliver 65.8 billion chickens into the world.   

The producers, driven by the harsh realities of a capitalist system that rewards efficiency and profitability above all else, have long since abandoned any notion of “humane” practices. The economics of scale have made that an impossibility, a relic of a bygone era when the chicken industry was smaller, more manageable. Now, the workers move with a practiced detachment, their eyes fixed on the task at hand. To falter is to lose profit. The consumer demands, the supplier provides. It’s economics at its simplest and most sublime.  And so, producers carry on, day after day, month after month, year after year. The monster chickens, mere commodities in this relentless machine, pass through human hands with an unsettling rapidity. There is no time to dwell on their suffering, no space to contemplate the moral implications of the monster chickens. The needs of the many, the demands of the consumer, have long since eclipsed such quaint considerations.

Such is the modern economy. Everyone has someone to blame. The producers blame the consumers, consumer advocates blame suppliers, and then everyone goes home and escapes into the wonderful world of Dune and The Boys where the monsters are so obvious and the causes so clear. In the end, we are all, throwing an offhanded shade at “someone else that is not us.” Then retreat to our lives of leisure, as much prisoners of the system as the chickens we process. Trapped in the gears of a merciless industry, they too have become dehumanized, their own sense of self eroded by the weight of their responsibilities. They are cogs in a machine, grinding ever onward, driven by the same forces that have rendered the chickens mere objects to be consumed.

And so we, the consumers, must confront our own culpability. In our pursuit of convenience and low prices, have we failed to truly listen to the message these chickens represent? Have we, like the readers of great literature, missed the deeper meaning behind their suffering? The answer, it seems, lies not in the pages of a novel, but in the very food we consume – a constant reminder of the power and the peril of our creation. Evil is not chickens or even people that eat chickens. The cautionary tale is that, and so we, the people, must confront our culpability. In our pursuit of convenience and low prices, have we failed to truly listen to the message these chickens represent?

Further readings and citations:

Pappas, S. (2018). Future Humans May Call Us the ‘Chicken People,’ and Here’s Why. Live Science.

Tahirali, J. (2014). Chickens four times bigger than they used to be: study. CTVNews.ca

Briggs, H. (2018). Planet of the chickens’: How the bird took over the world. BBC News