Zombie Literature: It’s the new Black

You know what makes me mad? I’ll tell you. I spent thousands of hours (that’s an exaggeration) reading “literature” and classics. Voltaire, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Faulker. And not one of those nutbags wrote anything about Zombies. Oh, sure, we got plenty of rambling about the human condition, sacrifice, and even a few fart jokes along the way (courtesy of Chaucer), but not one word about flesh-eating Zombie action.
Would it have killed one of those slackers to come up with a plot that involves a little “the-dead-shall-roam-the-earth” motif? But I guess that’s asking just way too much.
And that’s why I am happy to report that Zombie literature is alive and well, having just finished “World War Z”, an exceptional tome penned by Max Brooks, son of Mel, apparently.
I’ll summarize, avoiding any spoilage, by suggesting this: It’s a fast read. Really fast. The term “page-turner” is overused these days, but that’s what this book is. The story begins by briefly laying out a quasi-plausible scenario in which people become zombies courtesy of medical science gone bad. It takes only a very short time for the “disease” to find its way around the planet, and then its off to the races. All zombies, all the time.
The descriptions of massive military action and efforts are fabulous, especially for those of us who have fantasized about mowing down tens of thousands of walking dead with ultra-bitchin’ machine guns and grenades. My therapist says that’s not a “normal” fantasy, by the way.
In the mood for something a little faster-paced, these days? Pick up a copy of World War Z. You’ll be done with it before you know it.