Maybe I just don’t get the whole “zombie” thing. Don’t get me wrong, like the next 20s something I have a zombie-pocalpyse escape plan, have watched enough zombie films to know zombies are “cool,” and am forwarded by I. relevant zombie-in-the-news stories. But I don’t get the appeal enough to enjoy (or even want to read) Amelia Beamer’s The Loving Dead. No wait, I think it’s Beamer’s fault for writing a boring, predictable, boring, and boring book, because I liked Wide Sargasso Sea (zombies) and The Forest of Hands Teeth (more zombies). So I take it back. I don’t blame zombies for the terrible book I just suffered through: I blame the lack of plot, character, setting, theme and ability to narrate without the use of clumsy descriptions.
I guess the thing that’s supposed to make the book appealing is that zombification takes place by way of sex, and that zombies can be controlled through sadistic whip lashings. As if somehow by describing lesbian sex and sadism I’m going to forget the narrative is TERRIBLE.
Literary Vice 