GUEST HOST: David Menzies
Prior to the pandemic, my reading mix used to be about 70 per cent nonfiction, 30 per cent fiction. But thanks to COVID and all the misery and nonsense inherent to it, these percentages reversed. I estimate that these days 70 per cent of my reading material is fiction. Hey, the current reality is just way too harsh, so I crave some escapism during my free time. Besides, is George Orwell’s 1984 really a work of fiction anymore in 2021?
In any event, nothing screams escapism more than a good ol’ zombie apocalypse novel.
So it was that I recently purchased a copy of The Living Dead. This novel was started by the late-great George Romero, a visionary who practically invented the zombie genre with the release of Night of the Living Dead in 1968, followed by countless sequels and remakes and, of course, endless imitators.
Alas, Romero passed away in 2017 and his zombie masterpiece-in-progress had to be completed by a member of the still-living. Unfortunately, the relief writer who stumbled out of the literary bullpen was a sultan of soy, Daniel Kraus.
To quote Col. Kurtz: “The horror… the horror…”
Now, in fairness, this novel makes for a great yarn for the first 400 or so pages. Maybe that was the work of Romero for the most part? But then, thanks to Kraus, The Living Dead takes an horrific departure from horror, sinking itself into a quicksand of… wokeness.
Now, THAT’s really scary, kids.
GUEST: Lorrie Parrott (@Raine72Parrott on Twitter)
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