Man, I try to get a straight forward book about zombies, and instead it’s yet another pedophile preying on young boys. Had I known, I doubt I would have started reading this, but it was in my bag and I was stranded with nothing else to read.
“Zombie” is written in journal style, the direct words of Quentin P____, who we quickly realize is a serial killer trying to create his own personal zombie who will love him and fulfill all his desires without question or judgment.
I thought the progression was well done, and the little insights and quirks that give a peek into his psyche, not just a list of actions or retelling of his days. Oates is obviously a skilled storyteller. It wasn’t an effortless read, from a purely technical standpoint, as the fractured sentences and use of “&” instead of “and” kept jolting me out of the story. And, of course, it wasn’t much of an escape novel, not with all the murder, icepick lobotomies, rape and so on. I left this book thinking it’s really time for a palate cleanser. Or ten.
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