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I AM DEAD, but it’s not so bad. I’ve learned to live with it. I’m sorry I can’t properly introduce myself, but I don’t have a name anymore. Hardly any of us do. We lose them like car keys, forget them like anniversaries. Mine might have started with an “R,” but that’s all I have now. It’s funny because back when I was alive, I was always forgetting other people’s names. My friend “M” says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can’t smile, because your lips have rotted off.
None of us are particularly attractive, but death has been kinder to me than some. I’m still in the early stages of decay. Just the gray skin, the unpleasant smell, the dark circles under my eyes. I could almost pass for a Living man in need of a vacation. Before I became a zombie I must have been a businessman, a banker or broker or some young temp learning the ropes, because I’m wearing fairly nice clothes. Black slacks, gray shirt, red tie. M makes fun of me sometimes. He points at my tie and tries to laugh, a choked, gurgling rumble deep in his gut. His clothes are holey jeans and a plain white T-shirt. The shirt is looking pretty macabre by now. He should have picked a darker color.
We like to joke and speculate about our clothes, since these final fashion choices are the only indication of who we were before we became no one. Some are less obvious than mine: shorts and a sweater, skirt and a blouse. So we make random guesses.
You were a waitress. You were a student. Ring any bells?
It never does.
No one I know has any specific memories. Just a vague, vestigial knowledge of a world long gone. Faint impressions of past lives that linger like phantom limbs. We recognize civilization—buildings, cars, a general overview—but we have no personal role in it. No history. We are just here. We do what we do, time passes, and no one asks questions. But like I’ve said, it’s not so bad. We may appear mindless, but we aren’t. The rusty cogs of cogency still spin, just geared down and down till the outer motion is barely visible. We grunt and groan, we shrug and nod, and sometimes a few words slip out. It’s not that different from before.
But it does make me sad that we’ve forgotten our names. Out of everything, this seems to me the most tragic. I miss my own and I mourn for everyone else’s, because I’d like to love them, but I don’t know who they are.
There are hundreds of us living in an abandoned airport outside some large city. We don’t need shelter or warmth, obviously, but we like having the walls and roofs over our heads. Otherwise we’d just be wandering in an open field of dust somewhere, and that would be horrifying. To have nothing at all around us, nothing to touch or look at, no hard lines whatsoever, just us and the gaping maw of the sky. I imagine that’s what being full-dead is like. An emptiness vast and absolute.
I think we’ve been here a long time. I still have all my flesh, but there are elders who are little more than skeletons with clinging bits of muscle, dry as jerky. Somehow it still extends and contracts, and they keep moving. I have never seen any of us “die” of old age. Left alone with plenty of food, maybe we’d “live” forever, I don’t know. The future is as blurry to me as the past. I can’t seem to make myself care about anything to the right or left of the present, and the present isn’t exactly urgent. You might say death has relaxed me.
I am riding the escalators when M finds me. I ride the escalators several times a day, whenever they move. It’s become a ritual. The airport is derelict, but the power still flickers on sometimes, maybe flowing from emergency generators stuttering deep underground. Lights flash and screens blink, machines jolt into motion. I cherish these moments. The feeling of things coming to life. I stand on the steps and ascend like a soul into Heaven, that sugary dream of our childhoods, now a tasteless joke.
After maybe thirty repetitions, I rise to find M waiting for me at the top. He is hundreds of pounds of muscle and fat draped on a six-foot-five frame. Bearded, bald, bruised and rotten, his grisly visage slides into view as I crest the staircase summit. Is he the angel that greets me at the gates? His ragged mouth is oozing black drool.
He points in a vague direction and grunts, “City.”
I nod and follow him.
We are going out to find food. A hunting party forms around us as we shuffle toward town. It’s not hard to find recruits for these expeditions, even if no one is hungry. Focused thought is a rare occurrence here, and we all follow it when it manifests. Otherwise we’d just be standing around and groaning all day. We do a lot of standing around and groaning. Years pass this way. The flesh withers on our bones and we stand here, waiting for it to go. I often wonder how old I am.
The city where we do our hunting is conveniently close. We arrive around noon the next day and start looking for flesh. The new hunger is a strange feeling. We don’t feel it in our stomachs—some of us don’t even have those. We feel it everywhere equally, a sinking, sagging sensation, as if our cells are deflating. Last winter, when so many Living joined the Dead and our prey became scarce, I watched some of my friends become full-dead. The transition was undramatic. They just slowed down, then stopped, and after a while I realized they were corpses. It disquieted me at first, but it’s against etiquette to notice when one of us dies. I distracted myself with some groaning.
I think the world has mostly ended, because the cities we wander through are as rotten as we are. Buildings have collapsed. Rusted cars clog the streets. Most glass is shattered, and the wind drifting through the hollow high-rises moans like an animal left to die. I don’t know what happened. Disease? War? Social collapse? Or was it just us? The Dead replacing the Living? I guess it’s not so important. Once you’ve arrived at the end of the world, it hardly matters which route you took.
We start to smell the Living as we approach a dilapidated apartment building. The smell is not the musk of sweat and skin, it’s the effervescence of life energy, like the ionized tang of lightning and lavender. We don’t smell it in our noses. It hits us deeper inside, near our brains, like wasabi. We converge on the building and crash our way inside.
We find them huddled in a small studio unit with the windows boarded up. They are dressed worse than we are, wrapped in filthy tatters and rags, all of them badly in need of a shave. M will be saddled with a short blond beard for the rest of his Fleshy existence, but everyone else in our party is cleanshaven. It’s one of the perks of being dead, another thing we don’t have to worry about anymore. Beards, hair, toenails… no more fighting biology. Our wild bodies have finally been tamed.
Slow and clumsy but with unswerving commitment, we launch ourselves at the Living. Shotgun blasts fill the dusty air with gunpowder and gore. Black blood spatters the walls. The loss of an arm, a leg, a portion of torso, this is disregarded, shrugged off. A minor cosmetic issue. But some of us take shots to our brains, and we drop. Apparently there’s still something of value in that withered gray sponge because if we lose it, we are corpses. The zombies to my left and right hit the ground with moist thuds. But there are plenty of us. We are overwhelming. We set upon the Living, and we eat.
Eating is not a pleasant business. I chew off a man’s arm, and I hate it. I hate his screams, because I don’t like pain, I don’t like hurting people, but this is the world now. This is what we do. Of course if I don’t eat all of him, if I spare his brain, he’ll rise up and follow me back to the airport, and that might make me feel better. I’ll introduce him to everyone, and maybe we’ll stand around and groan for a while. It’s hard to say what “friends” are anymore, but that might be close. If I restrain myself, if I leave enough…
But I don’t. I can’t. As always I go straight for the good part, the part that makes my head light up like a picture tube. I eat the brain, and for about thirty seconds, I have memories. Flashes of parades, perfume, music… life. Then it fades, and I get up, and we all stumble out of the city, still cold and gray, but feeling a little better. Not “good,” exactly, not “happy,” certainly not “alive,” but… a little less dead. This is the best we can do.
I trail behind the group as the city disappears behind us. My steps plod a little heavier than the others’. When I pause at a rain-filled pothole to scrub gore off my face and clothes, M drops back and slaps a hand on my shoulder. He knows my distaste for some of our routines. He knows I’m a little more sensitive than most. Sometimes he teases me, twirls my messy black hair into pigtails and says, “Girl. Such… girl.” But he knows when to take my gloom seriously. He pats my shoulder and just looks at me. His face isn’t capable of much expressive nuance anymore, but I know what he wants to say. I nod, and we keep walking.
I don’t know why we have to kill people. I don’t know what chewing through a man’s neck accomplishes. I steal what he has to replace what I lack. He disappears, and I stay. It’s simple but senseless, arbitrary laws from some lunatic legislator in the sky. But following those laws keeps me walking, so I follow them to the letter. I eat until I stop eating, then I eat again.
How did this start? How did we become what we are? Was it some mysterious virus? Gamma rays? An ancient curse? Or something even more absurd? No one talks about it much. We are here, and this is the way it is. We don’t complain. We don’t ask questions. We go about our business.
There is a chasm between me and the world outside of me. A gap so wide my feelings can’t cross it. By the time my screams reach the other side, they have dwindled into groans.
At the Arrivals gate, we are greeted by a small crowd, watching us with hungry eyes or eyesockets. We drop our cargo on the floor: two mostly intact men, a few meaty legs, and a dismembered torso, all still warm. Call it leftovers. Call it takeout. Our fellow Dead fall on them and feast right there on the floor like animals. The life remaining in those cells will keep them from full-dying, but the Dead who don’t hunt will never quite be satisfied. Like men at sea deprived of fresh fruit, they will wither in their deficiencies, weak and perpetually empty, because the new hunger is a lonely monster. It grudgingly accepts the brown meat and lukewarm blood, but what it craves is closeness, that grim sense of connection that courses between their eyes and ours in those final moments, like some dark negative of love.
I wave to M and then break free from the crowd. I have long since acclimated to the Dead’s pervasive stench, but the reek rising off them today feels especially fetid. Breathing is optional, but I need some air.
I wander out into the connecting hallways and ride the conveyors. I stand on the belt and watch the scenery scroll by through the window wall. Not much to see. The runways are turning green, overrun with grass and brush. Jets lie motionless on the concrete like beached whales, white and monumental. Moby Dick, conquered at last.
Before, when I was alive, I could never have done this. Standing still, watching the world pass by me, thinking about nearly nothing. I remember effort. I remember targets and deadlines, goals and ambitions. I remember being purposeful, always everywhere all the time. Now I’m just standing here on the conveyor, along for the ride. I reach the end, turn around, and go back the other way. The world has been distilled. Being dead is easy.
After a few hours of this, I notice a female on the opposite conveyor. She doesn’t lurch or groan like most of us; her head just lolls from side to side. I like that about her, that she doesn’t lurch or groan. I catch her eye and stare at her as we approach. For a brief moment we are side by side, only a few feet away. We pass, then travel on to opposite ends of the hall. We turn around and look at each other. We get back on the conveyors. We pass each other again. I grimace and she grimaces back. On our third pass, the airport power dies, and we come to a halt perfectly aligned. I wheeze hello, and she responds with a hunch of her shoulder.
I like her. I reach out and touch her hair. Like me, her decomposition is at an early stage. Her skin is pale and her eyes are sunken, but she has no exposed bones or organs. Her irises are an especially light shade of that strange pewter gray all the Dead share. Her graveclothes are a black skirt and a snug white buttonup. I suspect she used to be a receptionist.
Pinned to her chest is a silver nametag.
She has a name.
I stare hard at the tag; I lean in close, putting my face inches from her breasts, but it doesn’t help. The letters spin and reverse in my vision; I can’t hold them down. As always, they elude me, just a series of meaningless lines and blots.
Another of M’s undead ironies—from nametags to newspapers, the answers to our questions are written all around us, and we don’t know how to read.
I point at the tag and look her in the eyes. “Your… name?”
She looks at me blankly.
I point at myself and pronounce the remaining fragment of my own name. “Rrr.” Then I point at her again.
Her eyes drop to the floor. She shakes her head. She doesn’t remember. She doesn’t even have syllable one, like M and I do. She is no one. But don’t I always expect too much? I reach out and take her hand. We walk off the conveyers with our arms stretched across the divider.
This female and I have fallen in love. Or what’s left of it.
I think I remember what love was like before. There were complex emotional and biological factors. We had elaborate tests to pass, connections to forge, ups and downs and tears and whirlwinds. It was an ordeal, an exercise in agony, but it was alive. The new love is simpler. Easier. But small.
My girlfriend doesn’t talk much. We walk through the echoing corridors of the airport, occasionally passing someone staring out a window or at a wall. I try to think of things to say but nothing comes, and if something did come I probably couldn’t say it. This is my great obstacle, the biggest of all the boulders littering my path. In my mind I am eloquent; I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thoughts. But when I open my mouth, it all collapses. So far my personal record is four rolling syllables before some… thing… jams. And I may be the most loquacious zombie in this airport.
I don’t know why we don’t speak. I can’t explain the suffocating silence that hangs over our world, cutting us off from each other like prison-visit Plexiglas. Prepositions are painful, articles are arduous, adjectives are wild overachievements. Is this muteness a real physical handicap? One of the many symptoms of being Dead? Or do we just have nothing left to say?
I attempt conversation with my girlfriend, testing out a few awkward phrases and shallow questions, trying to get a reaction out of her, any twitch of wit. But she just looks at me like I’m weird.
We wander for a few hours, directionless, then she grips my hand and starts leading me somewhere. We stumble our way down the halted escalators and out onto the tarmac. I sigh wearily.
She is taking me to church.
The Dead have built a sanctuary on the runway. At some point in the distant past, someone pushed all the stair trucks together into a circle, forming a kind of amphitheater. We gather here, we stand here, we lift our arms and moan. The ancient Boneys wave their skeletal limbs in the center circle, rasping out dry, wordless sermons through toothy grins. I don’t understand what this is. I don’t think any of us do. But it’s the only time we willingly gather under the open sky. That vast cosmic mouth, distant mountains like teeth in the skull of God, yawning wide to devour us. To swallow us down to where we probably belong.
My girlfriend appears to be more devout than I am. She closes her eyes and waves her arms in a way that looks almost heartfelt. I stand next to her and hold my hands in the air stiffly. At some unknown cue, maybe drawn by her fervor, the Boneys stop their preaching and stare at us. One of them comes forward, climbs our stairs, and takes us both by the wrists. It leads us down into the circle and raises our hands in its clawed grip. It lets out a kind of roar, an unearthly sound like a blast of air through a broken hunting horn, shockingly loud, frightening birds out of trees.
The congregation murmurs in response, and it’s done. We are married.
We step back onto the stair seats. The service resumes. My new wife closes her eyes and waves her arms.
The day after our wedding, we have children. A small group of Boneys stops us in the hall and presents them to us. A boy and a girl, both around six years old. The boy is curly blond, with gray skin and gray eyes, perhaps once Caucasian. The girl is darker, with black hair and ashy brown skin, deeply shadowed around her steely eyes. She may have been Arab. The Boneys nudge them forward and they give us tentative smiles, hug our legs. I pat them on their heads and ask their names, but they don’t have any. I sigh, and my wife and I keep walking, hand in hand with our new children.
I wasn’t exactly expecting this. This is a big responsibility. The young Dead don’t have the natural feeding instincts the adults do. They have to be tended and trained, and they will never grow up. Stunted by our curse, they will stay small and rot, then become little skeletons, animate but empty, their brains rattling stiff in their skulls, repeating their routines and rituals until one day, I can only assume, the bones themselves will disintegrate, and they’ll just be gone.
Look at them. Watch them as my wife and I release their hands and they wander outside to play. They tease each other and grin. They play with things that aren’t even toys: staplers and mugs and calculators. They giggle and laugh, though it sounds choked through their dry throats. We’ve bleached their brains, robbed them of breath, but they still cling to the cliff edge. They resist our curse for as long as they possibly can.
I watch them disappear into the pale daylight at the end of the hall. Deep inside me, in some dark and cobwebbed chamber, I feel something twitch.
© 2011 Isaac Marion
Posted March 8, 2011
I know, I was skeptical at first too. The premise of this book is one that is different to be sure. Don't let that turn you off; different is good. I picked up this book with the intent of reading a horror/comedy, man was I surprised.
The book is about the horrors of humanity. But more than any book I have read in a long time it's about Hope and Love. How above all things there will always be these two guiding lights through the horror of the unknown and the fear that each and every one of us feels.
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Posted March 27, 2012
First of all this book is fantastic, but I was deeply offended that they called the fat kid "Piggy" being that I am fat myself. Chocolate is my addiction... My curse. The part where the cannonball took that man's head off was when I KNEW this book was for real. Also, when the two guys started fighting each other, and the one guy stabbed the other (I cried)... But when the dead guy came back my jaw dropped in epic shock.
I deeply enjoyed the characters. Obviously, Piggy was fantastic. Julie... UGH! I liked her, but she was the definition of "loose," but in a zombie apocalypse who has choices? Trent was just one of those whimsical characters who you couldn't help but fall in love with. He was hilarious. Even the scene where his intestines were being ripped out of him I found myself laughing hysterically.
This book made me laugh, it made me cry, it made me feel parts of myself that I haven't felt in years. It was craptastic. I enjoyed several twinkies while reading this book.
*SPOILER ALERT* I am very confused about the ending. I never thought that this zombie apocalypse romance would be a figment of Bill Murray's imagination. You got me there, Isaac Marion. You cut me real deep, Isaac. Real deep.
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Posted November 19, 2012
Pretty good for a debut novel if i do say so myself. I've read about zero zombie novels before this one and I'm really glad this was my first. R is a character you wont get tired of; that much i can promise you :) enjoy, and be excited for the movie!
19 out of 21 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted June 4, 2011
Every now and then, there's a book so prolifically amazing that you ignore the fact that its subject matter is something that you absolutely detest. For me, that book was Warm Bodies. Despite the fact that I love zombie movies, I have an extreme dislike for zombie books (save a few)... until now. Perhaps I was reading the wrong type of zombie books? Or maybe I just gave up too soon when I read a few bad ones in a row? Either way, Isaac Marion's novel has completely changed my mind about the matter and I am now more open to the world of zombies in modern literature.
One of the things that sticks out so profoundly about this novel is the fact that R - the main character, a zombie - actually still holds on to some human attributes and there's more going on than just "Mmm... braaaiiiinnnnsss" in his thought process. On top of that, there's still feelings involved... which is something we don't see much of when it comes to the living dead. R wants to be more than what he is. He craves to feel, love and have more than just a normal zombie life. He's a character that will surprise you at how easily you can relate to and empathize with.
It would be against all crimes of this blog not to point out that I did creep out a little with the romantic interest in the novel. It was just something I couldn't wholeheartedly get behind. However, as disturbing as it was for me, it was also very beautiful and seemed to fit naturally into the story as a whole.
The story was amazingly written. R's perspective was completely enthralling and the story as a whole was nothing short of incredible. Once I started reading, I couldn't stop reading... even at the parts that made me cringe! The world building in Warm Bodies wasn't much different from present-day society... only, you know, it has zombies and stuff - which is something I am almost certain does not exist. Yet.
If zombie romances are your thing, then you absolutely MUST pick up a copy of Warm Bodies. Right now. If they're not your thing, then I would recommend picking up a copy of Warm Bodies. Right now. I have a feeling Marion will change your mind and steal your heart with this novel.
17 out of 17 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted May 25, 2011
"Warm Bodies" is such a great debut novel from Isaac Marion! I was immediately engulfed in the main character, R, and found myself cheering and rooting for him by the end of the book.
I never thought I could care for a zombie, the way this book made me care for a zombie.
Try it out! It's good fun and a fast read.
14 out of 17 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Good book, prefer Fallen Angel way more over this. But this is a good read too.
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Posted November 18, 2012
Posted May 4, 2011
Posted November 17, 2012
So far its good, csnt wait until the movr febuary 1,2013 omg!!!! You hae to read this book and watch the movie its will make you wabt to be there its so awesome :DDDDDD
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Posted January 19, 2013
(Source: I received a digital copy of this book for free on a read-to-review basis. Thanks to Random House and Netgalley.)
R is a zombie. He doesn’t remember his real name, or what life was like when he was alive. He’s just busy finding enough human brains to eat so that he doesn’t die totally, because if he doesn’t eat brains, he loses the magic ‘life’ energy that is keeping him animated.
One day while on a hunt, R eats the brains of a boy called Perry, and as he eats them, he sees flashes of the boy’s life, and learns that the boy loves a girl called Julie. Julie is with the same group as Perry, and R makes sure that she is not harmed, rubs zombie blood on her so that the others don’t realise she is human, and takes her home with him.
R isn’t sure what’s going on, but the more of Perry’s brain he eats, and the more time he spends with Julie, he begins to feel different, and begins to develop feelings of his own for Julie.
Can R ever be anything but a zombie though? Can Julie ever see him as anything more than a zombie? And what will Julie say when she finds out that it was R who killed her boyfriend and ate his brains?
Let’s just say that this was one weird-ass zombie novel. Dystopian society – check, zombies – check, a zombie falling in love with a human – check, what?
Most zombie novels obviously focus on those running from the zombies, and zombies are obviously pretty gross. In this book, the story is told from the point of view of the zombie! And yes, these zombies are still gross – rotting, with nasty teeth, grey skin etc, and with the need to eat human brains regularly.
The author tries to get you to relate to the zombie, and even to feel sorry for him, but all the way through, I just could not get over the fact that R is a zombie! As ‘nice’ as R was, he was still a zombie! I mean, the story was enjoyable, and it was a totally different experience to see things from the zombie’s point of view, but I still couldn’t get over the fact that he was a zombie.
Julie does get past the fact that R is a zombie, and she even starts to like him, but the whole ‘eats human brains’ thing was just too much for me!
It was interesting to see the take on zombie’s in this book, although we never really find out what caused the end of the world as we know it, or why people turned into zombies. We learn that the humans refer to a type of plague, but that’s all. The zombies themselves must eat human muscle and brain to remain ‘alive’, and they can ‘die’ if they run out of the ‘life’ energy that they get from their meals. I thought that the idea of the zombie’s experiencing their victims memories as they ate their brains to be quite interesting and unusual, and hadn’t come across anything like that before (although I suppose most zombie books are not told from the point of view of the zombie).
I thought that the storyline was obviously very different, and quite a unique idea. I can’t say that I knew exactly where the book was going, but it was quite obvious that something would happen between R and Julie. Thankfully there wasn’t much physical romance in this book because kissing someone with rotting lips? Not a nice thought. With regards to the ending, I wasn’t really sure what to make of it. I mean, the ending was alright, but it felt a little strange to get a happy ending in a zombie book!
So what do I think overall? This was an enjoyable read, but I found it quite difficult to relate to a zombie, or to a girl who could learn to love a zombie! And the ending was probably a little too positive for a zombie book!
6.8 out of 10.
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Posted December 13, 2011
I expected this book to be completely different than how it turned out. I expected something brave and new for the zombie genre just based off the reviews I'd read.
When I opened first the book on my Nook, I saw a glowing recommendation from Stephanie Meyer on the cover. I should have realized RIGHT THEN that this wasn't going to be a book I would enjoy. This book, like Meyer's Twilight series, read like fanfiction. Actually, it read like literary fanfiction (if such a genre were to exist) because Isaac Marion knows how to write. His sentences are beautiful and well though out, especially in the first few chapters before it becomes an inane love story. In those first few chapters, he had me hooked; I totally saw an existentialist zombie trapped in an inferior body, longing for the humanity he didn't understand. If Marion had focused on that, on some sort of basic human struggle sans love, this would have been a brilliant book. But the second Julie steps in, Warm Bodies instantly turns to mush.
Julie, the Juliet character in this Shakespearean rip-ff, lacks personality. She's equal parts bubbly, spunky, and annoying. As a girl reading this book, it annoyed me how weak she was. She was never portrayed as a strong young woman whose will to survive was stronger than the zombie apocalypse. Marion certainly wanted us to think that of her, but I couldn't buy it. She constantly put herself in danger and seemed incapable of rescuing herself.
Another thing: a lover story between a human and a zombie is just kind of... gross. R is described as being filthy and leaking a thick black liquid from the (forever unhealing) wounds on his body. Every time a romantic moment occurred, I barfed in my head. Imagining some smelly, unidentifiable-black-liquid-excreting dead person kissing somebody is NOT my idea of a fairy tale romance.
Do yourself a favor and skip over this book.
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Posted May 15, 2011
This book was the first zombie story I had read from the zombie point of view and had hope involved for the ending. It was about a living female and a dead male with an impossible and quirky love. I thought it was a great read and like another reviewer said, it would easily translate to a movie. I'm looking forward to rereading this story. The Publisher Weekly review is wrong, this is a very good book.
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Posted January 23, 2013
HAWT Zombies In Love + Lyrical Prose = MUST READ
When I first saw the preview for Warm Bodies (the movie), I was so excited. What a fantastic premise. A zombie falling in love! Then when a friend told me it was a book too, I was even more excited! I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it! And I absolutely loved this book!! Omigosh, it was stop-your-world fantastic!!!!
The first thing that drew me in was the fact that Isaac told the story from R’s (the hero’s) point of view. Watching a guy fall in love, especially a zombie, was so intriguing. Throughout the entire book, I wasn’t sure how things could possibly end well; because, after all, the hero is a zombie. Eats brains, does the death shuffle, that type of thing. I won’t give anything away, but the ending will surprise you.
Another aspect of this story that was so unique was what happened when zombies actually ate human brains. Read the book to find out!
You can’t help but root for R. He’s witty, smart and hopelessly romantic, even if he can’t remember his name or what he did before the outbreak happened. Zombie stories—what with the flesh eating and all—can get a little gory, but I never once thought about that while reading Warm Bodies. The beautifully crafted sentences and underlying humor held me spellbound. I flew through the pages, but had to force myself to slow down and savor the ending… I wanted more! I am so glad I read this book, and I absolutely cannot wait to see what comes next! Give me book two, Isaac!!
Highly recommend you move this one to the top of your TBR list.
****Favorite lines**** Okay, so this wasn’t even all of them. I had to cut quite a few or I’d give the entire book away and Isaac probably wouldn’t like that! Enjoy!!
Faint impressions of past lives that linger like phantom limbs.
But it does make me sad that we’ve forgotten our names. Out of everything, this seems to me the most tragic. I miss my own and I mourn for everyone else’s, because I’d like to love them, but I don’t know who they are.
It’s simple but senseless, arbitrary laws from some lunatic legislator in the sky.
Being dead is easy.
In my mind I am eloquent; I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thoughts. But when I open my mouth, it all collapses.
The sparkle of life sprays out of his cells like citrus mist from an orange peel, and I suck it in.
I crush her against me. I want to be part of her. Not just inside her but all around her. I want our rib cages to crack open and our hearts to migrate and merge. I want our cells to braid together like living thread.
But then she screams again, and something inside me moves, a feeble moth struggling against a web.
I look at her blankly. Hungry? Does she want an arm or leg? Hot blood, meat and life? She’s Living . . . does she want to eat herself?
She is Living and I’m Dead, but I’d like to believe we’re both human. Call me an idealist.
I long for exclamation marks, but I’m drowning in ellipses.
Nora stares at me like I’m Sasquatch, the Chupacabra, maybe a unicorn.
“Come on,” she encourages. “Use your words.”
I would like my life to be a movie so I could cut to a montage.
I’m just a corpse who wants not to be.
5 out of 6 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted December 15, 2012
The movie trailer sparked my intrest, but after i started reading the book I was addicted! An excelent book that you just cant put down, with memorable characters your bond to fall in love with!
5 out of 5 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted March 12, 2013
You know, to be honest, I wouldn't even know that this book had existed, if not for the movie, which I loved. To compliment this book: it has exquisite word choice. The author obviously put a lot of thought into this novel and how the sentences sounded, and I salute him just for that; he tries twice as hard as most book writers.
What kept me from loving, or even really liking this book, was how the sentences blended together. As I said above, the sentences on their own were amazing. But when you put them all together... it was sort of a different story. The way in which the diolouge was written was very hard for me to get past. It often went through two ir maybe even three scenarios in less than a page and a half at the parts where you really wanted detail, and the parts where you didn't need so much seemed to drag on and on forever. I did find R's point if view interesting for a short while, and then it became difficult to read, and it seemed as if the author's mind was going in 10 different directions at once, and couldn't decide which to write!
And then we have Julie. Oh, Julie. She was certainly something special, and you can take that any way you like. I wouldn't necessarily choose her to survive an apocolypse. But you know, that's just my point of view.
Overall, the word and sentence structure in this book was truly amazing, but the story never pulled me in; it more pushed me away. An interesting spinoff on Romeo and Juliet (And yes, I do understand the irony; "R"= Romeo, Julie = Juliet), but I wouldn't waste my time unless you're really into books that keave your head spinning and are totally at different paces constantly...
4 out of 5 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted December 13, 2012
This book is so good I could NOT and when I mean NOT I MEAN NOT put it down. It is the perfect romance/sifi/action book. WARNING: It is not for someone who doesn's like romance or TMI. I mean really some stuff I didn't need to know. BUT STILL IT IS SO SWEET. And o SPOILER ALERT!!!!!!
R the zombie slowly changes back to a human.
I think all zombies need is a little bit of love to!!!!!!
4 out of 6 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted January 25, 2013
Dang, I don’t even know where to begin with this review. This book was gross and disgusting, totally hilarious, and amazingly beautiful all at once! The first few chapters, I was pretty creeped out. The author does not spare the horrific details of being a zombie. The whole rotting corpse, eating brains, grunts and shuffles – it’s all there. But the thing about R is, he’s different than the others. You get to hear what he’s actually thinking in that dead head of his. He has real, educated, intelligent thought going on up there even though he can’t put it into more than one or two syllables when he tries to speak. He is also not real with thrilled with the fact that he has to kill people to stay alive, but what else can he do? Then there’s Julie. She is very real and very bad-ass – definitely not some fragile little human. She can take care of herself & she won’t take crap from anyone. Oddly, the two seem to bring out the best in each other the more they are together. This is one of those books that will keep you reading into the early hours of the morning – don’t plan on doing anything else until it’s finished. A very unique story that will change your view of Zombies for good!
3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted November 20, 2012
The great expectations i had made for this book were happily met. Instanty intrigued after seeing the movie trailer recently, i was stoked to purchase and dive into this new world of zombie love! I found it amusing, intriguing and heart felt. The main character R amazed me and had me deeply examining humans and our existense together. Although i did enjoy the quick read, it was again really short. I would have loved to dive deeper into detail through this fictional world. The ending left me wanting more of blunt, brave Julie and loving, caring R. Still, definately worth the purchase!
3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted March 23, 2013
I only picked up this book because i saw the movie. I realy enjoyed it. For me it was a fast read,only took me a day and a half to read it all. The writting wes great, had realy great word choices, that made it interesting to read. The thoughts are a bit scater brained and i ha to reread sone sections, but the book had me hooks and i could not out it downm just a good interesting read, i highly recomend it if you have some free time and looking fir a fun fast read.
2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted September 3, 2013
This book isnt just for people into zombie stuff i would know because zombies just weren't my thing before this book. The author shows you a completely different prospective on a post appocolips situation that is some how romantic and inspiring
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.