Book Review - Allison Hewitt is Trapped, by Madeleine Roux

A woman fighting zombies with an axe in a bookstore? How could I not be curious after just looking at the cover? I saw this one getting decidedly mixed reviews, but honestly, I found it to have nearly everything I was looking for in a zombie apocalypse book. Granted, there are a few things that I think could have been done better, but generally speaking, I had a great time reading this.

The title aptly describes the framework and entry point of the book: Allison Hewitt, a literature major and bookstore employee, finds herself locked in her place of employment after the zombie apocalypse spills across her town. Against all odds, she manages to find a wireless Internet connection near the bookstore, through some kind of emergency network called SNet. Allison begins to record the daily horrors of her new existence, initially as a way of staying sane and embracing something that seems normal. Eventually, however, the detached snark of her entries evolves into something else, as she moves to increasingly tenuous sanctuaries and her circumstances grow more desperate. Meanwhile, a community of survivors grows out of the blog's comment threads. Her new, faceless audience provides solace, warning, and advice as she decides to risk everything and strike out on her own to find her mother.

The story progresses exactly as one would expect, and though it contains plenty of familiar tropes, it feels distinctly like homage rather than retread. The secondary characters are just fleshed out enough to avoid being cardboard cutouts, but honestly, Allison has such a strong voice that I was largely fine with focusing mainly on her. The current example of a contiguous ensemble piece in the zombie genre is The Walking Dead comic, and that has rapidly devolved into a histrionic melodrama; comparatively speaking, I find the focus on one character to be refreshing. Her constant sarcasm does threaten to get in the way of the dialogue and action from time to time, especially when Roux puts especially elaborate one-liners in her mouth. However, it’s a fair price to pay for the creepy sense of whistling in the dark that it provides. Naturally, there’s plenty of wading through zombie gore and battling past sinister human survivors, and the book never gets boring, despite the various claustrophobic settings in which Allison finds herself trapped.

I do think that the book’s gimmick falls a little flat, or at least falls short of what it could have been. Telling the story of the zombie plague through a blog is a really neat idea, even with the vague and unrealistic setup it gets here. The comments, especially, are an intriguing way to move the story along. While Roux does some interesting things with this in the beginning, it eventually tapers off in favor of long-winded posts that look suspiciously like book chapters, with a few repetitive “good to see you’re still alive” comments tacked on. It doesn’t feel like Roux fully commits to the idea of this story being a blog. Between the weird present-tense delivery and the gradual inclusion of very specific narrative detail, the posts just don’t seem like posts. Nobody writes a blog like that, even if they have nothing else to do. There are a few instances of awkward writing that I choose to attribute to Allison instead of the author, but I wanted more consistent dedication to the format.

That particular failure to suspend my disbelief didn’t take away from my enjoyment, though. Terror, humor, violence, and romance are deftly mixed, and I found it genuinely hard to put down. Though this book isn’t particularly elegant, it’s still going up on my zombie pantheon shelf alongside Max Brooks.

Verdict: 4 / 5

Graphic Novel Review - The Walking Dead, Vol. 6: This Sorrowful Life, by Robert Kirkman and Charlie Adlard

I’m starting to realize that Walking Dead is one of those series that boasts a large number of fans that are oblivious to or are willing to look past its flaws. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, but it is what it is. The universal acclaim that these books get seems to be at odds with some of the problems it has, especially by this point in the series. This volume, simply put, isn’t put together very well, and isn’t much fun to read. Spoilers ahead.

The issues in this collection continue to chronicle the ordeals of Rick, Michonne, and Glenn at Woodbury, including their harrowing escape and return to the prison. The centerpiece of the volume is a long, graphic section of torture porn, as Michonne enacts her foreshadowed revenge on the Governor for raping and brutalizing her in the preceding days. They make it out of the city with the help of a few defectors, but find the prison overrun by zombies when they return. Fortunately, most of the people at the prison are safely holed up (waiting for Rick to get back before doing anything about it, I guess?), and they get their sanctuary secured and cleaned up again in short order. However, an incident with one of the Woodbury defectors stands as a stark reminder that they now have living, breathing potential enemies right on their doorstep.

I read this volume faster than I usually do, but not because I was glued to the action. I was waiting for something profound or even interesting to happen, and it never really did. The extended torture vignette couldn’t end fast enough; it added exactly nothing to the story, since it didn’t seem to affect Michonne’s character in any way other than Rick noticing the crazy mannerisms she’s had since she was introduced. Also, I guess it’s perfectly fine to illustrate rape and torture in graphic detail, rather than simply implying it like before, if the victim is a man who deserves it. It’s a little weird to complain about violence in a zombie comic, I admit, but the whole thing seemed gratuitous. Anyway, we’re introduced to a few new characters, and in the space of a few pages, one dies, one is immediately slotted into an archetypical role (the person with vague medical knowledge that must find the courage to become The Group's Doctor), and one is inexplicably revealed as a traitor and even more inexplicably murdered by Rick. Hmm.

What story there was made very little sense, and really only served as connecting the plot point from the last volume (the existence of another, grittier group of survivors) with whatever the heroes are going to do next. It’s not a bad collection, really, but I wouldn’t really classify it as good, either. It doesn’t really add anything, and could have done without a lot of the supporting details (like, for instance, the ridiculous gladiator fight scenario). The AMC series seems to be getting a lot of flack lately for aimless writing and confusing character decisions, but that’s seems to be the hallmark of this volume.

Honestly, I think I would have liked it better if I had read it as individual issues, with a cooldown period between each. There are a lot of powerful, visceral moments in the volume that leave a lasting impression if taken on their own, but they come off as weak and even silly when lumped together as a story arc. Now that we’re past the long introduction of the Woodbury group, though, I’m interested to see what happens next.

In short, this isn’t a terrible book, but it’s easily the weakest of the series thus far.

Verdict: 2 / 5

Book Review - Boneshaker, by Cherie Priest

I don’t get it. This book has everything I could possibly ask for in an escapist action read: plucky characters, air pirates, steampunk weaponry, and zombies. Yet, I could never rise above a general feeling of benign tolerance while making my way through the book, with the exception of a few mildly exciting scenes. I can’t really pinpoint anything wrong with the book, specifically. For whatever reason, though, I just couldn’t get on board, no matter how much I tried. Some spoilers follow, so proceed at your own risk.

The story takes place in an alternate, steampunk version of 19th century Seattle. The title of the book refers to a massive drill built by the eccentric genius Dr. Leviticus Blue, conceived as a response to a challenge from Russian investors looking for a new way to dig for gold under the Klondike. His first test run of the device, however, ended up destroying entire blocks of the city, precipitating the mysterious disappearance of both Blue and the Boneshaker. Even worse, however, was what the drill uncovered during its destructive test run: the Blight, a mysterious gas that pours out of the broken ground, killing anyone who comes in contact with it and transforming them into a ravenous undead creature. Seattle is turned into a sealed-off ghost town, and most of the survivors relocate to a shanty town outside the massive walls. Dr. Blue’s widow, Briar Wilkes, lives a hardscrabble life in this refugee camp with her teenage son. Briar does her best to forget the past, but her son Ezekiel refuses to accept the shame of his father’s work (and, as an additional problem, his grandfather’s reputation for assisting criminals during Seattle’s evacuation). With typical teenage bravado, Zeke concocts a poorly designed scheme to slip into the toxic, zombie-infested city and redeem his family legacy. Briar follows him in, intent on nothing more than retrieving him, but discovers that the living residents of the Seattle wasteland may be even more dangerous than the dead ones.

Everybody I know who has read this book has gushed over it, without exception. I don’t know if I fell victim to an excess of hype, but I just couldn’t get as excited about this as everyone else seems to be. To be sure, the setting is fantastic and the writing is solid. I’m not so sure about the characters, though. Priest puts a lot of love into sketching them out; their mannerisms and dialects are perfect, their physical descriptions are evocative, and the masks and weaponry are a fun and intriguing touch. But underneath the surface, they all share a curious blandness. The story says they get emotional at all the right parts, but for some reason, it wasn’t really coming across. It didn’t help that there isn’t any real exploration of character motive, other than Briar (mother searching for her son) and Zeke (disaffected youth searching for meaning). Everybody else stumbles in and out of the story, without any real elaboration on why they do what they do.

Considering all the alternative history zombie airship goodness in this book, I would be fine with the dearth of introspection as long as there is plenty of excitement in the story. And there is, in a basic sense. The zombie attacks are sufficiently scary, and the creeping threat of the Blight lends a sinister, claustrophobic element. There is a treasure trove of added coolness, what with all the airship chases, gun battles, and hand-to-hand combat. The problem, though, is that there are no real surprises in the plot itself. Briar sets out to find Zeke, and finds him. The first person Zeke meets is bluntly foreshadowed as untrustworthy, and it turns out he is, but he’s removed from play before that revelation has any real impact on the story. Despite everybody’s well-founded suspicion that the book’s villain, Dr. Minnericht, is actually Leviticus Blue, Briar is grimly sure from the very beginning that he isn’t. This is set up as one of the book’s main mysteries, even though there’s one quite obvious reason why she might be so sure. Once we get to the big reveal at the end, we find that’s indeed the reason, exactly as constructed, and neither Briar nor the reader is a bit surprised. Bleh.

It’s incredibly frustrating to be so underwhelmed, because there really is a whole lot here to like. The secondary characters are really interesting, and the world itself is meticulously realized. The action sequences do not disappoint, and things start to get really good in the last third of the story. But there’s something robotic about the whole endeavor. I couldn’t get invested in the story, and wasn’t distracted enough by the shiny stuff. I did like it enough to be interested in the next Clockwork Century book, since I love the aesthetic and am curious to see if I’ll find a different story in this setting more engaging. But while this is a good book that is a great choice for steampunk and zombie fans, I just wasn’t as captivated by it as I thought I’d be.

Verdict: 3 / 5

Graphic Novel Review - The Walking Dead Vol. 5: The Best Defense, by Robert Kirkman and Charlie Adlard

Be warned: minor spoilers ahead.

All right. Before reading this volume, I went back and reread all of the trades up to this point, in order to recapture the narrative and get back into the spirit of the story for Halloween. A few things I noticed during the read-through:

1. I appreciate the switch to Adlard’s art after the first story arc. While Moore made the characters much more distinguishable from one another, he also lent an exaggerated aspect to their features and expressions that was almost cartoonish. The more realistic drawing from Adlard gives the artwork a gritty feel that’s more in line with the story.

2. Kirkman actually does a very good job in setting things up for future revelations. Much of what goes on in plot and character development is subtly constructed and foreshadowed in previous story arcs. And on that note:

3. I’ve said it before, but it’s definitely not my imagination. The world of the Walking Dead is profoundly misogynistic, populated with complicated male characters that are propped up by submissive, shallow female supporters. However, the jury is still out on whether this is a product of the story Kirkman is telling, or the heteronormative assumptions he makes while telling it.

In this volume, the story moves from a simmering internecine struggle to a more dangerous external conflict, as the sudden appearance of a helicopter leads Rick, Glenn, and Michonne to the doorstep of another survivor camp. This group is led by a man named Philip, who has styled himself The Governor. This new player in the story is quickly established as certifiably insane, as well as the extreme example of securing authority through the “might makes right,” do-anything approach to keeping people safe that Rick has been struggling with up until now. As the three protagonists begin their ordeal in the Governor's hands, the rest of the group back at the prison wait anxiously for their return, with no idea that a new, non-zombie threat is now bearing down on them.

As usual, I’m conflicted. The introduction of an honest-to-goodness, crazy-ass human villain that doesn’t immediately flame out and get shot in the next issue is exactly what the story needed. I appreciated the claustrophobic tension that suffused the last volume, especially considering that finding and keeping a sanctuary broke the formula that had previously been established. That sort of conflict can only keep up for so long before getting tiresome, though, and a clash with another survivor ideologue is the next logical step. As over-the-top as the Governor is, I needed a shock to the system. We’ve spent a lot of time in the past few arcs on what the end of the world has done to our heroes, so I appreciate the reminder that yes, by the way, it really is the end of the world. Dead people are trying to eat everyone that’s left, and that can make people justify doing some really screwed up things in the name of survival. I consequently ate this volume up. The story is exciting, the pace is perfect, and I’m primed for the fallout that’s sure to come in the following volumes.

Here’s the thing, though: did we really need another refresher course on how women are not welcome in this version of the zombie apocalypse? Maybe it’s because I reread everything, but the no-girls-allowed mood was already firmly entrenched. At this point it’s really starting to grate, and I wish Kirkman would stop harping on it and just fucking move on, already. I like that the theme of deconstructing nuclear families and monogamous relationships has appeared, but as foreshadowed, it comes from the female character that apparently can’t function without a man. More problematic, though, is that the reasoning for this development actually makes sense and is dramatically interesting, but is immediately met with “we don’t do that in Kentucky,” etc. I’m not sure if that was a reference to polyamory or homosexuality, but considering how Andrew and Dexter turned out and what happened to them, I wouldn't be surprised if homosexuality is unwelcome in this zombie apocalypse, too. We can forget about Andrea being a solid female protagonist, too, now that she's voiced her committment to doing whatever Dale tells her to do.

And, of course, Michonne. Oh, Michonne. To be fair, our sole remaining strong female character was effectively subjugated right as she was introduced in the last volume, when she immediately glommed onto a male protagonist for no other apparent reason than that they are both black. But yes, the brutal, prolonged rape and torture of Michonne for daring to physically attack the man that had, without provocation, maimed one of her companions was particularly hard to read. Not just because it’s hard to stomach on its own, but because Kirkman has decided to frame it in the perspective of what it does to the men around her. The Governor’s so crazy, he rapes people for fun! What a scary and interesting character! And oh, poor Glenn! Look how traumatized he is by having to hear Michonne being raped! Meanwhile, we get one line of dialogue from the victim herself concerning what she plans to do to her tormentor (which I’m convinced will happen, and will be as bad as she implies), but otherwise, no actual focus on what such horrific treatment is actually doing to her or what she is thinking. Other than some artistically drawn panels of her tied spread-eagle, of course, and renderings of her beaten face and cries of pain for dramatic effect. That says all we need to know, right? Sigh.

I usually don’t have patience for people that go searching for reasons to get offended, but Jesus, WE GET IT, ROBERT KIRKMAN. MEN ARE IN CHARGE. I think my problem with all of this is that Kirkman is taking pains to write what he feels might actually happen in a zombie apocalypse, which implies that somewhere deep down, he imagines violent patriarchy to be the natural order of things that would immediately be reestablished without social norms to hold it back. Admittedly, that’s an argument that can’t be dismissed offhand, considering that institutionalized rape and the relegation of women to submissive wards meant to be owned, guarded, shepherded, and/or used can be found this very moment in various parts of the real world (and even in our own “civilized” country). It’s still unpleasant, though, and I have yet to see the purpose for constantly reasserting it in every single story arc, especially since it’s largely done through and abetted by the female characters that I’m supposed to like and sympathize with.

But I’m still giving this one a four. Yeah, I know. Insensitive, privileged white male. The story is still fantastic, though, and I liked this volume much better than the previous few. It’s a really good zombie melodrama, and at this point in the series it’s still a great read for fans of the genre. Just, you know... trigger warning. Don't read this series with any illusions of it being more socially enlightened than any other comic book aimed at young men. Also, I’m realizing that most of the protagonists are pretty hard to like at this point, and I’m torn between finding that odd and recognizing it as interesting, as the reality of the world they are in continues to take its emotional toll on them.

Verdict: 4 / 5