I was very taken aback, surprised, as well as pleased to come across a novel that was so well written that I really took my time and savored reading it. It was elegant, thoughtful, and beautiful, all the adjectives I never expected to associate with a zombie novel. The thing that stood out to me the most about this novel, besides the unique story line, was the writing itself. I had to make sure I didn’t eat too soon before or after reading because I apparently have a weak stomach. It was masterfully done and I was sufficiently grossed out. I was not prepared, however, for Marion’s extremely vivid and explicit descriptions of the way the zombies looked and how or what they ate. I haven’t seen the movie yet, but let’s just say I seriously misjudged the trailers. I won this book right around the same time the movie trailers where coming out so I thought I knew what to expect. The first zombie novel I read was Generation Dead (you can read my review here) and I had a lot of recommendations to read Warm Bodies. series The Walking Dead so I was excited to read my second Zombie novel. Scary, funny, and surprisingly poignant, Warm Bodies is about being alive, being dead, and the blurry line in between. His decision to protect her will transform not only R, but his fellow Dead, and perhaps their whole lifeless world. Julie is a blast of color in the otherwise dreary and gray landscape that surrounds R. He has no memories, noidentity, and no pulse, but he has dreams.After experiencing a teenage boy’s memories while consuming his brain, R makes an unexpected choice that begins a tense, awkward, and stragely sweet relationship with the victim’s human girlfriend. He can speak just a few grunted syllables, but his inner life is deep, full of wonder and longing. He shuffles through an America destroyed by war, social collapse, and the mindless hunger of his undead comrades, but he craves something more than blood and brains. It was a step.R is a young man with an existential crisis–he is a zombie. But that moment gave me hope that I didn’t know I lacked. It was another week before I could eat again, and even now my body remains distrustful of such simple, deathless nourishment, accepting it only when starvation is imminent. I didn’t want to suck the lightning out of a human soul I wanted to eat hash browns. I watched Julie frying potatoes from our garden, drowning them in hot sauce, and my stomach grumbled. The kind that didn’t demand human sacrifice. But then, after about a month, it happened. I didn’t want her to share my worry that I wouldn’t survive my transformation. Every evening I’d shove bread in my mouth and force myself to swallow sometimes I’d even manage to hold it down until Julie finished celebrating before I snuck off to the bathroom to vomit. Is it just the lingering echoes of old instincts, or a sign of recovery? A stiff body stretching its limbs, testing its reflexes? I remember my first real meal.

Warm bodies book review