If nothing else, Colson Whitehead’s new novel – a zombie fiction that manages to be both unabashedly immersed in the genre while still tenaciously clinging (for better and for worse) to his usual traits and interests – understands and appreciates the fast-then-slow creep of the zombie menace which threatens the tattered shreds of society. You might escape this attack, but what about the next? Or the next? Pods and nests and gangs and legions of them are waiting around corners and in darkened houses, flooding across the land like a darkling plague. Even in newer iterations of the myth, films like 28 Days Later where the flesheaters move with feral speed, it’s not the quickness of their attack which terrifies so, it’s the totality. The zombie apocalypse is the slow-motion nightmare.
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