My Book Room

I would not be reading this if one of my best friends hadn't recommended it. And that would have been a real shame. 

I watched the movie adaptation after my buddy Linton told me to. Somehow the subject of WARM BODIES came up and I told him how I expected it to be like TWILIGHT only with zomb-zombs instead of sparkling vamps and bare-chested were-bears. Having already watched it, Linton told me how wrong I was, and that I should find the flick posthaste. I dug the movie. I wouldn't give it any awards, but it was worth the rental.

Then I posted on some social media site or another that the movie did not suck. This prompted my friend Nettles to say, "Yo, Starbuck! Read the book `cause it's funnier, mo' frakker!" Okay, so maybe she didn't sound like a cast member of Battlestar Galactica (I just watched RIDDICK the other night and Katey Sackoff's side-boob is still bouncing through my gray matter). Don't judge me. Anyfuck, I told Nettles that I'd get to it eventually. 

Fast forward to my birthday last year (which is actually a flashback, innit?) when I received a trade paperback version of WARM BODIES in the mail, courtesy of Nettles. The book went on my TBR, and I've just now started reading it. 

Okay, I told you all that to tell you this. Nettles thought I would like the book because it's funnier. Well, it isn't funnier. In fact, I haven't laughed once. But, it is much deeper than I expected. I'm shocked at how well-written and poignant this novel is. 

Here's a little taste of what I'm talking about:

"I want to change my punctuation. I long for exclamation marks, but I'm drowning in ellipses."

I know, right? Who among us hasn't felt like that, I dig that shit; simple, powerful writing. What I like to call smexy-as-fuck prose (for those of you not in the nose, smexy = smart + sexy).

Anyballs, I'm only 64 pages into this fucker. I'll let you know my thoughts on the whole thing when I finish.

E.