If there is a single genre that has been totally overused, tapped-out, wrung-dry, and exhausted, it would have to be the Zombie Apocalypse genre. From books to movies to TV shows, the idea of a world overrun with mindless, brain-eating zombies has been so fertile that it even engendered a classic spoof in Shawn of the Dead (and that was fifteen years ago!).
Having said that, it’s nice and even uplifting to remember that great writing, a kick-ass story, vivid characters and a hideously evil villain can overcome anything.
Oh, and a brilliant twist. That helps, too.
The “twist” in M. R. Carey’s The Girl with All the Gifts is that the novel’s young heroine is, herself, a zombie. Or, at least, infected with the fungus that has caused the “Breakdown” which has reduced human civilization to a few small, besieged cities. Other than having a genius I.Q. and an almost uncontrollable hunger for human flesh, Melanie is an ordinary ten-year-old. She likes school (actually a prison filled with other infected kids), and she especially likes her teacher, Miss Justineau (actually a psychologist tasked with studying the kids’ neurological responses).
The central conflict of the story comes between the decent and humane Justineau and her scientific counterpart, Dr. Caldwell, who sees the kids as “test subjects” who only seem human. (She dissects them in her lab whenever she gets the chance.)
Yes, this book concerns the second-greatest theme of modern literature—the ease with which otherwise good people can dehumanize another class.
Caldwell’s contempt for the children’s status as human beings is matched only by that of the prison’s warden, Sergeant Parks, who has been at war with the zombies (“hungries” in the nomenclature of the novel) for most of his life. But, unlike Caldwell, Parks still has a stump of compassion in him, which he has to repress on a daily, or even hourly, basis, especially when confronted by the brave and intelligent Melanie. As in this passage from the book:
Melanie meets Sergeant’s gaze, feeling something inside her clench like a fist. It’s Sergeant’s fault that Miss Justineau is sad. It has to be, because she only started to be sad after Sergeant got mad with her and told her she’d broken the rules.
“Look at you,” he says to Melanie now. “Face all screwed up like a tragedy mask. Like you’ve got feelings. Jesus Christ!”
Melanie scowls at him, as fierce as she can get. “If I had a box full of all the evils of the world,” she tells him, “I’d open it just a little way and push you inside. Then I’d close it again for always.”
Sergeant laughs, and there’s surprise in the laugh–like he can’t believe what he just heard. “Well, shit,” he says, “I’d better make sure you never get hold of a box.”
Of course, when I began reading the book, the thought occurred to me that it is based on a ridiculous premise (even for a zombie tale). After all, how could reasonable people deny the obvious humanity of a kid like Melanie? But then I remembered: Oh, yeah. The Holocaust.
(And Donald Trump, for that matter.)
The story kicks into high-gear when the prison is overrun by hungries and the central characters make their escape into the wilderness. Melanie goes from being a prisoner to the defacto leader of the group, using her intelligence and “gifts” (superhuman speed and strength among them) to preserve the motley crew on their trek across a ravaged landscape. It all leads to a climax that is both shocking and perfect, falling into the reader’s hand—in the immortal words of Flannery O’Connor—like “ripe fruit.”
Good stuff. Check it out.
(Author’s Note: this post originally appeared on my old blog, Bakhtin’s Cigarettes.)
Ash Clifton, Writer 