I have a problem. Every time I go to buy a fun, distracting book, I come home with a handful of depressing, literarti treatises on the misery of life. When it comes to holiday reading, I really have to stop myself and think. Do I really want to read In Cold Blood relaxing in summery Japan?
‘It is a truth universally accepted that a zombie in possession of brains, must be in want of more brains.’
So begins the immoral, the blasphemous, and enormously entertaining Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, by Seth Graheme-Smith (and of course, Jane Austen). If the original story wasn’t enough for you, throw in a dojo of ninjas, a couple of beheadings, and hoards of zombie undead, and you have a book worthy of the shelves of Pemberley. Or not.
I’d been meaning to read the book for a while, but the impending movie gave me an extra incentive. So, in about two days, I sliced through Watchmen. I was looking forward to my bus trips and lunch breaks more than ever, because it gave me a chance to slip into a parallel 1985, where superheroes are real, with all the problems that come with being human.