Night of the Living Bildungsroman: A Review of J.R. Angelella's Zombie

Of all the subsections and structural variants that have graced the literary landscape over the years, the bildungsroman (coming-of-age story) is perhaps the most treasured and adaptable. These pieces vary greatly in terms of intended audience, genre, and tone, and you’ve no doubt seen examples both in classic works (Great Expectations, Candide, Jane Eyre, To Kill a Mockingbird, and Catcher in the Rye) and newer fiction (The Kite Runner, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Persepolis, Harry Potter,  and yes,  even Twilight to some extent. Sorry.)

Zombie, the debut novel by J.R. Angelella, earns its place on the list easily, as its narrator (Jeremy Barker) is all too happy to discuss his jaded outlook, troublesome adolescent experiences, and quirky family, friends and enemies with superficial humor and touching emotional subtext. His is a tale we can all relate to (well, sort of. You’ll see.) In fact, Barker is clearly a spiritual successor to Salinger’s Holden Caulfield — both deal with “phony” adults, sexual inexperience, violent psychopathic fantasies, confusion about love, and anxiety about life. The chief difference here is that Barker also has to deal with snuff films, an emotionally void, drug addicted family, and plenty of psychical altercations at school. Oh, and zombies. Lots and lots of zombies.

Interestingly, the book begins with Jeremy discussing his father’s penchant for and judgment of neckties:

According to my father [Ballentine], there are three types of necktie knots: the Windsor, the Half-Windsor, and the Limp Dick.

Afterward, we are privy to various subtle yet revealing discussions and interactions between them, including overly explicit details about how said knots imply masculinity, the whereabouts of Jeremy’s mother, and hypothetic zombie survival scenarios (it’s with these details that Angelella evokes Palahniuk and Ellis). It’s here that we get a strong sense of their complex relationship, as their wildly different personalities (Jeremy, a perverse, talkative kid ripe with imagination; Ballentine, a stubborn, quiet and disinterested adult who treats his son like a soldier) get in the way of their bond. There’s a love between them, but it’s masked by secrecy, cruel expectations, and unreturned affection. Jeremy spends much of the novel trying to get closer to and make sense of his father, and this struggle shows how Angelella manages to place touching human conflict underneath superficial humor, obscenity, and gore.

It’s also in this first chapter that we learn of Jeremy’s five Zombie Survival Codes for a zombie apocalypse:

ZSC #1: Avoid Eye Contact
ZSC #2: Keep Quiet
ZSC #3: Forget the Past
ZSC #4: Lock-and-Load
ZSC #5: Fight to Survive

Of course, he acknowledges that he stole these rules from the film Zombieland (in fact, the book is full of allusions and commentary on actual zombie films, which is a nice touch). As you’d expect given the context, these guidelines protect him from, well, everyone else, and the way he uses them as psychological and emotional defensive mechanisms is tragic yet relatable. If you’ve ever dealt with a broken home and/or high school bullshit, you can understand his perspective.

As for the rest of his family, well, we see a bit of his drug addicted mother, Corrine, her peaceful new man, Zeke, and Jeremy’s womanizing, avant-garde brother, Jackson. Honestly, we don’t see much interaction between them, so they serve more as archetypes than actual characters.  Nevertheless, further exemplify why Jeremy feels so bitter and disenfranchised.

Fortunately, there is a bit of hope for Jeremy, as he finds three objects of teenage attraction: Tricia, Franny, and Aimee. The former is college age and lives next door to him; she essentially offers him advice and then flashes him through her bedroom window at night (you know, the typical neighborly bond). As for Franny, she’s a bit older, and she seems to find a kindred spirit in Jeremy. Aimee proves to be the most important of the group, as she gives Jeremy the confidence and affection (eventually) that he so desperately needs (that is, when he isn’t getting nose bleeds every time she walks by). She comes from a Mean Girls background yet finds Jeremy’s awkwardness and genuine sincerity endearing. They share many charming moments, such as the following:

We stand shoulder-to-shoulder, holding hands, looking out into the abyss of the harbor. I can see Federal Hill across the way and the lights of ‘The Prince Edward.’ Sailboats and speedboats drift along, spotting the black hole with dots of light.

“I wish I could press pause right now,” I say, putting ‘Little Man’ on the floor.
“That’s sweet.” Her fingers lace further into mine.
“I want to be happy,” I say.
“That’s not asking for much,” she says.
“And I want you to be happy too.”

As for the advertised subplot about “a bizarre homemade video of a man strapped to a bed, being prepped for some kind of surgical procedure” that leads Jeremy to “a world far darker and more violent,” well, it’s not as crucial or established as you’d probably expect. There are a few remarks about it, and it does put even more distance between Jeremy and his father, but overall the core of the story revolves around the aforementioned relationships. The end of the novel, however, deals with it directly, and while the resolution is a bit too quick, it’s still a satisfying exploration of cultism. Also, the irony of Jeremy loving zombie films yet being disgusted by real violence is a clear statement on how desensitized people can be to torture.

To be honest, Zombie is not without its faults; the profane and immature language Jeremy uses feels inauthentic at times (you can tell it was written by a man trying to write the voice of a teenager), and just about every one of the plot points I mentioned earlier is underdeveloped.  In other words, we have glimpses of a dozen ideas instead of a dedicated and fulfilling examination of, say, three of them.

Still, I haven’t finished a book this quickly since I first read American Psycho (in three days). There’s just something about the narration and events that suck you in and keep you reading. Despite all of these flaws and the narrator’s repetitious thoughts (how many times can we be told about the ZSCs?), Jeremy is a very likeable protagonist. You root for him, laugh at him, and most importantly, feel his pain every step of the way. In the end, Zombie isn’t an especially complex or rewarding read, but it is a vastly entertaining and charming one. It stays with you long after you’ve read it, and really, that’s the ultimate goal for any work of art.