Confession: Dust (excerpt here) was my first foray into zombies. Generally turned off by sluggish attacks, scary moaning, and, you know, eating people (much to my friend Andrew’s dismay, who tries annually to get me to play zombie video games as an alternative to traditionally celebrating the new year), I thought, A different sort of Zombie novel, told from a purportedly sympathetic zombie’s point of view? Go on, give it a shot! This is a success already!
Well—partially. Parts of Dust were, in fact, zombie-strong, while parts of it atrophied, decayed, and might have strengthened the book had they been left by the side of the road like Jessie’s arm in the first few (graphic!) pages.
I am very against spoilers, so you won’t have to skim the rest while nervously nibbling on your nails. (I can make no such promise, however, against avoiding any zombie similes that I have gained with my new exciting zombie lexicon.)