I, Zombie

It is going to be hard for me to give this book a reasonable review without giving up much of the plot, most of which is hidden by its description on the back of the book. On the surface... This book would lead you to believe that we are delving into something that is Noir, gumshoe mystery or killer for hire type stuff. First person writing, a guy who is has been dead but alive for ten years, not quite sure of his past and who he was before he died, but doing jobs for those who can afford to hire him. ...that lasts for the first few pages of the book. Then we are thrust into a strange world where werewolves are chasing him, a secret government agency suspects they know who he really is, and a superintelligence wants to disect and study him. Telling any more would probably ruin what the real scoop is here, but suffice it to say if you are looking for a story about an intelligent zombie who solves crimes or riddles or even just tries to discover what might pass for normal voodoo mojo in his creation, forget it. This is not the tale for you. Unless of course, you keep an open mind and are not locked into having this story follow familiar pathways. Al Ewing has turned the idea of the zombie on its ear. To be honest, the whole concept of our main character being a zombie is only a minor cover up for something far more sinister, dark, and impossible to fathom. The author's writing, especially when we are in the oh so twisted mind of our main character, zings off the page. Snarky and yet full of pain at not knowing what he is but at the same time understanding that he is not quite human, the character is both compelling and repulsive at the same time. The fact that he holds the fate of humanity in his hands makes him that much more fascinating. Fair warning, this is NOT a zombie story in any form that is easily recognizable. I am sure plenty of folks who end up buying this book might be slightly puzzled by the picture of the human-bug like creature in the background of the cover of the book but dimiss it for the picture in the foreground of the deadish looking private detective type smoking a cigarette, having a drink of what looks like blood while the open skull (with brains pouring out) sits on his desk. The author could have created a whole set of stories about the main character reaching back into the forties and fifties when he was a private detective, but this is not a story about the undead detective, solving crimes and trying to unravel the mystery of who he is. This is the story of him discovering who he is, opening pandora's box, and perhaps letting the world end. I liked this book but to all who read this review: keep an open mind, expect the unexpected, and go along for the ride. Otherwise, you will probably feel like you were duped by the rotting exterior of this story. You have to dig deeper, dig into its brains, and dive in, to find the real story here.