As loyal readers remember, I posted in glee over the the release of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies a few months back. I confess that I am not immune to the “zombie mania” gripping popular culture as of late; I’ve always had a thing for classic horror, and I appreciate the recent efforts of Max Brooks (The Zombie Survival Guide, World War Z), who put zombies back on the literary map.

Plus, let’s face it: Jane Austen’s novel just isn’t for boys. Poignant social commentary and criticism? Certainly. Masterful, aesthetically pleasing English? You bet. But entertaining to a modern member of the lesser sex?

Not even remotely, and Seth Grahame-Smith had to know this coming in. PPZ works at a superficial level because it combines elements men care not one iota for (feminine social absurdities long dead and buried) with what they can’t get enough of (the dead no longer buried). Grahame-Smith knows his audience, and he plays to us throughout.

If the overall concept of this novel sounds absurd, let me assure you that it is. Unfortunately, Grahame-Smith misses combining these elements in an effective way, and the absurdity fails to become believable. Scenes involving zombie attacks or the warrior-nature of the heroines are poorly intertwined with Austen’s plot, and the reader can’t help but sense that he (or maybe, she) is reading two novels.

Grahame-Smith retained about 80% of the original as I understand it, and I think this is the problem. If the author had taken more liberty with the original story, perhaps there would be more continuity between the two tales. As it stands, I wouldn’t blame the average, red-blooded American male for feeling hoodwinked by PPZ, since – in the end – he just did what he’d never do otherwise: he read Pride and Prejudice.

What’s more, these are some of the most uninteresting zombies ever fashioned. Where do they come from, and why? What about their level of cognitive and physical function? The author never really approaches these questions, leaving the zombies as little more than weird, interludical props: they spring up suddenly in a sentence or two, are dispatched by page-end, and then we’re back to women fretting over hats.

Despite my criticisms regarding the weakness of this work, I can’t help but recommend it… to Lit Nerds like yours truly, who share my penchant for mashup.

Otherwise, approach this one at your own risk: where zombies are in play, your brain is always on the line.

Postscript: My negative thoughts on this work will in no way keep me from reading Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters, due out next month.