Review: 'Pride and Prejudice and Zombies' by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith

As a young, easily-influenced teenager studying GCSE English Literature, I, like pretty much all the others in my all-female class, fell in love with a certain Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire when we, as part of our study of the novel 'Pride and Prejudice' by Jane Austen, were allowed to watch the BBC serial from 1995 in lessons. In hindsight I think it's safe to say we fell in love with Colin Firth more than Darcy, who, let's face it, is a bit of an [insert favoured expletive here] for the first part of the book, where as Firth is just lovely all-round. Since then, I've read the novel quite a few times, mostly because I quite like the flow of language that is characteristic of Austen's books, but also because it's quite a nice, simple story that nearly everyone knows of in some form or other, that's been adapted many, many times owing to it's status in the nation's heart as a favourite love story.

So imagine my surprise when, at university, a friend gave another friend, who was a self-confessed Austen-hater, a copy of 'Pride and Prejudice and Zombies' for her birthday - not only did I not know such mash-ups existed, but I wasn't sure how I felt about 'interference' with a novel already so well-loved by so large a number. Mind you, as I reasoned at the time, no one's forcing me to read it, I can happily stick with my good old, dog-eared, normal version.

How I actually came by my copy of the Zombiefied version I'm not actually sure - I think someone might've given it to me, but then I might've bought it myself - it's one of those I can't really remember where, or when, I got it. However, whenever it may be that I did come into possession of it, I haven't read the original since. From the first line, 'it is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains,' you know immediately that you are not in Regency England any more; or rather you are, but in an alternate version where the undead roam the earth and the Bennet Sisters are martial artists and deadly with a katana, musket - any type of weaponry that you can imagine. There's one character - who shall remain nameless here - who manages to slay the 'unmentionables' with nothing more than a damp envelope. I'd like to see even Chuck Norris achieve such a feat.

The devilishy-simple charm of this novel comes from the fact that the original story - and, for the most part, the original text - remains almost entirely unchanged. My copy of 'P&P&Z' certainly seems smaller, with bigger print, than my copy of just 'P&P', and yet I cannot think of a single occasion that has not been left out; I guess maybe some of the less crucial scenes were shortened, but on the whole it is an incredibly faithful representation. Some characters are killed off, but not before they've served their purpose, and there are alternate endings for others, but it all ties in really well with the story, the new way of viewing the characters and the general importances placed on the deadly arts in this Zombie Regency. But most of all, it is the language that amazes me, because even in the bits where it's quite obvious that Seth Grahame-Smith has taken over, it still 'fits'; at no point does it it feel like you've jumped from Austen, to Grahame-Smith, to Austen again - it's all kind of seamless. All I can guess is that Grahame-Smith not only very carefully studied the manner that the original was written in, and the way the characters spoke, but also scoured each page to see where he could effortlessly slide in a zombie-reference here, a battle-scene there, etc. Well done, that man. Of course, it's not all perfect - there are some pretty cheeky references that certainly were not in Austen's novel, such as Elizabeth's obvservation of 'the way (Darcy's) trousers clung to those most English parts'. See, you know that's not meant to be there, yet it doesn't seem entirely out of place - it's just because you know that, in Regency England, where manners reigned supreme, no one would dare refer to anything so, well, private - ahem.

I must add it's not really for the faint-hearted; there are some gruesome illustrations in my copy, and whilst they are just (beautifully drawn) illustrations, it was a bit of a surprise the first time I read it to turn the page and see the Bennet Sisters slicing some zombie throats. Then there are some detailed descriptions of zombie-deaths and zombie-customs that are a bit, er, well, gross is the best word, I guess. It's not for purists, either; if you're the kind of Austen fan who believes that her works should remain untainted by such alterations, then I don't recommend this at all, and certainly not another one that was written, 'Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters' by Ben H. Winters (which, incidentally, is not as good as 'P&P&Z', but still very enjoyable nonetheless - especially when Colonel Brandon first arrives and he's basically a squid from the neck up.) If you're not a fan of zombies either, don't read it - whilst they aren't the main characters (mostly... ooh or am I bluffing?), there's enough of them to warrant an inclusion in the title so you're probably best off avoiding it.

I really, really enjoy reading this, and every time I do read it, I always laugh at the zombie bits, smirk at the self-referential bits and enjoy the basic story, which, as I said before, remains unchanged in the plot line and the main plot points. I also always seem to forget - though I probably won't from now on as I'm about to write about it - that there's a hilarious little 'Reader's Discussion Guide' at the end, the kind you do get in the versions of novels that are specifically published for studying in class. It really does make you think about the novel more deeply, and consequently adds to your enjoyment and understanding of the novel - especially when pondering such questions as, 'Some critics have suggested that the zombies represent the authors' view towards marriage - an endless curse that sucks the life out of you and just won't die. Do you agree...?' I also have to say that I prefer the idea of women who spend their days practising stealth tactics and slaying zombies, who carry daggers and can support their entire body weight on one finger, to the insipid sewing, piano-forte-playing, reading sisters of the original - I'm no feminist and I certainly don't carry daggers, but it makes a change to the atypcial heroines of the day, who sit around waiting for the men to come into the room before the fun can begin.

There's probably a surprisingly small number of people who'd want to read this; first, you've got to find people who don't mind the language of Regency novels - some people just don't get on with them. Then, you've got to find in that group the people who wouldn't mind it being adapted for comedic purposes, and then in that subgroup, identify who likes zombies. It's potentially a niche market. For example, my boyfriend flat-out refuses to read it, despite my insistence that it's nothing like the Pride and Prejudice adaptation that I made him watch six hours of over the course of a week; and I can kind of see where he's coming from, as it is, essentially, still a girls' book. The main characters are women, and the main feel of the novel is still there - the zombies merely add to the fun, it's still all about the Darcy/Elizabeth love story and that mustn't be forgotten. However, I'm sure his mind will change when I drag him to see the film version when it finally comes out (no news on when that will be just yet.) So in the meantime, I suggest you familiarise yourself with this zombie-killing, katana-wielding, all round ass-kicking version of Austen's classic, and dare you to say the zombies don't improve it.

How to judge a book without a cover?

I got to thinking of this after meeting up with a friend this weekend, who was enthusing over her Kindle and how great it was that she could carry around so many books at once; I, who have been resisting Kindles with decreasing tenacity since they came onto the market, lamely replied, 'But I like the covers on proper books!', and gestured at the copy of 'Pride and Prejudice and Zombies' by Seth Grahame-Smith (and Jane Austen) that was in front of me. It was a pretty rubbish argument as apparently you still get cover images on Kindles, but it did get me thinking... As the interest in vitual literature increases, does the book cover become negligible?

We've all been taught since we were little, 'not to judge a book by it's cover', that homely metaphor to not judge on appearances; and yet, as the number of books available to us increases in mind-boggling numbers every day, I find myself relying heavily on the cover to give me my first indication of if it's a book for me or not; after all, as a very contradictory argument, first appearances count. Of course, some pieces of literature are so famous that having a cover for them is already a bit pointless, as their reputations precede them; pieces by Shakespeare, for example, or Chaucer, or 'Dracula' by Bram Stoker. Simply put, if you're going to have a library full of many leather-bound books (stay classy, Ron Burgundy), they're either going to be super-special special editions, ones you've bound yourself or the expensive kind you get in second-hand bookshops. For those of us who have to make do with our local Waterstones or library, covers are still a large part of the selection process, and when you've got literally thousands of books waiting for you to purchase them, you need a quick glance at the cover before you take the extra step of reading the blurb. I for one tend to breeze past any section that has covers showing any of the following:

• Illustrated women with really tiny dogs
• Illustrated women gazing out at the Manhattan/Parisian/London skyline
• Illustrated women holding cupcakes
• Illustrated women with lots of shopping bags and, perhaps, a pram and a tiny dog, wearing impossible stilletto heels
• Brawny men cradling swooning women on the deck of a pirate ship/a beach/a stormy cliff.

There is a bit of a theme there. But that's because, whilst I do enjoy a bit of chick-lit from time to time (one of my guiltiest pleasures is a free copy of 'I Heart New York' by Lindsey Kelk that I got with Cosmo once, a novel as shallow as it's title and yet I. CAN'T. GIVE. IT. UP), I generally don't read chick-lit anymore, so being able to see the distinctive covers from a distance - usually in sickly shades of baby pink, sky blue and mint green - allows me to steer well clear, and go for something with, I don't know, a man in a helmet, or a tiger, or a multi-coloured car, or a something like that. It allows me to be more selective in my choice of literature, something I could've done with when, as a naive thriteen year old, I went against my instincts, ignored the kind-of freaky cover of 'American Pyscho' by Bret Easton Ellis, bought it anyway and subsequently didn't sleep for a week, I was so disturbed by what I had read.

This may be harsh to the chick-lit titles, but let's hold on a minute here. If you're shopping for clothes, you don't go into the shop blindfolded and randomly pick out whatever your hand falls on; you carefully assess what styles you like, narrow that down to what styles suit you, and then narrow that down to what you can afford. It's similar with books; you're looking for something to spend your time with, and you don't want to get it wrong. Obviously the blurb will give you the overview you need to judge if the book is for you, but then you can't read the blurb of every book in the store; you use the cover to find one that captures your imagination.

 I for one have resisted the Kindles for this long on the basis that I prefer the feel of a proper book; of pages, the spine, the way my fingers sometimes smudges the print on lesser-quality publications, and the simple sensation of holding a book - I fail to see how, in this respect, a Kindle beats a physical book (though I'll be singing a different tune when it comes to packing for my holiday, and I find I've  used up my baggage allowance on books before I've even packed my clothes). A cover is part of that feeling; for instance, if I've just read a book that has particularly resonated with me, I sometimes study the cover, trying to prolong the sensation the book has given me by trying to recognise aspects of the plot in the cover, and I'd be sad to lose that.

Personally, I don't think covers will ever become neligible, because they're now so closely associated with the books themselves; as the outer representatives of the books' contents, we need the covers to give us our 'first impression', to draw us in and give us our first inkling of what we're about to read; is it an adventure? A romance? A mystery? Yet another 'saga' about vampires who defy the Dracula Blueprint? And even if we one day succumb to the eBooks entirely, and relinquish our beloved hard copies (unlikely, but possible), we'll still want to be looking at the covers on Amazon before we commit to downloading.

P.S. I would like to point out that, having never used a Kindle, I'm not actually 100% sure if book covers are included when you download eBooks; I've gone on the word of my friend, which may or may not be wise! Still think the point stands though.