People love zombies.  I did not know that.  I just wrote a book—MY LIFE AS A THIRD GRADE ZOMBIE.  I didn’t even know that I love zombies, nor why, but after signing books at the annual Savannah Children’s Book Festival, I have some new insights into zombie love.

First off, to my surprise, it seems to have nothing to do with The Walking Dead; out of 100 people, I only heard one reference to this popular TV show, and it was,“I don’t watch it; it scares me.”  [This was from a 20-something year old man.]

I sat right by the display for My Life as a Third Grade Zombie.  As you can see, it’s a small book for kids.  It has the title on the cover and Joe, the main character. Joe looks, well, like a kid who’s a zombie. He’s “thumbs-up,” as you can see, and not particularly gory or scary, but he is a zombie.

For six hours, I watched people from age 3-4 to age 73-74 approach our table and this book, as in making a beeline for it.  What fascinated me was the look on their faces.  It took awhile for it to register with me, but whether kid, mom, or man, they all looked at Joe, not with disgust, horror, curiosity, etc., but with the exact same look that they would have given…AN ADORABLE TEDDY BEAR! 

I did not understand.  People puckered their lips in tenderness; they grinned like Joe was a long, lost friend.  Kids picked up the book and held Joe close to their eyes.  Adults grabbed the book and said to their kid, “You want this one, don’t you?!”

I did not understand.  However, later in the day, a small boy approached our dwindling supply of My Life as a Third Grade Zombie books and said (with a tilt of his head and a goofy sad smile)  “He broke.”  Then he handed the book to his dad to buy for him.

It was my zombie eureka moment.  I slept on it and came to these possible reasons why we love zombies, love them so:

Zombies are broke.  Joe has sickly hair, a bad eye, yucky teeth and green goo dripping from his mouth.  His shirt is ragged and torn, his face is dirty (or something), but he’s grinning, thumbs-upping, and hanging in there with his “Save Haiti” tee and book bag slinking on his skinny body.  He looks like he needs love, attention, and a friend.  We may have our own issues, problems; even kids do.  But clearly, we are not as bad off as Joe.  Zombies just seem to bring out the charity in us, the empathy, the “I want to take you home and make your boo-boo better.”  Zombies, if nothing else, are a mess of boo-boos. Even 35 years later, I recall an early postcard mail-out I did to sell a few of my early kid’s mystery books.  The front side of the card had a graphic of a teddy bear.  He had a patch over one eye and one fuzzy leg was in a cast and he had a crutch.  That simple postcard drew more orders (percentagewise) than anything else we ever did.  I think it was because the bear looked so sweet and in need.  He was just a boo-boo bear who needed love.  A zombie bear? Yes, we sold lots of zombie books at the Savannah Children’s Book Festival, but mostly, I think people just wanted to take Joe home and give him some love?  It’s sort of the way I feel when I see that current TV commercial with the guy who insists that he’s not a zombie…then a chunk of his face falls off.  He’s just so pathetic…you want to help him, even if you don’t actually want to hug, or smell, him. I recall being at St. Vincent’s Hospital’s famous ER in New York City after Bob broke his wrist at a book show.  While I waited, folks wandered in:  One had her jaw completely popped open, her mouth wider agape than seemed humanly possible; she was in great pain, drooling.  A young man, rushed from a job site, held one arm (the detached one!) under the other arm.  Another man ran in and out of the ER, arms akimbo, legs stiff, and eyes wild, in some kind of drug overdose reaction.  Zombies all:  gross, yes, but more so pathetic, needy, broken.  You didn’t want to look, but like that train wreck, you just had to, and you wanted to help. 


Zombies are interesting, even fascinating.  Kids know what a zombie looks like, but not really what a zombie is, or how he/she got to be a zombie, I don’t think.  I have done a LOT of research on zombies and there are a lot of scientific facts, a lot of legend and lore, and a lot of mumbo-jumbo voodoo spells, and such.  I can vouch that there really can be “walking dead.”  But, if they are walking, just how dead are they?  I think this dichotomy intrigues us.  On occasion, I have felt like a zombie, even looked like a zombie (usually both at the same time after New Year’s Eve.)  We just have some kind of human connection to the walking dead, whomever, whatever they are.  As I said, when people looked at Joe (people old and young), they just seemed to recognize something/someone there.  Their oldest kid off in college?  Weird Uncle Joe?  Crazy Aunt Mable?  You gotta love 'em, relatives and zombies all, cause if you don’t, who will?  And in what can be a boring world, well, at least zombies are not boring.


Zombies are fun!  Really.  For our annual office Halloween party, three perfectly normal, sane, attractive women of a mature enough age ALL dressed up like…Joe, the third grade zombie!  Take a look!  They had the look, the walk, the talk, and they had a blast!  They, hand’s down (or up…you never know with zombies) won the costume contest—I told you we all love zombies.  They looked perfectly awful, their fake, bloodshot eyeballs hanging on their cheeks, but all we wanted to do was hug them.  Most of us got out of our itchy, cheesy costumes and make-up as soon as we could, but not the Three Joes.  They stayed in costume and character the rest of the day.  For all I know, these perfectly respectable, church-goin’ women went to lunch…as zombies.  If so, I’m sure they got a lot of laughs, thumbs-ups, and maybe pats on the back, just in case all that stiff-legged walking was not fake but a little arthritis or something? 

I still don’t understand.  But I do want a Joe Save Haiti t-shirt and a Joe coffee mug, and maybe a Joe sock-puppet to sleep with.   At least I know Joe’s ok; I wrote the book, so naturally, I had the inside scoop to help him.  I had to help him, and Maria, his zombie girl friend in the story.  I love him.  He reminds me of a certain very young boy who used to live in my house a long time ago (Hi, Michael!), as Maria reminds me of a very young girl who also lived in my house once upon a time (Hi, Michele!), who went through those awkward, uncomfortable ages and stages—I’m sure you parents have all seen The Walking Dead come downstairs to your breakfast table on occasion?  

Joe and Maria found a lot of good homes this weekend.  I know.  I saw their new families wear their hearts on their sleeves and in their smiles.  It was surprising, it was touching. 

Zombie love—who knew?