I suppose this day was bound to come and now I can in all honesty say that I've now finished the worst book I've ever read in my life. This is coming from someone who reads well over 300 books a year, plenty of those are horror and good amount of those are zombies. But then again this really isn't a zombie book, it's a sort of thinly veiled (and I'm being overly generous here) raging satire on racial relations in US. As a matter of fact it can barely count as a metaphor since the author has done barely a thing other than substituting one word for another, letter Z for letter N. Not just a terrible, inane and shabbily written, this also happens to be THE most offensive thing that I've ever read. I'm all for the First Amendment and freedom of speech is paramount to a balanced society, but this is the ugliest thing about it, the fact that a hideously racist, antisemite, xenophobic sh*t can get published. This is a multiple car pileup on the highway or whatever your equivalent of something so terrible that you know you should look away. I read this book in a state of incredulity, an hour and forty five minutes spent going...no, he isn't gonna go there, oh yes, yes he is. There isn't an ugly cliché, a nasty stereotype that Bartholomew doesn't rush out to meet and embrace. The most alarming thing is that the reader gets the impression of Bartholomew sitting somewhere spewing this hatred, while adjusting his white hood surely, and thinking himself so clever, when in fact it's just sad. It isn't just that his platform is frighteningly to the right, it's that his arguments are so...well frankly stupid and immature...that even an intelligent conservative would find him offensive and obnoxious. By showing himself to be basically a laughing stock, he does himself and his cause a great disservice. It's propaganda backfire. The most startling thing after reading that steaming pile of crap was looking up the author, who is apparently a young british perfectly normal looking man. Just goes to show, you never know and appearances really can be deceiving, judging the book by the cover and all that, something Bartholomew apparently has never learned. If you think this review to be somewhat extreme especially comparing to other favorable ones on here, an ounce of research will reveal those other readers to be from the same very specific geographic location as the author. What are the odds. This book should only be read as a sort of heinous anomaly, anyone actually liking this book should be avoided like a, well, like a hungry zombie.