Author: Mira Grant
Genre: Science Fiction
Series: Newsflesh Trilogy (Book 1)
Publication Date: May 1, 2010
Format: Paperback, 608 Pages
ISBN-10: 0316081051 (Orbit)
ISBN-13: 978-0316081054 (Orbit)
Reviewed by: Kiwi
Shaun and Georgia are orphans of the Rising, the cataclysmic event which left the world reeling in the aftermath of the zombie uprising. Adopted by the Masons and raised in the strange world of the post-Rising media, they’ve spent their lives chasing the next big story, the one that will allow them to break into the big leagues once and for all. Now, in Senator Peter Ryman’s run for the Presidency of the United States, they’ve finally found it.
All they have to do is survive until the election.
In a world filled with the constant threat of both the living and the living dead, it will be all that Shaun and Georgia can do to keep themselves in one piece. Accompanied by the rest of their blogging team, Senator Ryman’s staff, and a whole lot of caffeine, they might succeed…or they might finally answer the big question of their post-Rising world: When will you rise?
Quick & Dirty: Beware, for the zombie apocalypse cometh.
Opening Sentence: Our story opens where countless stories have ended in the last twenty-six years: with an idiot—in this case, my brother Shaun—deciding it would be a good idea to go out and poke a zombie with a stick to see what happens.
In this world, in the year 2031, or there about, there are things that have changed, and some that have not. Our cars do not fly yet, we still use cell phones, and PDAs and PCs, we still watch movies on TV and vote in a president every four years. There have been some technological improvements, advances in identification messages, etc., and the blogging community is taking over the world! How awesome is that?
There has, however, been one huge change that completely blacks out all of this fun stuff. Big, huge, gargantuan, even. In our world, there are now zombies, or The Infected as they refer to them in the book. This was no slow phasing in, either. It causes such an event (well Grant calls it “cataclysmic” up in the synopsis) that it has its own title—The Rising. Kinda like The Great Depression, or World War II, or The Simpsons. You see, apparently two years from now, in 2014 (guess those Mayans got it wrong after all), there’s a cure for the common cold, as well as a cure for cancer. But, apparently when these two kooky love birds mix together, you have the recipe for destruction. For when a person who carries both these in their body, which is every warm blooded mammal bigger than a small dog, and they die by any means, these genes cause them to be reanimated with no intellectual awareness, no cognitive ability and with a thirst for flesh.
Ok, so in this sort of post-apocalyptic world, there lives two sibling bloggers, Georgia “George” Mason and Shaun Mason and their web partner and tech guru, Georgette “Buffy” Meissonier. These three have just landed the job of all jobs, joining a presidential nominee candidate during his run for the big spot on the ballot as part of his entourage. But all is not well during the following weeks, as we read all about murder, death, zombies and even some political espionage. I won’t be telling you any more, you will simply have to read this book.
Feed is a gripping book, start to finish, sometimes a bit technical, but otherwise, very good. But just thinking about the premise freaks me out, and makes me want to write letters to labs and tell them not to work on a cure for the common cold anymore. And, man, what an ending. Personally I was pitching a huge hissy fit on the couch, even woke up my snoring hubby when I got to that point. I am still thinking, “awww did you have to?”
I swear, sometimes I feel like people are intentionally trying to give me nightmares. And this time, it made me cry as well. Scary nightmares, coupled with utter desolation makes for some intense insomnia, and thus some sleepless nights. But, neither of these things make me want to read the next one any less, or the one after that either. So off I go into this particular horizon with a promise to read the next two in this trilogy, and possibly end up with more nightmares, but hopefully not so much crying.
“Georgia, this is a hill!” he said with increasing urgency as the locals lunged toward the speeding bike. He was using my proper name, that was how I could tell he was worried. I’m only “Georgia” when he’s unhappy.
“I got that.” I hunched over to decrease wind resistance a few more precious degrees. Shaun mimicked the motion automatically, hunching down behind me.
“Why are we going up a hill?” he demanded. There was no way he’d be able to her my answer over the combined roaring of the engine and the wind, but that’s my brother, always willing to question that which won’t talk back.
“Ever wonder how the Wright brothers felt?” I asked. The crest of the hill was in view. From the way the street vanished on the other side, it was probably a pretty steep drop. The moaning was coming from all sides now, so distorted by the wind that I had no real idea what we were driving into. Either way, it was too late to find another path. We were committed, and for once, Shaun was the one sweating.
“Hold on!” Ten yards. The zombies kept closing, single-minded in their pursuit of what might be the first fresh meat some had seen in years. From the looks of most of them, the zombie problem in Santa Cruz was decaying faster than it was rebuilding itself. Sure, there were plenty fresh ones—there are always fresh ones because there are always idiots who wander into quarantined zones, either willingly or by mistake, and the average hitchhiker doesn’t get lucky where zombies are concerned—but we’ll take the city back in another three generations. Just not today.
Zombies hunt by moving toward the sound of other zombies hunting. It’s recursive, and that meant our friends at the base of the hill started for the peak when they heard the commotion. I was hoping so many of the locals had been cutting us off at the ground level that they wouldn’t have many bodies left to mount an offensive on the hill’s far side. We weren’t supposed to make it that far, after all; the only thing keeping us alive was the fact that we had a motorcycle and the zombies didn’t.
I glimpsed the mob waiting for us as we reached the top. They were standing no more that three deep. Fifteen feet would see us clear.
The Newflesh Trilogy:
FTC Advisory: Hachette Book Group/Orbit provided me with a copy of Feed. No goody bags, sponsorships, “material connections,” or bribes were exchanged for my review.
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