It’s the end of days. Everyone’s afternoon is ruined when not only do their righteous relatives get raptured, but their not-so-righteous ones return as homicidal zombies! Zoinks! The reanimated damned stalk the living through the rapidly decaying ruins of what was once earth. If this sounds interesting, you’re in for one hell of a let down.

Most people in relating the concept behind “The Dead” state that it’s like ‘Left Behind’ meets a Romero movie (more like Sam Raimi, but I digress). I once heard a charming saying, and I think this novel bears out its truthfulness:

“If you mix 10 gallons of ice cream with 10 gallons of manure, you get 20 gallons of manure.”

Yes, this series and Left Behind do have a lot in common. Same paper thin characters. Same silly, unrealistic dialog. Same simplistic Sunday school moralizing. I have absolutely no qualms with religious fiction, as a matter of fact, I was looking forward to a fresh take on a zombie-apocalypse, but this book is just sloppy as hell (no pun intended). While I’m sure the author prides himself on being the next C.S. Lewis, his views on religion are nothing more than the same old rationally-tortured fundamentalist dogma. In order to make it seem like this novel is presenting ‘deep’ answers to the question raised by the scenario (you know, petty humanistic inquiries like why a just and loving deity would cast his children into an eternity of torture, not for failing to call upon his mercy, but for not calling upon it in precisely the correct way) most of the characters are metaphorical. Which is to say they are one dimensional strawman-spouting caricatures. There’s the icky protestant who despite his constant appeals to the grace of Christ dies because grace without works (works defined as the strictly administered sacraments of the Catholic faith) is dead. There’s the feel-good new age priest (oddly enough, named Father Ted, which gave me false hope that Father Jack Hacket was going to come into the picture at some point, punching the undead into oblivion whilst shouting “Arse! Feck! Drink!”) who gets his face ripped off for the unpardonable crime of telling people Jesus loves them, and that they don’t have to necessarily be perfect in order to get into heaven. And then of course there’s dear old Uncle Buddy.

Buddy is a sort of literary shorthand for everyone who is not a ‘believer’. Loud, fat, bigoted, obnoxious, and dumb as bowlful of mice, Buddy’s function in the narrative is to lob pitiful, easily dismissible half-questions at the protagonist, who then knocks the wind out of his opponent’s ‘arguments’. This is presented as some kind of great apologist achievement, when in reality it’s about as close to philosophical masturbation as I’ve ever seen. Think I’m kidding? Here is a sample of the deep religious dialogue going on between Buddy and his nephew Max;

“Hitler was a Christian“.

“I think all those priests and nuns you kiss-ass to are a bunch of fags and dykes.”

“Science says religion is bunk… …What about Darwin?”

Sweet merciful crap! Is this what Rogers considers to be the typical thoughts of anyone who hasn’t come to their senses and embraced his point of view? (The most amusing part of the discussion, when Darwin is brought up Max says he "refuses to let Buddy change the subject". Great answer Max! I see creationism is right after all! The brilliant Max then goes on to tell us about how Torquemada only thought he was Catholic.)

Well enough of my pagan griping, I don’t want to beat this book over the head because I disagree with its theology, I want to beat it over the head because it’s poorly written pabulum. As I have mentioned, the characters are flat, but frankly, I shouldn’t have even said that, because there are no characters in this book. These are not human being as the world has ever known them. When Max’s mother, along with all the other good (ie: morbidly religious) souls are raptured, the characters react to it as if she were late coming home from a cocktail party. (You know, plenty of bland “Any news on mom yet?, Um, nope, what’s on TV?” dialogue) If you’ve ever read the LB books, you know the drill. (But I suggest you visit this site to get a better idea)

Another trait Rogers shares with the LB authors, is a frustrating penchant for telling us something rather than showing us. The demon-zombie take over of earth, including the reanimation of some of histories nastiest characters, such as Lenin, and the complete genocide of the human race, takes up about a page and a half of detached, third person passive-voice narrative. This is the main problem with The Dead, while there are good things going on here, there presented so blandly as to make you weep. The sun rots in the sky, skull-headed maggots devour the monuments of man, fetid corpses are torn apart by shotgun blasts. There’s gore, action, the end of the world, but we can’t seem to make ourselves care. Especially when the climax of the novel concerns not whether or not the characters are going to survive, but whether or not they’ll be able to properly consecrate the host for their final communion. I’m not even going to start one the myriad of typos and grammatical errors present in this thing. (I should talk, huh?)

To sum up (And it’s about damn time), the thesis of this piece can be best expressed in the words of Homer Simpson; “God loves you! He‘s gonna kill you!”

There, I just saved you $20.00.