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A review by stellar_raven
Voyage of the Dead by David P. Forsyth
1.0
I have decided that I am--at least for now--giving up any attempt to find good free zombie fiction.
This book was...well, at first I thought it was going to be good. The prologue is very exciting, as it features Carl and his wife, Pricilla, at the airport just as the zombie apocalypse breaks out. We witness Carl losing his wife and his frantic attempts to stay alive.
And then it just switches gears. The main character is not Carl, and is actually a man actually named Scott Allen, He's a handsome multi-gajillionaie (having won the lottery) who's in his late 40's, has a beautiful, talented wife (former model, artist, gourmet cook, etc.), and an awesome son. He also happens to find himself on his fully tricked out, fully stocked ocean liner when the zombie apocalypse happens. He's so perfect, and always right, and is so good at everything, and has no discernible flaws, that, if you ask me, his name should have been Gary (as in Stu). He acts like he's better than everyone else, and he just...UGH irritated me to no end. And what's worse, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE deferred to him like he was lord on high. The military, marines, what have you...EVERY. ONE.
There was also very little threat to the survivors, due to the fact that the ship had everything, literally everything that one would need to survive the end of the world in the lap of luxury. The ship had: weapons, cars, food, a helicopter, internet, sat phones, a bowling alley, movies, hot water, you name it, it was on that damn ship. Any threats they did come across (whether from zombies or other humans) were easily overcome.
(And the ad nauseam descriptions of the various types of guns/weapons/military vehicles/whatever, really was not my cuppa, and I skimmed a lot of that.)
Now...we have to discuss the female 'characters' for a moment. Is there a distinction that's even less than 'one dimensional'? Because that's what the women were in this book. I'm not even sure you can call them characters, actually. Their only contributions to the story were to: cry/panic/wring their hands/be rescued/offer sexual favors for said rescuing. Not one of them had any agency of their own or were characters in their own right.
The only saving grace of this book were the 'Interludes in Hell' that occurred at the end of every chapter, and featured the previously mentioned mentioned Carl of the prologue. As he was in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, his situation felt much more precarious, but again, there was a distinct lack of threat and convenient solutions to problems--though, not nearly as much as with the survivors on the ship.
This book was...well, at first I thought it was going to be good. The prologue is very exciting, as it features Carl and his wife, Pricilla, at the airport just as the zombie apocalypse breaks out. We witness Carl losing his wife and his frantic attempts to stay alive.
And then it just switches gears. The main character is not Carl, and is actually a man actually named Scott Allen, He's a handsome multi-gajillionaie (having won the lottery) who's in his late 40's, has a beautiful, talented wife (former model, artist, gourmet cook, etc.), and an awesome son. He also happens to find himself on his fully tricked out, fully stocked ocean liner when the zombie apocalypse happens. He's so perfect, and always right, and is so good at everything, and has no discernible flaws, that, if you ask me, his name should have been Gary (as in Stu). He acts like he's better than everyone else, and he just...UGH irritated me to no end. And what's worse, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE deferred to him like he was lord on high. The military, marines, what have you...EVERY. ONE.
There was also very little threat to the survivors, due to the fact that the ship had everything, literally everything that one would need to survive the end of the world in the lap of luxury. The ship had: weapons, cars, food, a helicopter, internet, sat phones, a bowling alley, movies, hot water, you name it, it was on that damn ship. Any threats they did come across (whether from zombies or other humans) were easily overcome.
(And the ad nauseam descriptions of the various types of guns/weapons/military vehicles/whatever, really was not my cuppa, and I skimmed a lot of that.)
Now...we have to discuss the female 'characters' for a moment. Is there a distinction that's even less than 'one dimensional'? Because that's what the women were in this book. I'm not even sure you can call them characters, actually. Their only contributions to the story were to: cry/panic/wring their hands/be rescued/offer sexual favors for said rescuing. Not one of them had any agency of their own or were characters in their own right.
The only saving grace of this book were the 'Interludes in Hell' that occurred at the end of every chapter, and featured the previously mentioned mentioned Carl of the prologue. As he was in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, his situation felt much more precarious, but again, there was a distinct lack of threat and convenient solutions to problems--though, not nearly as much as with the survivors on the ship.