An interview with the novelist about his new book, which is out this week
In his decade and a half as a novelist, Colson Whitehead has written about boys coming of age in Long Island, a grown man in an identity crisis, and a female elevator inspector living in an alternate version of New York City. In his latest book—Zone One, out today—he takes on an entirely new subject: zombies. Here, he discusses his wide-ranging influences, the literary world's anti-horror biases, and Zone One's shocking ending.
Your last book was about summer vacation on Long Island. When did you decide you were going to write about the undead? It's a major departure, at least on the surface.
Yeah, I suppose on the outside it is. I try to keep each different book different from the last. So Sag Harbor is very different from Apex Hides the Hurt; The Intuitionist, which is kind of a dectective novel, is very different from John Henry Days. I'm just trying to keep things rich for me creatively and for the readers who follow me.
Growing up devouring horror comics and novels, and being inspired to become a writer because of horror novels, movies, and comic books, I always knew I was going to write a horror novel. And it seemed about time.
What were some of those books or comics that were especially important to you?
Late 70's marvel—so Spider-Man, X-Men. DC's line of horror comics. Reprints of 1950's ECR comics. And then junior high, for me, was the rise of all kinds of horror movies, whether it was splatter flicks like Prom Night and other Jamie Lee Curtis classics, or Dario Argento, or John Carpenter.
In '82 and '83, that was the rise of the VCR. Every Friday, my brother and I would go to Crazy Eddie's—which was a video store in Manhattan—and rent five horror movies. And that's basically what we did basically for three years. Becoming social misfits.
Outside of the world of general horror, there's something specifically enticing about zombies right now. I've heard so many people say, breathlessly, "Colson Whitehead's writing a zombie book." What is it about the word "zombie" that gets people so excited?
In the last ten years, there's been a resurgence in all kinds of zombie culture. Why are zombies important or interesting now? I have no idea. I wrote Zone One because I wanted to fulfill my own curiosity—which goes back decades—about the creatures.
So in terms of larger cultural trends, I have no idea. In terms of me, I became demonically attached to Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead, and Day of the Dead, the first George Romero trilogy. Zone One comes out of me trying to work through some of my ideas about why, for me personally, zombies are scary.
In terms of what the word zombie means to other people, well, I don't know. When I was starting the book, I would say, "I'm writing a horror novel with zombies." And my sort of bookish friends would say [adopts a clipped, defensive tone]: "I don't like zombies. I don't like zombie books."
And I'd ask them, "Well, what zombie books have you read? What zombie films have you seen?" None. So people who are inside horror culture have their own ideas about zombies, and the people outside have their own stereotypes about zombies. What I tried to do with the book was embrace some of the conventions of the film genre, and reject others. By keeping what I like, and throwing out what I don't, I hopefully can expand people's ideas about this type of horror story.
So you felt some friction from some of your literary friends. Did you have anxieties about that? Or were you just excited to enter the world of this subculture?
To me, it's just another book. I was aware that Pride and Prejudice and Zombies was a huge bestseller, but I thought that when I finished my book this brief trend would probably be over. I mean, I was wrong. But given that it takes two or three years to write a book, I assumed I was not going to be part of some larger cultural conversation.
I think if you do your job, then people will come to it—whether it's about elevator inspectors, or John Henry, or zombies. Early on my career, I figured out that I just have to write the book I have to write at that moment. Whatever else is going on in the culture is just not that important. If you could get the culture to write your book, that would be great. But the culture can't write your book.
What is it about zombies, then, for you—about their mythology that's so productive and enticing? What about them gets your creative juices flowing?
For me, the terror of the zombie is that at any moment, your friend, your family, you neighbor, your teacher, the guy at the bodega down the street, can be revealed as the monster they've always been. That's reflected in the book, as the character Mark Spitz tries to figure out what's happened to the world. That was my interpretation very early on. It's in Night of the living Dead, too.
One way you update existing zombie mythology is by dividing them into two subtypes: skels and stragglers. Skels are more like your garden-variety zombies—frenetic cannibals on a rampage for human blood and brains. But stragglers become gentle when they transform: they return, almost sleepwalk, to the places they most loved in life. The living room sofa, the Xerox machine in the office. Why did you feel it was important to update the mythology in this way?
I was thinking about nostalgia and sentimental attachment to the past in Colossus of New York and Sag Harbor. So for me stragglers are another way about dealing with the problem of wrestling with our pasts. They're tied to key moments in their lives, and places that remind them of those moments.
And the survivors, too—Mark Spitz and all of his cohorts—are also trying to recreate a fallen world. So I was trying to do my own take on zombies and the stragglers are a vehicle for introducing some of the themes I've explored in other books, that appear in a new variation in this book.
They remind me of characters in Dante's Inferno, the way they continually seek to return to their former lives, and they do—just in sad, perverse incarnations.
They're the living dead. They share a lot of characteristics with ghosts—people who can't progress to the next stage. That notion of the ghost applies to both the stragglers and the remaining human survivors.