A couple of posts ago, I wrote about the zombie genre and how I feel it is a dead end as a storytelling convention because it’s just the same story over and over and over again.  Well, I’m not ready to change that notion just yet.

But at one point I did refer to zombie novels as the “Harlequin romance of horror”, the basic equivalent of comfort food, not loved because it’s really good or challenging or particularly interesting, but because it’s familiar and reliable and completely predictable.  And I stand by that statement.