Now that I’ve gotten through the library books that I can’t renew, I returned today to Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. I still had warm memories from the first ten pages I read a couple weeks ago so I was predisposed to like it. But the more I read, the more I found myself cringing inside. Sometimes the author lifts lines straight from Jane. While there is a twinge of pleasurable recognition, I don’t think it was a good idea to do because those lines stand out against the rather plain and sometimes stilted prose of the author. Or maybe his prose is fine if Jane’s weren’t in the text alongside it for comparison because really, there aren’t many who can write prose that can stand up to hers.

The thought of Elizabeth Bennet having trained in China with a Shaolin monk is amusing, but instead of playing the typical unassuming character you would never in a million years think was a Kung Fu Master, she has turned into a rather violent and coarse character who enjoys flaunting propriety. And while the real Lizzy could be rather pert, she never thumbs her nose at what is proper. So all in all there is a sort of discordant sensation while I am reading the book and it gets worse the more I read.

I am at the point now where I am wondering if I should keep going for just a little while longer–one more bus commute to and from work–in hopes that it really will turn out to be over-the-top campy fun since Mr. Collins will be showing up soon, or if I should give up on it now and possibly save myself from a painful day of reading tomorrow. Decisions, decisions.

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