GUEST BLOG: ‘The End of the Symbolic Liminal: Brian Keene and the Rise of the Fast Zombie’ by Andrew P. Williams (North Carolina Central University)

In George Romero’s seminal film Night of the Living Dead (1968), John, who will later become zombie fodder, jokingly warns his sister, “They’re coming to get you, Barbara.” Flash forward five decades later and all one has to do is browse the shelves of the local Barnes and Noble or the newest release section of Blockbuster to see that the living dead have certainly come for us. In film, books, television, video games, and even academic conferences, it seems as if the pop-cultural zombie apocalypse has finally arrived, and I, for one, cannot be more delighted.

Ever since sneaking into the Monroeville Mall in Pittsburgh Pa. shortly after my thirteenth birthday to catch a glimpse of the filming of George Romero’s 1978 classic Dawn of the Dead, I have had an unapologetic affection for all things zombified. Upon its release, I was able to circumvent the film’s initial prohibition against anyone under the age of 17 from purchasing a ticket with the assistance of some older, horror-loving friends who propped open an emergency exit long enough to let a skinny high school freshman to slip in.  Thirty-five years later I appreciate the subtle irony of subverting the traditional economics of consumer exchange and the ideological prohibition against my youthful eyes witnessing such a product in order to see the film that Kim Paffenroth deems a “blistering, frightening, and hilarious critique” of “American consumer culture” (55).

Paffenroth’s citing Romero’s Dawn of the Dead as a metaphor of American consumer culture is just one of the numerous figurative applications assigned to this particular brand of  “undead.”  Within critical discourses associated with a variety of socio-cultural anxieties such as rampant capitalism and consumerism, racial and ethnic “otherness”, fear over pandemic diseases, especially AIDS, and the general absurdity of the human condition, the zombie remains a signifying component of a useful and rather flexible paradigmatic metaphor. The zombie has been, and still remains, an iconic figure within American culture, a convenient catch-all for representing “the other” regardless of what group is being slipped in the category of “self.” That the zombie represents something more in American culture than simply a flesh eating automaton does not seem too debatable. But rather than solely provide a reading of the zombie with a particular text or body of texts as a metaphor for something, I would like to take this opportunity to briefly address the components of the zombie metaphor within the linguistic sign.  It is commonplace to address the zombie metaphor citing that the “zombie stands for this” but as an element of a sign, the zombie itself cannot function as an autotelic signifier; rather, its signifying efficacy is contingent upon it being a component of a phenomenological event where an observer recognizes its uncanny nature and responds to it. It is this combination of zombie and observer, the simultaneous presence of the undead and the living whom is conscious of the implications and immediacy of the zombie threat that functions as signifier within the metaphor of zombification. Contained within this model of signification is what I term the symbolic liminal, a conceptual threshold that demarcates the process by which the living transitions into the undead through direct contact with the zombie, manifested by the visible and physical spaces that separate the living and the undead as well as the distinct forms of agency by which that space can be crossed or defended. Thus the barricade that keeps the zombie at bay, or the physical distance and spatial limitations that separate the undead from the potential victim act as the symbolic liminal and is elemental to the signifier inherent within the zombie metaphor.

Recognizing the liminal component of this tripartite model of the zombie signifier allows the critic greater flexibility to negotiate the fluid dimensions of conceptualizing the zombie as metaphor within the ever evolving parameters of the representation of the zombie in America literature and cinema. Of particular importance is the emergence of the “fast zombie”, a sleek variant of the traditional walking dead brought to the forefront of American pop consciousness in the early years of the new millennia with such works as the 2002 film Resident Evil and the 2003 Bram Stoker Award winning novel, The Rising, by Brian Keene. Unlike the traditional slow and shambling zombie depicted in films White Zombie (1932) and I Walked with a Zombie (1943), as well as H.P. Lovecraft’s literary classic, “Herbert West-Reannimator,” and, more recently, splatter punk sensations John Skipp and Craig Spector’s edited collection Book of the Dead Vols. 1 and 2(1990, 1992), the fast zombie retains the physical speed and dexterity of the living after it has succumbed to the process of zombification, and in fact, often exhibits hyperbolic degrees of strength and agility fueled by  its insatiable hunger for human flesh. Unlike its slower cousin, the fast zombie can chase down human prey, scale walls, leap over barricades and, in the case of Romero’s recent remake of his own Day of the Dead (2008), develop the ability to crawl atop ceilings and demonstrate world class parkur proficiency. The fast zombie has also been routinely depicted possessing various levels of self-awareness and sentiency as in Keene’s The Rising and sequel, City of the Dead (2005), David Wellington’s Monster trilogy (2006), and George Romero’s Land of the Dead (2005). Not only does it move faster, the fast zombie, for lack of a better phrase, thinks faster than its predecessor, and proves a relentless force of (un)nature unless it can be properly dispatched through the agency of the living.

The introduction of the fast zombie into the genre did much more than amp up the dramatic action within the context of its various cinematic and literary incarnations; it destabilized the tripartite model of signification by shrinking the liminal space that exists between the living and the undead, thus fundamentally altering the phenomenological event that produces the zombie metaphor. The absence of the clearly demarcated symbolic liminal exacerbates the permanent status of urgency and threat to the stabilizing influences of civilization central to the zombie metaphor’s function as a sign, and begins to dismantle the familiar and comfortable terrain by which the living-self and undead-other remain fundamentally separate regardless of what metaphoric trope is being negotiated. The agency of the fast zombie violently brings these two elements of the linguistic signifier within closer proximity making more problematic the tenuous space between “self” and “other.”

The fast zombie enters the public arena an upgraded version of an old monster whose status as a threat resonates within a post-9/11 consciousness; it is a postmillennial figure who serves as an uncomfortable reminder of the dangerous immediacy and catastrophic potential of the power of the “other.” Where the traditional slow zombie lumbered and proved dangerous within groups, the fast zombie has the ability to cross the symbolic liminal at any time, striking without warning both individually and collectively, thus less “mobcentric” and more prone to what blogger Tim Hulsey calls “a taste of individualism” (Quoted in Levin). No longer does the living “self” enjoy the small luxury of preparing for the threat of the undead “other” inherent within the warning, “They’re coming to get you.” With the fast zombie, they are already here.

Brian Keene’s 2003 novel The Rising ushered in the era of the fast zombie in fiction. One of the first literary explorations of a post-zombie apocalypse, The Rising is the story of Jim Thurmond’s attempt to find his son amidst the devastation of a zombie-infested world. Embarking on a perilous cross country journey, Jim encounters increasingly dangerous and sentient masses of the undead all the while clinging to the slim hope that his son is still alive. With echoes of Richard Matheson’s classic zombie/vampire novel, I Am Legend as well as the occasional homage to Romero’s classic zombie trilogy, The Rising succeeds in fusing many of the traditional and often, necessary tropes of the genre, while simultaneously reconceptualizing the zombie “other”.  Keene writes, “The zombies were representative of all walks of life. . . . Black, white, Hispanic, and Asian-death did not discriminate. Some carried weapons while others carried nothing but their hunger. . . Some moved along at a quick pace while others lagged behind” (287). In Keene’s zombie universe, the undead also retain the core memories of when they were alive, can speak, fire guns, and even ride Harley Davidson motorcycles down the middle of the highway while cracking wise about the consistency of human flesh.  At times comical, and always gory, The Rising virtually abolishes the symbolic liminal by making zombification less a hindrance to awareness and mobility and more of an absurd existential quandary.

Similar to Matheson’s novel, The Rising begins after the zombie infection has eradicated most, if not all, of the planet’s human population.  Though the origins of the infection become evidenced midway through the novel, Keene’s protagonist, Jim, is less concerned with how his fellow humans became zombies and more with the ramifications of their presence. Unlike Matheson’s Robert Neville who spends years researching the virus that has transformed his friends and family into zombie/vampires, ultimately believing he can “cure” the infected, Jim can only focus his attention on the immediate reality of survival in this post-apocalyptic environment. But Jim’s efforts are aided by his postmillennial consciousness where years prior to the zombie outbreak, he had constructed a survival shelter beneath his home in case society’s worst Y2K fears came to fruition. Later, after the incidents of 9/11, Jim further upgrades his shelter and keeps it well-stocked for what he anticipates as an inevitable breakdown of civilization.  In Keene’s postmillennial zombie apocalypse, the liminal space between the continuation of socio-familial norms and collapse is measured, not by degrees of possibility as it is in Matheson’s novel, but in its own inevitability.

Recognizing the difference between the responses of the two protagonists to their respective zombie infestations helps to elucidate the shifting significance of the inherent threat posed by the zombie “other.” Robert is not prepared by the forces which create the zombie virus, but he still views it as something that can be controlled  through science or social engineering-he will either find a cure for it which will return the world to “normal,” or he will eradicate the threat and rebuild a new society based on the rubric of the old. In the metaphorical paradigm of the slow zombie, the “other” is manageable and possibly reclaimable through the power of the “self.” However, in The Rising Jim recognizes that no such reclamation is possible. The threat of the “other”, marked by the fast zombie, proves more than the agency of the “self” can handle. It heralds the promise of a new order, a new normal where the space between the living and the undead has become so blurred that without the display of some of the signifying badges inherent within the genre, it would be difficult to distinguish the “self” from the “other.”

The blurring of this signifying element is primary to the “horror” of The Rising and marks an important thematic comparison to Matheson’s I Am Legend where a diachronic reading of the two works can shed some light on the role of the symbolic liminal. In both novels, the undead possess a certain degree of sentiency, speech, and a particular desire for the protagonist to join their ranks. The zombies are not all mindless in their attention; in fact, it seems as if they have made the zombification of Jim and Robert a personal goal.  Both characters are taunted by the undead and are even the object of sexual attention from female zombies who try to lure the male protagonists from the safety of their homes. In Matheson’s novel this type of liminal transgression is primarily manifested by a several undead female neighbors who make suggestive overtures toward Robert, as well as his former friend who can do no more than call out to him and ask him to join them. In response, Robert is able to drown them out by turning up the volume on his still working record player as he listens to classical music. The violation of the “other” into the symbolic liminal, in this case, can be easily deflected by the “self” by retreating to those things that had previously defined normal life. As long as the barricade holds, turning up the volume or pouring another drink can successfully keep the zombie at bay.

Such is not the case with the fast zombies of The Rising. Jim is also subject to sexual taunting, but in his case it is from his recently deceased wife who is still carrying his unborn, undead child. Her taunts are not confined to deviant promises of sexual release, but are overtures for Jim to join her and the baby in a newly configured nuclear family, one whose status as “other” is not bound by any socio-sexual norms. And unlike Robert Neville who can distract himself with the trappings of civilization long enough for the temptation to subside, Jim cannot. It is, after all, not a promise of temporary pleasure the zombie brings, but a recreating of everything Jim valued and loved. This sentient, “fast” zombie poses a new threat; instead of it having to cross the liminal space to ensnare its victim, it can entice the living to cross that space of his own volition. In this new paradigm Keene offers, the zombies possess much of the criteria that defines “normal” society- family, community, and a clearly delineated sense of order making, in many ways, their “otherness” an attractive alternative to the diasporic existence of the living “self.” That zombification would even be considered a viable option for humanity significantly shrinks the liminal space between the “self” and “other” and reconfigures the semiotic value of difference within the metaphor.  For the first time in zombie fiction, the zombie has something the living, like Jim, desperately crave, social order.

Jim does not succumb to the temptation and sets off to find his son from his first wife in an attempt to reclaim what is left of the traditional, living, family unit within this apocalyptic terrain. Keene has stated that The Rising is more the story of one man’s attempts to sustain and protect the ideal of the nuclear family and the familiarity of the “American dream” than an apocalyptic tale of the undead. According to the author, the zombies is a genre specific trope that can “represent all of the very real, modern threats to that ideal” (Interview, 1/11/2013). Though not the only metaphor by which the novel can be read, the destabilization of the familiar social norms in a post-millennial society does offer a useful context for a critique of the zombie infestation as a phenomenological event.  In the land of the slow zombie, the survivor can maintain a prolonged semblance of normalcy as long as the fortification remains solid and the supplies are restocked. Robert Neville is able to survive this way for over three years; his weekly routine of going to the grocery store, refueling his car and generator, and doing repairs around the house, in spite of the constant threat of the zombie hordes, succeeds in mimicking the routine and rhythm of pre-apocalyptic, suburban, American culture. As such, the metaphorical implications seem to suggest that as long as the symbolic liminal is not transgressed, if careful, the “self” can function indefinitely within a self-contained environment and economy with little interference from the omnipresent “other.”

However the agency of the fast zombie makes it virtually impossible for the living “self” to recreate any type of pre-zombie state of normalcy and order. The best the “self”, in the form of the survivors, can do to fend off the intrusion of the “other” is to remain mobile, always in a state of flight where, in the case of The Rising, the monuments of American social and economic culture no longer offer any refuge or comfort. As Jim and a small band of survivors hurry toward where they think Jim’s son is hidden, Keene writes: “Monuments of their former civilization sat just off each exist they passed; houses and apartment buildings, churches, synagogues, and mosques, shopping centers and strip malls. The golden arches of a fast food restaurant hung askew” (311).  Unlike Robert Neville who can still go to the supermarket or the gas station for his supplies, Jim and company can only view these reminders of the past from afar. They are irrelevant in the new world.

Keene’s reference to the shopping center or mall brings to mind another pair of zombie infestations whose metaphoric interpretations are also impacted by the difference that exists between the fast and slow zombie. Namely, George Romero’s 1978 film Dawn of the Dead and its remake a quarter century later. Much has been written concerning their symbolic applications to American consumer culture, and it is out of the scope of this presentation to address that issue in detail; but, it is illustrative to briefly address the impact of the “speed” of the zombie as an element of signification in regard to how the films handle the spatial component of the symbolic liminal. In both versions, a band of survivors has found refuge within a shopping mall. And in both cases, they eliminate the few zombie stragglers who wander about the food court before setting up residence among the mall’s many stores. However, in Romero’s original, slow zombie version, the limited agency of the undead allows the survivors to create, what they believe to be a permanent homestead within the seemingly endless bounty offered by the mall’s many outlets. There are literally enough resources to last the surviving trio for a lifetime. Even when the zombies have been able to breach the fortification of the mall’s doors, the survivors have built a false wall separating their personal living space from the rest of the mall. As such they find a way to coexist with the zombie “others” without the normalcy of their lives being impacted. In fact, it is not the zombies who destroy this workable compromise; the arrival of a bike-riding gang of marauders destroys the balance that has existed for nearly a year between the living and the undead and causes the disintegration of the symbolic liminal. Similar to Matheson’s take, Romero’s slow zombies prove a symbolic “other” that can be dealt with and managed by the efforts of the “self”- as long as the walls hold and the supplies last, the metaphoric threat of zombification can be held at bay by the effort and inherent resiliency of the “self.”

This is not so much the case with the Zack Snyder’s 2004 remake which pits the band of survivors in a similar shopping mall, but one surrounded by fast zombies. This time the speed and stealth of the undead make the complex a temporary safe-haven, at best. Unlike those in the original film version, these survivors do not view the mall as a permanent or even long term solution to the zombie threat, and there is certainly no implication of a guarded co-existence. In the post-millennial version of Dawn of the Dead, in an era of internet connectivity and online shopping, the mall has become obsolete. It offers no lasting protection from whatever metaphoric “otherness” the zombies represent, and is overrun by the undead within a matter of weeks. The shopping mall, along with other monuments of normalcy offering the potentiality of stabilizing the symbolic liminal in the era of the slow zombie, collapses under the weight of the fast zombie’s power to transgress the threshold between the living and the undead. Unlike the end of the original Dawn where the two remaining survivors fly off in a helicopter with a chance to find another safe-haven, the remake ends without hope as the remaining survivors are discovered on an unnamed island by a swarming pack of the undead. Ultimately, the “self” is inadequate to deal with the threat of the “other”; it can only be devoured by it.

Like their cinematic counterparts, Robert and Jim can survive for only so long in this new world of the undead. Similar to the original Dawn of the Dead, Robert Neville’s demise comes as a result of the action of the living. His home is invaded by a group of survivors who suffer from the zombie virus but have found an antidote that allows them to manage its effects. They have become the new “self” in the post-apocalyptic world while Robert, the last uninfected man in the world, has become the dangerous “other” who must be eradicated. For Jim, like the last survivors in the Dawn of the Dead remake, he simply runs out of time and space. Having found his son and taking refuge in, yet another temporary haven, the zombie menace finally catches up with him because, literally, there is nowhere else for him to go.

In the end, and we must recognize that zombie fiction and film rarely end well for the living, the metaphor of zombification is shaped by the degree to which the undead can transgress the symbolic liminal. When the zombie is slow, the metaphor implicitly contains a range of hope and potential for the “self” to maintain its identity as such in the presence of the “other.” When the zombies are fast, the symbolic liminal evaporates and the “self” is inevitably consumed by the “other.”

But as I write these last lines, a new zombie film has opened called Warm Bodies where the power of love allows the zombie hero to reclaim his humanity and place among the living. Perhaps this is the next step in the evolution of the literary and cinematic zombie- the undead as both “self” and “other” at the same time. I prefer the flesh eating variety but if this new strain of evolved undead can help the “self” to not fear the “other” it will be well-worth letting this monster finally rest in peace.

***

If you enjoyed this presentation, be sure to check out Professor Williams’s latest novel, The Corruptor.

***

Works Cited

Dawn of the Dead. George Romero. Laurel Group, 1978. Film.

Dawn of the Dead. Zack Snyder. Strike Entertainment, 2004. Film.

Day of the Dead. Steve Miner. Millennium Films, 2008. Film.

Keene, Brian. City of the Dead. New York: Leisure Books, 2005. Print.

—. The Rising. New York: Leisure Books, 2004. Print.

—. Personal interview. 11 January, 2013.

Levin, Josh. “How did movie zombies get so fast?” Slate.com, 24 March, 2004.  Web. 8 November, 2012

Matheson, Richard. I Am Legend. New York: Gold Medal, 1954. Print.

Night of the Living Dead. George Romero. Image Ten, 1968. Film.

Paffenroth, Kim. Gospel of the Living Dead: George Romero’s Vision of Hell on Earth. Waco: Baylor University Press, 2006. Print.

Warm Bodies. Jonathan Levine. Summit Entertainment, 2013. Film.