My travel read for last weekend’s LV trip was “The Reapers are the Angels”
I picked it up at the closest Borders. The place was a creepy, mentally disordered version of itself. The store wasn’t empty, but it felt like it. The stacks were ordered in some new book fair chic style. Customers circled around potentially choice merchandise like zombies in a kindergarten nap room. Shambling employees tried to fake smile their way through the experience. The Bookstore Apocalypse had arrived at Borders. The last remnants of the printed word huddled together in small enclaves hoping to survive.
I managed to score a couple of books and some 80% off journals.
“The Reapers are the Angels” is, by appearances, a zombie novel.
It is really a tale of a rambling road trip. A coming of age novel. A book about family. An exploration of all the world’s beauty. And some knife play.
Please don’t misunderstand. There are zombies and post-pandemic America. Still, the story isn’t about the zombies or the past.
Reapers is about the now. The living. The daily grind and one young gal making her way forward.