NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER, NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE “Gruesome yet poetic…highly original.” — The Seattle Times “Dark and funny.” — Wired “A mesmerizing evolution of a classic contemporary myth.” —Simon Pegg “A strange and unexpected treat…elegantly written, touching, and fun.” —Audrey Niffenegger, author of The Time Traveler’s Wife “Has there been a more sympathetic monster since Frankenstein’s?” — Financial Times In Warm Bodies , Isaac Marion’s New York Times bestselling novel that inspired a major film, a zombie returns to humanity through an unlikely encounter with love. “R” is having a no-life crisis—he is a zombie. He has no memories, no identity, and no pulse, but he is a little different from his fellow Dead. He may occasionally eat people, but he’d rather be riding abandoned airport escalators, listening to Sinatra in the cozy 747 he calls home, or collecting souvenirs from the ruins of civilization. And then he meets a girl. First as his captive, then his reluctant house guest, Julie is a blast of living color in R’s gray landscape, and something inside him begins to bloom. He doesn’t want to eat this girl—although she looks delicious—he wants to protect her. But their unlikely bond will cause ripples they can’t imagine, and their hopeless world won’t change without a fight. “Elegantly written, touching, and fun.” -- Audrey Niffenegger, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Time Traveler's Wife “Dark and funny.” ― Wired “ Warm Bodies is a terrific zombook. Whether you're warm-bodied or cold-bodied, snuggle up to it with the lights low and enjoy a dead-lightful combination of horror and romance.” ― Examiner.com “The writing is lively, the characters intriguing, and the creative reinvention of popular themes is thought-provoking.” ― Commonsensemedia.org “Compulsively readable.” ― Thereadinggate.com “A masterfully crafted retelling of Romeo & Juliet .” ― Goodereads.com “Remarkable. From the very first page you are hooked on protagonist R’s story. You actually care about R. Yes, you find yourself really caring about a zombie.” ― Teenlitrocks.com “Fun and entertaining.” ― Gliterarygirl.com “Marion’s novel is even better [than the movie], digging deep into sardonic observations about humanity, comic takes on zombie behavior and stirring reflections on what it really means to be alive or dead.” ― Seattle Times “Artful.” ― The Onion A.V. Club “Highly original.” ― Seattletimes.com Isaac Marion grew up in the mossy depths of the Pacific Northwest, where he worked as a heating installer, a security guard, and a visitation supervisor for foster children before publishing his debut novel in 2010. Warm Bodies became a #5 New York Times bestseller and inspired a major Hollywood film adaptation. It has been translated into twenty-five languages worldwide. Isaac lives in Seattle with his cat and a beloved cactus, writing fiction and music, and taking pictures of everything. Visit IsaacMarion.com for more on these endeavors. I AM DEAD, but it’s not so bad. I’ve learned to live with it. I’m sorry I can’t properly introduce myself, but I don’t have a name anymore. Hardly any of us do. We lose them like car keys, forget them like anniversaries. Mine might have started with an “R,” but that’s all I have now. It’s funny because back when I was alive, I was always forgetting other people’s names. My friend “M” says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can’t smile, because your lips have rotted off. None of us are particularly attractive, but death has been kinder to me than some. I’m still in the early stages of decay. Just the gray skin, the unpleasant smell, the dark circles under my eyes. I could almost pass for a Living man in need of a vacation. Before I became a zombie I must have been a businessman, a banker or broker or some young temp learning the ropes, because I’m wearing fairly nice clothes. Black slacks, gray shirt, red tie. M makes fun of me sometimes. He points at my tie and tries to laugh, a choked, gurgling rumble deep in his gut. His clothes are holey jeans and a plain white T-shirt. The shirt is looking pretty macabre by now. He should have picked a darker color. We like to joke and speculate about our clothes, since these final fashion choices are the only indication of who we were before we became no one. Some are less obvious than mine: shorts and a sweater, skirt and a blouse. So we make random guesses. You were a waitress. You were a student. Ring any bells? It never does. No one I know has any specific memories. Just a vague, vestigial knowledge of a world long gone. Faint impressions of past lives that linger like phantom limbs. We recognize civilization—buildings, cars, a general overview—but we have no personal role in it. No history. We are just here . We do what we do, time passes, and no one asks questions. But like I’ve said, it’s not so bad. We may appear mindless, but we aren