Appendix N: The Zombie Survival Guide

Depictions of the macabre have always held a special place in my heart. Even in my early childhood, all of my doodles were of horrible monsters and demons. I remember it being a major concern to my parents, and I even frightened a few other children with what I came up with. This was not intentional. I’ve rarely ‘played up’ my love for disturbing images just to make people uncomfortable. (Though, I confess, as I’ve grown older this has become something of a guilty pleasure). I merely have a natural passion for the darker imaginings of the human psyche. And at the center of this passion are creatures possessed of unnatural life beyond death. Ghouls, vampires, and of course, zombies.

You might say that I was into zombies “before they were cool,” but then I would have kick you in the stomach for making me sound like a hipster douche. All the same, even I have long since tired of the ‘zombie craze.’ That’s hardly an original sentiment, but that doesn’t make it any less valid. It is past time for zombies to shamble out of the spotlight. The overproduction of zombie-themed books, movies, television programs and (especially) games is more than frustrating. The books which arguably started that craze, however, are still some of the best I’ve ever read.

Max Brooks’ two zombie classics, “The Zombie Survival Guide,” and “World War Z” are original, and inspired works of modern literature. They cannot even be counted as pulp, despite being predicated on a pulp icon like zombies. Both books explore some interesting questions about the human condition, and they do it from unique perspectives. The level of thought which Brooks put into his work is honestly remarkable, and he deserves no end of accolades for what he accomplished.

Personally, I think World War Z is the far better book. If you haven’t read it, you ought to. The episodic style of the story means you can read it in small segments and feel satisfied that you’ve experienced an entire story at the end of each one. But the episodes are not so completely disconnected that the book doesn’t have an overall narrative. One which, I think, is the definitive account of a zombie apocalypse.

Despite WWZ’s objective superiority, however, I think The Zombie Survival Guide is a much more valuable tome for game masters. It’s valuable even if you never have, and never intend, to run a zombie survival game. The ZSG is useful for all GMs, of all games, in all settings, because in that book Max Brooks does what a good GM should do: he creates a fantastic world, complete with rules for the fantastic elements, then takes that world completely seriously.

If you are unfamiliar with the Zombie Survival guide, the premise of the book is very simple. Zombies are real. There have been numerous minor outbreaks recorded in the past, dating back to as early as 60,000 B.C.. And while past outbreaks have been contained, there is still a real threat of a pandemic of zombieism which would consume the world. When and if that happens, the book aims to prepare the reader to survive in any eventuality. It exhaustively covers its subject matter–to the point that in some spots it almost becomes a general-purpose survival guide. Though it never stops being entertaining.

The complete seriousness of this book with regards to its own fantastic content is a perspective-altering tool for game masters. As I mentioned, this is precisely what I think we ought to be doing. We create, or inherit, fictional realities. Those realities often have fantastic elements, such as magic, or high technology, or even something as simple as slightly altered history from that of the real world. But whatever the particular oddities of our worlds may be, once we’ve determined what those oddities are, we should try to understand how the world would function realistically. If we can accomplish that, then we’ve taken one of the most important and most difficult steps to help our players take the world seriously.

For example, consider a world of medieval fantasy. The only way it differs from real-life medieval Europe is the presence of magic. Okay, now it’s time to figure out how it functions realistically: how does magic work? Is it an innate power granted to a few, or is it a studied art? How powerful can magic be, and why haven’t magic users taken over the world by now? Medieval Europe was strictly religious, how does the pope respond to magic? Does he claim it for the church as a gift from god, or does he decry magic users as servants of evil? If he decries it as evil, is it outlawed universally, or does his opposition to it cause a schism from the church? Or, perhaps, does the obvious power of magic cause the political power of the pope to disappear entirely? Does magic affect the day-to-day life of the peasantry, or are its gifts enjoyed primarily by the ruling classes?

These are important questions to consider if we want our players to find our worlds believable. And it’s the type of thinking for which The Zombie Survival Guide serves as a perfect example. In some ways, I think the ZCG is the most well developed campaign setting I’ve ever seen. Because while many campaign settings focus their attention on detailing nations and races and politics, this book can skip all of that since it can be found in any world atlas. Instead, it focuses all of its 250-some pages on exploring the single way in which its world differs from our own.

It seems more than a little strange to write a recommendation for a best selling book which has been on the shelves for almost a decade. But I don’t simply recommend it as a good read. (After all: World War Z is better!) I recommend it as a valuable source of education for game masters.

Apendix N: The Divine Comedy

It is ridiculous of me to sit here and pretend I can seriously write a piece about Dante’s divine comedy. I’m a second-rate blogger who writes about tabletop games; The Divine Comedy is one of the greatest classics of medieval European literature. It stands beside such epic poems as the Aeneid, or the Odessey and is no less remarkable than those masterworks. Even Dante’s own arrogance in proclaiming that his work stands next to Virgil and Homer’s does not diminish his achievement. It’s not pompous if you can back it up.

But I was recently asked not once, but three times by three different people, to write about the books which inspire me as a GM. As Brendan put it, my personal “Appendix N.” I’ve written extensively about the video games I am inspired by, such as the old Zelda, Dragon Warrior, and Final Fantasy games. If I’m being honest, this is probably because video games have had a more profound impact on my life than books have. I tend to read slowly, and I’m not as widely read as I feel I ought to be. I can fit in with the lit nerds when I want to. They accept me as one of them, but I have to say “Ya know, I haven’t actually read that one yet!” a lot.

But the Divine Comedy, and Inferno specifically? I’ve read the shit out of that. It has been a never ending font of inspiration to me since I first picked it up for a medieval literature class back in 2008*†. Dante’s description of Hell represents the most vicious and memorably fantasy I’ve ever experienced. And one which is remarkably simple to read for a piece written 695 years ago. Though, if you’re not an expert on 14th century Florentine politics, it helps to have a version with copious footnotes.

As most everyone knows, the story gave us our now-commonplace vision of a hell. It shows us a land of descending circles where punishments are ironically tailored to progressively more grievous  sins. Dante himself is the story’s protagonist, who becomes lost while on a stroll, and finds himself on a road which can only lead through hell itself. He is accompanied on his journey by his literary forebear Virgil. There’s a hilariously self-indulgent scene where Virgil introduces Dante to the other great poets of history, and they accept him as one of them. Seriously. The bulk of the story is a collection of interviews as Dante meets hell’s sufferers, and speaks with them about their punishments. Some are figures from Greco-Roman mythology, while others are Dante’s personal enemies, or those of his family. A few are even friends Dante, and there are numerous popes found in hell’s lowest reaches, including one who was still alive at the time.

I don’t really care for the book’s morality, but that’s hardly surprising. I’m an atheist who grew up in a catholic household and made a conscious decisions to reject that system of beliefs. I think it’s pretty disgusting to assert that suicides, sodomites, and simonists need to be punished for all eternity. But I also believe that history ought to be judged within context. And just because I’m an atheist, doesn’t mean I feel the need to cut myself off from thousands of years of human art and culture, simply because it was inspired by philosophies I believe to be flawed. The forest of the suicides is one of the most beautifully haunting places I’ve ever seen in fiction. So much so that it featured predominantly in a game where my players chose to travel to the Abyss. (Though I did edit the purpose for the tree’s existence).

I think part of what makes the poem such a perfect source for inspiration is its breakneck pace. The plot is just a vehicle for describing the various environments and torments of hell. First Dante encounters “the Neutrals,” who were too cowardly to choose between good or evil in their lives. He describes them almost like zombies, “the woeful people who have lost the good of the intellect.” But Dante has barely finished speaking of them when Virgil ushers him forward.

He replied: ‘I will tell thee in a few words. They have no hope of death, and so abject is their blind life that they are envious of every other lot. The world suffers no report of them to live. Pity and justice despise them. Let us not talk of them; but look thou and pass.’

And I looked and saw a whirling banner which ran so fast that it seemed as if it could never make a stand, and behind it came so long a train of people that I should never have believed death had undone so many. After I recognized some of them I knew the shade of him who from cowardice made the great refusal, and at once and with certainty I perceived that this was the worthless crew that is hateful to God and to His enemies. Those wretches, who were never alive, were naked and sorely stung by hornets and wasps that were there; these made their faces stream with blood, which mingled with their tears and was gathered at their feet by loathsome worms.

And then, directing my sight farther on…”

That’s it. Dante glances over to see an impossibly huge group of people running along the shore chasing a banner (which, as I understand, represents self interest) and being tormented by hornets, wasps, and worms. Then he glances back to the path ahead of him, and moves on to the next terrifying sight. (Which, in this case, is actually just some people waiting by the shore, but you get the point).

I highly, highly recommend this book to anyone looking for hellish inspiration. The density of information makes this relatively short epic more useful than many of the sourcebooks I’ve read. Plus, having read it allows you to pretend you’re significantly more educated than you actually are. If you are interested, I suggest you get the translation by John D Sinclair. Not only does it have those copious footnotes which are helpful for understanding the politics in the book, but each Canto is followed by an insightful analysis which helps in understanding the nearly 700 year old writing style.

Oh, and by the way, Gustave Doré made some absolutely beautiful fantasy art based on the Divine Comedy. That’s what I’ve been posting here, but there’s tons and tons more. Check it out if you like fantasy art!


* On that note, every class I took with Professor Nicholas Margaritis is a source of inspiration for me. I’ve had the privilege of studying under some remarkable individuals, but none of them affected me the way that man did. I felt as though I personally failed him when I didn’t finish a reading assignment on time, and the single A- he ever gave me remains one of the most profound compliments I’ve received in my entire life.

 † That’s also the year which Dante’s exile from Florence was finally rescinded by the Florentine City Council. So, ya know, you’re welcome, Dante.