the narrator that the news of a zombie attack didn’t seem to phase this dynamic of family life, that, at work, was a lot more fun to rehash last night’s episode of or Celebrity Fat Camp “it totally bitch out whoever wasn’t in the break room at that moment” (World 65), and, at War Z home, Zoloft, Ritalin, and Adderall can numb the anxiety of superfluous worries. Such is Brooks’ comment here; that the pace and timbre of modern middle-class suburban life is certainly a mundane cycle of schema maintenance. That is, until zombies arrive. Recounting the moment when the undead literally arrived at her doorstep (and window), Miller describes the sensory details of the attack: one zombie five foot ten, slumped, “about narrow shoulders with this puffy, wagging belly. It wasn’t wearing a shirt and its mottled gray flesh was all torn and pockmarked. It smelled like the beach, like rotten kelp and saltwater” (World 67). This vivid narration demonstrates the elements of a flashbulb memory in a War Z or flight” response taking shape for Miller, who (in Maslow’s terms) shifts her worries “fight from seeking esteem and self-actualization as a mother to ensuring the physiological safety of her children. Besides explaining her first experience with the undead in ironically lifelike detail, Miller’s syntax echoes her frantic scrambling to save her children: squeezed hard…pulled… “I The kids say I tore the things head off, just ripped it right out with all the flesh and muscle and whatever else hanging in tatters…Maybe with all your adrenaline pumping…I think the kids have just built it up in their memories over the years, making me into SheHulk” (World War Z 67). Speaking in a series of loose sentences interspersed with fragments, Miller demonstrates the hurried, harried storytelling characteristic of a normal person who has experienced a traumatic event.
the narrator that the news of a zombie attack didn’t seem to phase this dynamic of family life, that, at work, “it was a lot more fun to rehash last night’s episode of Celebrity Fat Camp or totally bitch out whoever wasn’t in the break room at that moment” (World War Z 65), and, at home, Zoloft, Ritalin, and Adderall can numb the anxiety of superfluous worries. Such is Brooks’ comment here; that the pace and timbre of modern middle-class suburban life is certainly a mundane cycle of schema maintenance. That is, until zombies arrive. Recounting the moment when the undead literally arrived at her doorstep (and window), Miller describes the sensory details of the attack: one zombie “about five foot ten, slumped, narrow shoulders with this puffy, wagging belly. It wasn’t wearing a shirt and its mottled gray flesh was all torn and pockmarked. It smelled like the beach, like rotten kelp and saltwater” (World War Z 67). This vivid narration demonstrates the elements of a flashbulb memory in a “fight or flight” response taking shape for Miller, who (in Maslow’s terms) shifts her worries from seeking esteem and self-actualization as a mother to ensuring the physiological safety of her children. Besides explaining her first experience with the undead in ironically lifelike detail, Miller’s syntax echoes her frantic scrambling to save her children: “I squeezed hard…pulled… The kids say I tore the things head off, just ripped it right out with all the flesh and muscle and whatever else hanging in tatters…Maybe with all your adrenaline pumping…I think the kids have just built it up in their memories over the years, making me into SheHulk” (World War Z 67). Speaking in a series of loose sentences interspersed with fragments, Miller demonstrates the hurried, harried storytelling characteristic of a normal person who has experienced a traumatic event.
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