Domesticated animals no longer exist if there is no one to domesticate them. With the loss of Big Jim, the only world that S.T. I can't count the number of times I said things to my wife like, 'In this book, the cats call their owners mediocre servants!' Then we looked at our cats, who glared critically back at us.īut the real trick is how invested we become in S.T.'s quest. At times, I'd even whip out the word hilarious, which I don't do very often. I mean, how could it? A trash-talking crow? Zombies? All wrapped in social commentary and an environmentalist slant? No way.īut, against all odds, Buxton pulls it off.įirst of all, the book is very funny.

There was also this nagging feeling that Hollow Kingdom just couldn't possibly work.

I was skeptical going in, because I wasn't sure if I'd ever be able to relate to a domesticated crow. sets out to save Big Jim and, perhaps, all of humanity. With the help of their lovable hound Dennis, S.T. S.T.'s worldview is colored by his owner, Big Jim, a Seattle resident with an affinity for cursing, Big Butts magazine, Tinder hookups, and - now that he's a zombie - standing in a room and scratching at the wall. Most notably by a foul-mouthed domesticated crow named Shit Turd. But the twist here is that the story of humanity's downfall is narrated by the animals left behind. And that's before the entire human race is turned into zombies.īuxton's novel is at its heart a standard apocalypse tale. Thusly named (by the actual fauna of the Earth) for the fact that they go around wrecking the environment like 'milky-eyed machines intent on destruction, empty vessels that have lost their inner intelligence.' A fair assessment, indeed. In Kira Jane Buxton’s Hollow Kingdom, the Hollows are the humans.

Kira buxton