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Coming soon to your local bookseller. In the spirit of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters comes the latest thriller from Synergistic Publishing House:

The Diary of Anne Frankenstein.

This touching, fascinating, ultimately heartwarming achievement merges the unwavering optimism of a young Jewish girl in Nazi-occupied Amsterdam with the unfeeling fury of a monstrous, pea-brained hulk. Sit spellbound as you witness Anne's recollection of her birth.

Dear reader, I can hardly ask you to believe my tale, as I can scarcely believe it myself. All I know is, one dark winter morning, I opened my eyes to discover that my immortal soul was imprisoned in a grotesque, oversized body that lay fallow on a cement slab. My flesh was pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle of waxy carrion sliced from bodies of every color, shape, and size, haphazardly slashed together by ropy cords of animal tendon.

While every nerve cell in my body screamed, I struggled to my feet and staggered on unfeeling, tree trunk legs to the window. Rather than examine life outside, I stared at my own reflection in the rippled glass. Reader, I cannot convey the pain I felt. Though deep inside I was just like every other little girl, wanting nothing more than to drink lemonade and play with my dolls, on the outside I had iron bolts protruding from my forehead and a jagged flap of skin securing my rotting brain in place.

I screamed with the torment of the undead. "I'm HIDEOUS!" I yelled.

My creator, a white-bearded man wearing the traditional garb of the Orthodox, shrugged his shoulders. "Well," he said, "maybe you're smart?"

Cheer to this pastoral adventure:

Walking about yesterday I saw a young girl, perhaps aged four or five, tossing edelweiss into a stream. Though she wore a Nazi armband, I felt such delight at this sight that I decided to join her. I too picked a flower and flung it into the water, and the young girl and I both laughed. Then I couldn't find any more flowers so I explained to her my feelings about the corruption of innocence and then I threw her in.

Feel your heart pound as a desperate Anne eludes pursuers in the English countryside:

I couldn't believe this angry mob was chasing me. Though I was a head taller than any of the trees, and my creator's lack of surgical training had left me with deep-set eyes that pointed opposite directions and a gash of a mouth that continually poured rivulets of saliva, though I was burdened by the blind stagger of an absinthe-swilling drunk rather than the measured gait of a lady and my skin, rather than being scented by Parisian scents or rose-water, stank both of the grave and smoked ham, I still felt like a little girl. And yet I found myself the object of such narrow-minded hatred solely because I had a different name for my Creator than they did!

Well, or maybe because they saw me steal a sheep from a local farm and unhinge my jaw to devour it while it bleated for help.

Last, have your heart torn out of your chest, just like our heroine's friends, by the unvanquished spirit in the new, updated end.

Dear reader, I know not what will become of me, as nowadays even the most minor exertion has me dropping more fractured parts than a Fiat. Still, I believe that, despite it all, flowers are pretty, rabbits are fluffy, and that fire stuff is just crazy shit.