Does 'Hollow Kingdom' Have A Sequel Or Spin-Off?

I've spent way too many hours dissecting both 'Hollow Kingdom' and 'The Walking Dead,' and the comparisons are way more than just surface-level zombie chaos. At their core, they’re both about survival in a world that’s lost its humanity—literally. But while 'The Walking Dead' shoves humans into brutal, rotting landscapes, 'Hollow Kingdom' flips the script by making animals the protagonists. The real kicker? Both stories force you to ask, 'What does it mean to be alive when everything familiar is gone?' In 'The Walking Dead,' the apocalypse strips people down to their ugliest instincts—betrayal, violence, the whole 'us vs. them' mess. 'Hollow Kingdom' does something similar but through the eyes of S.T., a crow with a filthy mouth and a heart weirdly bigger than most humans'. The animals aren’t just surviving; they’re adapting, forming weird little societies, and calling out humanity’s failures. It’s like if 'The Walking Dead' swapped Rick’s crew for a foul-mouthed bird and a dog, and honestly? It works. Both stories hammer home how fragile civilization is, but 'Hollow Kingdom' does it with dark humor that makes you laugh before you realize how bleak it all is. Then there’s the whole 'infection' angle. 'The Walking Dead' zombies are straightforward—bite equals death equals more zombies. 'Hollow Kingdom'’s twist is way more creative: humans turn into mindless, tech-obsessed husks, glued to their screens until they literally rot. It’s satire cranked up to eleven, but the underlying dread is the same. Both worlds are littered with the remnants of the old order—abandoned cars, empty stores—but while 'The Walking Dead' focuses on scavenging, 'Hollow Kingdom' shows nature reclaiming everything. Vines crack through pavement, deer loot jewelry stores… it’s apocalyptic poetry. And just like in 'The Walking Dead,' loyalty and love are the only things that matter in the end. S.T.’s bond with his dim-but-loyal dog, Dennis, hits as hard as any human relationship in TWD—maybe harder, because it’s pure, no ulterior motives. Both stories are brutal, but they sneak in these moments of tenderness that make the wastelands worth surviving.

As someone who's been collecting signed books for years, I can tell you that getting your hands on a signed copy of 'Hollow Kingdom' takes some digging but it's totally worth it. Your best bet is to check the author's official website or social media - Kira Jane Buxton sometimes announces signed book sales or special editions there. I scored mine during one of these limited-time offers. Independent bookstores often carry signed copies too, especially ones that host author events. I remember Powell's Books in Portland had some last year. You might also want to try Book Depository or AbeBooks, though prices can vary wildly depending on rarity. For a real treasure hunt, check out local book fairs or conventions where authors do signings - I found a signed first edition at Emerald City Comic Con that way. The secondary market on sites like eBay can be risky but sometimes yields gems if you verify authenticity carefully. What makes 'Hollow Kingdom' signatures special is how Buxton often includes little zombie doodles - makes each copy feel personal. Another angle worth exploring is contacting bookstores near where the author lives in Seattle. University Book Store and Elliott Bay Book Company have been known to stock signed copies when authors drop by. Some book subscription services like Illumicrate occasionally include signed editions too. If you're willing to wait, following the author's tour schedule and pre-ordering from event bookstores can work - many will ship signed copies post-event. I've built relationships with several indie bookstore owners who know to set aside signed copies of my favorite authors. The hunt is part of the fun - tracking down that perfect signed copy feels like completing a quest in the post-apocalyptic world of 'Hollow Kingdom' itself.

I’ve been obsessed with 'Hollow Kingdom' since the moment I picked it up—it’s not every day you get a story where animals aren’t just sidekicks but the actual narrators, and boy, does it deliver. The way Kira Jane Buxton writes from the perspective of a domesticated crow named S.T. is nothing short of genius. It’s like seeing the world through a lens that’s both hilariously cynical and oddly profound. S.T.’s voice is packed with snark and a weirdly endearing ego, like he’s this tiny, feathery philosopher who’s convinced he’s the last sane being on Earth. The animal perspectives here aren’t just about instinct; they’re layered with personality, cultural references (yes, a crow that quotes pop culture), and a surprising depth of emotion. What’s even cooler is how the book contrasts S.T.’s urban crow logic with the instincts of other animals. The dogs are portrayed as lovable but clueless, still waiting for their humans to come back even as the apocalypse unfolds. The cats? They’re smug, independent, and utterly unbothered—classic feline energy. Then there are the wild animals, like the elk, who see the crumbling human world with a sort of detached majesty, like they’ve been waiting for this moment forever. The way Buxton nails these distinct voices makes the animal kingdom feel vast and varied, not just a monolithic 'other.' And the humor! S.T.’s rants about 'mofo' humans (his term, not mine) and his grudging respect for a one-eyed pug named Dennis had me cackling. But beneath the laughs, there’s this poignant thread about belonging and adaptation—how animals might actually outlast us, not because they’re stronger, but because they’re more flexible. It’s a wild, witty, and unexpectedly heartfelt ride.

I’ve been obsessed with 'Hollow Kingdom' since I picked it up, and the question of whether it’s suitable for young adults is fascinating. The book’s premise—a crow narrating the zombie apocalypse—is already a wild ride, but it’s the tone and themes that really define its audience. The humor is dark, snarky, and often irreverent, which might appeal to older teens who enjoy satire. S.T. the crow’s voice is hilarious yet poignant, blending crude jokes with existential musings about humanity’s collapse. But here’s the thing: the book doesn’t shy away from gore or bleak moments. There are scenes of animal cruelty, visceral descriptions of decay, and a underlying cynicism about human nature. If a young reader can handle the emotional weight of, say, 'The Hunger Games,' they might be fine here, but it’s definitely edgier. The language is another factor. While it’s not overly complex, the prose is packed with witty metaphors and pop-culture references that might fly over younger heads. S.T.’s rants about 'mo-fos' (his term for humans) and his chaotic adventures with a bloodthirsty demonic toy poodle named Dennis are absurdly entertaining, but they require a certain maturity to appreciate the satire. The book also explores heavy themes like environmental collapse and loyalty in a world gone mad. It’s not just a zombie story; it’s a weirdly profound critique of humanity through the eyes of a foul-mouthed crow. For teens who love unconventional narrators and aren’t squeamish, it’s a gem. But if they prefer lighter, more straightforward YA, this might feel like too much.

I’ve devoured my fair share of apocalypse novels, but 'Hollow Kingdom' stands out like a crow in a flock of pigeons—literally, since the protagonist is a foul-mouthed, junk-food-loving crow named Shit Turd. The brilliance of this book isn’t just its premise—zombies overrun humanity, but animals and nature reclaim the world—it’s how Kira Jane Buxton turns the genre on its head by making the apocalypse hilarious and oddly heartwarming. Instead of focusing on grim survivors or military grit, we get a sarcastic, pop-culture-obsessed bird navigating a world where humans are now mindless ‘Mofos’ (his term, not mine). The humor is dark but never mean-spirited; Shit Turd’s commentary on human quirks, like our obsession with shiny rectangles (phones) or our weird habit of ‘watering’ plants in pots, had me cackling. But what really hooked me was the unexpected depth. Beneath the jokes, there’s a poignant exploration of loyalty and adaptation. Shit Turd’s bond with his dim-witted but sweet bloodhound friend, Dennis, is the emotional core—proof that even in chaos, connections endure. The worldbuilding is another masterstroke. Buxton doesn’t just anthropomorphize animals; she gives them distinct cultures and hierarchies. Crows have their own mythology (including a crow god named ‘The Great Hoarder’), elephants mourn human extinction with rituals, and tigers… well, let’s just say they’re not sentimental. The environmental message is woven in subtly—nature thrives when humans aren’t bulldozing it, but it’s not preachy. The book’s uniqueness lies in its tone: it’s absurd yet philosophical, crude yet tender. Even the ‘zombies’ are fresh—they’re not undead, just humans reduced to their basest instincts, which feels like a cheeky critique of modern society. And the ending? No spoilers, but it’s the perfect blend of hope and realism. 'Hollow Kingdom' isn’t just a post-apocalyptic tale; it’s a love letter to the resilience of life, packaged in a way that’s as unpredictable as a crow stealing your fries.

Yes, In "Bleach," kurosaki ichigo, is a protagonist of the story and also one with hollow spiritual power. Bleach is a wrestling action anime packed with complicated plot developments and character arcs, the most intriguing of which was Ichigo's Hollowfication. After an encounter with Kisuke Urahara, a former Soul Reaper, Ichigo goes through Hollowfication, which changes him into a Visored -- some kind of spiritual being having both Hollows powers and Soul Reapers requirements. Thus, while Ichigo is not a traditional Hollow in any sense, he does have the powers of one. That comes as something completely fresh and deep for both the audience to digest.

The finale of 'These Hollow Vows' is a whirlwind of betrayal, redemption, and heart-stopping choices. Brie, the protagonist, confronts the Faerie King in a battle where alliances shatter like glass. Her dual love interests—Sebastian and Finn—reveal hidden agendas, forcing her to weigh duty against desire. The climax hinges on a sacrificial act: Brie wields the Hollow Vows’ cursed magic to break the king’s tyranny, nearly losing herself in the process. The cost is steep—her mortal ties fray, and one lover walks away forever. Yet the ending isn’t bleak. Brie emerges as a bridge between realms, her humanity altered but intact, and the surviving romance burns with quiet promise. The last pages tease a new balance in Faerie, where power no longer corrupts absolutely. It’s bittersweet, with enough loose threads to leave readers itching for a sequel. What lingers isn’t just the plot twists but the themes—how love and power warp morality, and whether freedom is worth the scars. The prose mirrors Brie’s journey: lush when depicting Faerie’s allure, razor-sharp in its emotional punches. The finale doesn’t tie every bow neatly, and that’s its strength—it feels lived-in, messy, and real.

'These Hollow Vows' absolutely weaves a love triangle, and it’s one of the most gripping parts of the story. The protagonist, Brie, finds herself torn between two faerie princes—Sebastian and Finn. Sebastian is the golden boy, charming and seemingly perfect, while Finn is the brooding, mysterious shadow with a hidden depth. The tension isn’t just romantic; it’s layered with political intrigue and personal stakes. Brie’s choices between them aren’t just about love but survival in a world where alliances are deadly. The dynamic shifts constantly, keeping you guessing until the very end. What makes it stand out is how the love triangle mirrors the larger conflict in the faerie courts. Sebastian represents the glittering, deceptive allure of the Seelie Court, while Finn embodies the raw, dangerous truth of the Unseelie. Brie’s heart isn’t just divided—it’s a battlefield for the soul of the faerie realm itself. The emotional weight and consequences of her choices elevate it beyond a typical YA trope.