The way I see it, being dead is not terribly far off from being on a cruise ship. Most of your time is spent lying on your back. The brain has shut down. The flesh begins to soften. Nothing much new happens, and nothing is expected of you.
I suppose the book isn't for the very squeamish. It talks about the dead in a rather irreverent way, but I don't think it's ever offending. I learned lots of new things, though I'm pretty sure my husband is glad I'm done so I don't interrupt his nightly reading with things like this:
Here is the deeply unnerving thing: The heart, cut from the chest, keeps beating on its own. Did Poe know this when he wrote "The Tell-Tale Heart"? So animated are these freestanding hearts that surgeons have been know to drop them. "We wash them off and they do just fine." replied New York heart transplant surgeon Mehmet Oz when I asked him about it. I imagined the heart slipping across the linoleum, the looks exchanged, the rush to retrieve it and clean it off, like a bratwurst that's rolled of the plate in a restaurant kitchen.
Like I said, I loved this book. I even read it at suppertime and in the car (while I was the passenger, duh). It’s one of my favorite books I’ve read this year. So, what are you waiting for? Go read it! Unless you're squeamish. Then, umm...I don't know what to do. *g*