David Anthony Phillips
Pulp Fiction for Kids?
No, not Tarantino.
I mean pulp fiction in the old-fashioned sense: fast-moving, episodic stories full of strange characters, improbable danger, faraway places and the irresistible feeling that another adventure is already waiting.
That was never really the plan with Zacharias Zimmermann III. First drafted 24 years ago, I put it aside while life took me into extreme sports TV production and journalism, followed by corporate brand-building and content creation for major events. But four books in, I’m beginning to wonder if that is exactly what the series has become.
Each story starts with a letter.
Then Zacharias Zimmermann III — an impeccably mannered, completely unhurried traveller — sets off with Henry Woodworm, his silent companion with a talent for improbable navigation.
Armed with a twisted walking stick, a Gladstone bag nobody else can lift and a Never-Ending Road Map that has its own ideas about where they should be going, Zacharias usually ends up somewhere he probably hadn’t intended to be.
So far, that has involved:
Book One — Diriyah to Goa
Chocolate dates so boring they put people to sleep. A desert caravan of gossiping camels. A mythical souk never found in the same place twice. A chai shop that serves everything except an honest answer. And the Moonlight Camel Marathon.
Book Two — Berlin to Istanbul
A PLUS ONE upgrade aboard the Orient Express. A persistent butler. Backward-running clocks. Rooftop cats that seem to know everything. The Central Office of Certain Outcomes. And a hectic escape in a food truck playing La Cucaracha.
Book Three — Norway to the North
A supposedly peaceful Christmas interrupted by a Japanese heavy metal band, three members of management, one rice cooker and an ice-cream van funeral — while the rest of the world discovers Electric Fish Taste rather faster than anyone intended.
Book Four — Australia
An influencer, a priest, a goat called Gerhard, several encounters with the local police, some highly questionable dad jokes, a few equally questionable disguises — and a widespread misunderstanding involving the end of the world and the search for the last known survivors.
The books aren’t dark. They aren’t frantic. And Zacharias himself is possibly the least “action hero” action hero imaginable. But they are built to keep moving. One place leads to another. Characters return. Jokes reappear. Maps matter. Letters arrive.
Trouble writes ahead.
So perhaps “pulp fiction for kids” isn’t such a bad description after all.
Not because children’s books need to be louder. Because sometimes they just need to be enormous fun to read.