For a long time I resisted reading the
Sookie Stackhouse books. I do not like the original covers they seem
a little childish, not quite serious enough. I like my vampires
dangerous and sexy, from seeing the cartoon covers I never expected
the appropriate level of danger and bloody violence. Sookie
Stackhouse is also (in my opinion) a ridiculous name, how can you
take a heroine with that name seriously?
Then there is Trueblood (which I have
not watched because I did not read the books), everyone went crazy
for Trueblood and insisted I read the books and/or watch the show. I
am not proud to say but the last time “everyone” insisted
something was an absolute must read
I ended up reading the twilight saga (which I will not be reviewing)
and wasting a week of my life I will never get back!
As it
happens though a friend whose
judgement I trust suggested
I read Sookie Stackhouse, and lent me a couple of books from the
series. I said sure why not, after
all friends would never steer you wrong...right?
That’s where things get strange!
I
didn't dislike Dead Until Dark, I didn't love it either. I finished
reading it and quite happily picked up the second book and continued
the series, I am enjoying it, but I don't know why...
I
still find Sookie to be a ridiculous name and honestly Bill Compton
is quite the ass. A lot of the characters are not
developed enough for my liking and I am really not sure about an
“Elvis” vampire. In fact Bubba gives me the same deep sighing,
eye rolling reaction that I get
from the Men in Black line
“Elvis isn't dead, he just went home”. The whole Elvis creative trope is a very popular one and in my opinion way too
many people find it amusing to explain sightings of “the king”.
The
story however is interesting enough to hold my attention, and
Eric Northman is everything I imagined a vampire should be, sexy,
dangerous, self involved and depending on his mood anywhere between
amoral and downright evil. Charlaine Harris is not the greatest
writer in the world (I shudder every time I read a sentence with “had
had” in it), but she is far from the worst. Reading
her work leaves me no where
near the traumatised mess I was after subjecting myself to the
literary (and I use that word lightly) scratchings of Stephanie
Myers.
I
didn't curl up on the couch and devour Dead Until dark in one
afternoon, but it did give me a few perfect moments with a book in
one hand and a pot of tea on the table beside me. Thinking logically
I want to give the book (and the series so far) 3 teabags, it isn't
great but it is a pleasant and easy read, the
fact that I enjoy it enough to keep reading the series bumps it up to
4 teabags. It isn't going to be everyone's cup of tea, but it doesn't
taste too bad to me!
