i wish i had written this review right after i read the darn book.
but i didn't.
so, instead, you're getting this.
each new sookie stackhouse book reiterates one general thematic principle: that charlaine harris is milking this cashcow until it is beyond dead. that's right, in good old fashioned frankensteinian fashion, harris's creation has run amok and what we have here is the equivalence of literary, capitalist vampirism (see what i did there?) and my money is being sucked dry by wasting them on each new addition to the sookie oeuvre.
or something.
look, i'm not saying i won't buy the next one - because, let's face it,i totally will, i'm just saying i used to think these were building in some sort of long-winded direction, striving to achieve some higher purpose, or reveal some subtle subversive message about how all just need to get along by depicting an epic battle between the myriad natural and supernatural species.
now, i think it's going to twilight out and be all about getting a crappy boyfriend. and keeping him. forever-ish.
blech.
what harris does to eric here is almost unforgivable. i get that she begrudgingly allowed the whole eric-sookie-loveship to sail because her fans demanded it and that even though bill neck-raped sookie in the trunk of a car sooooo many, many books ago, ms. harris seems firmly entrenched on the side of team bill.
i get THAT.
but damn, eric here is so not eric. i want my undead viking of cool back. not this! no, no, not this!
the good news about this installment is that there was actually a mystery here - and even though this plot development was inevitable for the last 3-5 books, it's nice to return to the old formula and actually feel like some of my money went to a productive cause.
but i'm serious, if harris ends the series with a return to the cold, dead arms of bill, i swear to god i will write a strongly worded letter of epic proportions!
and i'll send it, too!
so, after a not-so-brief foray into vision problems, i'm back. and i've chosen to return to the world of "pleasure reading" with the latest in the bailey weggins series. because if you're going to do it, you might as well just leap right on in with the trashiest piece of literature you can get your grubby little paws on.
now, i loved this series initially, but each addition has brought with it a little less joy, a little less enthusiasm, and a little less fun. and, let's be frank, pleasure reading should never really ever feel like work, you know what i mean???
of course you do.
the last book was written several years ago and left on one heck of a chicklit cliffhanger: bailey had to choose between skeevy film-maker beau regan (yes, folks, that's his name) or superdreamy, younger actor chris somethingorother.
spoiler alert: she picked beau.
immediately, this bristled. look, i'm not saying i'm rooting for a scenario where bailey comes across like a slutty cougar, but beau is just so...blech. white's physical descriptions of the character include enticing details like: longish brown hair, rugged looks, chiseled body, and an exotic smell. i sort of picture the highlander. and that creeps me out beyond belief.
of course, bailey is about as emotionally mature in her fledgling relationship as you'd expect a job-hopping commitmentphobe to be. so mature that, when beau regan goes out of town on short notice, she seeks retribution by spending the week in the bowels of upstate new york at a rich guy's barnsion with several elite folks including a model, a journalist, a cookbook author, an aging rockstar, and several management sorts.
dead bodies ensue.
there are sideplots with anorexia, tell-alls, and bailey's job (the killer has bailey's integrity questioned and she almost loses her job...which...spoiler alert...doesn't matter because she quits when they don't have her back).
the killer is predictable (i had it narrowed down between two folks immediately), the motives a little more muddied, but ultimately the major plot points lack in luster what i had longed to be a decadent rebirth into the world of literary smut.
whatever.
my biggest gripe, obvious, is beau regan and his creepy brand of wooing. wine, fireplace massages...we were one bubble bath or long walk on the beach away from total cliche. and the fact that he puts all the blame for relationship tension on bailey is so distasteful! ladies, can we please demand chicklit that does not call for our female protagonist to dutifully accept her flaws as being the primary source of strife in this madcap world of love??? 1. beau knew about a lengthy trip and didn't tell bailey until the day before he was leaving and 2. his ex-lover calls and leaves naughtily suggestive phone messages and he puts the blame solely on her? bleeeecchhhh.
look, bailey isn't perfect. sure, she's got raging relationship dysfunctions. but it takes two to tango.
and, man, do i miss chris.
