Dead boring

Given that it’s almost True Blood season, I found myself moderately excitedβ€”moderatelyβ€”for the newest Sookie Stackhouse book, Deadlocked, which came out earlier this month. I say moderately because I am of the humble opinion that Harris has been phoning it in for a few years now, and/or ran out of supernatural creatures to cast in her increasingly redundant series.

Phoning it in can be a death knell for any authorβ€”to be discussed further when I review the latest Augusten Burroughs book, whose lack of substance is depressing me greatly. But Harrisβ€”as much as I love the fact that she’s inadvertently generated one of the most ridiculously fun shows on televisionβ€”didn’t have much room to fall. The Sookie Stackhouse books are like Anne Rice for dimwits, and rival Twilight for the title of worst-written vampire series of all time (editor’s note: I have read about three vampires series and thus am wildly unqualified to make this claim.)

In a nutshell, this is how a Sookie Stackhouse novel goes: 

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