Dead Until Dark by Charlaine Harris

When I read Dracula by Bram Stoker, I figured it was going to be really difficult for any other vampire story to measure up. Dracula set a very high standard, and as a novel it had everything it needed: a strong literary core, mystery, suspense, a perfectly evil, shadowy villain, and smart, tenacious protagonists. I didn’t need to read any other vampire stories, and was not interested in the newer trends in this micro-genre. (I just made up the term “micro-genre.” I hope you like it.) It’s hard to ignore the popularity of the “Sookie Stackhouse” novels by Charlaine Harris, however, so I thought I’d give Dead Until Dark, the first in this series, a try.

Well. Ahem. Perhaps it’s best to say I have “mixed feelings” about this novel. First of all (and best of all), I loved the first chapter. That first chapter is a complete, very good short story that almost entirely stands alone from the rest of the book. I’m not saying that it isn’t relevant to the rest of the book. In fact, it is essential and serves as a fine introduction. It’s just that with the exception of one detail that gets resolved late in the novel, Chapter 1 is a complete, and, I’ll say it again, very good short story. The rest of the book needs Chapter 1, but Chapter 1 doesn’t need the rest of the book.

The end of the book is also pretty good, with a lot of action, danger, and suspense. The greater part of the remainder of the novel, however, confirmed a suspicion about myself that I had not needed to articulate before: vampire erotica is not for me. I enjoyed the setup of Sookie as the point of view character, and her plucky and engaging style as a narrator (reminiscent of Stephanie Plum if you’re a Janet Evanovich fan). I just couldn’t follow her everywhere.

No, while there were some fun things in this novel, and the first chapter was great, you can have Vampire Bill. I think I’ll keep Dracula.


A Year of Books I Should Have Read by Now