Real vampires

I've done it again, me and my reviewing. This time, it's a (mostly) positive look at the Sookie Stackhouse Novels by Charlaine Harris. True Blood (one of my favorite shows) is based on them, and I'm only a little embarrassed to say that the show is the only reason I picked up the books. I am very pleased, however, to say that I was pleasantly surprised by them. They're not great, I'll be honest, but they don't really try to be. They try to be violent, steamy, interesting fun -and they are. That's all they are, and that's all they need to be. Hell, if that's all Twilight pretended to be, I might be able to like them.


Okay, that was an exaggeration.

Twilight can't even pretend to be as good as these books, because Twilight is too busy primping its hair and pretending to be a saga. It's a series. A series. Look up the definition of a saga before you sling the word around like so much mud.

The Sookie Stackhouse Novels aren't written for high-brow readers of literature. They're written for the everyday girl (or guy) looking for a little bit of lighthearted fun, and they deliver. There are plenty of flaws in the books (I get a pang every time I think of "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" written as "The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner"), but despite those flaws, at least there's a story. There's an interesting, complex story with interesting, complex characters. Sookie's shallow moments are human moments, not Mary Sue moments, and the characters continue to get more interesting as the series progresses.

So, while I would read these over Twilight in a heartbeat -less than a heartbeat -I still wouldn't call them good literature. But damned if I don't enjoy them.