Last night I started Dead Until Dark, by Charlaine Harris. I know I said I wasn't reading any more vampire books after reading Feehan and Hamilton, because I found them yucky, but I swear this is my last try. If I don't like this one, I'm done with the whole genre.
Plot description:
"Sookie Stackhouse is a cocktail waitress in small-town Louisiana, but she keeps to herself and doesn't date much because of her "disability" to read minds. When she meets Bill, Sookie can't hear a word he's thinking. He's the type of guy she's waited for all of her life, but he has a disability, too--he's a vampire with a bad reputation. When one of Sookie's coworkers is killed, she fears she's next."Posted later...
Finished DUD (wow, wonder if Harris thought about how we readers sometimes refer to books by their acronym when she named her book!). This was much better than my previous vampire experiences, but still, this is not for me, thankyouverymuch. Yeah, I'll probably be reading the sequel, since I already have it (I traded for it, and adding one more book was pretty inexpensive, so I thought "What the hell!"), but I don't think I would have tried to get it if I didn't.
Problem is, I'm too squeamish for this. This book has less gore than the Anita Blake series, yes, but it's still too much for me. And it shows the ugly side of life a little too well. Thank heavens for Sookie and her witty voice and down-to-earth outlook, otherwise this book would have really depressed me. As it was, I was a little grossed out at times, but the pages kept turning easily.
Sookie's relationship with Bill helped too. Bill was an excellent character... great guy, very nice to Sookie, but displaying dangerous flashes of "vampireyness". Having the story narrated in the first person by Sookie worked to allow him to keep that dangerous edge, something that wouldn't have happened if we'd been inside his head.
This one was difficult to grade. I'd say a B.