Right there are a few of you out there who has all the right in the world to say "Girl, we told you. It's no good" because you did warn me before I started reading "Darkly Dreaming Dexter" by Jeff Lindsay. You were so right. You were. Absolutely.
I am not normally one for crime fiction but once in a while I make an exception. It was a bad call in this case... Let me tell you: Dexter works as a blood splatter analyst (quite cool) by day, by night he is a serial killer who specializes in killing other serial killers. I know, complicated. As hobbies goes this one is both bizarre and morbid. Dexter has an excuse though, he was adopted and something happened in his early childhood, leaving him seriously messed up and unable to feel anything. He can't love and he thinks only in terms of himself - i.e. he doesn't care about other people for their own sake but for what they do for him. Now there is a new and quite disgusting serial killer in town and Dexter feels like they have a special bond. Apparently so does the unknown killer and he is tempting Dexter to join him for a case of blood-bath extraordinaire.
There is only one thing that works about this book and that is the character Dexter. He is actually quite interesting. However, the rest is rubbish. Complete rubbish. No other characters work at all, the plot is awful, full of holes and ridiculous. But Dexter works which is the only reason why I finished this book.
Read it if: I don't know. I really don't. If you are obsessed with the series. Or if it is the only book left in the library.
