Normally I publish reviews on my other blog, but this book made me suffer, and I need to share my pain.
J.L. McCoy: Blood of the Son. Vampire novel. Or perhaps brain damage. Soooooo...
It’s safe to say this book sums up everything I hate. Skye, the protagonist, is a Mary Sue, or perhaps I should say, a redhead Sookie Stackhouse with a love for rock music. She is gorgeous, but not aware of it. In spite of her Ancient History and Classical Civilization major, she speaks like a Texan cliché with the brain of an ostrich. She’s also petty, insecure, shallow and irritating. She supposedly is feminist but we soon realise she’s just an entitled hypocrite. She has no sense of social boundaries and more mood swings than a pregnant baboon. Her only redeeming quality is her love for her dog. Which leads us to the next question. Who the hell calls their dog Styvi Nix? If you stopped me on the street and asked me what Styvi Nix is, I would have said chest rub ointment.
So, little gothic Mary Sue leads a very exciting life. We’re offered detailed descriptions of all the times she showers, washes her hair, brushes her teeth, pets her dog, the toys she buys for her dog, what she does with them and her dog, what time she goes to bed with her dog, the types and brands of clothes, make-up and perfume she wears, what she eats for breakfast, supper, dinner, the drinks she buys, what she buys when she goes shopping in general… These completely pointless descriptions take about one third to half of the book. I almost felt cheated when we didn’t get any details on her stool production. I mean, I really feel left out. The suspense is a killer. Don’t do this to me. I need to know.
But wait. She is tough, because she takes Krav Maga lessons. Is she really? Almost every time she needs to defend herself, a man steps in and saves her. Maybe I misunderstand her, because she was unlucky in love. Well, judging by her actions, she hardly deserves the higher moral ground. When she gets the chance, she does the same and worse, and has the nerve to act insulted on top. But double standards are fine, because, you know, she is the protagonist and her drama and the unfairness of life makes a single teardrop appear and slowly roll down my cheek. Let’s form a circle and pat each others' backs to feel better.
The male characters of the book. Mmm. They all fall under three categories. Brainless daddy substitutes, ass-grabbing assholes, or generic vampire hunks with stunning abs. Which brings us to Archer. Oh, sweet Archer, you could have been a copycat of Christian Grey minus the BDSM paraphernalia and adding fangs. Bearing in mind I hold Christian Grey in the same high regard as a leper’s steaming turd, I wasn’t a fan. He’s a passive-aggressive, threatening, yelling, patronising ass, and I kept hoping he would be squashed by a titanium safe, or killed in a terrible accident involving a tank, a volcano and accidentally swallowing copious amounts of semtex. If only.
Pretty much nothing happens in this book. Except for the spine-chilling, toe-curling reports of shopping, grooming and eating, fits of jealous rage by almost everyone, some murders far off in the background and generic vampire hunks speaking in Gaelic, I could summarise everything in a paragraph. The only memorable event happens in the last chapter and then you have to buy the next one in the series to see what that is about. Personally, I’d rather stuff my face with poisonous frogs and wear a bramble bra for a week than read more of this series. If, on the other hand, you enjoyed Sookie Stackhouse and Christian Grey novels, you’ll probably find this book riveting. Dunno. Go for it.
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