Charlaine Harris’ now infamous Sookie Stackhouse series is essentially soft-porn for the vampire obsessed generation. However, unlike Stephanie Meyer, Harris is an able writer and the sensuous scenes between Sookie and her vampire boyfriend Bill, are seductive rather than cringe-worthy.
‘The nightshirt slid up to the top of my thighs. My hands began to rub his arms helplessly – He stood up with me still wrapped around him.’
To add to the stress of a human-vampire relationship and the perils that befall it, there is a murderer on the loose and his pattern is “fang-bangers”; people who seek out vampires to sleep with. With two girls Sookie knew already dead, and her grandmother found murdered in the home Sookie shared with her, it becomes clear that the wrong person was killed, and it was Sookie the murderer was looking for.
Perhaps the allure of the novel is that the narrative voice is Sookie herself; a telepathic small-town waitress from Bon-Temps, Louisiana. The simplicity of her overall character is a spectacular contrast to the world that surrounds her, and is seemingly determined to engulf her in its seedy vampire-controlled under-belly.
Harris’ creation is an addictive read that will leave you with an appetite for a little more than food.
