Book #85

Blood Noir
by Laurell K. Hamilton


So I tried reading Eldest, the sequel to Eragon, because apparently, between Eon and Temeraire, I don't have enough books about dragons in my life. Dragons and vampires; what is it with dragons and vampires? But what I failed to consider is that Naomi Novik and Alison Goodman can write; Christopher Paolini, for all the hype he's gotten -- and all the GINORMOUS ego that has come as a consequence of being hailed as a boy genius -- couldn't write his way out of an anti-writing forcefield. Well, the paper bag thing never made sense to me. It was completely overblown, filled with Paolini's bullshit "languages," none of which are necessary, all of which are ripped from Tolkien, and every word of which obstruct easy reading of the actual story; the book started with a summary of Eragon -- which was great because I didn't remember it very well -- and then the first chapter was a narrative summary of what happened over the last few months. Almost like he doesn't have any respect for his readers. Which, considering how arrogant his author's note and glossary introduction were -- he made quite a deal of comparing his "journey" to Eragon's, though he was quick to point out that Eragon isn't that smart (whereas, of course, his creator is a SUPER GENIUS) -- it's pretty clear that he doesn't. We are the foolish children, gathered wide-eyed at the master's knee as he spins a tale to amuse us. I think deep down inside, he's smart enough to recognize the fact that his books actually are pretty shitty, and so his success is simply evidence that the average reader is a moron compared to him. Which makes him both a whore and a tool, with a serious inferiority-superiority complex, but hey, we all got issues, right?

Anyway, after a few days of plowing through that mound o' crap, I switched to something good: the last (sniff) Anita Blake book we have, Blood Noir. Luckily, it was excellent -- better, in a lot of ways, than most of the books before. The Harlequin was a good one because it had what I thought was a great vampire story; this one was better because it had a good human story, and that was more interesting, after this long reading about these characters. Though the vampire element had its moment, too.

The basic plot follows Jason and Anita as Anita accompanies her friend (and one serious complaint I have about these books is Hamilton's consistent use of the term "fuck buddy" to describe Anita and Jason's relationship. I have no problem with their relationship, any more than they do; neither one of these two should scruple at casual sex. But it's an ugly damn term, and such a simple relationship to describe: friends with benefits seems far more poetic to me, but bed friends, or sex pals, or snugglebuddies -- the possibilities are limitless, and any one would be better.) on a difficult trip: Jason's estranged father is dying, and his mother has asked her only son to come back and see his father before he goes. And, if possible, bring a girlfriend to prove that their dancer-stripper son isn't gay, as his father has always assumed, and hated. So he brings Anita, who realizes as she agrees, and over the course of the trip, that Jason means much more to her than a hump-chum.

The trip is complicated not only by Jason's relationship with his family -- a real batch of sweethearts, they are; it's like Hamilton took every possible aspect of an uncomfortable meeting with your sweetie's family, and stuck them all together into one group -- but by the fact that Jason looks like a twin to the son of the governor, who is about to make a bid for the presidency while Jason's doppelganger marches through a huge wedding, in the same week when Jason, the clone, shows up with another woman. It was quite well done: I liked the explanation for Jason and Keith Summerland's resemblance, as well as the connection to vampires that ends up causing even more trouble for all those involved. The visits with Jason's family were uncomfortable and obnoxious both, which means they were well done; I also enjoyed the scene when Jason goes to a bridal shower filled with women he dated in high school. I didn't like the subsequent scene when the Mother of All Darkness takes over Anita and makes the ardeur sweep her and three men away completely, though I was glad it happened in blackout and we didn't get much description apart from flashbacks, but I'm frankly sick of the MOAD popping in once a book and screwing things up. I am intrigued by the calling of the weretigers, but the MOAD is becoming too much of a deus ex machina, a handy explanation for any plot complication Hamilton wants to throw in the pot. She needs to wake up, or die already.

On the other hand: Richard has the ardeur, and he lost control of himself within seconds after he gained it. That was sheer poetry, and I loved it. That's a complication I can't wait to follow in the next book.

But overall, I was very pleased to see Hamilton using her range as an author to offer a different kind of story, without losing the thread of the overall narrative. But I think she and her fans would be best served by ending the MOAD plotline and moving back to smaller, simpler stories; that seems to be her real strength as an author. I think she stretches out the grand plotlines over too many books. Not that I'm doing anything other than waiting on pins and needles for the next one to come out. Sigh. Maybe I'll read Merry Gentry . . .