I can sum up my feelings about this, the 13th and final book in the Southern Vampire Mysteries (a/k/a Sookie Stackhouse) series with one word: Awful.
But since I never use ONE word when I can use…oh, 100…here goes:
I have a lot of reader friends who wait with baited breath for the next book in this series to arrive. Then we hole up in a comfy spot and devour the latest installment.
13 times. 13 books purchased per friend…multiplied by millions. That’s a LOT of books.
Knowing this was the last book, I – and I imagine most fans – expected it to go out with a bang.
But sadly, I don’t even believe Charlaine Harris wrote this. All of our beloved characters reduced to inconsequential asides; as if they never were even there. Oh, a bunch made brief appearances but their characters were SO wrong…so wrong. It’s as if some ghost writer read the Cliff’s Notes and was tasked with wrapping everything up because Ms. Harris couldn’t be bothered.
I mean, I GET it. This is escapist fun; it ain’t Fitzgerald or Harper Lee. But we were INVESTED. We cared. We were loyal and bought book after book – great, good, and not so good. Shame on you. We deserved better.