Club Dead by Charlaine Harris

Book 3 of The Sookie Stackhouse Mysteries aka the books HBO’s smash/trash hit series True Blood is based on

It seems like only weeks ago (because it was, technically, though seven weeks is basically two months so not really “weeks”, more “months” actually actually actually) that I acquired a box set of ten novels by Charlaine Harris for just a pound (“and people say there’s a cost of living crisis” (there is and I shouldn’t be flippant about it, sorry for any offence caused)), and though I’m not racing through these novels at the breakneck speed my lover is (an academic on summer break so I suppose the time is available???), this one is the third I’ve read, and I am almost certainly going to crack on to number four within a couple of weeks, too.

Yes, they are that good.

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If you didn’t watch the TV show True Blood (illegal streaming is free if you already own an internet-capable device and if you don’t you should be able to figure out how to do so on a free computer in a library if not (I mean if you’re reading this you have access to the internet right now, unless somewhere in the world I have a bedridden fan who has a carer or friend or family member or lover who prints out these vapid blog posts for them to read on A4 or Letter-sized sheets (other paper sizes are available) by candlelight in a dim, dusty room somewhere, though this seems very unlikely but it isn’t impossible as these did used to be much more readable and there was a period where I thought I might be able to live off of my writing (lol, imagine that, what a fucking naive moron cunt loser I truly used to be!) rather than the series of demeaning, soul-crushing and often unethical, usually psychologically destructive and always meaningless jobs I’ve had instead (lol yes I do still be that same moron cunt loser even if I’m less naive, which honestly makes living harder: I WISH I WAS STILL HOPEFUL!)-

Sorry, will start that again

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If you didn’t watch the HBO show True Blood (or didn’t watch it to the end, which seems to be the case for everyone other than me I’ve ever spoken to about it), and if you haven’t read Dead Until Dark or Living Dead in Dallas, then let me take a moment to remind you of the premise of both the books and the excellent TV series they inspired:

following the invention of synthetic blood, vampires have revealed themselves to the world at large, now they no longer require human blood for sustenance, and it turns out they have been living amongst us for all of time. As well as vampires – though not yet publicly revealed – are basically all the other mythological and fantastic creatures you’ve ever heard of: Sookie Stackhouse (a Louisiana waitress) is a telepath, and by the third book in this series, she has met werewolves, shape shifters, mynads, goblins, rumours of witches, other telepaths and is likely to meet more creatures of varying degrees of humanity as her adventures continue. She has a vampire boyfriend, Bill Compton, though he’s not a great boyfriend, and – especially in book 3 – her other vampire love interest, Eric Northman (a former Viking who is played by dreamboat actor Alexander Skarsgård in True Blood) becomes increasingly more of a meaningful connection and reliable guy.

In Club Dead, Sookie meets a super hunky werewolf called Alcide Herveaux after Bill is kidnapped by the vampire king of Mississippi (Russel Edgington, who is much more sinister, dangerous and corrupt in True Blood than he is here, though perhaps he will reappear later in the books with a more villainous storyline???) while off cheating on Sookie with a vampire lady, which is apparently a very unchic thing for a vampire to do. They kidnap Bill because he has been compiling a directory of all American vampires (or, well, vampires in America), though as he’s only spent a few weeks doing this and has no previous or professional experience of investigation it’s hard to see why kidnap and torture to try and find Bill’s laptop – rather than just copying his teach-yourself methodology – seems to be the Mississippian vampires’ plot (vampires be vampires, I guess?) and Sookie must work with the hunk-werewolf (who also happens to have quite a bit of cash) during the day to infiltrate the Jackson Mississippi “supe” (supernatural creatures) scene, which is much more integrated than the distinct vampires, “were” [wolf] and [shape] “shifter” scenes of Louisiana.

Eric Northman helps during the night, of course, as do other familiar vampires from the series so far, including Pam (Eric’s friend/business partner) and “Bubba” (the mostly well-intentioned (but very violent!) vampiric second incarnation of America’s most loved pop singer (the one who died on a toilet, hint hint)).

The adventure is exciting and twisty, and though sometimes things feel hammy, violence – especially sexual violence – is treated with a real world weight rather than a casual dismissal: there is a particularly harrowing scene between Bill (I know, right!? The boyfriend!?) and Sookie after he is released, hungry and horny, from Russel Edgington’s compound that is absolutely not written as if throwaway, and my lover (who’s powering through the books as I imagine “Sookie Stackhouse Book 10” will not be an acceptable book to be seen with on campus in a few weeks?) informs me that this scene and its violence does resonant through later books in the series.

So although there is magic and blood and sex (Sookie makes out with all these hunks in this book, and even enjoys a brief bout of fingering from Eric (though they’re interrupted by Bubba/Elvis before he can bring her off, boooooo)), the violence is not inconsequential, emotionally.

Vampires can hypnotise and erase memories and make escape from judicial consequence simple, but the consequences of the heart and the soul – which it is increasingly clear they possess, even if they’d like to pretend/believe otherwise – are very real, not just for Sookie but for her supernatural boyfriends and possible/probable future boyfriends, too.

It’s exactly what I wanted it to be, just like the previous two books in the series were and just like the following ten or eleven books – I hope and almost, dammit, believe – will be, too.

Go meet my friends in Bon Temps, on the screen or on the page!