Dearly Devoted Dexter by Jeff Lindsay
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
I felt like I was back in the television series.
The over-the-top hokeyness of Dexter’s internal monologue might go so wrong, the cuteness just a little too cloying for someone who calls himself a monster, but Lindsay manages to pull it off and make my own Dark Passenger (who is a reader, and gets murderously outraged if it senses the writer pulling a fast one) settle down and accept it. For each of the two books of the Dexter series I’ve read I’ve had moments where I pause at a certain point (usually one of the many alliterative descriptions of Deadly Dexter), but every single time I’ve thrown Jeff Lindsay the benefit of the doubt and kept on going. I don’t know if it’s the folksy dialogue Dexter keeps up with the reader or the fact that Michael C. Hall did such a great job bringing him to life for the screen, but you forgive the little idiosyncrasies because, well, Dexter’s kind of a charming monster, and hell sometimes repeat himself as he tries to work out just how a human might react to his situation.
Repetition aside, the book just roars along. I think reading too many of these in quick succession might wear down the patience of your Dark Reader, but grabbing one from the shelf every few months seems to be working, so far, and I’ve loved revisiting with everyone’s favorite serial killer and provider of donuts.