Reading, for me, is entertainment and an escape from the real world. But it can also inform and stretch the boundaries of the life I live.
Most books that start out being a miserable read will stay that way. This was not one of those books. My relationship with this book began with profound irritation; the writing style was annoying, the characters were unlikeable, and the international espionage-like plot was the polar opposite of the kind of books I like to read. But as I was soldiering on the minimum 50 pages before I could DNF, something wonderful happened. It sucked me in. I can’t describe why or how, either, because the main character remained an intolerably self-involved navel gazer and the plot continued to be a goofy sort of werewolf international intrigue. Maybe I just finally adjusted to the writing style, because I eventually began to enjoy it. If there’s one thing I did profoundly appreciate about this story, it’s that you will find no heroically romantic werewolves or vampires here. They are all monsters.
Also, this is one of the handsomest books I own. It’s why I bought it, originally. The paper is good quality with a classic oldfashioned typeface. I love the simple cover, black with iridescent phases of the moon, and the pages are edged in a dark brownish maroon, like old dried blood.
I read this for the Full Moon square in 2016 Halloween Bingo, and this makes my last 2 bingos and achieves blackout.