Adventures of a sociopathic serial killer who generally only cuts up people who hurt children.

Okay, awesome. Lindsay has clearly done his research – the way Dexter completely fails to get sex, his inflated perceptions of his own intelligence, his completely oblivious sexism, his utter lack of the empathic reflex, it's all perfect. People who know me were shocked I hadn't read these books before. Mostly it was that I knew what they were about, and I thought it would be stupid because I didn't believe a sociopath with that kind of organized offender behavior would ever follow a set of rules on who he could and couldn't kill. But actually that's part of Dexter's fetish – the stalking, the perfect planning, being neat and clean and sure. And who knew these books would be so flipping funny?

Unfortunately, the third book wanders straight off into lala land. I mean, seriously, the hell was that? Lindsay pretty much ruined all the interesting work he'd done on the damage and disfunctions that lead to sociopathy by going for . . . what, demons? It would have been fine as a slide into psychopathic delusion, or even as Dexter's personal metaphor to explain what he is and why. But no. Demons! *helpless hand gestures*