I bought this book based solely upon its appearance as a cheap, sexy romance novel that promised tawdry but titillating writing. "It'll probably be bad, but I'll have a larf," I thought to myself.
Instead, the first 120 pages or so won me over with fast-paced, stylish writing that had the feeling of an authentic knowledge of the New Orleans culture it was depicting. The chapters flew by, and I found myself intrigued by the strange mythos of a world of voodoo practitioners intertwined with a secret league of werewolves.
But then the 'newly flowering werewolf' of the story got introduced to what I could only think of as 'Professor X's home for gifted werewolves', and everything took a sharp downhill, beginning immediately with the apparent presentation of the local werewolves' favorite activity being to nightly roast the universal classic 'the wolfman'.
From here it becomes page after page of tedious exposition about how lovely and wonderful werewolf culture is; how it's just so much sexier, so much better, how muggles love to be around werewolves because werewolves are just so cotton pickin' cool, how they're practically immortal and talented and lovely etc etc etc. It was nearly enough to bury the very strange confession that these werewolves just love murder, a past-time they try their best to limit to 'bad people', but hey, they don't sweat it if they've had a rough day and need to work out some frustrations by eating a couple of innocent tourists. It's an admission that bizarrely gets no reaction from our lead heroine the first few times it's brought up, until finally it seems to sink in that being a werewolf just might mean occasionally killing some people who don't deserve it, to which she responds with all the distressed pondering of someone deciding whether or not to sign up for yoga or kickboxing.
It was a strange moralistic viewpoint I just couldn't get over, considering that 'good vs evil' seemed to be a central conflict of the story, the 'good' voodoo queen opposing the 'evil' voodoo king, and the two great werewolf patriarchs of old that promote reckless slaughter and the just killing of the guilty.
Add to this a slowly growing flavor of gary-stuisms, as every character has heaps of things to say about how brilliant particular characters are, how they're fabulous and wonderful and sexy and (etc etc etc), and in the end I couldn't finish this book quick enough - not, unfortunately for the thrill of seeing how it ended, but just to be done so I could move on to the next title in my list of 'to read's.
It's a pleasure to criticize some books and point out their many flaws, but in this case it's with disappointment that I do so. If the second half could have only delivered on the setup and momentum it began with, I would have found myself racing out to the book-store to look for the other titles in this series.