Seeing as it was Halloween this weekend, I decided to indulge in some scary stories. My True Blood boxed set has been seductively staring at me for a few weeks now so I thought, what the hell. I keep putting it off because I already know what happens in the first three books, thanks to one of the best TV shows ever. Yet seeing as I’m dying to know what happens next and they haven’t even started filming season four, I decided to read the books. It’s kinda stupid to start with book four as I’m told that the novels are slightly different, so started with Dead until Dark like a good girl.
Now I didn’t expect this, but I was completely blown away by how incredibly awful these books (or the first one at least) are and not in a good way. To say it was trashy would actually be a compliment, just imagine Jackie Collins with vampires. The show is eons better than the books, trust me. Charlaine Harris’ novels are filled with idiotic dialogue, lack any character development, things just randomly happen without ever being explained and her writing makes me want to give Stephanie Meyer a Nobel Prize for vampire fiction. It’s that bad!
The only thing that makes reading her books remotely worthwhile is, once again, the show. With that in mind, the books become tolerable and mildly pleasant because you know the characters (thank you Alan Ball) and actually care about all the freaky shit that happens. Without it, they’re just a waste of trees. I never thought I’d say this, but the TV show adds more character development, depth and atmosphere than Harris could possibly conjure up in several lifetimes.
I’m going to continue reading the series because I’m a masochist and just so darn curious, but honestly I cannot believe that such mediocre drivel could be turned into one of the most provocative and exciting shows on TV right now. Seriously, Alan Ball is a genius!
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