She may live in a town with a population that could almost be counted on two hands, but the drama just doesn’t let up for Sookie Stackhouse. Of course, being a night-shift waitress in one of the only bars in town is guaranteed to bring its fair share of challenges, and the whole pesky issue of being able to read minds doesn’t help matters. Nor does dating a vampire. Still, despite her rather unfortunate moniker, Sookie’s not one to sook, and when Lafayette, the cook at the bar where she works, winds up dead, Sookie puts herself on the case. (Actually, to be honest, Sookie puts herself on everyone‘s case–there’s nary a soul in Bon Temps who doesn’t fall victim to her lashing tongue and terrible fashion sense, but I digress). But Lafayette isn’t the only dead guy around, and Sookie finds herself whisked off to do some perp-bustin’ in Dallas, where she somehow ends up at the mercy of an anti-vampire Christian fundamentalist group, and then in the midst of a swingers’ party, and then doing battle with a misandric maenid. Or something. These threads do eventually tie together, but I can’t for the life of me figure out how, or why.

My thoughts

The stack of books beside my bed is so unreasonably high that I’m well behind on the various bookish trends, and I’m a touch embarrassed to admit that my first Sookie experience occurred only a few months ago (see my review). While admittedly I wasn’t entirely enamoured of our minx-like protagonist and her willingness to throw herself in bed with perhaps one of the most horrid alpha males I’ve come across in the paranormal romance genre, I thought I’d give Ms Stackhouse a second try. Unfortunately, having slogged through the second in Harris’s best-selling series, I’m even more underwhelmed. These books come so close to being good, but time and time again they just fall short. I feel as though Sookie’s working her little waitress butt off attempting to follow in the footsteps of feminista Buffy, but there’s just something about her, and about this series more generally, that just doesn’t work for me.

Dead Until Dark, the first in the Sookie Stackhouse series, had some solid moments, and I picked up Living Dead in Dallas expecting a work that surpassed its predecessor by building on this base. Unfortunately, it turns out that the Sookie series has foundations roughly as stable as those of the leaning tower of Pisa, and I’m afraid that this book would fail even the most cursory examination at the hands of a structural engineer. The novel suffers terribly from kitchen sink syndrome, with myriad unrelated plot lines running through it like the veins through a wall of sedimentary rock (did that sentence confuse you? I hope so, because that’s how I felt reading this book). Structurally, Living Dead in Dallas reminds me of China Mieville’s Iron Council, which is essentially two distinct narratives, the second of which is little more than cut-and-pasted into the first. While Sookie ostensibly sets out to determine the shenanigans that lead to Lafayette’s death (an event that oddly doesn’t perturb her in the least–is Sookie a sociopath along the lines of Dexter?) the plot, which is as crooked as a dog’s hind leg, suddenly sees her jetsetting off to Texas to solve a mystery regarding a vampire no one really cares about this. What this has to do with Sookie, or with the main narrative arc, I have no idea, but it turns into a several hundred page long narrative detour that’s about as concise and purposeful as the writings of notoriously rambly philosopher Ulrich Beck.

As part of this detour, we’re subjected to all manner of distasteful and, frankly, dull exposition regarding born-again Christians who are manic in their godly professions and apparently mentally unsound in their beliefs, and a section where Harris attempts to challenge the reader’s ethics by setting up numerous morally ambiguous situations that demand our readerly judgement. In the hands of a more subtle or confident writer this could all be quite interesting, but Harris’s approach is so over the top that it all veers towards absurdism. I understand that we’re meant to draw parallels between the entrenched racism in the deep south and the treatment of the newly equal vampires, but the narrative approach is just so painfully blatant that it’s difficult to stomach–and the narrator’s habit of attempting to find humour (or something sexual) in what should be serious or challenging situations is all a bit discomforting. Needless to say, I wouldn’t trust Sookie to comport herself appropriately at a funeral.

While the whole middle section of the book is problematic in a wealth of ways–thematically,  narratively and, well, in terms of making any sort of sense–things scarcely improve once we return to Bon Temps, and Sookie decides that the only way to solve Lafayette’s murder is to pose as a sultry minx and get frisky at a swingers’ party. First, I cannot fathom how a town with a population of about ten people can support the swinging lifestyle without word getting out, and second, how on earth is dressing up in a miniskirt and soliciting for sex the most reasonable way to solve a murder investigation? While Sookie likes to up the sass, she has some serious issues when it comes to basic cognitive reasoning. Anyway, after a series of nonsensical events that I don’t quite understand myself, things come to an, erm, climax, and everyone rolls over and goes to sleep. Until a man-hating maenid turns up and other weird events ensue. At this point my poor beleagured mind couldn’t take much more, and I admit to skipping a few chapters while the narrative dice were rolled by the great D&D player in the sky, and stuff randomly happened.

Needless to say, the narrative of this one left a touch to be desired for me, and I’m no stranger to narrative weirdness. In fact, I happily eschew plot and sense whenever appropriate. I appreciate dadaism. I’ll happily read William S Burroughs. I think that Malevich’s paintings are exquisite. But this? No. Sorry.

I’ve touched briefly on the thematic elements that bothered me in this novel, and should note that the Sookie books continue to make me feel uncomfortable in the way that they depict minorities. The power differentials between the various groups in these novels are quite challenging, and there’s a painful sense of conservatism running through this series that I find deeply problematic. There’s a definite sense of subjugation and oppression, and the assumed powerlessness of minorities–including women–is something that I find immensely frustrating. It’s something that is evident in every element of these books, however, and perhaps it’s largely because of this that I find them so unpalatable. Sookie’s apparent “strength”, for example, manifests as little more than a smart mouth–in every other way she prostrates herself before her frighteningly dominant and passive-aggressive vampire partner. These hugely problematic power binaries occur time and time again (as they often seem to do in paranormal romance novels), and are rarely addressed.

Conclusions

While I can see the appeal of this Buffy-in-the-deep-s0uth series, the Sookie books lack a sense of cohesion, and exhibit evident weaknesses in plotting, characterisation, and theme, and while they may well improve as the series progresses, the confronting conservatism and problematic gender binaries will likely preclude me from continuing with this series. I don’t doubt, however, that others will get a lot out of these books–the sales figures speak for themselves, after all–and if you treat them as nothing more than a quick read, you’ll do fine.

Rating: (not great)

See also our review of Dead Until Dark, Sookie Stackhouse #1 (Rating: )

With thanks to Gollancz Australia for the review copy

Purchase Living Dead in Dallas from Amazon | Book Depository UK | Book Depository USA

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