Book review: Dexter is Delicious – Jeff Lindsay

Do I really need to review this book? Or did I just want to say that I got Jeff to sign my copy of the book at the Perth Writers Festival? Or is it that adding Jeff Lindsay to my tags will raise my search profile? Who can really tell.

The reality is that all I need to say about this book is that is was very good and is a worthy edition to the Dexter series. Jeff continues to be one of my favourite authors, it may be time he became one of yours too (if he isn't already). Also if the reading that Jeff delivered from his next book at the Perth Writers Festival – tentatively titled Double Dexter – is any indication of what Dexter fans can look forward to in September this year, then the series will continue strongly.

Now it would appear that I never have anything negative to say about the books that I read. I must love everything I read. I bloody wish!

The reality is that I have a very strict set of rules that I abide by in order to read a book.

1. The book must be interesting enough for me to pick it up and start reading it.
   
2. The book must maintain my interest enough to continue reading it.
   

Thus many books never make the grade to get to the review stage. It would be pretty strange to offer up a review of a book that I've never really read. It really isn't the author's fault that their books sucked so much that I never finished them. They can't help if they spent so much time with mindless exposition that I've stuck my thumb in a meat slicer to prevent myself falling asleep. The author isn't really responsible for spending so much time talking about the protagonist's relationship with their cat and other meaningless crap. Thus when I fail to get more than 10-50 pages into a novel it is clearly my fault and denies me the right to reviewing the offending book. Which brings me to expanding my second rule:

1. The book has ten pages to impress upon me the need to read further or else the book is mulching my fruit trees.
   
2. The book then has until page 50 to convince me that the book isn't mulch material with a passable first 10 pages.
   
3. A third of the way through I'd better have been convinced to finish the book.
   

You see there is nothing worse than “sticking with a book” through sheer bloodymindedness. If the reward for ~400 pages of boredom is finishing the book and feeling that little tingle of accomplishment then really we could all do better. I don't know about anyone else, but I don't have time to waste on finishing mediocre books (yes Stieg Larsson, I am talking about your incorporeal ass).