So I have become a bit of a Dexter addict. James and I got a free one months subscription to Netflix, and, well, my evenings were lost to Mr Dexter. I found the show incredibly engaging and I could have happily watched it all day… but Netflix only had up until Season 2 and that kinda stymied my party. But what does any good book nerd do when she likes the TV show but has no more? She buys the book. Obviously. (For the grand sum of 1p on Amazon no less (ignoring the £2.80 I had to pay in postage!))
So how does the book measure up to the TV series. Normally I would phrase this question the other way around but since I saw the show first that is the image I have of dear Mr Dexter Morgan. Darkly Dreaming Dexter is the first of 4 novels by Lindsay about Dexter and as far as I can tell the plot of Season 1 of the TV show follows this novel quite closely. The TV show is an excellent adaptation, and you can really feel the edge to the character that Jeff Lindsay depicts here.
I should probably back up and explain what this is all about! Dexter Morgan is a serial killer with a code of honour who works for Miami police by day and kills murders and other criminals by night. The book is written from Dexter’s perspective and quite disturbingly by the end of the novel (and the TV series for that matter) you are on Dexter’s side and rooting in his corner. This book does have the unfortunate side effect of making you exaime your own morals quite closely!
The book is narrated in first person, and that isn’t to everyones taste, but I found that it lent an engaging edge to the story. Lindsay sustains a believable tone for Dexter’s internal monologues and in part because of the narration style you end up viewing the story from Dexter’s perspective, siding with his views.
The one caveat I would add is that this novel is probably not suitable for those with a delicate disposition- there are some pretty graphic descriptions of blood and the like that could offend.
Overall a really good read and I defiantly looking up the next books in the series. I believe I have 3 more to go… happy days!
Is it just me who thinks the snow looks a little sad after its been hanging around for a few days?
Just before I start I wanted to say thank you for all your lovely comments on my last few posts. University and finishing my teaching placement has been insane over the last few weeks so I haven’t been able to reply individually but I wanted to say thank you, I’ve read them all!
So on with the review. The Carpet Makers was a book which I picked up on a whim during my most recent trip to the library. I was drawn to it on the shelf because it stood out from the other offerings. Amongst the usual dark spines of the fantasy and sci-fi novels the white cover of this book stood out like a sore thumb. It helped that the title wasn’t your average sci-fi one as well. I admit it, I was intrigued.
The first chapter reads like a bit of a fairy tale really, the opening sentence setting the scene for a story which you think you know where its going.
‘Knot after knot, day in, day out, for an entire lifetime, always the same hand movements, always looping the same knots in the fine hair, so fine ad so tiny that with time, the fingers trembled and the eyes became weak with the strain- and still the progress was hardly noticeable. On a day he made good headway, there was a new piece of his carpet perhaps as big as his fingernail.’
But you would have been fooled. I was fooled. I expect every one who has ever read this book has been fooled. This story doesn’t end up where you expect. The chapters link in un-expected ways, characters cross paths when you least expect it and the stage is so much bigger than you first imagine.
It has been translated impeccably from German and the translation flows so well that you wouldn’t immediately know that you were reading a novel in translation. Most upsettingly this is the only novel by Eschbach that has currently been translated in to English, and my reading will be so much poorer for it. Read this book to be amazed at the cleverness of the story construction and then to be heart broken because unless you speak German this is your only opportunity to bask in Eschbach’s prose.