5 Lists of 5 For No Reason in Particular

I hadn't posted in a while, so I thought I would. And why bother with a cohesive idea when I can just put together a bunch of lists? (Okay, so I guess I had reasons after all.)

[+] Show/Hide All

5 Things My 6-Year-Old Son Has Said Somewhat Recently

1. "He's a water jet. He can't go in the water."
   "Can't? If he can't go in water, shouldn't he be a non-water jet?"
   "Well, at the beginning there is a silent 'non'."
2. "I'm tired of sleeping."
3. "I was trying to speak to the chipmunk in bird language, since I don't know how to speak chipmunk."
4. "I fell in love with her the first day I met her... I'm trying to get to marry her, but she has a different teacher this year."
5. "When people love me, I just hug 'em."

5 Non-Traditional Ways to Defend Yourself Against Attack by Vampire

1. Stay inside your house all the time.
   And don't invite anyone in. I mean no one. Vampires can only come in if they're invited. Did your husband just bring out the trash? Chances are he's been turned. Lock him out.
2. Stay outside all the time.
   And keep heading east. Move with the sun. As long as that glorious ball of flame keeps shining overhead—and as long as you steer clear of the shade—you'll be safe.
3. Drink nothing but holy water.
   One taste, and your blood will burn that vamp from the inside out. A couple round battle scars on your neck are a small price to pay for victory. (Holy frijoles and/or guacamole are also fine ways to supplement your diet.)
4. An army of drone bodyguards just out of visual range. Armed with lasers.
   With lasers!
5. Clothing entirely covered with pointy wooden stakes.
   The latest in Milan fashion! And if that toothy character tries anything, just give him a great big hug.

5 Books I've Stopped Reading But Have Left Bookmarks In, and Why

1. The Yiddish Policemen's Union, Michael Chabon
   p. 236 of 411, 3 years ago
   I tend to slog through Chabon novels—I paused for 3 months 50 pages into Kavalier & Clay—but I still kind of want to know how it ends.
2. In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto, Michael Pollan
   p. 106 of 205, 2 years ago
   When we moved, this ended up back on the bookshelf. I only remembered today, while making this list.
3. Wonderbook: The Illustrated Guide to Creating Imaginative Fiction, Jeff Vandermeer
   p. 16 of 357, 1 year ago
   Opening chapters didn't keep my interest. Rather than read straight through, when I jump back in I'll skip around a bit.
4. The Master and Margarita, Mikhail Bulgakov
   p. 232 of 402, 3 months ago
   Made it through book one, but apparently over-the-top Russian satire isn't really my thing. Maybe I'll go back to it?
5. The Nowhere Man, Gregg Hurwitz
   p. 84 of 358, 23 hours ago
   It was late, and I had work in the morning.

5 Ways Vampires Can Counteract Your Non-Traditional Defenses Against Them

1. Cut your power. Repeatedly.
   With your internet down and phone dead, eventually you won't be able to pay your landlord/mortgage/taxes, and soon you'll be out on your ass. Hey, good things come to those who wait.
2. Full-body prosthetics from top Hollywood makeup artists.
   They'll walk right up to you, with you none the wiser. They won't be on fire or nothin'. And then you'll be toast.
3. Two words: Food taster.
4. Three words: Trained attack bats.
   Possibly radio-controlled attack bats. Because, fun!
5. A Spider-Man style upside-down kiss. Of death.
   Alas, your dress made of stakes can't protect you against attacks from above. Try all you want, but you'll never quite touch that man's heart.

5 Reasons You Should Be Disappointed With This Post

1. I didn't include a single picture of my son with his curls and gap-toothed grin.
2. Two vampire-related lists, and no cracks about Twilight.
3. Not a single footnote. Not one.¹
4. There's no list of ways to counteract the vampires' counters. You're doomed.
5.  

¹ Nope. Sorry. Adding one after the fact doesn't count.

Vampires vs. Velociraptors!

For those interested in the results of the A to Z Contest, I'll be posting the winners tomorrow. In the meantime, I suggest you keep reading. It could very well save your life.

In this corner, weighing in at 172 pounds, the veritable villain of violent vivisection, the virulent virtuoso of vicissitude, the vicious violator of his victims' every viable vessel, the valiant vampire vicar of Vladivostok... Vladimir the Eviscerator!

(The crowd roars.)

And in this corner, weighing in at 241 pounds, the vile viper of visceral—and he's out of his corner! V-Rap has ignored all protocol and leapt at Vlad before the bell sounded!

V-Rap snaps his jaw closed upon a puff of black smoke as the vamp manages a timely escape, morphing into his bat form at the last possible moment. And he shifts back in mid-air! Vlad has dropped down on top of the raptor, his black cape rippling behind him, and has V-Rap by the neck! The ref—yes, it looks like the ref is trying to stop the fight and—ooooh, there go his innards. That was a rookie mistake by the veteran official there. V-Rap was already struggling to get his little forearms to reach Vlad, and the ref got too close.

I should take this time to remind our listeners that V-Rap is a Jurassic Park-style velociraptor, which is why he's about eight times larger than the traditional 30-lb raptors. But his size isn't helping him against Vlad the Eviscerator. The blood is really starting to flow from ol' Rap's neck.

Oh! And he's leapt from the ring! V-Rap's jumped, and he hits the concrete hard, the impact shaking Vlad loose. The crowd scatters in all directions, retreating to the back of the arena. But wait, V-Rap looks weakened by the blood loss, and he may have hurt his leg in the landing. Indeed, the lizard is limping, and he's actually backing away as the vampire vicar approaches, with V-Rap's blood dripping from his fangs.

I can't believe it. V-Rap is cowering! He must really be in pain. And Vlad is ready to finish him off. He leans in, and—holy cow! Another raptor has come from out of nowhere and tackled Vlad, the man's chest caught in its razor-sharp teeth. It looks like, yes, V-Rap's brother. It's Velo, who has plenty of vitriol for Vlad and his ilk after his devastating loss here last month.

And V-Rap is back up to his full height, gliding smoothly over to where Velo is. His frailty was all a ploy! Of course! Raptors are known for working together and luring in their prey! And boy, Vlad is not looking at all well. It can't just be from Velo's teeth and talons; from Vlad's sallow complexion I have to wager Velo gorged some garlic before entering the arena.

It looks like this could be the end for Vlad the Eviscerator, since there's no referee left standing to call the fight and spare him. But hold on! What's this? Four vampires have just dropped down from the rafters and alit upon V-Rap, wasting no time in sinking their fangs into the big lizard. At least, they look like vampires, although for some reason two of them seem to be sparkling under the arena's lights. Perhaps they rushed here from the glitter convention across town.

Anyway, it looks like they're trying to bargain for their friend. V-Rap's life for Vlad's. And Velo's relenting! He's slowly opening his jaw to release the vampire vicar, who I must say looks simply horrible, even for the undead. I don't know if he'll ever be able to recover from those ragged wounds, but these vamps are remarkably resilient, so I wouldn't put anything past them.

So, fight fans, it looks like this one's going to end in a draw, and... um... who's that man waving to us as he exits through the side entrance? That looked like the guy from V for Vendetta, didn't it? Why would he—oh, crap. Who decided to hold this fight in the Parliament building?! Let me outta—

(Explodes.)


This post is part of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge, hosted by Jeffrey Beesler and seven others. Go check out the other participants!

Gratuitous Cat Shots

This week I decided I'd increase traffic to my blog by a) actually writing a new post,¹ and b) including photos of cats. We'll return to our irregularly scheduled programming tomorrow.

This past week, to fill the void left by Marcelle's passing (REMEMBER: if your cat starts drinking far more water than usual, bring it to the vet!), we went to the local Humane Society to steal a kitten. We were almost home free when a soft mewing from the lining of my jacket pocket alerted the staff to our plan. Luckily, they agreed to drop the charges if we would also return the two rabbits stuffed in my socks, and agree to adopt two cats. So, that's what we did.

Within ten seconds of meeting the five-month old pictured below, we knew he'd be going home with us. Much like Mykelti Williamson's character in the short-lived-but-excellent show "Boomtown," this little guy is fearless. In fact, the very first thing he did when he met our dog Sonya was head straight for her and rub his face on her nose. Because of his nonchalant behavior, she thinks he's a dog and tries to play with him. And the weird thing: he doesn't mind. He's an explorer and a lap cat and a theoretical physicist all rolled into one.

Readers, let me introduce you to Schrödinger:

A ladies' man who likes to chase some tail.

The family that took him in as a stray gave him up when their landlord found out. Personally, I'd have kept him and traded in the landlord. Eh, their loss.

Calypso (a.k.a. Callie) was a tougher decision, but only because her competition was a two-month old kitten. In the end, she prevailed when we learned the little one didn't believe in dog. So far, Callie's spent much of her time avoiding Sonya, but when the dog's away she'll show her affection by licking your neck. True story.

Plays hard to get, till you get her alone.

She's either four or seven, depending on whether you believe the vet or her previous owners.² It doesn't make any difference to us. Although, while we thought she'd be a good lap cat, she's really more of a laptop cat. She's already helped me accidentally delete emails and open new browser windows. Plus, she beat my high score on Tetris. I expect she'll be friending you on Facebook by next week.

Quite the team.

New year, new kitties. And to all the people who arrived at the Humane Center after we left..................SUCKERS!


¹ What a novel idea! Speaking of which, I have a fantastic novel idea: Jesus and the twelve apostles are vampire hunters. Judaism is up to its neck in vampires, and through experimentation, Jesus and his followers learn that holy water and the symbol of the cross are excellent weapons in their fight against evil. Of course, they have to keep coming up with excuses to keep Jesus' mom from finding out what's up, and thus, Christianity is born. (Ooh, and now Jesus' resurrection has a whole new meaning...) You know what, this idea's so good, I can't keep it for myself. I'm going to let you have it. I'll even give you the title: Our Savior. It's literary gold, I'm telling you. You can thank me later.
² Who gave her up because "they were moving." What a flimsy excuse for an excuse! They should have at least tried to sound convincing, by saying their son was allergic or that she was smoking too much catnip. Eh, their loss.

Christmas Carols for the Zombie Apocalypse

Just in time for the holidays — and the imminent zombie threat — we have a brand new album for you, from Flaming Wheel Records.

Complete with 48 of the world's most popular apocalyptic seasonal hits, this 4-CD box set has updated versions of all your old favorites, including...

Oh, the devils outside are frightful, But on fire, they're so delightful. And since we've no place to go, Let 'em groan! Let 'em groan! Let 'em groan!	(listen to mp3 preview)
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
Chester roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping off your nose. You'll find Carol being sucked by Claire, And folks in pies of Eskimo.	(listen to mp3 preview)
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
Silent night, holy Christ! Here they come! This ain't right! Round yon corner, mother and child Shamble toward us bloody and wild. Death would be a relief. Death would be a relief.	(listen to mp3 preview)

Of course no doomsday collection would be complete without these beloved numbers:

Hark! the herald angels sing, "Blast the head off that damn thing!" Please unearth us some more food. God! us sinners are all screwed.	(listen to mp3 preview)
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
I'm dreaming of a red Christmas, Unlike the ones we used to know. Where bodies glisten, And we all listen, For sounds of movement down below.	(listen to mp3 preview)
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
Have yourself a very brittle Christmas As your limbs decay. From now on, Your arms will both be miles away.	(listen to mp3 preview)

And who can forget these timeless classics?

Come and hold me, pa rum pa pum pum. An awful thing to see, pa rum pa pum pum. Our finest are dying, pa rum pa pum pum. Then re-animating, pa rum pa pum pum, Rum pa pum pum, rum pa pum pum.	(listen to mp3 preview)
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
On the fifth day of Christmas, My true love gave to me: Five cold dead things! Four mauling hordes, Three strange men, Two useless guns, And a car for which I have no key.	(listen to mp3 preview)

And many more!

Face down the zombie hordes with a song! For only 24 monthly installments of $9.99,* you can own A Zombie Christmas, the greatest compilation of zombie carols ever made.

Place your order in the next fifteen minutes, and we'll throw in the album Purim of the Vampires, a $42 value, absolutely free!

Order yours today! Operators are standing by.


* Plus $19.95 for shivving and man-handling.

Musical Interludes

 
Interlude the First
On June 17, Denise and I ventured out to support a couple friends in their debut performance with the band Unprepared, which, frankly, did not live up to its name.

I’d heard Scott and KC perform numerous times as 2/5 of the now-defunct Simple Proof, and was glad to learn that Unprepared’s sound was pretty much the same. They stuck mostly with originals — all of it quality stuff — but also broke out a couple stellar renditions of Seal’s “Crazy” and Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game.” (Unprepared's Facebook page)

They were followed to the stage by Hot Fuzz Fantastic, which also did not live up to its name.¹ The Fuzz did, however, play a fun cover of “The Safety Dance” and weave Legend of Zelda music into another song in a superbly geektastic guitar solo.

To end the night, the two bands joined forces for one final song, and with their powers combined, they became... slightly fuzzier, but markedly less prepared.

Scott spent most of his time with half his face bathed in red light and the other half immersed in darkness, so I didn't get any flattering pictures of him (not that it stopped me from posting one). And KC is that rare specimen who can play real guitar but look like he's playing air guitar, so of course I managed a couple shots of that. See them all on Flickr.

Interlude the Second
On June 26, Denise and I ventured out to support a few dozen strangers, known collectively as the Hartford Symphony Orchestra. We’d scored free tickets to the opening concert of the Talcott Mountain Music Festival, so we relaxed on the lawn under the stars and listened to some excellent classical music.²

First on the program: Johann Sebastian Bach’s Overture No. 3 in D Major, BWV 1068. Though I didn’t recognize this by name, clearly Bach wrote this to commemorate the victims of the Brain-Washed Vampire massacre of 1068. The music — some of which it turned out I'd played before — evoked the image of the dozens of vampires blindly following the pied piper out into the blazing sun. (Suckers.)

Next up was Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major, which just happens to be my sister’s favorite musical piece ever in the history of the entire world. She believes all other music is complete and utter crap, and therefore, whenever you see her you should hum this song endlessly. When you do, I expect she’ll run up to you to give you a great big hug. (Can’t remember how it goes? Go here for a quick reminder.)

The highlight of the evening came after intermission: Antonio Vivaldi’s Le Quattro Stagioni (The Four Seasons). I’d been looking forward to this, since it would be the first time I’d ever heard any of the seasons performed live without being a part of the production. What’s that? You didn’t know I used to play in an orchestra? Let me fill you in on the details.

I was once the greatest middle school violinist in all of northern Connecticut.³ In high school, however, apathy got the better of me and I was relegated to second fiddle. Nah, I’m just kidding; although I did play at the back of the second violin section in the general orchestra, I was the concertmaster for the school’s renouned chamber orchestra.⁴ It was here that I performed the solos for Spring and Winter. And quite brilliantly, I might add.⁵

On Friday night, HSO Concertmaster Leonid Sigal played each of the solos masterfully, with fantastic energy, deft fingering, and — as best I could tell — his bow. I mimicked his performance from my spot on the lawn.

And, for one night, I was the greatest air violinist in all of northern Connecticut.

See? I told you the stars were fake. So was the moon.

¹ Damn lukewarm fuzz.
² The stars were fake.
³ Please, hold your applause until the end.
⁴ We were also reknowned, but most people found it more interesting that the first word used to describe the group was so horrible we had to replace it.
⁵ That is to say: I played brilliantly on the fast movements. Back then, I thought slow movements were stupid. My feelings on this matter have not changed.

Finally, the Truth About Honest Abe

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter
by Seth Grahame-Smith

Four score and seven days ago,¹ Seth Grahame-Smith brought forth on this continent a new notion, conceived in literary form, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal, although some then become horrible blood-sucking creatures of the night that Abraham Lincoln believed should have their heads emancipated from their bodies.

I hadn’t read Grahame-Smithe’s earlier Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, but for some reason Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter intrigued me.² He handles the material well, weaving vampiric lore and American history together, sometimes in unexpected ways, while maintaining a serious, somber tone. The book contains little horror or gore, and is told in a straight-forward manner with selections from Lincoln’s alleged secret journals inserted throughout.

I’ll admit I was kind of hoping to find something like my first paragraph in there—Lincoln alluding to vampires in one of his seminal speeches, perhaps explained away by newspaper censorship.³ But Grahame-Smith stays pretty true to the established public accounts of both our country’s history and that of our president. Perhaps this is why the book provides little in the way of action once Lincoln assumes political office; indeed, three of the most dramatic situations in the book’s latter half all turn out to be dreams. I can forgive one dream sequence — especially if it provides insight into a character’s motivations or portends future events (these don’t) — but three? That just seems like hack writing.

What hurts the book the most, in my opinion, is its introduction, which is far too long, prattles on about the author rather than his subject, and pretends that this is Grahame-Smith’s first book, which we know it isn’t. But its biggest problem is that it causes more issues later on:

If we are to believe the introduction, Grahame-Smith pieced this manuscript together solely from Lincoln’s secret journals and information culled from historical documents. Yet, at one point we get the thoughts of a vampire who does not survive the encounter. Later on, John Wilkes Booth’s thoughts and plans are on full display. Given the sources Grahame-Smith purportedly used, this should be impossible. Yes, yes, I know it’s fiction, but it’s pretending not to be. Had he simply told the tale as narrative non-fiction, he could have gotten away with such gaffes, but he had to go and name his sources and screw everything up.

Speaking of screwing things up, lets get back to John Wilkes Booth. After the imaginative way in which Grahame-Smith worked vampires into the annals of American history, I was sure he had some great surprise planned to explain how Lincoln’s assassin fit into the whole equation. Unfortunately, the surprise was that there was no surprise: Booth was a vampire. It’s as though Grahame-Smith stopped drinking his creativity juice as soon as he got to the good part. Boo, hiss.

Overall, Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter was an interesting contradiction: better than expected, yet disappointing at the same time, with an ending that fell flat. Kind of like the series finale of Lost.

Rating:

¹ That’s March 2, 2010, if you’re counting. (It’s almost as if I planned it.)
² It may have been the title.
³ Which would also help to explain why scholars have never agreed on the exact wording of the Gettysburg address, an absolutely true fact I learned about on Wikipedia.

It's My Crypt Tonight

Everyone, no matter how tough or how fictional he or she is, has a weakness. For some, it may be a physical weakness or vulnerability. For others, it might be behavioral (e.g. too trusting of others) or something they’re no good at. Or, it could simply be something they’re powerless to resist, such as chocolate, or reality TV.

Achilles’ fatal flaw is legendary: Though the rest of him was impervious to pretty much everything, his heel was surprisingly vulnerable to poisoned arrows. Likewise, everyone knows Superman’s biggest weakness: people whose first and last name both start with the letter L (i.e. Lois Lane, Lana Lang, Lex Luther, Louis L’Amour).

I believe the most amusing discovery of a character’s shortcomings may be from Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle, when Officer Palumbo says, upon being shot: “Bullets! My only weakness! How did you know?”

For easy reference, I’ve compiled a short list of some other famous weaknesses:

Character(s)	Weakness(es)
Adam & Eve	Talking snakes
Green Lantern	Wood. Or the color yellow. Yes, seriously.
Humbert Humbert	Prepubescent girls
James Bond	Has his martinis shaken, which bruises the gin
Keanu Reeves	Emotion; can only convincingly pull off “Whoa.”
King Hippo	Leaves his stomach unguarded when he jabs
King Midas	Greed; everything he touches turns to mufflers
Marty McFly	Being compared to chickens. Or the color yellow.
Pedro Cerrano	Can’t hit a curveball
Pinky & the Brain	Where are they going to find a moose wearing rubber pants at this hour?
Sarah Palin	When mouth opens, words come out
Sherlock Holmes	The loving embrace of the neighborhood opium den
Vampires	Sunlight, garlic, crosses, holy water
Vampires (modern era)	Mopey teenage girls
Wicked Witch of the West	Personal hygiene.1

When it comes to writing, I know many of you liken me to a god, the way my words flow so effortlessly from my pen.² Not that I use a pen. Nor do the words so much flow as they spit and sputter, inconsistently and with great effort, like I’m summoning the dregs from the bottom of a liquid soap dispenser. Nevertheless, many of you put my work up on a pedestal.³

Yet I am not infallible. Last week, in fact, I learned my greatest weakness as a writer: Setting.

I can interject a sentence or two of description here and there to help highlight a scene's location, but anything beyond that and the writing becomes dull and stilted; the story crumbles. My strengths are in the characters, the action, the dialogue. For an exercise on setting for my writing workshop this past week, I tried writing three different stories five different ways, and came out with fifteen different pieces of crap. Each time, although I could picture the setting quite vividly in my own mind, on paper it read like a 6th grade book report. And not a good one.

I’ll work at it. Eventually, my descriptions of settings may become passable and enhance the other aspects of my writing. But the important thing is that I’m now fully aware of my weakness. Thus, until I get this chink in my armor buffed out, you likely won’t catch me writing any long, descriptive passages.

In other words, I’ll be keeping my Achilles’ heel far, far away from your poisonous arrows.


¹ That’s what happens when you can’t bathe and you surround yourself with monkeys.
² Some of you, on the other hand, liken me to lichen.
³ Up there, no one can read it.

Paging Doctor Acula

The Strain
by Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan

Vampires. Everyone loves a good vampire story.¹ And I had high hopes for this one. I thoroughly enjoy Guillermo del Toro’s films, such as Hellboy and Pan’s Labyrinth, and the book itself starts out with a great hook: A jumbo jet touches down at JFK airport, then stops completely dead on the runway. And I mean dead... electronics, crew, passengers, everything. But, unfortunately, a good screenwriter and a quality opening will only get you so far...

We know The Strain is about vampires. It says so on the book jacket. Yet the authors still feel the need to build toward this discovery — that vampires are at the root of all the trouble — for well over a hundred pages, which amounts to the first third of the book. And how do they build this suspense? With repetitive storytelling and horribly unsubtle metaphor.

Here’s a tip: If you’re going to stick a bunch of characters into similar situations (for example, finding a relative or neighbor acting peculiarly, who happens to be a newly turned vampire), you need each character to react differently, and provide noticeably divergent outcomes. When the names change but the story remains practically the same,² it’s a waste of the reader’s time. Also, should you choose to introduce an event as ominous as a solar eclipse, it’ll pretty much speak for itself. There is absolutely no need to, for instance, have a half-dozen different characters try to stymy their impulse to run and hide, or remark that the eclipse is “what the beginning of the end of the world will look like.”

Along with their ability to come up with some fantastically un-analogous analogies,³ del Toro and Hogan also fall into the habit of using a little writer’s trick I like to call “damn laziness.” Say they want to get a certain concept across to the reader, such as that the comatose man isn’t so much dying as he’s undergoing a metamorphosis. Well, they just have some character suddenly realize it, whether or not they have the information to jump to that conclusion. In fact, some of the revelations don’t even have anything to do with anything else in the entire book:

He brought the half-empty bottle away from his lips with the realization that he had just slaked his thirst with the product of another mammal.⁴

Sure, the writing is bad, but it doesn’t deserve all the credit. The story has its faults, too. [Warning: Thar be spoilers ahead.] This is the first book of a trilogy, so some questions are purposely left unanswered. But others deserve to be answered here, in this first book. For instance, we learn that the Master caused the death of the plane and its passengers – none of whom tried to fight back, by the way – in under two minutes’ time. What we never find out is how he did this; apparently the fact that he is a vampire is explanation enough. Also, the Master makes sure to save his favorite minion as he flees one encounter, yet that secondary character does not show up again in the penultimate scene, or anywhere else for that matter. A rapid-firing nail gun fitted with silver nails is mentioned multiple times and coveted by one character, then is tossed aside after one use in favor of a UV lamp. That’s right: a lamp. And then, in the climactic scene, as the all-powerful Master is inexplicably held against a wall with this same UV lamp, rather than slay him then and there and perhaps save all of mankind, the idiot with the blade goes back to save a fallen cohort instead, by administering his heart medication. And why? So the Master can escape and there can be a sequel. Frankly, that’s the only explanation.

Then there are the creatures themselves. The vampires are not at all glorified; they are ugly, decrepit beings who stink of death. And I’m fine with that. Vampirism, in this case, is spread not by swapping blood with a vampire, but via strange worm-like entities in the blood that can be seen with the naked eye. I’m fine with that, too. Also, the vampires don’t have fangs. Instead, they suck blood using a bizarre extendable stinger that shoots out when they unhinge their lower jaw and makes a tiny incision in the victim’s neck. All of this I can abide. After all, if vampires were the same in every story, they’d no longer be as interesting. But then del Toro and Hogan went and made the one misstep that is completely unconscionable when it comes to vampires. Newly-turned vampires, which populate the majority of this book, stumble around in packs and think collectively. That’s right: basically, their vampires are just zombies who prefer blood to brains. What a gyp!

Maybe in the second book they become werewolves. I don’t know.

I’d have rated this book even lower, except that I wasn’t so much annoyed by the inconsistencies and the haphazard writing as I was entertained. It reminded me of Snakes on a Plane, which was so bad it was almost good. Of course, the difference here is that with The Strain, they were actually trying to make it good.

The moral of the story? The authors shouldn’t quit their day jobs. Del Toro should return to writing and directing major motion pictures. And Hogan should go back to writing crime novels like his Prince of Thieves (a.k.a. The Town).

Anyway, if you’re looking for a quality read and some fangy goodness, pass on this horrible mess and open up something by Bram Stoker or Anne Rice. Or, better yet, read Christopher Moore’s Bloodsucking Fiends (A Love Story). You’ll be glad you did.

Rating:

¹ No, not Twilight. I said a good vampire story. Pay attention, will you?
² Like the first season of Smallville. And every single episode of Scooby Doo.
³ Though you may not be altogether disturbed by the vampires in this book, whenever you come across an “apparently” or an “as though,” if you read the rest of the sentence, you do so at your own peril.
⁴ This is perhaps my favorite line in the book. As you may have deduced, one of the main characters has just had a sip of milk. What you couldn’t know is that he’s also right in the middle of introducing the director of the CDC to the world’s foremost expert on vampiric lore. Just had to get that milky pearl of wisdom off his chest, I guess.