It’s been close to a year, but I have finally reached the last chapter of Cerulean Sins.
This is a momentous day.
OK, it’s the usual chapter of summing up any hanging plot threads that LKH couldn’t be bothered to address in the text.
Dolph is still on leave, but I’m working on arranging a get-together between him, his wife, and their son and daughter-in-law. I don’t know if there’s anything to talk about, but Lucille, Mrs Dolph, wants me to try. I’ll try.
And Lucille can’t do this without you butting your big butt in because…? I’m sure the family appreciates you sticking your nose in their business unasked. Because I don’t hear you asking their permission to try and fix them.
Richard seems to have some peace. Not enough peace for us to date. But hey, I’m just thrilled that he’s no longer suicidally depressed. At this point, I want him healthy and happy more than I want him with me.
Yeah, of course, that whole short hair = mega suicide risk thing. You know, this just keeps getting more and more offensive each time it comes up, because it’s so blatantly obvious that LKH hasn’t got the first friggin’ clue how it feels like to be either mentally ill or to be close to mentally ill people. I’ve been around mentally ill people my entire life and I have mental health problems. LKH has no idea how mental healthy problems manifest and make people feel – she has no idea how it feels like to be watching someone you love develop these problems. If you can’t be bothered with empathy, don’t include bullshit about mental health issues.
This may or may not have been semi-inspired by her bullshit rant about trigger warnings.
Stephen and Gregory’s father is still in town. Valentina and Bartolome asked Jean-Claude’s permission to kill him.
Oh, right, that. You even remember that coming up? Why the hell would Valentina and Bartolome want to kill this guy? Did they even interact with Stephen and Gregory? Why would they give a shit?
But because they haven’t been able to satisfy their debt of honour, the two child vampires are staying in St. Louis.
Okay, whatever. Valentina is fine, but Bartolome is a creepy asshole. I hope someone stakes him.
There are nights when I dream about the living dark. As long as I sleep with a cross on I’m okay, but if I forget, she haunts me. I’d get a cross tattoo if I wasn’t afraid it’d burst into flames.
Do it. Get the fucking thing tattooed on your stupid smug face.
The Mobile Reserve has me on their list of civilian experts. They’ll call if they need me. Captain Parker was wicked pissed that the feds’ latest update on the preternatural wasn’t so updated. The FBI just doesn’t have enough friends that are monsters. If they did they’d know more.
Yeah, because it’s not like there are other people working in the field and that PRETERNATURAL CREATURES HAVE BEEN AROUND SINCE THE DAWN OF TIME. But, nooooooo, Anita is just so super speshul that she knows more than absolutely anyone in the entire world.
Anita then goes on about how she doesn’t find the ending of Charlotte’s Web that sad – because she’s a withered husk of a human being – and how goshdarned glad she is that she finally has ‘someone to hold my hand and go walking out under those blue skies. You have to fight to carve little pieces of happiness out of your life, or the everyday emergencies will eat up everything’.
I’m sure that’d mean someone if Anita wasn’t a smug little shithead who always wins and always gets her own way and never suffers any consequences.
Okay, I guess that means I have to start giving my final thoughts.
My final thoughts are that I don’t really have any final thoughts. I have no feelings about this book. It just… exists. It reads as a collection of moderately connected vignettes. The plot doesn’t really exist. LKH had a few ideas but they weren’t well developed enough to make a five hundred page novel. It’s weak drivel that added nothing to the overall development of the characters or the series. The main focus of the book was a fucking dinner party for fuck’s sake!
This book had no reason to exist. The characters are not in a different place from where they were when the last book ended. This book screams ‘I was contractually mandated to produce this work’.
And for the love of God, hire a decent fucking editor. Because your husband? Is not a professional, and it’s really starting to show.
And now I am going to eat rice pudding and try to get some actual sleep.