A review of Charlaine Harris’s ‘Dead as a Doornail’ chapter eleven


Bill brought a date into Merlotte’s that night.

She was a slim brunette with shoulder-length hair, and Danielle could hardly wait to tell me she was Selah Pumphrey, a real estate saleswoman who’d gotten the million-dollar sales award the year before.

I hated her instantly, utterly, and passionately.

It’s hard to be face to face with your ex’s first girlfriend after the break up. Even harder when it’s the place you work, so you are forced to wait on them, just further proving said ex is just an inconsiderate arsehole.  Don’t worry about it Sookie, just tell her about the time that Bill raped you.  Should put her off somewhat.

Charles said, “Shall I give her a good scare, if she spends the night with him?”

Eric then comes in.  Woo yay.  He’s all shouty and stuff.

“I pay Charles Twining to watch you and keep you safe, and who hauls you out of the fire?  A fairy.  While Charles is out in the yard, killing the fire setter rather than saving his hostess’s life.  Stupid Englishman!”

WHOA

WHOA

WHOA

HOLD UP

Let’s not make any nasty insults based on anyone’s nationality dude.  The English are not all some monks you can pillage and murder any more.

Then he tries asking her about whether they had sex or not again but needless to say, Sookie is not at all interested after this blatant attack on the fair isles of Englandia. So there.

“You were so sweet when you didn’t know who you were.”

So screw you Eric.  Nyah nyah nyah.

Sam offers Sookie one of his rental homes to live in until her kitchen is fixed.  It’s the one next to where Dawn died, so she knows where it is.  That’s nice, and that’s one problem of the evening gone.  There’s just one left.

Selah was thinking she had it all over me, unless I was fantastic in bed.  Selah thought that lower-class women must always be better in bed, because they were less inhibited.  She knew she was slimmer, was smarter, made more money, and was far more educated and better read than the waitress she was looking at.  But Selah Pumphrey doubted her own sexual skill and had a terror of making herself vulnerable.

[On the inhabitants of Bon Temps] Here we’d been having a wonderful time screwing one another, having much better sex than smart upper-class people, and we hadn’t even appreciated it.

Selah asks Sookie for the way to the toilet (not so smart, are ya?) to get a measure of her.  Bill later asks whether Sookie is jealous of his new date, presumably just to twist the knife.

“I hate her skinny thighs and her elitist attitude.”

Go Sookie.  You’re blasting away bullshit tonight.

Jason enjoys himself with Crystal that night, apparently caring for naught that his sister can clearly hear him.  Eurgh.

Sookie goes back to clear up some more mess from the shell of her kitchen the next morning.

I understood how close I’d come to dying. The realization hit me broadside.

Why did it hit me now, after three says? I don’t know. Maybe there was something about the way the Mr. Coffee looked; cord charred, plastic warped with the heat. The plastic had literally bubbled.  I looked at the skin of my hands and shuddered.

The closeness of my brush with death simply overwhelmed me.

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