This may come as a shock to you, Harry, but I don't have an ax with me
Today has been marked mostly by hours of pre-holiday errands and a vision-troubling level of headache, which may somewhat foreshorten this post. The evening has been marked by reading four books starring Harry Dresden. I believe I have hurt myself.
Between the weird casual chauvinism and the general air of having been written by a yak that wanted to be Raymond Chandler (I am insulting either Chandler or yaks), I was not impressed with Storm Front (2000). There was a reason I didn't read these books at the time.
rushthatspeaks had promised me a character I would love, however, and so I persevered. Fortunately, the library was missing the next three volumes and by the time of Death Masks (2003), Butcher's style had improved to the point where it was no longer actively contributing to my headache and Rush was quite right about the character; I warmed to him instantly, even though he was more of a cameo. And then there was a lot of confused vampirism and I got to Dead Beat (2005). Rush—
"If I tell you this," I said quietly, "it could be bad for you."
"Bad how?"
"It could force you to keep secrets that people would kill you for knowing. It could change the way you think and feel. It could really screw up your life."
"Screw up my life?" He stared at me for a second and then said, deadpan, "I'm a five-foot-three, thirty-seven-year-old, single Jewish medical examiner who needs to pick up his lederhosen from the cleaners so that he can play in a one-man polka band at Oktoberfest tomorrow." He pushed up his glasses with his forefinger, folded his arms and said, "Do your worst."
Waldo Butters is also brilliant enough that he thinks of forensic science as something anyone can pick up if they don't mind the technical terms, geeky enough to forget how terrified he is of zombies when given the chance to research them, and he has mildly mad science hair ("[it] gave him a perpetual look of surprise that stopped just short of being a perpetual look of recent electrocution"). Apparently I have some kind of type.
I don't think I will be eagerly scouring the bookstores for the rest of this series, but someone should tell me whether they're the sort of thing worth persisting with just for love of supporting characters. It is quite likely that I will keep an eye out for a secondhand copy of Dead Beat, even if the Latin is consistently ungrammatical and the mysterious book should really have been called Das Lied des Erlkönigs. The Tyrannosaur was pretty crowningly awesome.
And now I am going to shower, because I don't feel well at all.
Between the weird casual chauvinism and the general air of having been written by a yak that wanted to be Raymond Chandler (I am insulting either Chandler or yaks), I was not impressed with Storm Front (2000). There was a reason I didn't read these books at the time.
"If I tell you this," I said quietly, "it could be bad for you."
"Bad how?"
"It could force you to keep secrets that people would kill you for knowing. It could change the way you think and feel. It could really screw up your life."
"Screw up my life?" He stared at me for a second and then said, deadpan, "I'm a five-foot-three, thirty-seven-year-old, single Jewish medical examiner who needs to pick up his lederhosen from the cleaners so that he can play in a one-man polka band at Oktoberfest tomorrow." He pushed up his glasses with his forefinger, folded his arms and said, "Do your worst."
Waldo Butters is also brilliant enough that he thinks of forensic science as something anyone can pick up if they don't mind the technical terms, geeky enough to forget how terrified he is of zombies when given the chance to research them, and he has mildly mad science hair ("[it] gave him a perpetual look of surprise that stopped just short of being a perpetual look of recent electrocution"). Apparently I have some kind of type.
I don't think I will be eagerly scouring the bookstores for the rest of this series, but someone should tell me whether they're the sort of thing worth persisting with just for love of supporting characters. It is quite likely that I will keep an eye out for a secondhand copy of Dead Beat, even if the Latin is consistently ungrammatical and the mysterious book should really have been called Das Lied des Erlkönigs. The Tyrannosaur was pretty crowningly awesome.
And now I am going to shower, because I don't feel well at all.

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I'll try at least another, then.
(Also, Butcher begins making some commentary on Harry's chauvinism via other characters in some amusing ways. I suspect it got through his head at some point that maybe he should be questioning Harry's attitudes towards women.)
Good! Because it was apparent from Storm Front that the chauvinism was a problem—Harry almost misses the actual murderer because he's stuck on the idea of exploding people's hearts out of their chests as a female thing—but then he didn't get better, so I couldn't tell whether it was meant to be a problematic character trait or simply the author bleeding over. And the women around him are, even if still described first in terms of their conventional attractiveness, pretty consistently awesome.
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I also parse the talking about pretty much every post-pubescent female character mentioned in terms of conventional attractiveness first as a conscious stylistic trope, in the direction of Archie Goodwin.
It's possible that I am overthinking this, but if so I like the books I end up with better than the ones that Butcher intended.
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Also, there are some really awesome women in the series. Molly & Murphy are winners. (I would add that a lot of the men are actually described in terms of their attractiveness, also, which doesn't pop up much in books authored by men.)
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I haven't seen almost anything of Molly so far, but I quite like Murphy (as noted to
(I would add that a lot of the men are actually described in terms of their attractiveness, also, which doesn't pop up much in books authored by men.)
Interesting; I'll remember to look at that. It is true that Thomas pulls out all the adjective stops.
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Thomas, especially, and sometimes Marcone gets handsome!adjectives, too.