I had this whole big plan, I remember distinctly. Stay away from the vampire nearly-porn stuff for a little while. Alternate between the stack of hardbacks and the stack of graphic novels, knock out several reviews in a reasonably short time as a result. And, okay, the last part is likely to occur, or at least no less likely. But the problem with being on a plane (aside from all the motherfucking snakes, I mean) and not checking any bags is that it’s not worth it to try to bring along an unwieldy and damageable graphic novel when you could bring along a cheap paperback instead. And so, regrettably, I have read another tale of the exploits of Anita Blake.

Regrettable is an easy word to throw around in this context. For one thing, the vampire porn classification is getting to be more overt with each one I read. On the inside, sure, obviously, but I’m talking about the covers. Time was, I could pretend like it was detective fiction that happened to include the undead, and all was well. But it’s just really obviously porn to even casual passersby at this point. My street cred, always a precarious proposition at best, is taking a real hit lately. And then (getting back to the book’s steamy innards) the porniness quotient, vampire and otherwise, has risen as steeply as I was afraid it would after the last one. If the descent continues, it will be a romance novel next time, and the one after that should have its own special section in the used bookstore where the children can’t reach it.

Here’s the bad news, though. The paragraphs above do not contain my largest complaint about Burnt Offerings. Sure, okay, I was able to buy into it when our heroine graduated from ‘able to raise zombies’ to full on necromancer, with power over all of the dead. And I thought it was kind of cool in the first few books when all of the loose ends came together in a couple of climactic chapters despite seeming a Gordian mess just pages before. But now the girl is getting into all kinds of ridiculous abilities that are simultaneously overpowered and nonsensical, and simultaneously the plots are starting to feel like Ms. Hamilton has a page limit that she’s accidentally bumping up against (perhaps due to all the new and delightful sex?), which causes her to wave her wand of plot resolution and end the book on a dime. Not a good dime, either, one of those buffalo wooden dimes that are fake and worthless in every way, and by the end of the stock show you just find them laying on the street because nobody cares enough to hold onto them. Hell, not even that good. We’re talking buffalo nickels, here, people.

Oh, in case you care, the plot was about the visit of the vampiric master council, who are apparently in charge of all things vampire? Only, I guess not really, since they’ve never been mentioned before and seem to have little or no influence in America, just the Old World. That, and a pyrokinetic is maybe setting some fires around town, so Anita should help with that, since… well, for some reason. Maybe necromancers can squirt a lot of…. while I was typing that, the thought took an unfortunate turn in my head, so I’m going to stop now. Later, in what I hope will be a large number of months from now, fear for me when I get around to reading the next one, if it’s anything like this. ‘Cause, wow.