This is Jeff Lindsay’s fifth novel about America’s favorite serial killer (tho I admit I have a softer spot in my heart for H. H. Holmes), and I think the novelty has worn off. Actually, I think it wore off a few novels ago. Darkly Dreaming Dexter (the inspiration for the Dexter series on Showtime) was fantastic. Dearly Devoted Dexter was almost as good. But from there, the novels have gone downhill. Has Lindsay lost his touch, or have I simply become tired of this? I have similar feelings towards the Showtime series — as much as I adore Julia Stiles, I had a lot of trouble getting excited (and getting into) this last season of Dexter. Jimmy Smits made the third season for me. John Lithgow was good in the fourth season, but overhyped and overrated. Neither the novels nor the Showtime series seem ready to end, so I can assume more of both are coming. But Dexter is not as tasty as he used to be.

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