Posts tagged Darkly Dreaming Dexter
Maggie May
"Reading gives us someplace to go when we have to stay where we are.”
Darkly Dreaming Dexter, by Jeff Lindsay can be described in one word : eerie. It’s a good thing I’m a HUGE fan of the show Dexter, so it might’ve made me a bit biased going into reading the book, but if I had read the book before any of the seasons of Dexter came out, I probably would’ve been very creeped out by the story, and Dexter as a character. I feel like the TV series does a better job at making you fall in love with Dexter and being on his side and not wanting him to get caught. It also does a better job at portraying the characters. I usually never like the movie/show more than the book, but maybe that’s because I saw the show first so my imagination was killed. Every time the characters would speak, I’d imagine the actors/actresses voices. That’s why you should always READ THE BOOK FIRST. Because that’s the fun in reading, making the story exactly how you see it.
The ending was also drastically different, and I have to say I liked season 1’s ending a lot better than the book. It wasn’t really the Dexter I love in my mind.
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I preferred my sister alive, rather than in bloodless sections.
Weren’t we all crazy in our sleep? What was sleep, after all, but the process by which we dumped our insanity into a dark subconscious pit and came out on the other side ready to eat cereal instead of the neighbor’s children?
Was it right to fight and hang on and make the rest of suffer through an endless death, when death was coming no matter what? Or was it right to slip away gracefully and without fuss?
There’s no fun where’s there no challenge.
It’s like, everything really is two ways, the way we all pretend it is and the way it really is. And you already know that and it’s like a game for you.
I — I’m not sure. Just — we all assume that..things…really are a certain way. The way they’re supposed to be? And then they never are, they’re always more … I don’t know. Darker? More human.
She was, as I say, very presentable. Petite and pert and spunky, a slim athletic figure, short blond hair, and blue eyes. She was a fitness fanatic, spending all her off-hours running and biking and so on.
Instead of realizing that all men are beasts, she had come up with this lovely romantic picture of a perfect gentlemen who would wait indefinitely for her to open slowly, like a little flower.
She was looking for some imaginary man who cared more about having someone to talk to and see movies with than someone to have sex with, because she was Just Not ready for That.
Rita was almost as badly damaged as I am.
I don’t do my job to catch criminals. Why would I want to do that? No, I do my job to make order out of chaos.
There is no starry sky anywhere like the starry sky in South Florida when you are fourteen and camping out with dad.
Anybody can be charming if they don’t mind faking it, saying all the stupid, nauseating things that a conscience keeps most people from saying. Happily, I don’t have a conscience. I say them.
Whatever made me the way I am left me hollow, empty inside, unable to feel. It doesn’t seem like a big deal. I’m quite sure most people fake an awful lot of everyday human contact. I just fake all of it.
