I'm slightly obsessed with the HBO series, "True Blood." It doesn't follow the books by Charlaine Harris exactly, but I like the changes the series creator Alan Ball makes. It's racy and graphic, and most of the people in the novel seem to come out of my hometown (I live near the Texas-Louisiana border).
I took a Literary Criticism class last summer, and for my final paper, I did a Freudian analysis on "True Blood." I discussed how the vampires represent Freud's Id, Sookie represents the Superego, and Vampire Bill, ironically enough, represents the Ego. I got an A on the paper, and an A in the class.
So I thought this book would be interesting, and it was to a certain point. But there was really no middle ground in this book. The essays were either so deep that it was difficult to get through, or they were so simplistic that I wondered why the author wrote them at all.
I should have known better from the cheesy subtitle of the book. I have only myself to blame. I do not recommend this book.
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