I love the smell of brimstone in the morning
Hotter than Hell — now, more than just a KISS album! Although, admittedly, the tongue-action of the incubus protagonist, Daunuan, might well put Gene Simmons to shame. This is the third novel in Kessler’s Hell on Earth series, and I think it’s her best yet.
Here’s the setup. Daun’s boss, Pan, wants to make Daun his second-in-command — Prince of Lust to Pan’s King. To make his bones, Daun must first seduce a good woman, Virginia. No easy task, since Virginia is numb from the brain down (she has her reasons) and Daun is used to seducing people who are already 9/10 of their way to Hell. He’s a deal-closer, in other words. Damning someone destined for Heaven is not in his job description.
To make matters more interesting, one infernal hit-demon after another appears, each trying to transform Daun into a sulfurous smudge pot. Who is behind these attacks? It may be an enemy from Daun’s past, or it may be further evidence of the political shakeups Kessler first introduced us to in Hell’s Bells (see my interview with the author here).
Jezebel, heroine of the series’ first two books, makes an appearance, and her presence afflicts Daun constantly, but Daun is the true star here. Think of him as evil with annoying “good” tendencies. The cleverness of Kessler’s universe lies in the fact that Daun damns only those who have damned themselves. Thus, the reader can enjoy Daun’s nasty ways and not feel guilty about it. Case in point: the opening, wherein Daun’s would-be fellatrix is a Black Widow-esque serial killer. If you had concerns whether you’d be able to feel sympathy for one of the Infernal, you needn’t worry.
It’s Virginia’s story which elevates this novel, however. Frankly, I was surprised by the direction of Virginia’s story arc. I don’t usually think of paranormal romance as a risk-taking genre*, but Kessler definitely took the plunge on this one. The result was far more poignant and memorable than the formulaic ending I thought I saw coming after the first hundred pages. And to say much more than that would be spoiling.
So, yes, this one’s every bit as tasty a mind candy as Kessler’s last two books, but there’s some meat here, too. Quibbles? I miss Lucifer, who has been (IMO) Kessler’s most intriguing character. I’m glad she gave Daun his own feature, so to speak, but I’m still burning a candle for the Prince of Darkness.
Hmm. That last clause, taken out of context, would probably exclude me from winning a higher political office in this country. Oh, well.
D.
*Flirting with bestiality using the gimmick of shapeshifting? *YAWN*
This goes way beyond cultural relativism
If you’ll excuse a serious post once in a while, THIS is reprehensible:
Dozens of men stoned Aisha Ibrahim Duhulow to death Oct. 27 in a stadium packed with 1,000 spectators in the southern port city of Kismayo, Amnesty International and Somali media reported, citing witnesses.
The Islamic militia in charge of Kismayo had accused her of adultery after she reported that three men had raped her, the rights group said.
Initial local media reports said Duhulow was 23, but her father told Amnesty International she was 13. Some of the Somali journalists who first reported the killing later told Amnesty International that they had reported she was 23 based upon her physical appearance.
She looked 23. Like that excuses anything? As best I can tell from the news media, this girl was raped by three men, then had the temerity to report the crime. In retribution, she was accused of adultery, then buried up to her neck and stoned to death.
In case you’re thinking this is Western media seizing and perhaps inflating a story that will fuel anti-Islamic sentiment, Al Jazeera also reported the story without any significant variation in detail.
Duhulow was stoned to death on October 27 by dozens of men in a stadium packed with 1,000 spectators in the southern port city of Kismayo, Amnesty International and Somali media reported, citing witnesses.
It takes a lot to shock me. This shocked me.
I can’t see how this is anything but a hideous injustice. And, yes, I know horrific crap like this (and worse) has been going on for a long time . . . but this one touched me for some reason.
Donate to Amnesty International. I don’t know what else to do, save appeal to our government — once we have a sane government.
D.
Best doggone costumes
Come to the Dark Side. We have Kibbles ‘n Bits.
Enough with the Star Wars costumes, already!
Happy Halloween.
D.
GOTV
YouTube info: A video for North Carolina voters, by Dave Willis (Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Squidbillies) and Scott Jacobson (The Daily Show, SNL’s “TV Funhouse”).
[ Find Your Polling Place | Voting Info For Your State | Know Your Voting Rights | Report Voting Problems ]
D.
Boys State
Memories jogged by the upcoming election . . .
In my high school-era photo album, I have a picture of a tall Hispanic kid with tousled hair, wearing a red terrycloth bathrobe and slippers. His right hand is raised.
Some other kid is administering an oath of office.
Ack! No one told me . . .
that Fallout 3 has been released!
Jewel of the Wastes. For 200 years, Vault 101 has faithfully served the surviving residents of Washington DC and its environs, now known as the Capital Wasteland. Though the global atomic war of 2077 left the US all but destroyed, the residents of Vault 101 enjoy a life free from the constant stress of the outside world. Giant Insects, Raiders, Slavers, and yes, even Super Mutants are all no match for superior Vault-Tec engineering. Yet one fateful morning, you awake to find that your father has defied the Overseer and left the comfort and security afforded by Vault 101 for reasons unknown. Leaving the only home you’ve ever known, you emerge from the Vault into the harsh Wasteland sun to search for your father, and the truth.
You know what I’m going to be doing this weekend . . .
D.
Waddya think — Sara Benincasa?
This Palin impersonator clearly isn’t Tina Fey, who looks more like Palin than Palin does. But is it Sara Benincasa? Compare:
Warning on this next one: potty mouth language!
Well, maybe not.
D.
Hypnagogia
Was it that old fraud Carlos Castaneda whose brujo, Don Juan, warned his apprentice of the risks of staring at running water? The spirit catches the current and floats away like a twig, like a wisp of algae. If the spirit strays too far, it may never find its way home.
Wind can do the same.
I’m sitting in a car feeling the reality of gravity, my butt, and the vinyl underneath, and I’m thinking of all those other times in cars, and how that same sensation of weight had to have been there before, but it’s never recorded in memory. Few sensations receive such an honor. I can remember, for example, a time when my then-teenaged brother drove us down to some Atlantic beach. The day was warm, the salt air breathed summer. The memory merges with all of my other beach memories of childhood: hot sand beneath me, sun orange against my closed eyelids, tinny music from my green plastic Realistic AM radio from Radio Shack. Shrieks of laughter. The pulse of the surf. And, yes, gravity, as I wriggle my body, trying to hollow out a comfortable bed from the sand.
We’ve crossed the Dumbarton Bridge many times. I can never remember which direction is the toll crossing, but I remember the colored drying pools, the KGO tower, the dry grasses on the eastern hills which flow with the wind making swirls like hair on a dog’s belly.
We missed seeing the dirigible.
Last dirigible to cruise American airspace? The Hindenburg, and we all know that turned out. This time around, things went smoother.
You would think I’d have a better memory for food. I remember the childhood horrors, of course, and I know I’ve blogged that before, too. But what about the good stuff? Let’s see, I remember
the first time I ate rumaki
first scampi
first cantaloupe
first abalone
not all happy memories.
Driving, windows down, it’s sort of like wind and like wind if you don’t pay attention you might suddenly find your spirit quite far from your body.
I remember countless times as a passenger, drifting off to sleep, the road noise would cut in and out with my varying level of consciousness. The little scientist in me took note and was fascinated. The white noise of wind and road had become an instrument to probe the mysterious black box of mind. How could hearing simply shut itself down? But it did.
There’s laughter in the car and now I’m awake. To my brother’s extreme amusement, I’ve fallen asleep using my mother’s ass as a pillow. Now my mother and I are both awake, both grumpy. Are we there yet? No, we’re not there yet. But at least my brother has something to laugh about.
D.
Froschmausekrieg
And Microsoar wins it with his first entry!
Knowing how he used his women and his bloodthirsty history, she devised a tale of mystery, romance and intrigue. In her fable, magic carpets crossed the skies. Fearless heroes slew fabulous beasts, overcame seemingly insurmountable odds and ravished beautiful and willing women. She planned a climactic finish that was not quite an ending, instead offering suspenseful temptation and a promise of even greater wonders.
Unfortunately, no-one had told her that the the Sultan was deaf.
Microsoar’s second entry took second place, making Microsoar Teh RoxXor 75er. Tell me where you want your gift certificate, boss, and I’ll make the arrangements.
Thanks to everyone for playing!
D.
P.S. The title? Just a cool German noun I discovered over at Boing Boing.
Too good not to blog.
I grew up with these characters. Glad to know we’re all on the same side, eh?
Remember to vote, dammit!
D.