So she sneaks out after being locked in her room by Asshat Stepdad, parrot of the religious right, and runs to her grandmother for help. Not even living at the school guarantees her survival, but not going at all pretty much assures her of a very brief post-Marked life. More pressing, however, was the fact that if Zoey didn’t get her marked self over to the House of Night, a boarding school/incubator for fledgling vampires, she was going to die. Aside from the total abject humiliation of having an outline of a blue crescent moon appear on her forehead after some tall-dark-and-weird dude announces she is one of the marked, Zoey also has to deal with faster-than-instant-pudding ostracization from her peers, her ex-boyfriend, and her best friend, not to mention the hell-and-damnation rhetoric of her stepfather. Zoey Redbird, a completely normal teenager subject to life with a spineless mother and a supremely right-wing religious nutjob stepfather, finds herself marked as a vampire in the middle of the hallway one afternoon at school. So for me to find a series that I willingly and eagerly keep up with, or at least look for the next issue with anticipation, that is a rare thing indeed, and there have been a few that I try to remember to look for.Īll of this ramble preamble does have a purpose: The House Of Night series? Very very good.
So if you have a series where each installment comes out every six or seven months – or fuck it, every three to four YEARS like some potters I might mention – there’s no way I can recall every detail and remember what it was that was happening When We Last Saw Lord Clusterhump and Lady Danderhead…. Add to that pregnancy hormones and I barely remember my own damn name.
Part of the problem is that I have a really, breathtakingly, no I’m not kidding it’s BAD, memory. There’s this neverending feeling of “Tune in Next Week!” to find out if there’s ever going to be a resolution – and really, I’m just too much of a mental slacker to manage it all. Even the happily ever after isn’t entirely happy, because there’s More To Come. A series, particularly one that fringes or lands squarely in the Land o’Romance, has to keep some plotlines open to continue interest, and can’t wrap everything up. A soap opera allows a character to experience happiness for at least a few minutes of an episode before turning the sparkly pink happiness into great weeping (but never mascara-running) tears of woe. I can’t describe my negative reaction to a series without a finite end enough to identify what it is that bugs me, except to say that it’s similar to my dislike of soap operas. I think that I read too many Sweet Valley Highs as a teen because lately, series turn me off.
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