Not being a big fan of Whitley Strieber, and not particularly caring for " imitative art" in any of its guises, I picked this up and read it because I was desperate..
I am a consumate bookaholic, requiring more books than oxygen to survive.
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Therefore, I overlooked its AnneRiceanesqueness and sucked it dry for entertainment straight to the end. It's not the best vampire book in the world, but I've picked up worse.
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If you get desperate in the middle of the night, reach for it.
