23 June, 2010

Book Review: Turn Coat by Jim Butcher

Book 11 of the Dresden Files

I can’t believe I am at book 11 and I am not sick of Dresden. At all. In the least. Each book I pick up brings me as much if not more pleasure than the first. That seems a bit…weird to me. I will admit I am a series whore. I love a tale that must be told over multiple books. I want to rant at the author to write faster and don’t you dare die before you are done (yes Mr. Jordan I am looking at you sir!) I want to wallow in crazy tangents; I want to know the stories behind the stories. When you bring up a legend, I want to know that in another 20 books or so you might get around to telling me that tale...in full. I may have to start up a new category the UBER AUTORS.

Harry: Look, I’m not asking her to deactivate the tractor beam, rescue the princess, and escape to the fourth moon of Yavin. I just need to know what she’s heard and what she can find out without blowing her cover.

Harry: As far as the Council is concerned, the U.S. Wardens are a bunch of mushrooms…Kept in the dark and fed on bullshit.

Molly: Damn, I’m good
Harry: No argument here…Now we have a name, a lead. One might even call it a clue
Molly: Not only that…I have a date
Harry: Good work, grasshopper…Way to take one for the team.

Murphy: I’d have to get approval from a judge, and I don’t know any of them who would take ‘my friend the wizard’s vampire brother was kidnapped by a demonic Navajo shape shifter’ as a valid justification…

Butters: Oh bite me, wizard boy…you haven’t got a moral leg to stand on. If it’s okay that I’m not a doctor, it’s okay that you aren’t a nurse. So wash your freaking hands and help me before we lose him.

Skinwalker: I will come for you. I will kill you. I will kill your blood, your friends, your beasts. I will kill the flowers in your home and the trees in your tiny fields. I will visit such death upon whatever is yours that your very name will be remembered only in curses and talks of terror.

Chandler: Five of me guarding the door? Are you mad? The sheer power of the concentrated fashion sense would obliterate visitors on sight.

Harry: Because your balls are in a vise and I’m the only one who can pull them out…Okay…That came out a little more homoerotic than I intended.
Merlin: Indeed

Harry: It was like standing in an industrial propane plant with five hundred chain-smoking pyromaniacs double-jonesing for a hit: it would only take one dummy to kill us all, and we had four hundred and ninety-nine to spare.

Madeline: You…are a bad case of herpes, wizard. You’re inconvenient, embarrassing, no real threat, and you simply will not go away.

Nor do we want you to Harry