Review: Eighth Grave After Dark (Charley Davidson, #8) by Darynda Jones

22922356★★

It physically hurts to say this, like I have bad gas, but I must tell the truth: I did not like this book.

I really do love this series and the characters have a special place in my heart, but WHAT IN THE HOLY-HELL IS GOING ON?

This can be my problem with long running series: at some point the author wants to take things to a new, unexpected level, but because the story has been going on for so long the only place left to take readers is right off the fucking rails.

And this is the book in Charley Davidson’s adventures that dropped off the tracks and decided to go careening off a bridge.

First of all, this book read more like a romance erotica novel than a true Charley Davidson instalment.

In case anyone forgot over the previous seven novels, Reyes is hot. Reyes is sexy. Reyes is the hottest, sexiest Son of Satan that ever did exist. Also he’s Charley’s husband. They are married. They got married. Charley married the Son of Satan and he’s hot and sexy and beautiful and they are so so SO in love and have amazing, mind-altering, orgasmic sex. Reyes is more beautiful than any human male could hope to be….and honestly this book might as well have been titled An Ode to Reyes Farrow’s Muscles and Beauty.

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Right before I started this, my mom asked me if the series was any good, because she wanted something on audio to listen to during her walks. I said: YES definitely listen to this! It’s so funny and kills the time perfectly!

Oops.

Within the first hour of her listening to book one, she texted me to ask: “Are they all full of sex like this? Because if this is just going to be Fifty Shades, it’s not for me.”

Fifty Shades? No! I would never read such puke! How dare she compare Charley to Anastasia!

…But honestly, I should have told her to find something else (but I didn’t and I also find that hilarious) because now that I’m done with this book and had to sit through all the pregnant mirror sex, I’m legit uncomfortable and things might as well be Fifty Shades around here.

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I honestly believe that babies ruin everything, so I’ve never had one nor plan to (put down your pitchforks moms. my personal choices are not a judgement on your own.) But I have lots of friends and family, around my age, with children so I’ve been there to experience their pregnancies as an outsider. And from these experiences, there is not a single part of my soul that believes a 9-months-pregnant woman is going to be sexily slinking all over the place, barely able to contain her lady erection and having sex at every possible interlude, including once in front of a mirror while she’s forced to watch herself.

I wouldn’t even want to do that un-pregnant.

PLEASE.

Most pregnant women I have known barely wanted to bend over to put on shoes, forget bending over for their husbands.

“Sometimes I crave pickles. Other times I crave the blood of my enemy. Weird.”

Plot wise, there’s not a lot of places this novel can go what with a heavily pregnant Charley stuck inside a convent. So there’s Cookie’s wedding, lots of gross sex, and a heavy dose of evil stepmother realness that requires family therapy sessions. But there’s literally almost none of the things that made me love this series in the first place: Charley Davidson, the P.I. with strange ghosts hanging around, and mysteries to solve. Save for one missing person’s case that felt flat and uninspired.

It seems, for a little while, that we’re building up to a big ending, with a showdown between Charley and Satan, who has escaped hell, but all we really get is 20 pages or so of this excitement and the rest is the other stuff I mentioned.

Hold on though, because there’s nothing about this giant mess of a book that can’t be fixed with a classic case of amnesia!

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If the next book doesn’t immediately start with an amnesiac Charley wondering why her vag is sore and looking like ground beef, I’m gonna be calling some bullshit.

Super disappointed with this one.

🔪🔪🔪

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