Dexter en la oscuridad Jeff Lindsay Dexter Morgan no soporta la sangre. Curiosa mania para un forense del Departamento de Policia de Miami. Mas teniendo en cuenta que Dexter aprovecha las noches de luna llena para cortar en pedacitos a otros como el, asesinos en serie que han escapado a la accion de la justicia. Pero es posible que a partir de ahora su vida de un giro decisivo.

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There was plenty to see, as always, and IT was in no hurry. IT had done this many time before, and would do so again, endlessly and forever. That was what IT was for. Right now there were so many different choices to consider, and no reason to do anything but consider them until the right one was clear.

And then IT would start again, gather the faithful, give them their bright miracle, and IT would feel once more the wonder Far above the aimless scurrying of the city IT watched, and IT waited. And then IT would start again, gather the faithful, give them their bright miracle, and IT would feel once more the wonder and joy and swelling rightness of their pain.

All that would come again. It was just a matter of waiting for the right moment. And IT had all the time in the world. Michael C. Hall plays Dexter Jeff Lindsay really put a lot of noses out of joint with this one. He has fans of the show and fans of the previous two books to please and this one just hit a jarring note with a lot of people. It is similar to being strapped to a board with duct tape and you open your eyes to find there is a menacing serial killer standing over you with a bloody scalpel.

You make the connection that it is your blood on that scalpel. You pass out. You come back to consciousness when he starts slicing and dicing You scream.

You negotiate. He laughs, soaking up your terror like an extra large roll of Downy paper towels, and then before he really starts going to work on removing some appendages or organs he just lets you go. You feel relief as you stumble down the middle of a four lane road in Miami dripping blood hoping someone will stop before you become a hood ornament on a Kenworth supercab. You feel oddly let down. In this third installment Lindsay chose to instill a supernatural element to the life and times of Dexter Morgan.

Readers were upset, with feelings ranging from betrayal to outrage. I was fortunate enough to have Jeff Lindsay sign my run of Dexter books. For the first time in his life this constant companion, this trusted advisor, disappears leaving him feeling empty like a body without a soul. He is having disturbing dreams for the first time in his life. If it was crying out in pain at the threat of abandonment, I knew exactly what it feared losing: the Dark Passenger.

That was the fear behind the dream: losing the thing that had been so very much a part of me, and actually defined me, for my whole life.

That would have to mean that the roaring thump of my heart, the parching of my mouth, and the sweat pouring out of my hands was no more than massive uneasiness. I did not enjoy the feeling. I was no longer the Knight of the Knife. My blade and my armor were in some subbasement of the castle, and I was on the field of battle without them, a suddenly soft and tasty victim, and for no reason I could name I was sure that something had my scent in its ravening nostrils.

Dexter is also in the middle of wedding plans, all part of his overall scheme to appear normal. The children of his bride, Cody and Astor are far from normal kids. In fact they too have shadows that drive them to want to inflict pain.

He feels pressured to teach them the code of Harry, but like all kids they are impatient to skip the work and get to the fun. Dexter, without the reassuring presence of his Dark Passenger feels his life unraveling.

He becomes the main focus of something known as IT, something that was around in the days of Solomon, something so powerful so fear inspiring that Dexter finds himself being controlled and helpless to escape. I was not as bothered by the supernatural elements as much as other readers were because I feel that any perception made by a human being can seem supernatural. The whole idea of Voodoo is that it only works if people believe that it can.

I think the same idea can be applied to the cult of Moloch that wrecks so much havoc on poor Dexter in this novel. Half of a forty-foot sports fisherman lay on the beach at a crazy angle, and the pine trees inland of the beach were hung with chunks of Styrofoam, tattered cloth, and wispy shreds of plastic sheeting and garbage bags. Other than that, it was just the way the Native Americans had left it, a peaceful little chunk of land covered with Australian pines, condoms, and beer cans.


Dexter en la oscuridad






Jeff Lindsay


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