Dexter, Dickens and Drood

Three seasons out, and Dexter is still finding new direction for our favorite sociopath. This week’s daring escapade was fun, and the ADA’s reaction to finding out that Dexter had lied about where the execution would take place was amusing. A smile that acknowledged what he knew of Dexter’s personality. I still think his days are numbered.

I was surprised by the vote on Survivor this week. Some of the strongest players are getting axed. The decision about what to do with the new immunity idol was interesting, too. Too bad someone didn’t have sleight-of-hand skills—it would be wild if one of them palmed the idol at the last moment instead of sending it out to sea.

I like the new girl on C.S.I., Lauren Lee Smith, playing Riley Adams. She has interesting teeth. And she’s Canadian. And yay for Lady Heather. The scenes with her and Gris (and about Sara) are the reason why the Vegas show outshines the spinoffs.

I thought it was going to take me a long time to read Drood (it’s a big book, over 750 pages, and dense reading) but I ended up having a lot of time to read these past couple of days and I finished it this afternoon. Though it took me a while to get into the book, I’d say about 100 pages, I really got into it after a while, and I really appreciate what Simmons is doing here. Though the book is, on the surface, about the mysterious Edwin Drood, it’s really about the relationship between Dickens and Wilkie Collins, the narrator. During their lifetimes, Dickens was a mentor to Collins, edited him, published some of his books. At times (according to Collins, who is an unreliable narrator to say the least), Collins’s books were more popular than Dickens’s, but today it is Dickens we remember, something Collins seems to be aware of. In his book tours after Dickens dies, Collins is a novelty only because he was a friend of the more famous author. I cottoned onto one of the book’s main secrets early on, but the book is easily enjoyed even if the truth is suspected. It is a very Dickensian story, rife with the kinds of tricks Dickens used to string readers along, and delving into the schism between the lowliest of the low and the London elite. A story of jealousy and the somewhat randomness of fame. A book about people who make things up for a living—not consciously metafictional, but perhaps subconsciously. Plus mesmerism, Egyptian cabals, late-night visits to cemeteries and rampant drug use. This is a sophisticated book that might have a hard time finding an audience but I found it well worth the voyage.