previous post, I mentioned how much I loathed Jackson Pearce's Sisters Red, a contemporary retelling of Little Red Riding Hood, featuring two sisters who become werewolf hunters after their grandmother is attacked and killed by one.
I suggested I might blog about it eventually, but I couldn't really say it any better than the Book Smugglers did in their recent review.
I wanted to like this novel. Really, I did. It had some clever twists: the address of the apartment building the characters live in is "333," a reference to LRRH's tale-type number (AT 333), and the werewolves are called the fenris, from the Old Norse word for wolf. Plus, I get that LRRH has always been either implicitly or explicitly sexual. Just do a Google search for LRRH images to see how adult and tarty LRRH often appears, or read this version of the tale.
But does that mean the LRRH figure actually has to dress up like a hooker and go out deliberately trying to draw wolves to her?
Thanks, but I prefer my "girl power" a little less girly. And a whole lot less creepy.
Sisters Red is book I almost put down (nay, almost threw across the room) several times. I haven't had that feeling about a book in a long time.
Unfortunately, I'm one of those people who sort of feels compelled to finish a book once I've gotten through a significant chunk of it. I'm curious: do you all share that feeling, or are you perfectly OK with never finishing a book that you've decided you don't like...even if you've gotten more than halfway through it?
Artwork: WPA poster by Kenneth Whitley (1939)