Cover image for Darkly dreaming Dexter
Title:
Darkly dreaming Dexter
Author:
Lindsay, Jeffry P.
Personal Author:
Publication Information:
Prince Frederick, MD : Recorded Books, [2004]

â„—2004
Physical Description:
7 audio discs (8.25 hr.) : digital ; 4 3/4 in.
General Note:
Compact discs.

Unabridged.
Language:
English
Added Author:
ISBN:
9781402596322
Format :
Audiobook on CD

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Summary

Summary

Darkly Dreaming Dexter


Author Notes

Jeff Lindsay was born Jeffry P. Freundlich on July 14, 1952 in Miami, Florida. He graduated from Middlebury College in Vermont in 1975. He is best known for his novels about sociopathetic vigilante Dexter Morgan. The first book in the Dexter series, Darkly Dreaming Dexter, was published in 2004 and was the basis of the Showtime TV series Dexter. His other works include Tropical Depression: A Novel of Suspense, Dream Land: A Novel of the UFO Coverup, Time Blender and Dreamchild.

(Bowker Author Biography)


Reviews 3

Booklist Review

After finishing this debut novel, readers will have only one thing to say: wow! This is a mystery about the efforts of the Miami police to capture a serial killer who cuts up the bodies of his victims. One police officer, Deborah Morgan, is hoping that her participation in the investigation will help her make the leap from Vice to Homicide. Meanwhile, her adopted brother, Dexter, a blood-spatter expert who works for the police department, feeds her information about the case that he hopes will help her. Oh, and did we say that Dexter narrates the novel? And did we mention that Dexter is also a serial killer? (But not the serial killer his sister is trying to catch.) Dexter, a likable fellow on the surface, firmly in touch with his own inhumanity, is one of the genre's most original, compelling characters to appear in years. He makes a fascinating narrator, appealing, articulate, and ghoulish all at the same time. He is probably not the type of guy you could build a series around, but, oh boy, does he make an impression. Long after readers finish this gripping novel, they will still be thinking (or dreaming) about Dexter. --David Pitt Copyright 2004 Booklist


Publisher's Weekly Review

Miami blood spatter specialist Dexter Morgan is not your average monster. He occasionally gives in to the impulse to kill in order to satisfy the Dark Passenger inside his brain, but he's much more well-adjusted than the label "serial killer" implies. He has a girlfriend, a sense of humor and, thanks to the loving tutelage of his cop foster father, he dismembers only other serial killers. But his self-control is sorely tested when he agrees to help his sister, a vice cop, solve a string of murders so bizarre, and yet so familiar, that he seriously starts to wonder if he is committing them in his sleep. Voiceover artist Landrum does a superb job conveying Dexter's witty first-person narration; he seems to embody "quirky, funny, happy-go-lucky, dead-inside Dexter." With his nimble vocal chords, he also has no trouble giving voice to the story's female characters and affecting an authentic-sounding Cuban accent for the incompetent homicide detective assigned to the case. Perhaps Landrum's finest feat, however, is the chill-inducing voice he adopts for Dexter's Dark Passenger, which underscores Dexter's transformations from charming neighborhood killer into inhuman predator. Refreshingly original and expertly narrated, this audiobook should be required listening for all thriller aficionados. Simultaneous release with the Doubleday hardcover (Forecasts, Apr. 19). (July) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved


Library Journal Review

Dorothy Parker once wrote, "If I had a shiny gun/ I could have a world of fun/ Speeding bullets through the brains/ Of the folks that cause me pains." If that make you grin, you'll love Lindsay's new twist on the slasher novel. Dexter Morgan is a blood-spatter expert for the Miami Police with an uncanny knack for criminal profiling. Is he tormented by some dark affinity with the evil that men do? Not a bit. He's a very accomplished serial killer himself. Dexter's pragmatic foster dad recognized the boy's homicidal tendencies and channeled them toward a cautious and constructive vigilantism. Helping solve crimes by day and tidily filleting the worst kind of predators by moonlight, our friendly neighborhood sociopath is doing well until a new killer, who has perfected Dexter's modus operandi, surfaces. Dexter finds his carefully balanced double life rocked by strange new feelings of rivalry and kinship. With his charming, morbid wit and compelling candor, Dexter is a less pompous Lestat. Indeed, Lindsay brings the same refreshing ebullience to serial killers that Anne Rice once brought to vampires. A macabre gem that will appeal to more than just the Thomas Harris crowd; highly recommended.-David Wright, Seattle P.L. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.


Excerpts

Excerpts

CHAPTER 1 Moon. Glorious moon. Full, fat, reddish moon, the night as light as day, the moonlight flooding down across the land and bringing joy, joy, joy. Bringing too the full-throated call of the tropical night, the soft and wild voice of the wind roaring through the hairs on your arm, the hollow wail of starlight, the teeth-grinding bellow of the moonlight off the water. All calling to the Need. Oh, the symphonic shriek of the thousand hiding voices, the cry of the Need inside, the entity, the silent watcher, the cold quiet thing, the one that laughs, the Moondancer. The me that was not-me, the thing that mocked and laughed and came calling with its hunger. With the Need. And the Need was very strong now, very careful cold coiled creeping crackly cocked and ready, very strong, very much ready now--and still it waited and watched, and it made me wait and watch. I had been waiting and watching the priest for five weeks now. The Need had been prickling and teasing and prodding at me to find one, find the next, find this priest. For three weeks I had known he was it, he was next, we belonged to the Dark Passenger, he and I together. And that three weeks I had spent fighting the pressure, the growing Need, rising in me like a great wave that roars up and over the beach and does not recede, only swells more with every tick of the bright night's clock. But it was careful time, too, time spent making sure. Not making sure of the priest, no, I was long sure of him. Time spent to be certain that it could be done right, made neat, all the corners folded, all squared away. I could not be caught, not now. I had worked too hard, too long, to make this work for me, to protect my happy little life. And I was having too much fun to stop now. And so I was always careful. Always tidy. Always prepared ahead of time so it would be right. And when it was right, take extra time to be sure. It was the Harry way, God bless him, that farsighted perfect policeman, my foster father. Always be sure, be careful, be exact, he had said, and for a week now I had been sure that everything was just as Harry-right as it could be. And when I left work this night, I knew this was it. This night was the Night. This night felt different. This night it would happen, had to happen. Just as it had happened before. Just as it would happen again, and again. And tonight it would happen to the priest. His name was Father Donovan. He taught music to the children at St. Anthony's Orphanage in Homestead, Florida. The children loved him. And of course he loved the children, oh very much indeed. He had devoted a whole life to them. Learned Creole and Spanish. Learned their music, too. All for the kids. Everything he did, it was all for the kids. Everything. I watched him this night as I had watched for so many nights now. Watched as he paused in the orphanage doorway to talk to a young black girl who had followed him out. She was small, no more than eight years old and small for that. He sat on the steps and talked to her for five minutes. She sat, too, and bounced up and down. They laughed. She leaned against him. He touched her hair. A nun came out and stood in the doorway, looking down at them for a moment before she spoke. Then she smiled and held out a hand. The girl bumped her head against the priest. Father Donovan hugged her, stood, and kissed the girl good night. The nun laughed and said something to Father Donovan. He said something back. And then he started toward his car. Finally: I coiled myself to strike and-- Not yet. A janitorial service minivan stood fifteen feet from the door. As Father Donovan passed it, the side door slid open. A man leaned out, puffing on a cigarette, and greeted the priest, who leaned against the van and talked to the man. Luck. Luck again. Always luck on these Nights. I had not seen the man, not guessed he was there. But he would have see Excerpted from Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.