Blah blah blah superspecial street rat illicit clairvoyant blah blah walled city in abandoned Oxford University for no particular reason blah blah enslaved to some 200-year-old brooding vampire prince with a tragic past from another dimension [no really — REALLY! Stop laughing!] blah blah blah Stockholm Syndrome blah blah seven-book series that I just don’t have time to invest in. The author thinks that world-building means using outmoded Edwardian slang, making up new words for everything and using stupid abbreviations. There’s an interesting concept somewhere in there, but it’s lost under the jerky pacing and teeming cast of disposable characters without discernible inner lives. Wait…why am I reading this again? Again, it doesn’t piss me off; it just disappoints me.

Verdict:

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