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What is it with modern paranormal books and the obsession with some subcategory of creature "shimmering"? Why do we need exhaustive descriptions of every smell? Why do we need to sit through long-winded exchanges between two individuals, with zero action going on? How many different ways can we describe eye contact? How many adverbs can exist on a single page? How many times has an otherwordly creature watched someone sleep? Why is every female character with an ounce of something special obligated to resist the something special for silly reasons that make zero sense?

Seriously: this book is utterly exhausting. 200 pages in I felt like I was reading "Twilight" all over again, except it takes longer for the damsel in distress to meet the family, and there's a dash of "The Historian" tossed in the mix. Within this first 200 pages 100 pages could have easily been edited out. We don't really need to know how many pairs of black pants the woman has, we don't need every single trip to the library, we don't need to know every detail of her trip to the market to make a 4,000 calorie dinner for one vampire that doesn't eat and an inexplicably thin witch, and we don't need supernatural yoga to exist on any planet, at any time, at all. And since this isn't a young adult novel and this is supposed to be a grown woman of almost 40, why isn't she getting it on with the vampire? Why doesn't anything ache? Maybe all her shimmering sloughs off all the signs of age and any feelings of urgency towards, you know, sex. Next time I feel inclination towards a best selling, I'm reaching for Harry Potter again.