Noir meets slapstick meets Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Still enjoying Harry’s deadpan humor, charming self-deprecation, and non-stop adventures, but most of all I love how he actually or nearly throws up in every book. I also enjoy reading his recipes for his potions: straight outta America’s Test Kitchen complete with a “we wanted to” style intro:
In this case, I wanted something that would offset the venomous saliva of the Red Court vampires, a narcotic that rendered those exposed to it passively euphoric. I needed a potion that would ruin the pleasurable sensations of the poison. I used stale coffee as my base ingredient. To that I added hairs from a skunk, for scent. A small square of sandpaper for touch. I tossed in a small photo of Meat Loaf, cut from a magazine, for sight. A rooster’s crow I’d stored in a small quartz crystal went in for hearing, and a powdered aspirin for taste. I cut the surgeon general’s warning label from a pack of cigarettes and chopped it fine to add in for the mind, and then lit a stick of the incense I sometimes used while meditating and wafted some of the smoke into the two bottles for the spirit. Once the potions were bubbling over a burner, I drew in my wearied will and released power into the mixes, suffusing them with energy. They fizzed and frothed with gratifying enthusiasm. I let them simmer for a while, then took them from the fire and emptied them into a pair of small sports- drink bottles. After that, I slumped on a stool and waited for Bob to come home.