Every time a new Anita Blake book comes out, you get fans squealing, “The old Anita is back!” And she never is. Sure, she might brandish a gun or spend six chapters arguing with an authority figure, but it never amounts to anything.
Dead Ice…. is the closest the series has come to its glory days since the shitstorm trilogy of Narcissus in Chains, Cerulean Sins and Incubus Dreams. But that still gives us a short story’s worth of actual quality, along with endless furry politics, tacky wedding plans, jabs at superior writers, misogyny, homophobia, and an attempted assassination that leads absolutely nowhere.
In other words, a perfect storm of crap that is just good enough to make you frustrated.
And in case you’re wondering, no, the cover has nothing to do with the contents. Nobody gets frozen. At all. It’s almost like the publisher has just given up.