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From my take on the series as a whole earlier this month: The book to this point is about a knife's-edge balance of opposing forces that's tipping into pandemonium (and looks to take that first fatal step in the very next issue).
So. My three-word review?
Oh. Holy. Shit.
This is not the HOLY SHIT you yell when Hughie accidentally kills the Blarney Cock or when Butcher systematically dismembers Payback for threatening Terror. That's a reaction of fright and alarm. This reaction is of horror, cold, lingering horror, not just of death, not just of two deaths, but the icy realization that the man asking the question in a detached, impersonal, barely-present tone at the end of the book is no longer in control -- "It ain't me, son. I'm somewhere else watchin' it happen." -- and is taking that knife's edge in his hands and murdering one of the Seven with it, preventing him from speaking his magical invulnerability word, preventing him from speaking any would that would clear him for the casualties the Boys have taken.
This is a cry of despair, not panic, not alarm. The abyss yawns underneath, waiting to consume them all -- to this point they've long held a truce, but with these losses, will either side be satisfied until more blood is paid? And if not, is this really the begin of the end? Of the Seven, of the Boys, of Vought, of the President, of everyone?
Oh, the puir wee dug. I can't blame Butcher for his...quiet rage. I only worry in that taking the knife to Jack doesn't let him plead innocence, if that even would've mattered at that point. Someone had to die, and it might as well have been him.
But God, the desolation of his questions -- "Why'd you kill me dog, Jack?" asked long after it was established Jack would never speak again -- repeated through the night.... The terrifying moving force of the series is suddenly in a place he's never gone before, and when/if he comes back, the rules are going to change again.
Who's next?
So. My three-word review?
Oh. Holy. Shit.
This is not the HOLY SHIT you yell when Hughie accidentally kills the Blarney Cock or when Butcher systematically dismembers Payback for threatening Terror. That's a reaction of fright and alarm. This reaction is of horror, cold, lingering horror, not just of death, not just of two deaths, but the icy realization that the man asking the question in a detached, impersonal, barely-present tone at the end of the book is no longer in control -- "It ain't me, son. I'm somewhere else watchin' it happen." -- and is taking that knife's edge in his hands and murdering one of the Seven with it, preventing him from speaking his magical invulnerability word, preventing him from speaking any would that would clear him for the casualties the Boys have taken.
This is a cry of despair, not panic, not alarm. The abyss yawns underneath, waiting to consume them all -- to this point they've long held a truce, but with these losses, will either side be satisfied until more blood is paid? And if not, is this really the begin of the end? Of the Seven, of the Boys, of Vought, of the President, of everyone?
Oh, the puir wee dug. I can't blame Butcher for his...quiet rage. I only worry in that taking the knife to Jack doesn't let him plead innocence, if that even would've mattered at that point. Someone had to die, and it might as well have been him.
But God, the desolation of his questions -- "Why'd you kill me dog, Jack?" asked long after it was established Jack would never speak again -- repeated through the night.... The terrifying moving force of the series is suddenly in a place he's never gone before, and when/if he comes back, the rules are going to change again.
Who's next?