Death brought me to True Blood and Charlaine Harris’ Sookie Stackhouse novels. I had a very sweet and beautiful childhood friend who loved the TV series, and never missed it. Before brain cancer finally claimed her, she was responsible for introducing True Blood to a lot of her friends.
Lisa and I were both from north Louisiana, the location, supposedly of the TV series and novels. I just couldn’t make myself watch another badly researched Hollywood version of my state. When Lisa passed away, she left us so quietly that her friends were stunned. No fancy funeral and flowers for her, but a simple goodbye and she was gone.
I was left needing “to do something, anything” to mark her passing, and so Sookie finally showed up on my Nook. Note that I did not want her there, but Sookie was a connection to Lisa. I read all the books, rolling my eyes at how Louisiana geography and culture was turned on its ear.
North and south Louisiana were defined and divided by language and culture for hundreds of years. In the north, it was Scots, Irish, English, African Americans, and displaced Native Americans. To the south were French Creole, Acadians (Cajuns), Spanish, Irish, German, Sicilians, Italians, Native Americans, and African Americans. The Acadians, having been expelled from Canada by the English, settled in south Louisiana, and evolved into the Cajun culture. Note: they had the sense to stay in south Louisiana where there was abundant seafood, fertile land, and good hunting.
True Blood and the Sookie Stackhouse novels annoyed the crap out of me with their geography and cultural issues, but those were the least of their problems. After the first season, the television writers went off on a tangent of keeping alive characters killed off in the books, minimizing the interesting characters (IMHO), and dragging hopeful book readers along until they realized the Eric-Sookie love story arc had been shoved aside.
By the time Harris had finished the Sookie Stackhouse series, having gotten death threats by thwarted crazies, we readers knew the Eric-Sookie situation was not going to happen the way we needed it to go. Between fairies, werewolves, werepanthers, angry witches, and minor characters taking over the show, I gave up on True Blood.
I wanted to see Eric and Sookie have the passionate relationship the books told, without the last book’s story arc and that damned Queen of Oklahoma. The fans of the series desperately wanted volcanic passion between our favorite Viking vampire and the waitress from Nowheresville. Year after year we were thwarted.
Now the series is down to one episode, and I’m not biting. Too much disappointment in the previous five years, too much knowledge of what could’ve been, not enough interest in Hoyt, Jessica, Lafayette, Arlene brought me there.
My youngest son came home from work last night, and asked why I was watching the first season of “Once Upon a Time”. I muttered back something about Jamie Dornan under my breath. My interest in that show took a huge nosedive when they killed him off. Who in their right mind kills off a hot sheriff? (I’m starting to see a pattern here about my taste in paranormal heroes). I watched right up to the moment when Regina crushed the life out of him, waiting for a magic regeneration spell that never happened. Last night found me looking for something interesting to watch while the menfolk were out. Despite it being True Blood night, I was watching Netflicks and ogling Dornan.
Now, while I ignore the bloated, rotting corpse of True Blood, my mind is now on “Outlander”. My heart hopes it stays true to Jamie and Claire. Common sense says the movie/series is never as good as the book, but I’m still hopeful after episode 2. Lisa would’ve been plastered to her tv watching Outlander, and comparing book notes and scene nuances with her friends.
Lisa, I know you’re in Heaven and keeping tabs on your old shows. When True Blood ends, I’ll be saying goodbye to you again, but in my heart we’ll be discussing how Eric should’ve gotten the girl. As it should’ve been in a romantic, messy, happy ending that we all deserve. Alexander Skarsgard in his most erotic and beautiful finest hour. Maybe you’re writing fan fiction up there, Lisa. If you are, I hope you’re rewriting the story arc of True Blood. Miss you.