“It sets the bar for excellence low and then wickedly walks along it, asking no more from readers than a few minutes of humorous and mild-suspense distraction.”

Storm Front, the first of the Dresden files, is bottom line semi-harmless fun, enjoying itself so much in its nonsense hybridizing of noir detective thrillers and modern supernatural fantasy that it can’t help throw in the most absurd concept (stalked by giant scorpions in the city) alongside some of the darkest and grim scenes (hearts exploding in mid-coitus). 

In a “trust no-one” environment, readers learn these new rules of magic, these new takes on old stereotypes, as our “hero” works to solve the murders (and, ultimately of course, to save himself). I use the term advisedly because wizard/womanizer Harry Dresden is not just a little misanthropic; enjoying his first-person narration is easy, if at times stand offish, and he makes enough mistakes that result in hair’s breadth close calls that we can’t help but root for him, anyway.  

Unsurprisingly, he is joined by a very predictable cadre: the hard-nosed inspector, one or more elusive but seductive young women, a wise-cracking sidekick (this time a skull-trapped spirit guide), and a magical rival looking to ruin his unusual career. And, also without any surprise, every predictable thriller beat is hit with such metronomic precision (brief cliff-hanging chapters that scenically form acts of pinch points and stake-raising) that–if it were not Butcher’s entertaining protagonist and tongue-in-cheek noir play, would bore us very quickly. 

It’s easy to understand the popularity of the series. It sets the bar for excellence low and then wickedly walks along it, asking no more from readers than a few minutes of humorous and mild-suspense distraction. That we could see its final twists and showdown before our hero is no skin off Butcher, at that point. No harm, no foul.