I'm really surprised and a little miffed at myself for not revisiting this series. I had it waiting for years, but another book always pushed it out of the way. Well I finally rectified that. 
 I always wanted to compare this to Dexter, but I was continually disappointed by John's lack of real charm. Fortunately, the mysteries are all quite good and who doesn't like a little demon hunting? The plots aren't that predictable, and these read very well. I have to say that I may have underestimated them all based on some imaginary torch illuminating all heroic sociopaths. If I recall correctly, even the Dexter books weren't quite as polished as I'd have liked them to be. 
 For John, though, my problem isn't in how he's written, but with what he was. And I mean was. He has changed, and I actually think there's hope. My issue with the books wasn't for the writing or the story or the characters. My issue was with myself being squeemish. I give props for any novel that can put me deep into the shoes of a monster. 
 I can name tons of books that have done so in the past, of course, but this one really stands out.