In theory, I really like urban fantasy as a genre. In practice, it’s often just a rather thin veneer of urban fantasy over a thick nougat of romance novel.
Even good series like the Patricia Briggs “Mercy Thompson” and the Ilona Andrews “Kate Daniels” books have way too much, “Oooh, he’s a sexy werebeast! Rarr!” in them.
I don’t mind romantic sub-plots. I don’t mind realistic (even just a little realistic, please!) romance at all, but I hate the romance novel idea of what love is–where she is either irresistible to all men or some mousy introvert who has never had a date and he is gorgeous and violent and overpowering and MUST HAVE HER NO MATTER WHAT! And in urban fantasy, he’s often dead.
Truth is, for me, there’s nothing remotely sexy about a vampire, a zombie, a werewolf, a demon, anything that is now or is occasionally dead, drinks blood, or transforms into something with more legs than two.
That appears to have left me with Jim Butcher and Carrie Vaughn.
Am I alone? Am I out of luck? Am I just too weird? Fine! But recommend me books anyway!