This book was horrifying, and not in the way in which it was supposed to be. Hannibal is so poorly written that, for the first few chapters, I thought I'd been sent the unedited galleys of the novel by mistake. Harris moves back and forth through tenses more fluidly than Dr. Lecter's knife through one of his victim's gut. It's like the author couldn't decide if he was writing a schlocky screenplay or a novel. What's missing here is a serial killer, and the thrill of the chase - the most interesting thing in "Dragon" and "Lambs" was the suspense, the not-knowing what the hell was going to happen next. Even if you can overlook Harris's amateur prose, the plot is nearly non-existent. I'm going to have to reevaluate my respect for Stephen King (accident notwithstanding) after his praise for this novel in the NYTimes. By the time this book was over, I felt I'd been worked over by Mason Verger's swine. This book sucks.