I usually try not to spread bad vibes -- what's the point, really? -- but so much great stuff was written about this one on its jacket that I have to vent my disappointment somewhere.When characters are rendered vibrantly, you can "hear" who's talking without the author having to say it. Here, even with Harris telling you, the voices -- save Lecter -- are indistinguishable on any but the most superficial (and artificial) level.Every character is a caricature of type. It's expected to have its monsters of course, but a disfigured "Christian" who makes underpriveleged children cry and then swabs their tears to add to his martinis? Puh-leeez...No worse, but certainly no better, than a lot of others.