A Few Nagging Questions From Last Night's 'True Blood' Finale

by Joan Raymond

Last night's sophomore year finale of HBO's True Blood, the summer's most talked-about show, did exactly what it was supposed to do. It made me want season three to start next Sunday night. But it's going to be nine whole months until my beloved vampires, shifters, and Bon Temp townies get together for some beer or blood down at Merlotte's, which has to be the coolest bar. Ever. As far as finales go, Beyond Here Lies Nothin'' did wrap up the season's major story arc in typical gory, campy True Blood fashion. (Bye, MaryAnn. It was fun.) But like all good serials, it  left me with a few nagging questions, all of which are making my head hurt and my eyes go all crazy black like I'm one of MaryAnn's minions. (Spoilers ahead!)

First, if Sookie is immune to the thrall of MaryAnn, why did Jason's eyes go all black? I mean, he and Sookie are brother and sister. Right?

Is Andy going to be able to stay off the sauce? Let's get real. Remembering that you saw your friends and colleagues naked and sex-crazed can be stressful. So is providing a cover story for Jason, who shot Eggs, who I think really wanted to commit suicide-by-cop.

Where did Jason run off to? And what kind of trouble is he going to find in those woods?

And oh, Jessica, sweet Jessica. Are you really going to let a breakup with a boyfriend turn you into a truck-stop trolling, bloodthirsty vampire wench who plays the virgin card? Noooooo.

Why is the Queen the kingpin (or is it queenpin?) behind the sale of vampire blood? Does she have some Yahtzee gambling debts? Is that art-deco palace near foreclosure? Is it really possible that she made Eric look small last night? And why not more Eric last night?

And even more important, is it possible that I'm finally understanding Bill's allure? He was smart, brave, chivalrous, and romantic. And his proposal to Sookie was gushingly sweet. So it only stands to reason that while Sookie was contemplating her future in that French bistro powder room, some black-gloved lunatic used a silver chain as a garrote and dragged Bill off to who knows where. Was it Lorena, his maker? Some Fellowship of the Sun wacko? Was that one of the nicest engagement rings you ever saw?

Readers of the Charlaine Harris novels might know some of the answers to these burning (they morphed from nagging) questions. (Oh, yikes, I just thought of another one: is Sam going to find his real parents?) But, remember, this is a loose adaptation, and Alan Ball and his merry band of writers can take us most anywhere. Which means that if my head doesn't explode today, it may during season three, episode one, next June. I can hardly wait.