Much as I love Dexter, the charming serial killer on the TV show with the same name, I was skeptical when I was asked to read an advance copy of a book of essays by philosophers. Sure, I had edited my own book of essays about Dexter, but that was different – the contributors were psychologists.

The problem is, I’m bad at philosophy. I can’t document this by telling you about getting bad grades in philosophy courses, because I never took any. I just find the writing (well, the little I have read of it) somewhere between dense and baffling.

Nonetheless, I agreed to take a look at the book. I was so happy I did! Turns out that no one – not even a pack of philosophers – can remain stuffy, aloof, and abstract when smitten by our dear Dexter. These essays about good and evil, absolution and blame, self-knowledge and obliviousness, are bloody, good fun.