Night Chills by Dean Koontz
My rating: 2 of 5 stars
To the greatest extent possible, I need you, the reader, to appreciate how fantastic this paperback actually smells. These old Berkley-Koontz books have a distinctly woody aroma. Less of a vanilla smell and more of a damp pine scent. Like walking through a Christmas tree farm after a heavy rain.
Koontz is the author you cut your teeth on before moving on to more serious writers. This is more of an observation than an outright criticism of Koontz, but I believe he has been writing and then re-writing the same books since sometime around the mid-eighties.
Which leaves me to wonder: How much of his work did I ever really truly enjoy? It's an intimidating thought.
I’m legitimately apprehensive about going back and re-reading some of his previous novels I enjoyed when I was younger from fear that I will hate them, which is a genuine concern since anytime I’ve read, even his more recent work, I’ve disliked them immensely. Theres also the possibility of being confronted with the idea that maybe I’ve built up a fabricated fandom based on my own subjective edits.
This book is unequivocally middle-ground Koontz. It has everything we love and everything we hate about him. It even has a fairy tale ending, a fairy tale where lives are partially or totally ruined forever and innocent people die, but it all works out in the end and it happens with the literal turn of a page.
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