I read one Dean Koontz book a few years back, "Phantoms". I liked the beginning but like most horror films and books.... they're hard to end decisively. The early terrors seem to be silly at a book or movie's conclusion.
I am not familiar with Koontz's style. I listened to a podcast where a scholar of some stripe made the comment that he likes Koontz better than King because you can tell Koontz doesn't hate people... while you can tell that King does.
More than a few people suggested I read Odd Thomas. I wasn't particularly keen on reading it (the first book) but I'm very glad they suggested it. For a horror writer Koontz prose is something else. It's enjoyable to read.
I had some notion of Koontz being a flimsy writer, which I'll write off to my snobbery prejudice.
But his writing in this book, on more than a few occasions, has given me moments of pause because of the simplicity of phrasing:
Quote:
The dead are sensitive to the living. They have walked this path ahead of us and know our fears, our failings, our desperate hopes, and how much we cherish what cannot last. They pity us, I think, and no doubt they should
Regarding a young man who fixed up a Pontiac Firebird:
Quote:
He devoted much time, labor, and money to the Firebird because the beauty of its design and function enchanted him.
This was a labor of the heart, a passion almost spiritual in its purity and intensity.
I sometimes thought the Pontiac figured so large in Harlo's life because he had no one to whom he could give the love that he lavished on the car. His mom died when he was six. His dad was a mean drunk.
A car can't return the love you give it. But if you're lonely enough, maybe the sparkle of the chrome, the luster of the paint, and the purr of the engine can be mistaken for affection.
What's crazy... is that this description of a man is for someone who in the very next chapter turns out to be a very bad person.
Koontz doesn't hate people