Dean Koontz
Author of Odd Thomas
About the Author
Dean Koontz was born on July 9, 1945 in Everett, Pennsylvania. He received a degree in education from Shippensburg State College in 1967. A former high school English teacher as well as a teacher-counselor with the Appalachian Poverty Program, he began writing as a child to escape an ugly home life show more caused by his alcoholic father. A prolific writer at a young age, he had sold a dozen novels by the age of 25. Early in his career, he wrote under numerous pen names including David Axton, Brian Coffey, K. R. Dwyer, Leigh Nichols, Richard Paige, and Owen West. He is best known for the books written under his own name, many of which are bestsellers, including Midnight, Cold Fire, The Bad Place, Hideaway, The Husband, Odd Hours, 77 Shadow Street, Innocence, The City, Saint Odd, and The Silent Corner. (Bowker Author Biography) show less
Series
Works by Dean Koontz
Frankenstein: Prodigal Son / City of Night / Dead and Alive / Lost Souls / The Dead Town (2010) 51 copies
The Snake Eaters: An Unlikely Band of Brothers and the Battle for the Soul of Iraq (2012) 38 copies, 1 review
The Complete Odd Thomas 8-Book Bundle: Odd Thomas / Forever Odd / Brother Odd / Odd Hours / Odd Apocalypse / Odd Interlude / Deeply Odd / Saint Odd (2016) 33 copies
The Odd Thomas Series 4-Book Bundle: Odd Thomas / Forever Odd / Brother Odd / Odd Hours (2012) 22 copies, 1 review
Ride the Storm 13 copies
Dean Koontz Thriller Novella Collection: Darkness Under the Sun, Demon Seed, The Moonlit Mind (2014) 10 copies
Dean Koontz's Sole survivor. pt. 1 6 copies
The Odd Thomas Series 7-Book Bundle: Odd Thomas, Forever Odd, Brother Odd, Odd Hours, Odd Apocalypse, Odd Interlude, Deeply Odd (2014) 6 copies
Jumbo-10 il rinnegato 4 copies
The Odd Thomas Series 6-Book Bundle: Odd Thomas / Forever Odd / Brother Odd / Odd Hours / Odd Apocalypse / Odd Interlude (2013) 4 copies
Dean Koontz's Frankenstein 4 copies
Nameless 3 copies
The Manager 3 copies
Intrusos 3 copies
The Night of The Storm 2 copies
Chase / Down in the Darkness 2 copies
The Pig Society 2 copies
Hogueras Espectrales 2 copies
In the heat of the fire #1 2 copies
We Three {short story} 2 copies
Dark Rivers of the Heart / Door to December / Whispers / Eyes of Darkness / False Memory (1900) 2 copies
Frankenstein and Me 2 copies
Dean Koontz Collection: The Good Guy, By the Light of the Moon, Hideaway, Fear Nothing (2011) 2 copies
The Psychedelic Children [in] The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, July 1968 (1968) 2 copies
Nattens Ögon 2 copies
Shadow Fires 2 copies
Frankenstein 3 2 copies
Shadowfires / By the Light of the Moon / The Door to December / The Face / Fear Nothing / Cold Fire (2017) 2 copies
La autopista de la muerte 1 copy
Alucinogenia 1 copy
Čuvari 1 copy
Ääniä yössä 1 copy
Bay Katil 1 copy
Kittens 1 copy
Esconderijo 1 copy
ÇATIRTI 1 copy
A Semente do Diabo 1 copy
Twilight Of The Dawn 1 copy
We Three 1 copy
Ollie's Hands 1 copy
Brother Odd 1 copy
Dean R Koontz 1 copy
Frankenstein - 01 1 copy
In The Corner Of His Eye 1 copy
Frankenstein - 02 1 copy
Dark of Summer 1 copy
Bone Yard 1 copy
Les Passagers 1 copy
Entre el amor y el miedo 1 copy
Dean Koontz omnibus : Dean R 1 copy
Очи на темнината 1 copy
UCIGASI IN NUMELE DOMNULUI 1 copy
Yanlış Hafıza 1 copy
The Flesh in the furnace 1 copy
Estranhos 1 copy
Shadow Street 77. 1 copy
Nöbet 1 copy
Legacy Of Terror 1 copy
Le temps paralysé 1 copy
The House of Thunder *Own* 1 copy
Tensão no Gelo 1 copy
Hung 1 copy
The Damned 1 copy
O Marido 1 copy
A Flash of Green 1 copy
Darness Comes 1 copy
Aphrodisiac Girl 1 copy
Devoção 1 copy
Sălașul răului 1 copy
Kisa Acilan Kapi 1 copy
Parlor Trick 1 copy
The Bad Place, Volume 2 1 copy
Fear of Falling 1 copy
Koontz's 4-book JANE HAWK Series -- Silent Corner / Whispering Room / Crooked Staircase / Forbidden Door (2017) 1 copy
Muse 1 copy
Cosmic Sin [short story] 1 copy
Where the Beast Runs 1 copy
The Sinless Child 1 copy
The Art of Detection 1 copy
Red Dog Bait 1 copy
The Pace 1 copy
Hideaway / Lightning 1 copy
The Black Pumpkin 1 copy
3 Novel Set 1 copy
Website 1 copy
Black House 1 copy
Ο Παράξενος Αδελφός 1 copy
Meia-Noite 1 copy
Древният враг 1 copy
Shadowfires by Leigh Nichols 1 copy
Miss Attila the Hun 1 copy
Hardshell 1 copy
To Behold the Sun 1 copy
Caught Stealing (2004) 1 copy
Nascita dell'Anti-uomo 1 copy
Bright Shiny Morning 1 copy
Shock Wave 1 copy
Blood canticle 1 copy
Deadline 1 copy
A Nightmare Journey 1 copy
Il codice 1 copy
Visões 1 copy
A Casa do Mal 1 copy
Fogo Frio 1 copy
The Crooked Starcase 1 copy
Lágrimas de dragão 1 copy
Father's Day 1 copy
The Secret Forest 1 copy
Reader s Digest Auswahlbücher: Der Pferdefllüsterer / Eiszeit / Hochzeitsnacht / Unter Bäumen (1997) 1 copy
Dean Koontz Nevermore #2 1 copy
Odd Interlude Part 1 1 copy
A Third Hand 1 copy
The Twelfth Bed 1 copy
A Season for Freedom 1 copy
Dragon in the Land 1 copy
Associated Works
The Girl, the Gold Watch and Everything (1962) — Introduction, some editions — 511 copies, 12 reviews
Isaac Asimov's Wonderful Worlds of Science Fiction, Volume 3: Supermen (1984) — Contributor — 128 copies, 1 review
The Prentice Hall Anthology of Science Fiction and Fantasy (2000) — Contributor — 100 copies, 2 reviews
The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction July 1970, Vol. 39, No. 1 (1970) — Contributor — 18 copies
Australian Reader's Digest Select Editions: Under Orders • The Husband • Scared to Live • Orbit (2007) 16 copies, 1 review
Androids, Time Machines and Blue Giraffes: A Panorama of Science Fiction (1973) — Contributor — 13 copies, 1 review
Kauhupokkari 1 — Contributor — 11 copies
Livros Condensados: Sombras Sobre a Babilónia | O Caso do Bébé Brett | À Deriva no Árctico | O Regresso da Águia-Pesqueira (1996) — Author — 6 copies
Reader's Digest Condensed Books: A Place Called Freedom / Icebound / Hidden Riches / The Magic Bullet (1995) — Contributor — 5 copies
Libros Selectos ( El Pasado Secreto De Suzanne Reardon, Atrapados En El Hielo, Un Hogar Para Kathy, El Gato Que Atrapò Al Ladròn) (2001) — Contributor — 4 copies
Great Mysteries Great Writers: Lucky Day / Trapped / Pastime / Snagged / Dealer's Choice (1994) — Contributor — 4 copies
Det Bästas bokval. Volym 190. Mannen som kunde tala med hästar/ Isfällan/ Avslöjandet — Author — 2 copies
Kirjavaliot - Sateentekijä (The rainmaker)/ Jään kahleissa (Icebound) / Hiljaiset sillat (The bridges of Madison County) / Hääyö (Wedding night) (1997) — Author — 1 copy
Readers Digest Select Editions: The Final Judgement | Icebound | That Camden Summer | Wildfire (1997) — Author — 1 copy
Tagged
Common Knowledge
- Canonical name
- Koontz, Dean
- Legal name
- Koontz, Dean Ray
- Other names
- Coffey, Brian
Nichols, Leigh
West, Owen
Wolfe, Aaron
Axton, David
Dwyer, Deanna (show all 11)
Dwyer, K.R.
Hill, John
North, Anthony
Paige, Richard
Koontz, Dean R. - Birthdate
- 1945-07-09
- Gender
- male
- Education
- Shippensburg University of Pennsylvania (BA|1967)
- Occupations
- author
- Organizations
- Canine Companions for Independence
- Awards and honors
- World Horror Convention Grand Master Award (1996)
- Short biography
- Dean Ray Koontz (born July 9, 1945) is an American author. His novels are billed as suspense thrillers, but frequently incorporate elements of horror, fantasy, science fiction, mystery, and satire. Many of his books have appeared on The New York Times Best Seller list, with 14 hardcovers and 16 paperbacks reaching the number-one position. Koontz wrote under a number of pen names earlier in his career, including "David Axton", "Deanna Dwyer", "K.R. Dwyer", "Leigh Nichols" and "Brian Coffey". He has published over 105 novels, a number of novellas and collections of short stories, and has sold over 450 million copies of his work.
Koontz was born on July 9, 1945, in Everett, Pennsylvania, the son of Florence (née Logue) and Raymond Koontz. He has said that he was regularly beaten and abused by his alcoholic father, which influenced his later writing, as also did the courage of his physically diminutive mother in standing up to her husband. In his senior year at Shippensburg State College, he won a fiction competition sponsored by Atlantic Monthly magazine. After graduation in 1967, he went to work as an English teacher at Mechanicsburg High School in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania. In the 1960s, Koontz worked for the Appalachian Poverty Program, a federally funded initiative designed to help poor children. In a 1996 interview with Reason magazine, he said that while the program sounded "very noble and wonderful, ... in reality, it was a dumping ground for violent children ... and most of the funding ended up 'disappearing somewhere.'" This experience greatly shaped Koontz's political outlook. In his book, The Dean Koontz Companion, he recalled that he
"... realized that most of these programs are not meant to help anyone, merely to control people and make them dependent. I was forced to reconsider everything I'd once believed. I developed a profound distrust of government regardless of the philosophy of the people in power. I remained a liberal on civil-rights issues, became a conservative on defense, and a semi-libertarian on all other matters." - Nationality
- USA
- Birthplace
- Everett, Pennsylvania, USA
- Places of residence
- Newport Beach, California, USA
- Associated Place (for map)
- USA
Members
Discussions
Found: Fluffy creatures with colorful eyes in Name that Book (April 2025)
Auntie Man in Good Show Sir! — bad science fiction and fantasy covers (March 2025)
Found: Action -brother can move “here to there” with special mental power in Name that Book (September 2024)
Found: Disaster/end of the world in Name that Book (February 2024)
Two genetically modified dogs, one good the other bad in Name that Book (July 2016)
Why is Dean Koontz in the Horror Section... in Thing(amabrarian)s That Go Bump in the Night (August 2011)
The Funhouse by Dean Koontz in Thing(amabrarian)s That Go Bump in the Night (January 2011)
Dean Koontz... not too popular with serious horror fans? in Thing(amabrarian)s That Go Bump in the Night (January 2008)
Reviews
"The sky shed itself as heavily as it had on Cathedral Hill, such blinding crystalline thickets that I couldn't see farther shore, as if snow meant for decades were released today because the world did not have decades left until its end."
"With cloaks and robes and cerements of white whirling and swooning in every quarter, the city looked as if it must be populated by more ghosts than living people, and all those spirits were agitated in their haunting."
Effortlessly flowing yet meticulously show more crafted paragraphs, often containing beautiful phrasing and even more beautiful meaning, pepper this tender story of a young man so hideous he is forced to live below ground, and a young women in great danger whose social phobia precludes her being touched. Dean Koontz is actually gifting to readers a tender and wintery allegory about mankind turning away from goodness and innocence, and the consequences.
I struggled a great deal with how to approach this review. It’s obvious that a lot of readers either misunderstood this book, and therefore didn’t like it, or understood it completely, and therefore hated it because it made them uncomfortable. A few thought it had its moments, yet went astray near the end. Part of that may be because on the surface Koontz is telling such an involving, heartrending story that the old-fashioned, yet incredibly relevant-for-our-time allegory felt like an intrusion. There is simply no way to talk about this beautiful and brilliant book without addressing the larger allegory, and my take as a reader on it. As with any allegory, interpretations can differ, but many things are obvious. I won’t mark this review as a SPOILER, but in essence, it probably is. So if you don’t want to know what’s inside this book, and how I felt about it, stop reading now, and read the book instead, then come back. And now you’ve been warned!
The story on the surface is a tender one, filled with heartbreaking moments which resonate for anyone sensitive enough to empathize with Addison and Gwyneth. What lies beneath that story is profoundly beautiful, and perhaps a little frightening — despite the hopeful tone of the ending. Koontz has woven piercing social commentary into this tragic, almost fairy-tale like romance. As one Goodreads reviewer from Costa Rica astutely noted, there is the feel of the old Linda Hamilton/Ron Perlman television series, Beauty and the Beast, and also a Nicholas Cage/Meg Ryan, City of Angels vibe.
The reader is immediately swept up into the heartbreak of Addison’s world, and his loneliness and isolation from the rest of humankind. Koontz draws the reader into his world so deftly that what he is really doing, the story Koontz is “really” telling, is somewhat obscured beneath the snowy, wintery landscape, and the bleak situation of Addison Goodheart. Koontz’s portrait of how far society has fallen, to a point where goodness and hope and truth are derided, and depravity embraced, is so on target that it could only have been told by someone with the willingness — and the publishing juice — to accurately paint the deplorable state of mankind:
"But insanity is everywhere these days, and celebrated. Insanity is rapidly becoming the new normal." (this exact sentiment is echoed in Koontz's The Whispering Room)
"Everyone talks about justice, but there can be no justice where there is no truth, and these are times when truth is seldom recognized and often despised."
"Great power could be a beautiful thing when men and women who had it were inclined to use it wisely and with kindness. When a leader used his power over the ruled for the purpose of settling scores and inflating self-esteem, for remaking society according to his own grand designs, class warfare and genocide ensued."
"In the end, for all of their kind, it's about the same thing—power. Having power over others, to tell you what to do, to take what you have, to use you any way they wish, to demean you and break you and make you obey, and finally to rob you of your faith in truth, make you despair that there's no hope and never was."
Now that’s out of the way, let’s first deal with the literal story, in all its tender beauty. Addison has lost his father, the only person who ever loved him. He remains beneath the city during the day, alone now, and is almost an observer of mankind by night:
"Those of us who remain hidden from everyone else, however, know that this world is wondrous and filled with mysteries. We possess no magical perception, no psychic insight. I believe our recognition of reality's complex dimensions is a consequence of our solitude."
Soon the narrative moves back and forth between present and past. We learn of Addison as a child, and his mother, who finally has to cut him lose:
"I could not but love her and wish that she could love a thing like me."
"Weeping as bitterly as I had ever wept—or ever would—I left the house and didn't look back. I grieved, although not because of either my condition or my lean prospects. I grieved for her because I knew that she didn't hate me, that she hated herself. She despised herself not for bringing me into the world in the first place, more than eight years earlier, but for turning me out into it now."
All of Addison’s interactions with man both as a child and as an adult show humanity and society in free fall. When as a boy he finds his “Father” Addison is finally no longer alone. They forge a life separate from society, who cannot bear to look at them, and who try to kill them upon sight. There is something hideous about Addison and his father, something so grotesque it at first suggests evil. Yet Addison appears to be gentle and kind, filled with goodness, and even living as he does, he harbors no ill will, and only has hope. It’s the reader’s first clue that something more is happening here than we realize, because the eyes are but a window to the soul:
"We don't know what those of the aboveground would do to our cadavers. But considering the violence most of them visit upon us on sight, we assume they might commit abominations beyond our imagining. We stand and die with courage when cornered, but we do not—must never—let them take our dignity in death."
In the present, Addison meets a girl named Gwyneth who is being pursued at the library after hours:
"From there I returned to my windowless rooms, now mine and mine alone. For the subsequent six years, I secretly moved through the city, diminished by solitude, until one night in the central library, I saw a running girl dressed in black but no less graceful than snow in motion."
A friendship is formed, she agreeing not to look upon his face, and he agreeing to give her physical space:
"Our relationship was delicate, perhaps no less so than the crystal intimacy of those first huge snowflakes that had spiraled around me in the Commons."
"Already I loved her. I would be content to love her all of my life without touching her, but I saw no indication that she loved me in the same way, or at all."
Gwyneth’s situation is as precarious as Addison’s. For those who’ve ever read The Little Girl Who Lived Down the Lane, you will see the similarity in the way her father provided for her upon his death, with secreted apartments all over the city so she would be safe, and free to live her own life. But there is a man the personification of degradation out to kill her, and marionettes her father made that may also be watching, and harbor ill will. Because Addison has come across one of the marionettes in a store window years before, and an evil music box, we realize instantly that somehow Addison and Gwyneth were connected long before they met. There is some stuff with the marionettes which is particularly creepy — I hate clowns, ventriloquist dolls, and marionettes!
The more Addison and Gwyneth are pursued, and the more danger they are in, the more Addison comes to adore her:
"Considering her social phobia, if she were to suspect the depth of my feelings for her, she might recoil, retreat, and banish me. She might not be capable of loving me as I already loved her, let alone in the more profound way that I would surely come to love her over time."
"I drew hope from the fact that she had clearly loved her father, and I needed that hope because, after living my life with one loss after another, losing this might at last break me."
Addison does not tell Gwyneth about the Fogs, or the Clears, which apparently only he can see, because he does not want her to think him mad as well as hideous. Addison knows the Fogs are bad, disturbingly so, but as his father taught him, even the Clears are to be feared, and should not be looked upon directly. But there are clues which relate to the allegory. While helping Gwyneth, Addison, in a disturbing scene, views a pedophile about to watch one of his videos in the privacy of his home, when a Fog invades the man rather than kill him. The man then continues on with what he was doing, as though nothing grotesque had happened to him. It was obvious these were demons, and of particular note that free will had play, because the man made a choice, and it was not until after he chose that the Fog came to reside inside the man. In essence, evil found a willing host...
From that point forward, which was fairly early on in the narrative, I believe, there was not a single doubt that this was an allegory, and there were two stories here — the one on the surface, and a much larger one beneath. You realize then that it is cold and wintery throughout the story not only because it is winter, and Christmas is approaching, but because man’s heart has grown cold, and far from his Creator. But what of the Clears? Why are they in hospital garb? There is a clue in T.S. Elliot, but a much bigger one when Addison sees the Clears looking this way and that in the street. He senses in a way he can’t explain that they are trying to hold something back — what, he does not know. Any discerning reader will guess that it’s the Four Winds, and that final plague…
Yes, this is an allegory about Armageddon, and a point reached where man, of his own free will, has fallen too far to be redeemed. But there is hope, as there always is in a Koontz novel, and of course dogs, who are blameless. Koontz uses Addison and Gwyneth, a young girl in a coma, and a handful of children who, like Addison, are “immune” to the final plague being brought upon debauched humankind, to uplift the reader, provide an olive branch of hope. The story is exciting, moving, heartbreaking, and on a few occasions, quite eerie. A scene where the Clears hover above the city and ache for it to be different is particularly disturbing. Because to interfere, is to interfere with man’s free will, and it is this path mankind has chosen, until starting over is the only option…
This is a tender, beautiful story with moving moments, staggeringly lovely passages, and great thrills. It is also, despite the cataclysmic allegory beneath, hopeful. I don’t usually care for allegories as a rule, but this one was brilliant, and could not have been more relevant for the times in which we live…
“There is no end of wonders and mysteries: fireflies and music boxes, the stars that outnumber all the grains of sand on all the beaches in the world, pin-head eggs that become caterpillars that dissolve into genetic soup from which arise butterflies, that some hearts are dark and others full of light.” show less
"With cloaks and robes and cerements of white whirling and swooning in every quarter, the city looked as if it must be populated by more ghosts than living people, and all those spirits were agitated in their haunting."
Effortlessly flowing yet meticulously show more crafted paragraphs, often containing beautiful phrasing and even more beautiful meaning, pepper this tender story of a young man so hideous he is forced to live below ground, and a young women in great danger whose social phobia precludes her being touched. Dean Koontz is actually gifting to readers a tender and wintery allegory about mankind turning away from goodness and innocence, and the consequences.
I struggled a great deal with how to approach this review. It’s obvious that a lot of readers either misunderstood this book, and therefore didn’t like it, or understood it completely, and therefore hated it because it made them uncomfortable. A few thought it had its moments, yet went astray near the end. Part of that may be because on the surface Koontz is telling such an involving, heartrending story that the old-fashioned, yet incredibly relevant-for-our-time allegory felt like an intrusion. There is simply no way to talk about this beautiful and brilliant book without addressing the larger allegory, and my take as a reader on it. As with any allegory, interpretations can differ, but many things are obvious. I won’t mark this review as a SPOILER, but in essence, it probably is. So if you don’t want to know what’s inside this book, and how I felt about it, stop reading now, and read the book instead, then come back. And now you’ve been warned!
The story on the surface is a tender one, filled with heartbreaking moments which resonate for anyone sensitive enough to empathize with Addison and Gwyneth. What lies beneath that story is profoundly beautiful, and perhaps a little frightening — despite the hopeful tone of the ending. Koontz has woven piercing social commentary into this tragic, almost fairy-tale like romance. As one Goodreads reviewer from Costa Rica astutely noted, there is the feel of the old Linda Hamilton/Ron Perlman television series, Beauty and the Beast, and also a Nicholas Cage/Meg Ryan, City of Angels vibe.
The reader is immediately swept up into the heartbreak of Addison’s world, and his loneliness and isolation from the rest of humankind. Koontz draws the reader into his world so deftly that what he is really doing, the story Koontz is “really” telling, is somewhat obscured beneath the snowy, wintery landscape, and the bleak situation of Addison Goodheart. Koontz’s portrait of how far society has fallen, to a point where goodness and hope and truth are derided, and depravity embraced, is so on target that it could only have been told by someone with the willingness — and the publishing juice — to accurately paint the deplorable state of mankind:
"But insanity is everywhere these days, and celebrated. Insanity is rapidly becoming the new normal." (this exact sentiment is echoed in Koontz's The Whispering Room)
"Everyone talks about justice, but there can be no justice where there is no truth, and these are times when truth is seldom recognized and often despised."
"Great power could be a beautiful thing when men and women who had it were inclined to use it wisely and with kindness. When a leader used his power over the ruled for the purpose of settling scores and inflating self-esteem, for remaking society according to his own grand designs, class warfare and genocide ensued."
"In the end, for all of their kind, it's about the same thing—power. Having power over others, to tell you what to do, to take what you have, to use you any way they wish, to demean you and break you and make you obey, and finally to rob you of your faith in truth, make you despair that there's no hope and never was."
Now that’s out of the way, let’s first deal with the literal story, in all its tender beauty. Addison has lost his father, the only person who ever loved him. He remains beneath the city during the day, alone now, and is almost an observer of mankind by night:
"Those of us who remain hidden from everyone else, however, know that this world is wondrous and filled with mysteries. We possess no magical perception, no psychic insight. I believe our recognition of reality's complex dimensions is a consequence of our solitude."
Soon the narrative moves back and forth between present and past. We learn of Addison as a child, and his mother, who finally has to cut him lose:
"I could not but love her and wish that she could love a thing like me."
"Weeping as bitterly as I had ever wept—or ever would—I left the house and didn't look back. I grieved, although not because of either my condition or my lean prospects. I grieved for her because I knew that she didn't hate me, that she hated herself. She despised herself not for bringing me into the world in the first place, more than eight years earlier, but for turning me out into it now."
All of Addison’s interactions with man both as a child and as an adult show humanity and society in free fall. When as a boy he finds his “Father” Addison is finally no longer alone. They forge a life separate from society, who cannot bear to look at them, and who try to kill them upon sight. There is something hideous about Addison and his father, something so grotesque it at first suggests evil. Yet Addison appears to be gentle and kind, filled with goodness, and even living as he does, he harbors no ill will, and only has hope. It’s the reader’s first clue that something more is happening here than we realize, because the eyes are but a window to the soul:
"We don't know what those of the aboveground would do to our cadavers. But considering the violence most of them visit upon us on sight, we assume they might commit abominations beyond our imagining. We stand and die with courage when cornered, but we do not—must never—let them take our dignity in death."
In the present, Addison meets a girl named Gwyneth who is being pursued at the library after hours:
"From there I returned to my windowless rooms, now mine and mine alone. For the subsequent six years, I secretly moved through the city, diminished by solitude, until one night in the central library, I saw a running girl dressed in black but no less graceful than snow in motion."
A friendship is formed, she agreeing not to look upon his face, and he agreeing to give her physical space:
"Our relationship was delicate, perhaps no less so than the crystal intimacy of those first huge snowflakes that had spiraled around me in the Commons."
"Already I loved her. I would be content to love her all of my life without touching her, but I saw no indication that she loved me in the same way, or at all."
Gwyneth’s situation is as precarious as Addison’s. For those who’ve ever read The Little Girl Who Lived Down the Lane, you will see the similarity in the way her father provided for her upon his death, with secreted apartments all over the city so she would be safe, and free to live her own life. But there is a man the personification of degradation out to kill her, and marionettes her father made that may also be watching, and harbor ill will. Because Addison has come across one of the marionettes in a store window years before, and an evil music box, we realize instantly that somehow Addison and Gwyneth were connected long before they met. There is some stuff with the marionettes which is particularly creepy — I hate clowns, ventriloquist dolls, and marionettes!
The more Addison and Gwyneth are pursued, and the more danger they are in, the more Addison comes to adore her:
"Considering her social phobia, if she were to suspect the depth of my feelings for her, she might recoil, retreat, and banish me. She might not be capable of loving me as I already loved her, let alone in the more profound way that I would surely come to love her over time."
"I drew hope from the fact that she had clearly loved her father, and I needed that hope because, after living my life with one loss after another, losing this might at last break me."
Addison does not tell Gwyneth about the Fogs, or the Clears, which apparently only he can see, because he does not want her to think him mad as well as hideous. Addison knows the Fogs are bad, disturbingly so, but as his father taught him, even the Clears are to be feared, and should not be looked upon directly. But there are clues which relate to the allegory. While helping Gwyneth, Addison, in a disturbing scene, views a pedophile about to watch one of his videos in the privacy of his home, when a Fog invades the man rather than kill him. The man then continues on with what he was doing, as though nothing grotesque had happened to him. It was obvious these were demons, and of particular note that free will had play, because the man made a choice, and it was not until after he chose that the Fog came to reside inside the man. In essence, evil found a willing host...
From that point forward, which was fairly early on in the narrative, I believe, there was not a single doubt that this was an allegory, and there were two stories here — the one on the surface, and a much larger one beneath. You realize then that it is cold and wintery throughout the story not only because it is winter, and Christmas is approaching, but because man’s heart has grown cold, and far from his Creator. But what of the Clears? Why are they in hospital garb? There is a clue in T.S. Elliot, but a much bigger one when Addison sees the Clears looking this way and that in the street. He senses in a way he can’t explain that they are trying to hold something back — what, he does not know. Any discerning reader will guess that it’s the Four Winds, and that final plague…
Yes, this is an allegory about Armageddon, and a point reached where man, of his own free will, has fallen too far to be redeemed. But there is hope, as there always is in a Koontz novel, and of course dogs, who are blameless. Koontz uses Addison and Gwyneth, a young girl in a coma, and a handful of children who, like Addison, are “immune” to the final plague being brought upon debauched humankind, to uplift the reader, provide an olive branch of hope. The story is exciting, moving, heartbreaking, and on a few occasions, quite eerie. A scene where the Clears hover above the city and ache for it to be different is particularly disturbing. Because to interfere, is to interfere with man’s free will, and it is this path mankind has chosen, until starting over is the only option…
This is a tender, beautiful story with moving moments, staggeringly lovely passages, and great thrills. It is also, despite the cataclysmic allegory beneath, hopeful. I don’t usually care for allegories as a rule, but this one was brilliant, and could not have been more relevant for the times in which we live…
“There is no end of wonders and mysteries: fireflies and music boxes, the stars that outnumber all the grains of sand on all the beaches in the world, pin-head eggs that become caterpillars that dissolve into genetic soup from which arise butterflies, that some hearts are dark and others full of light.” show less
In his latest novel, The Friend of the Family, Dean Koontz returns to the carnival world for inspiration, a setting he used to great effect in The Funhouse (1980) and Twilight Eyes (1985). Koontz’s fascination with traveling carnivals dates to his childhood, when he lived near the county fairgrounds and dreamed of running away with the circus to escape his traumatic family life. In writing The Funhouse—a screenplay-to-novel adaptation—and even more so in Twilight Eyes, Koontz drew on show more his knowledge of the carnival subculture to portray the midway’s eccentrics with uncanny authenticity.
It’s 1930 when we meet seventeen-year-old Alida, the heroine of The Friend of the Family. Prohibition is in full force, the Great Depression is underway, and Alida is being exploited for her physical deformities. She’s the main attraction in a traveling carnival’s ten-in-one freak show run by the domineering huckster Forest Farnam. Referring to himself as “Captain,” even though “he had never been a captain of anything,” Captain Farnam claims that Alida’s mother was his sister and that he adopted Alida from her at age two, with legal documents to prove it. Although Koontz keeps the reader in suspense about Alida’s birth defects until the very end, we learn early on that her beautiful face is offset by features in her torso and extremities so grotesque that she conceals them under shapeless clothes and gloves.
Alida is such a profitable draw that Captain takes her on the road during the carnival offseason, where he puts her on display in humiliating speakeasy stage shows. Highly intelligent, a prodigious reader, and blessed with a photographic memory, Alida relies on literary escapism to substitute for what others experience firsthand, and she can recall every line from her favorite book, A Tale of Two Cities. After being heckled during a performance in San Diego’s Gaslamp District and suffering from severe depression, Alida’s fortune takes an unexpected turn. A sophisticated couple attending the show, horrified by the cruelty on display and sensing that Captain’s adoption papers must be forgeries, offers $40,000 for Alida’s freedom, which he accepts only under threat of being reported to the police.
Franklin and Loretta Fairchild welcome Alida into their home, Bramley Hall, a sprawling mansion near Los Angeles, with a full staff to keep it running. The Fairchilds have made their fortune as movie producers, and Alida quickly wins the hearts of the family, which includes two young girls, a younger boy, and a gentle German Shepherd. Alida is soon adopted into the family and thrives in this supportive home, where she mentors her siblings and discovers a fantastical new ability. Yet she’s haunted by recurring nightmares of Captain Farnam reclaiming her and spooked by the unexplained appearance of dead animals in the children’s bedrooms. Koontz uses portentous dreams, supernatural elements, and slow-burning suspense to keep you mesmerized as you wait for Alida’s good luck to end. A housemaid whom Alida has befriended warns her to "stay alert" and appreciate that we create our own luck through choices, themes that recur as the story progresses.
Alida characterizes the story as a memoir of notable events during her time at Bramley Hall (1930-1944), distilled from her daily diary entries. Koontz writes from Alida’s perspective, a rare first-person viewpoint in his novels, suggesting a strong personal connection to this protagonist. Longtime Koontz fans may bemoan this introspective tale, which reads more like a cozy mystery than a thriller and lacks the intense action, plot complexity, and horror quotient of his earlier works. But I appreciate Koontz’s evolution as a storyteller, the lyrical prose, the emotional depth, and the religious thread that stitches everything together. The historical setting and narrative structure call to mind classic novelists like Robert Louis Stevenson and Mary Shelley, bold writers who imagined fantastical beings to reveal more about human nature than any conventional character could. Dean Koontz has come a long way since The Fun House, but he’s still a master of creepy suspense. If this ends up being the last of his circus-related novels, it will be a fitting capstone. show less
It’s 1930 when we meet seventeen-year-old Alida, the heroine of The Friend of the Family. Prohibition is in full force, the Great Depression is underway, and Alida is being exploited for her physical deformities. She’s the main attraction in a traveling carnival’s ten-in-one freak show run by the domineering huckster Forest Farnam. Referring to himself as “Captain,” even though “he had never been a captain of anything,” Captain Farnam claims that Alida’s mother was his sister and that he adopted Alida from her at age two, with legal documents to prove it. Although Koontz keeps the reader in suspense about Alida’s birth defects until the very end, we learn early on that her beautiful face is offset by features in her torso and extremities so grotesque that she conceals them under shapeless clothes and gloves.
Alida is such a profitable draw that Captain takes her on the road during the carnival offseason, where he puts her on display in humiliating speakeasy stage shows. Highly intelligent, a prodigious reader, and blessed with a photographic memory, Alida relies on literary escapism to substitute for what others experience firsthand, and she can recall every line from her favorite book, A Tale of Two Cities. After being heckled during a performance in San Diego’s Gaslamp District and suffering from severe depression, Alida’s fortune takes an unexpected turn. A sophisticated couple attending the show, horrified by the cruelty on display and sensing that Captain’s adoption papers must be forgeries, offers $40,000 for Alida’s freedom, which he accepts only under threat of being reported to the police.
Franklin and Loretta Fairchild welcome Alida into their home, Bramley Hall, a sprawling mansion near Los Angeles, with a full staff to keep it running. The Fairchilds have made their fortune as movie producers, and Alida quickly wins the hearts of the family, which includes two young girls, a younger boy, and a gentle German Shepherd. Alida is soon adopted into the family and thrives in this supportive home, where she mentors her siblings and discovers a fantastical new ability. Yet she’s haunted by recurring nightmares of Captain Farnam reclaiming her and spooked by the unexplained appearance of dead animals in the children’s bedrooms. Koontz uses portentous dreams, supernatural elements, and slow-burning suspense to keep you mesmerized as you wait for Alida’s good luck to end. A housemaid whom Alida has befriended warns her to "stay alert" and appreciate that we create our own luck through choices, themes that recur as the story progresses.
Alida characterizes the story as a memoir of notable events during her time at Bramley Hall (1930-1944), distilled from her daily diary entries. Koontz writes from Alida’s perspective, a rare first-person viewpoint in his novels, suggesting a strong personal connection to this protagonist. Longtime Koontz fans may bemoan this introspective tale, which reads more like a cozy mystery than a thriller and lacks the intense action, plot complexity, and horror quotient of his earlier works. But I appreciate Koontz’s evolution as a storyteller, the lyrical prose, the emotional depth, and the religious thread that stitches everything together. The historical setting and narrative structure call to mind classic novelists like Robert Louis Stevenson and Mary Shelley, bold writers who imagined fantastical beings to reveal more about human nature than any conventional character could. Dean Koontz has come a long way since The Fun House, but he’s still a master of creepy suspense. If this ends up being the last of his circus-related novels, it will be a fitting capstone. show less
*SPOILERS*
So my first experience with this story is the Corey from the late 80s early 90s. I loved it and when I realized it was based on a novel it was immediately added to my TBR. I listened to the audiobook version and the narrator brought Fur Face to life. And yes, I realize his name is Einstein, but he was Fur Face in the movie and will always be that for me. The performance was excellent. I could really picture everything thing happening and I felt the emotion of the situations.
So Fur show more Face is a genetically engineered golden retriever that escapes the lab he was created in. He finds his way to Travis who is a lonely man at the end of his rope. He's not quite suicidal, but he's pretty much given up on life. Fur Face is just what he needs to bring him back to life, especially when the dog reveals his human-like intelligence. Travis instantly falls in love with Fur Face. Travis now has a companion to love and care for, and Fur Face gets the same on top of having freedom from the tests and cage he was in at the lab.
Fur Face leads Travis to Nora, a woman who was raised almost entirely by her miserable, horrible aunt. She never went to school or had friends, her life was completely controlled by her aunt until the woman's death. While Nora is attempting to learn how to live a life free of her aunt, she is targeted by a creepy man who wants to control and use her until he's had his fill. Fur Face leads Travis to her and together they rescue her from the horrible man. The two develop a friendship that eventually develops into love.
Together Travis and Nora discover just how intelligent Fur Face actually is and create a means of communication. They learn about his past and that he was not the only experiment that escaped the lab. The Outsider is an abomination that has a deep hatred for Fur Face. Somehow they are bonded and can sense other another. The Outside is searching for Fur Face because he wants to destroy him. And then there's the problem of the NSA and a hired hitman on Fur Face's trail.
The trio go on the run getting far enough away to give them time for The Outsider eventually finding them. They have a final battle where the Outsider nearly kills Fur Face, and Travis kills both the hitman and The Outsider.
This is so ridiculously well written I could literally listen to the audiobook all over again. I felt the emotions and humanity in Fur Face, but also you felt empathy for the Outsider. He was created to be a monster, a killing machine. He grew to hate himself for being an ugly monster and his hatred toward Fur Face was really his envy at being the beloved child while The Outsider was clearly feared and even hated. In the end I felt for the Outsider and wished that he could have been saved. His death was actually very sad.
I enjoy the heck out of this book. It was excellent from start to finish. I felt completely satisfied with the ending. I don't know why anyone would need a sequel. Travis and Nora lived happily ever after. And Fur Face lived, got a mate of his own and had children. What more was needed? show less
So my first experience with this story is the Corey from the late 80s early 90s. I loved it and when I realized it was based on a novel it was immediately added to my TBR. I listened to the audiobook version and the narrator brought Fur Face to life. And yes, I realize his name is Einstein, but he was Fur Face in the movie and will always be that for me. The performance was excellent. I could really picture everything thing happening and I felt the emotion of the situations.
So Fur show more Face is a genetically engineered golden retriever that escapes the lab he was created in. He finds his way to Travis who is a lonely man at the end of his rope. He's not quite suicidal, but he's pretty much given up on life. Fur Face is just what he needs to bring him back to life, especially when the dog reveals his human-like intelligence. Travis instantly falls in love with Fur Face. Travis now has a companion to love and care for, and Fur Face gets the same on top of having freedom from the tests and cage he was in at the lab.
Fur Face leads Travis to Nora, a woman who was raised almost entirely by her miserable, horrible aunt. She never went to school or had friends, her life was completely controlled by her aunt until the woman's death. While Nora is attempting to learn how to live a life free of her aunt, she is targeted by a creepy man who wants to control and use her until he's had his fill. Fur Face leads Travis to her and together they rescue her from the horrible man. The two develop a friendship that eventually develops into love.
Together Travis and Nora discover just how intelligent Fur Face actually is and create a means of communication. They learn about his past and that he was not the only experiment that escaped the lab. The Outsider is an abomination that has a deep hatred for Fur Face. Somehow they are bonded and can sense other another. The Outside is searching for Fur Face because he wants to destroy him. And then there's the problem of the NSA and a hired hitman on Fur Face's trail.
The trio go on the run getting far enough away to give them time for The Outsider eventually finding them. They have a final battle where the Outsider nearly kills Fur Face, and Travis kills both the hitman and The Outsider.
This is so ridiculously well written I could literally listen to the audiobook all over again. I felt the emotions and humanity in Fur Face, but also you felt empathy for the Outsider. He was created to be a monster, a killing machine. He grew to hate himself for being an ugly monster and his hatred toward Fur Face was really his envy at being the beloved child while The Outsider was clearly feared and even hated. In the end I felt for the Outsider and wished that he could have been saved. His death was actually very sad.
I enjoy the heck out of this book. It was excellent from start to finish. I felt completely satisfied with the ending. I don't know why anyone would need a sequel. Travis and Nora lived happily ever after. And Fur Face lived, got a mate of his own and had children. What more was needed? show less
The largest number of modern horror stories floating around in the ether leave little room for imagination. Today, the Saw, violence-porn obsessed consumer looks forward to having a story painted with blood and brain-matter soaked brushes rather than with subtle suggestion. Dean Koontz proves that he is a master of the old-school ghost story with [What the Night Knows].
In one horrific night, a serial murderer orphaned John Calvino at fourteen, taking not just his mother and father but his show more two sisters as well. Before the dawn could chase that dark night away, Calvino had traded his innocence for the life of the man who took everything from him. Now a homicide detective, Calvino has dedicated his life to the pursuit of justice for other crime victims like him. When another fourteen-year old slaughters his entire family, Calvino recognizes the evil spirit of the murderer at work again and fears that his wife and children are the next targets. And all of the security measures in the world cannot keep a malevolent, blood-thirsty spirit from invading Calvino’s home and haunting his family.
Koontz, like Stephen King, often taps into the darker aspects of the human heart to create truly frightening stories. The capacity for evil, and for some the inclination, lurks close to the surface. In giving life to such characters, Koontz showcases fears to real to acknowledge or personal battles to frightening to admit. [What the Night Knows] is at its best when exploring Calvino’s guilt or the twisted childhood of the murderer or the characters whose weakness leaves them helpless before a preying evil spirit. Koontz is at his best when he describes the shadows caught from the corner of an eye or the rustling of a tree on a windless night.
[What the Night Knows] fails only when Koontz reverts to the bold or bloody. And though such portions of the book are few, they cheapen an otherwise truly creepy story. This is nowhere more evident than in the over-the-top, super-supernatural climax, when a Lego creation fashioned by his daughter opens a time portal to the night Calvino is orphaned. The tidy, and semi-sappy, conclusion of the book seems nearly a different book from the nuanced and ambiguous earlier chapters.
The strength of the first three-quarters of the book make [What the Night Knows] worth the effort, even if the ending disappoints. At its best, the book will creep you out, either with the frighteningly real characters who showcase the true tempting power of evil or with the subtle passages designed to engage the imagination.
4 bones!!!!! show less
In one horrific night, a serial murderer orphaned John Calvino at fourteen, taking not just his mother and father but his show more two sisters as well. Before the dawn could chase that dark night away, Calvino had traded his innocence for the life of the man who took everything from him. Now a homicide detective, Calvino has dedicated his life to the pursuit of justice for other crime victims like him. When another fourteen-year old slaughters his entire family, Calvino recognizes the evil spirit of the murderer at work again and fears that his wife and children are the next targets. And all of the security measures in the world cannot keep a malevolent, blood-thirsty spirit from invading Calvino’s home and haunting his family.
Koontz, like Stephen King, often taps into the darker aspects of the human heart to create truly frightening stories. The capacity for evil, and for some the inclination, lurks close to the surface. In giving life to such characters, Koontz showcases fears to real to acknowledge or personal battles to frightening to admit. [What the Night Knows] is at its best when exploring Calvino’s guilt or the twisted childhood of the murderer or the characters whose weakness leaves them helpless before a preying evil spirit. Koontz is at his best when he describes the shadows caught from the corner of an eye or the rustling of a tree on a windless night.
[What the Night Knows] fails only when Koontz reverts to the bold or bloody. And though such portions of the book are few, they cheapen an otherwise truly creepy story. This is nowhere more evident than in the over-the-top, super-supernatural climax, when a Lego creation fashioned by his daughter opens a time portal to the night Calvino is orphaned. The tidy, and semi-sappy, conclusion of the book seems nearly a different book from the nuanced and ambiguous earlier chapters.
The strength of the first three-quarters of the book make [What the Night Knows] worth the effort, even if the ending disappoints. At its best, the book will creep you out, either with the frighteningly real characters who showcase the true tempting power of evil or with the subtle passages designed to engage the imagination.
4 bones!!!!! show less
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