Yes. I needed the book equivalent of mashed potatoes after this brutal semester, and I don’t have a problem mixing it up. As a child, my mother never fretted over the comic books I read, because I was devouring classics right along with them. Also, Dean Koontz does not pretend he’s writing the next great American novel.
The writers who irk me are those that produce dreck and try to pass it off as lit-TRAH-chur. For instance, let me assure you Robert James Waller that no man talks on and on about peregrines and boat sails mid-orgasm, and if he did, any sane woman would slap him. And, any sane woman would not view it tender to leave her children a letter explaining how she did have one heavenly interlude during her otherwise ho-hum life. However, this weekend wasn’t with her children or dear old dad, but when they were gone at the fair, and a photographer happened by. Of course, Mom let him go – not out of any particular devotion to family – but because it would have been a crime not to let this manly man soar free. Oh, gag me with a spoon.
That vent over, the mashed potatoes didn’t fare well, either. Koontz is capable of stringing together a reasonable story, but that did not occur in Breathless
. While the book got off to a promising start, Koontz soon begins to add one new story line after another, and each new character/story was less appealing and less interesting than the next. Ultimately, there are far too many stories and not enough pages. Koontz’s solution was unfortunate.