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The Darkest Evening of the Year by Dean Koontz
Book Summary InformationAuthor: Dean Koontz Edition: Mass Market Paperback Audio: English (Unknown); English (Original Language); English (Published) Published: 2008-10-21 ISBN: 0553589121 Number of pages: 480 Publisher: Bantam
Book Reviews of The Darkest Evening of the YearBook Review: Disappointing..... Summary: 2 Stars
I'm writing this review for readers -- like myself -- who loved Dean
Koontz's earlier novel "Watchers" and may find themselves enticed by
the canine angle of this new book (as marketed in the front cover art and back cover synopsis). Mr. Koontz has an admirable
affection for dogs in general and Golden Retrievers in particular, but
in the case of "The Darkest Evening of the Year" that affinity unfortunately does not translate into a good read.
If you were hoping for or expecting another "Watchers", you will be
sorely disappointed. This book is overwritten, overwrought, and overly
preachy with regard to the beneficent qualities of dogs and our
relationships with them (according to Mr. Koontz - dogs have been an intimate part of our family for over 30 years, and I found the author's bully pulpit attitude in that regard to be irritatingly condescending). The two main protagonists are flat and
uninteresting and, ultimately, unengaging. I didn't care about
them, as individuals or as a couple, and their conversational "repartee" quickly becomes annoying. (Perversely -- or perhaps not -- the one character who does display some depth is the "freak" of the novel.)
The cast of villains is so overdrawn as to strain credulity that such a Grand Guignol assortment of psychos and predators could co-exist in
the same storyline. (Think Vince Nasco from "Watchers" split into multiple
personalities and weirded up to the max. And I thought that character was a bit over the top....) The confrontation at
the book's end is weak and unconvincing, with bad guys getting a sudden case of the terminal stupids and good guys magically morphing into deadly adversaries. The subjective "supernatural" thread that
wends throughout (did that really happen or did I just imagine it?) leads to a climactic deus ex machina that would be laughable if it didn't undermine any credulity the author might previously have established. Seriously. I really couldn't believe that
was how the book ended, and felt like I'd been played for a sap. And let's not forget the writing. There is a passage where the author presents a character who is caught up in a "stupid simile", yet Mr. Koontz flings his
own tortured text at the reader without mercy. One
example should suffice (of fog approaching the Golden Gate Bridge): "An inifinite army all in white marshaled in the west and rolled eastward on silent caissons, seizing the great bridge without sound or shot." The problem is that this book doesn't work as a straight thriller, sci-fi, or fantasy. And the ending is perhaps the worst cop-out I have ever read. I
forced myself to finish it because I was hoping against hope that
it would somehow redeem itself. I wish I hadn't, because it didn't.
Summary of The Darkest Evening of the YearWho will be with you in the darkest hour?
Amy Redwing has devoted her life to rescuing dogs. But the unique bond she shares with Nickie, a golden retriever she saves in the most dangerous encounter of her life, is deeper than any she has ever known. In one night, their loyalty will be put to the test, and each will prove to the other how far they will go?when the stakes turn deadly serious.
Amazon.com Exclusive: The Darkest Ice Cream of the Year by Dean Koontz I once said writing a novel is sometimes like making love and sometimes like having a tooth pulled--and sometimes like making love while having a tooth pulled. I arrived at one of those joyful yet excruciating moments while working on The Darkest Evening of the Year. Because I am obsessive about the revision of each page--the word fussbudget is embarrassingly apt when I am brooding over whether to use a comma or a semicolon--I have more than once held on to a manuscript until the drop-dead date for delivery. When that date rolled around for this book, I had written everything, but I was unwilling to send all of it to my editor. I withheld the last fifty pages for another four days, causing a quiet panic in those at my publishing house who are responsible for meeting production deadlines. Although the book was done, I felt that something was wrong with Chapter 63. The action worked, the characters were in character, the mood was sustained...but something felt wrong with it, some fine point of the villain's motivation. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, I worked 12-hour days, trying to identify the source of my doubt, but couldn't specify it to my satisfaction. Nothing like this had ever happened to me. Previously, my worst struggles with a story had come in the first two-thirds, and the final third had been, if not a sweet swift toboggan run, at least a sleigh ride. Sunday, I got up at 6:00 and set to work, revising, looking for the thorn I could feel but couldn't see--and ended up working 22 hours, eating at my desk, before tumbling to the problem at 4:00 a.m. Monday morning. "Eureka!" I cried, but I was so weary and my voice was so weak that my shout of jubilation came out as a squeak. The revisions required to Chapter 63 were minor, but after working 58 hours in four days, after having passed a night without sleep, I was unable to focus sharply enough to get them done in the little time that remained before the production schedule would be derailed. In desperation, I turned to that source of creative energy and literary enlightenment that is without equal: ice cream. I shuffled to the kitchen and snared a Dreyer's Slow-Churned Vanilla Almond Crunch bar from the freezer. I devoured this sweet-and-creamy muse, and felt the scales lift from my eyes; inspiration sparkled between my ears. I finished the revisions and e-mailed the final version of Chapter 63 to my editor with not a minute to spare. Although the American Heart Association will take issue with me, my advice to young writers stuck on a scene is to stop worrying about your arteries and give your wheel-spinning imagination what it needs to find traction: a tasty shot of fat and sugar. --Dean Koontz, October 2007
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