Every eye sees its own special vision;
every ear hears a most different song.
In each man's troubled heart, an incision
would reveal a unique, shameful wrong.
Stranger fiends hide here in human guise
than reside in the valleys of Hell.
But goodness, kindness and love arise
in the heart of the poor beast, as well.
- The Book of Counted Sorrows
Holy Wowzers! Certainly one of Dean Koontz's best. Similar to Cold Fire, but The Bad Place is more bizarre & disturbing. An impressive Cross-Genre novel with Romance, Mystery, Sci-Fi, Horror, Fantasy, Suspense etc. This is the Dean Koontz storytelling that I love.
Favorite Passages:
Fireflies in a windstorm . . .
_______
His picture poems did not tell stories or have recognizable thematic narrative, but neither were they merely random jumbles of images. A church spire, a mouse, a beautiful woman in an emerald-green ball gown, a field of daisies, a can of Dole pineapple rings, a crescent moon, pancakes in a stack with syrup drizzling down, rubies gleaming on a black-velvet display cloth, a fish with mouth agape, a child laughing, a nun praying, a woman crying over the blasted body of a loved one in some Godforsaken war zone, a pack of Lifesavers, a puppy with floppy ears, black-clad nuns with starched white wimples - from those and thousands of other pictures in his treasured boxes of clippings, Thomas selected the elements of his compositions. From the beginning Bobby recognized an uncanny rightness to many of the poems, a symmetry too fundamental to be defined, juxtapositions that were both naïve and profound, rhythms as real as they were elusive, a personal vision plain to see but too mysterious to comprehend to any significant degree.
________
"You mean a bad thing might come at breakfast?"
"Might," Thomas said.
"Could it be . . . poached eggs?"
"Huh?"
"The bad thing - could it be poached eggs? I don't like poached eggs, all slimy, yuck, that'd be real bad, not good at all like cereal and bananas and sticky buns."
"No, no," Thomas said. "The bad thing isn't poached eggs. It's a person, some funny-weird person. I'll feel when it's coming, and tell you, and you'll run."
_______
In a sudden moment of enlightenment, Bobby realized that his entire life (and perhaps nearly everyone else's) was like this street at this precise point in time; all bustle and noise, glare and movement, a desperate rush to break out of the herd, to achieve something and transcend the frantic while of commerce, thereby earning respite for reflection and a shot at serenity - when all the time serenity was only a few steps away, on the far side of the street, just out of sight.
_______
"I don't think I've ever seen you grinning. I don't think I like you grinning."
_______
Like a memory from wars past or a presentiment of an ultimate war to come, a searing flash of lightning and a sky-shattering crash of thunder shook the night. The windows of the study vibrated. It was the first thunder Bobby had heard since the faint and distant peal when they had come out of the motel, nearly an hour and a half ago. In spite of the fireworks in the sky, rain was not yet falling. But though the tempest was slow-moving, it was almost upon them. The pyrotechnics of a storm was an ideal backdrop to Fogarty's tale.