Gerald Neal Williamson (April 17, 1932 - December 8, 2005) wrote and edited horror stories under the name J. N. Williamson. He also wrote under the name Julian Shock.
Born in Indianapolis, IN he graduated from Shortridge High School. He studied journalism at Butler University. He published his first novel in 1979 and went on to publish more than 40 novels and 150 short stories. In 2003 he received a lifetime achievement award from the Horror Writers of America. He edited the critically acclaimed How to Write Tales of Horror, Fantasy & Science Fiction (1987) which covered the themes of such writing and cited the writings of such writers as Robert Bloch, Lee Prosser, Richard Matheson, Ray Bradbury, H. P. Lovecraft, August Derleth, William F. Nolan, and Stephen King. Many important writers in the genre contributed to the book. Williamson edited the popular anthology series, Masques. Some of his novels include The Ritual (1979), Playmates (1982), Noonspell (1991), The Haunt (1999), among others.
He was also a well known Sherlockian and received his investiture (The Illustrious Client) in the Baker Street Irregulars in 1950.
TL; DR: A quick and dirty pulp horror novel should not take this long to get through. It also should not be quite so bleak and cheerily sadistic.
Noonspell is centered on Grady Calhoun, an Indianapolis TV personality who is something of a cross between Phil Donahue and Ted Koppel. He's recently divorced, in the midst of a hot and heavy affair with the primetime news anchor and, unbeknownst to him, about to become ensnared in an exceedingly complex supernatural revenge plot manufactured by Calvin Rajelis, a TV psychic who, it turns out, has a direct line to "The Forces of Suffering."
I've never read anything by J.N. Williamson prior to this one. Based on his Goodreads profile, he appears to have been a dominant figure in the 1980s horror paperback scene. His biography is fascinatingly incomplete; from what I can tell he didn't start writing until he was nearly 50 years old and then pumped out an average of 3 books a year during the boom years for the paperback horror fiction market. He edited "Dark Masques," considered one of the best horror anthologies of all time and seems to have circulated within the upper echelon of genre writers. Interestingly, the resurgent interest in 1980s horror fiction seems to have passed him by; Will Errickson of Too Much Horror Fiction has one post and that's mostly to make fun of the garish and ridiculous cover art on his novels, many of which litter the bargain bin of so many used bookstores. (I got this one for maybe a dollar). I was eager to check him out to see whether there was something being missed.
It turns out Williamson is an...interesting writer. He's clearly exceptionally well-read, and peppers his book with quotations from many high-minded classical sources. Unfortunately, his characters lapse into uncharacteristically pretentious inner and outer dialogue as well (Probably the most groan-inducing example concerns a character making a play on whether the witty repartee should be considered "badinage" or "goodinage.") He overuses exclamation points and there are several passages that made me think this book would be a good candidate for the 372 Pages podcast hosted by the Rifftrax guys, dedicated to mocking hilariously bad books. It doesn't help that Leisure books, his publisher, let this one go out the door with an embarrassing amount of typographical errors.
Plotwise, the book just takes too long to get to the end. At 400 pages, it grinds on and on and on. The central narrative--that of Rajelis having revenge on Calhoun by torturing and killing everyone around him so that he will be eventually driven to commit suicide--takes some of the fun out of the "so bad it's good" quality of the book. While the violence is often cartoonishly over the top, Williamson's plot mechanics lean heavily on sexual assault, child abuse, and domestic violence. Seriously, the body count in this book is ridiculous. It is almost as ridiculous as a plot line where the teenage son's possible introduction to cocaine and/or his decision to come out of the closet are treated as being equivalent to having someone beat their two-year old child nearly to death in broad daylight? That's before we get into the casual racism and general 80s un-PC vibe.
So overall, not a great book (and I didn't even get into the more insane parts of the overall plot). It comes close to being "so bad it's good" and mostly delivers on being a trashy pulp throwaway, but it's just too nasty and unpleasant to really enjoy on that level. I seriously doubt that I will ever read another J.N. Williamson but if you are a true completist about 80s horror fiction, I guess he might be one writer to cross off the list.