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I have been eagerly awaiting reading this book since I started reading the Frankenstein Horror Series last week. I mean, come on...how can you not want to read a book called GHOUL LOVER!!! 🤣🤣🤣

The men in this book are pissing me the fuck off. No one has any sense of urgency or survival instinct.

The author pauses the action and story progress in a pulp horror novel about werewolves to go on a 20-page diatribe about the importance and catharsis of art. I mean, I don't disagree, but it's like going to McDonalds for a dry-aged steak cooked table side by a master chef. The fuck lol

This one starts out gory and tense then devil ea into several scenes of people sitting around chatting. What makes it odd is that five people are dead so far yet none of the survivors have any sense of urgency. It's well-written but I'm almost halfway and wish it would get on with the getting on.

"There are depths to human viciousness that carve out a deep, dark hollow in the world--a pit of blackness. It seems to take an eternity to descend into it, if only as a spectator, and return into the sunlight again. And it almost blots out the sunlight for you after you've left it. It will be a long time before I'll be able to put what I saw just now out of my mind."

Bottom of page 24. Use for quote.

This is already ridiculous. I love it!

That last chapter was surprisingly boring for a sci-fi novel. I liked it, don't get me wrong, but it was deep, thoughtful literature, and I don't expect that from science fiction, or should I say, I don't want it in my sci-fi. I'm here for the strange and unusual, so when the author gets real and projects themes and theories, I take a step back and ask myself what I'm reading, meaning my immersion broke. I'm weird...

Usually I can't stand books with more than, say, 2 twists. I like a minor wtf moment followed by a climactic WTF?!??? moment. This one has had several of the latter, but I ain't mad at it. Vernon handles all these strings like a master puppeteer.

I sometimes hate that I was in the medical world and understand how things like modern prescriptions work, especially right now, because Vernon obviously tried to get the details right but the plot demanded inaccurate and outdated information.

Doctors allowed to write scripts for narcotics have watermarked paper they print out scripts on, or nowadays, they call into pharmacies. They can't use Rx pads anymore.

I don't feel a bit sorry for Oliver. He's ruined everything good in his life and still claims he's the victim. I don't feel like he deserves what's happening, don't get me wrong. I'm just tired of listening to him whine, WHAT ABOUT me me ME! while Nathan is suffering the consequences of Oliver's actions.

Hot damn, this book is good.

The best part of this book isn't the tension, the writing, the plot, or the characters, although all of that is amazing: it's the author taking into account how many coincidences have arisen, and his ability to make them believable. Most authors say "suck it up, this is fiction, after all" but Vernon locks in, giving the reader confidence in his story. My disbelief is so suspended, you could drive a tank across it.

After a very small lull, this joker took off like a rocket-powered toothpick. I. AM. HAVING A GOOD TIME!

This started off with a bang, and now we're into banal domesticity. Sigh...

I feel some tension on the horizon so I'm gonna stick with it. Plus, I like Nathan. Oliver is an asshole, but he's got good taste.

oooooo, Oliver, you in TRUUUUHHHHBULLLL

Bottom of page:

He had a normally pale face with the traditional freckles and blue eyes.

If this writing were any more generic it'd be branded Dollar General.

Squinting his eyes...as opposed to his--what? Asshole?

Also he wrote that twice on one page!

Ken found himself...
Ken began to...
Janet found herself...
Janet began to...
Joe found himself...
Joe began to...

Every other sentence starts like these examples. The first two books in this series were amazing, unexpected, and wonderfully written.

What the fuck happened with this one??!?!!?? If it weren't for the fact that these books were published in 1972, I'd believe they were written by AI 😭

Cite the third paragraph of page 99 as an example of how terrible the writing is.

A blonde woman on page 8 is now a dark haired woman on page 83. No mention of dying hair.

Epler dies on page 81 yet somehow is in the room talking with Yelavich and Fisher on page 89.

The scene Gropp meets the monster is tense and we'll written. Moore does a great job with horror and tension but fails at literally everything else.

What started as a fun, tense read had quickly devolved into the worst writing I've read since I stopped reading James Patterson.

This book's structure is odd, to say the least. First chapter is Reddrick's first person POV. Second chapter is a third person perspective about... Reddrick. Strange choice, but I like it. Never read anything built like this.

I love how quickly this series moves. Highly readable, and damn good fun.

"The storm which awaited us upon our return to the village had abated somewhat, reducing itself to a futile wind that howled dismally over the years and tested the shutters with cold fingers."

I didn't expect such beautiful writing from a 75 cent pulp paperback.

Started reading around 1am. Looked up just now and realized it's 3am and I've read 79 pages. Why is this so good???

A soldier is asked what he will do against the walking dead and he responds (to paraphrase here) that if he shoots off their legs they will not be able to walk, thus no more walking dead.

I mean...

He ain't wrong lol

Okay, I'm ready to get on with it. The last 30 pages have really bogged this fucker down.

This has no right being as good as it is, especially with how awful it was at the beginning.

I also just realized that Matt Gardner, the author, is the same Matt Gardner who narrates the story.

A piece of auto-fiction, like Dick Jizzmark's Boogeyman series? Or did a ghostwriter write this? I'm leaning toward ghostwriter, because there's no author name on the copyright page, only the publisher.

Admittedly, I'm a sucker for stories like this one. CONGO, THE RUINS, et al. Any take about white people invading the ribal communities and suffering the consequences will always appeal to me, even if the author doesn't intend for that to be the theme. I will always side with indigenous peoples.

Okay, that was pretty cool, and creepy as fuck, too.

This book was published in 1972, so I expected an antiquated experience, maybe even some archaic language and cultural faux pas, but the overt racism is a bit much. All the Mexicans are described as greasy and ignorant, and one Mayan person is said to speak "Indian", as if all indigenous peoples the world over speak a singular language. This wasn't correct back then, not even back then.