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A review by destinae
Your Heart Belongs to Me by Dean Koontz
3.0
First of all-- if you haven't already read the blurb/premise for this book, don't. It gives far too much away and in my opinion misrepresents the heart of the novel.
About halfway through this book, I was really surprised by how low it is rated. This book isn't a color-inside-the-lines thriller. To me, it is an examination of mortality and grief. It is an overblown testimony of the way that we struggle to understand and accept the sudden and sometimes unfair health conditions and deaths of ourselves and those around us. We scramble through these disorienting and disquieting moments and cling to conspiracy, or capital, or whatever will redeem us in the end. We destroy ourselves even as the sickness pollutes us.
At its best, this book is genius. This has been my introduction to Koontz, and despite the negative points that I will touch on next, it has sold me on reading more of his writing. This man can write the HELL out of a sentence.
This book is also weak. Surprisingly, the most difficult parts to read were those of the suspense and intrigue. The twist at the end-- which I won't post-- was bewildering. It felt cheap and snuck in, flopping ashore after a smattering of red herrings. I can always respect when an author limits the character's perspective and the reader's, but this felt to me that it extended beyond an unreliable narrator. I hate to use the word 'contrived' as a criticism, as any work of fiction is by nature contrived, but it didn't feel *earned*. Even when it is explained, none of the evidence provided feels adequate.
A good plot twist should tell the reader, "you should have seen this coming"-- not, "you never would have seen this coming". But this is a small thorn in the side of an otherwise truly brilliant story.
About halfway through this book, I was really surprised by how low it is rated. This book isn't a color-inside-the-lines thriller. To me, it is an examination of mortality and grief. It is an overblown testimony of the way that we struggle to understand and accept the sudden and sometimes unfair health conditions and deaths of ourselves and those around us. We scramble through these disorienting and disquieting moments and cling to conspiracy, or capital, or whatever will redeem us in the end. We destroy ourselves even as the sickness pollutes us.
At its best, this book is genius. This has been my introduction to Koontz, and despite the negative points that I will touch on next, it has sold me on reading more of his writing. This man can write the HELL out of a sentence.
This book is also weak. Surprisingly, the most difficult parts to read were those of the suspense and intrigue. The twist at the end-- which I won't post-- was bewildering. It felt cheap and snuck in, flopping ashore after a smattering of red herrings. I can always respect when an author limits the character's perspective and the reader's, but this felt to me that it extended beyond an unreliable narrator. I hate to use the word 'contrived' as a criticism, as any work of fiction is by nature contrived, but it didn't feel *earned*. Even when it is explained, none of the evidence provided feels adequate.
A good plot twist should tell the reader, "you should have seen this coming"-- not, "you never would have seen this coming". But this is a small thorn in the side of an otherwise truly brilliant story.