I was surprised at first to see Dean Koontz’ Frankenstein series continuing beyond the original trilogy. I’d come away from that series thinking the story was pretty well wrapped up, and wrapped up pretty well. Also, Koontz has generally resisted writing series in the past, though he’s made exceptions here and in the Odd Thomas books.

However, on reading Frankenstein: Lost Souls, I was reminded of loose threads from the previous books which had indeed set us up for a continuation. So it’s all fair and aboveboard.

The main characters are back, but the locations have changed. New Orleans detectives Carson O’Conner and Michael Maddison, now married, have moved to San Francisco, where they work as private investigators and dote on their new baby. “Deucalion,” the reformed Frankenstein monster, has retired to a monastery (the same one, as it happens, that Odd Thomas lived in for a while, in Brother Odd). And Erica Five, Dr. Frankenstein’s android bride, is living near Rainbow Falls, Montana, along with Jocko, the android gnome, who serves as an object for her maternal instincts.

Then Deucalion has an intuition—a sure conviction in his psychic sense, telling him that somehow Dr. Frankenstein, who was horribly killed at the end of the previous book, is nevertheless alive.

And Eric Five catches a glimpse of him on a street in Rainbow Falls. Meanwhile, prominent Rainbow Falls Citizens are being kidnapped and murdered, replaced by replicants.

Deucalion calls on Carson and Michael, and a new battle begins.

Frankenstein: Lost Souls showcases a characteristic of Dean Koontz’ work that both intrigues and bothers me. There’s a lot of comedy, especially in the cross-talk between Carson and Michael, but this is juxtaposed with genuine horror—cruel deaths being inflicted on innocent people. That kind of narrative whiplash makes me, personally, uncomfortable.

Yet I think I know why Koontz does it. I suspect he’s trying portray something very real about the world—that we live in a situation that is at once ridiculous and tragic. There’s no use trying to pretend the universe is one thing or the other (though novelists try to do it all the time). “Get used to it,” Koontz is saying. “It’s both at once.” This idea, it seems to me, is an aid to faith, and Koontz is, after all, a Christian.

Don’t be too shocked by the cliff-hanger at the end. We’re only getting started with this new story.

Cautions for mild bad language and serious (though not graphic) horror. Recommended for teens and up.