I’m consuming Dean Koontz books like salted peanuts right now. Although I still have reservations about his style, especially in the early books, I’d have to be even more in denial than I am to claim I don’t find his books satisfying on a very elemental level.
I don’t know what other people find in Koontz. I can’t imagine that all his millions of fans have the same reasons I do. Because what I respond to most in Koontz is the recurring themes of protecting abused children, and of adult children of abuse overcoming their personal demons.
It would be interesting to know what elements in the author’s own life led him to tell these kinds of stories. If he himself suffered abuse as a child, then I can only assume he’s made a remarkable recovery. Because it’s hard to write that way unless you’ve unpacked your old baggage.
I’ve got an unfinished manuscript on my laptop, and I’ve been stuck on it for at least a year. I made the mistake of having one of the main characters suffer from Avoidant Personality Disorder, as I do. I think that’s one (but not the only one) of the reasons the story’s stuck. Because stories are about overcoming obstacles and, in my heart, I don’t really believe this guy is going to overcome his.
Last time I talked about my reading here, I was working on Koontz’ Intensity. I said that I was finding it hard because the story involved spending a lot of time with a really vile sociopath. And that was true, as far as it went. But I think another part of the problem was that I really—really—identified with the heroine, a woman named Chyna Shepherd who, because of childhood abuse, has walled herself off from the world. But she is forced by circumstances to go far beyond her personal limits, and to suffer much, to save a child’s life.
Loved it. But it was harrowing.
Then I went on to read Cold Fire, which looked like it would be a lot more fun. It’s about a guy who’s a living superhero. From time to time he gets psychic promptings that tell him to be at such and such a place at such and such a time, and to be prepared with this or that equipment. When he shows up, he finds somebody’s life in danger, and he saves them.
But the story gets darker. A woman reporter who falls in love with him discovers that his “gift” has its roots in terrible events in his childhood, events he has blotted out of his memory. With her help he confronts them and faces the truth.
At which point, of course, I stopped identifying.
Anyway, the moral (I guess) is, if you want to write autobiographical fiction about your own neuroses, it’s best to wait until you’re all better.
