'The Husband' (Dean Koontz)

I have a confession to make: I despised Dean Koontz. In fact, his Strange Highways a few years ago was so awful as to warrant banishment from my shelf. And then I picked up a book called Life Expectancy, without looking at the cover, and I adored it. Guess what? Dean Koontz.

So I’ve been a secret Koontz fan in the recent past. Forever Odd. Velocity. The Face. All great, gripping novels. All pleasant surprises. I grabbed The Husband, Koontz’s ‘relentless new thriller’, and I expected much of the same.

It was not to be. Too complex, too complicated and too full of cheap coincidence, The Husband simply doesn’t live up to the promise on its cover: “So, we have your wife. You get her back for 2 million cash.” “Man, you aren’t listening. I’m a gardener.” In fact, I couldn’t even follow the storyline. And that’s a minimum requirement.

So here’s my advice: if you really, really, really like Koontz, read his latest offering. If you don’t, this novel will not mark your conversion. Read Deaver instead.

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