I have sometimes been accused of being a book snob. I would like to protest that that is only mostly true. I do not insist on “highbrow” reading. I do not read only Shakespeare, and theory, and dry textbooks. I AM FUN, DAMMIT. In fact, I dislike theory quite a lot (the theory-head is Hermia, weird little freak that she is). And I do love Shakespeare, but I love him for his ridiculous plots and his bawdy jokes as much as for his poetry and his polish.
But, lest I protest too much (Hamlet joke: nudge, nudge, wink, wink), let me continue. I like all kinds of books. I read horror, sci fi, fantasy, mysteries, even some non-fiction. I have very few rules, but here they are:
1) The book must be well-written. If the plot is good, I can forgive substandard prose, but if the plot and the prose are poor, I get cranky.
2) If the book has a genre precedent, it must be acknowledged, even if it’s then rejected. For example, I think Twilight is awful. Both because it violates Rule #1, and because it never adequately explains why Myers’ vampires don’t fit the vampire prototype. Now don’t get me wrong, Gentle Readers. Not all vampires need to be Dracula-esque. Some of my favorite vampires are totally different types. But the good books acknowledge the previous stereotypes, explain the unique twist given, and extrapolate from there. A good book is aware of its place in literary history, even if the book only aspires to be a pot-boiler.
3) If I am going to cry, I like to be warned. I don’t need to know what horrible thing will happen, but I like to know that I need tissues. And usually I like to read crying-books while wearing my contacts, so my glasses don’t get all foggy. (So I’m a neat-freak. So what?)
That’s pretty much it. I will read just about anything. So I find it amusing to be called a book snob. Frankly, I’m a bit more of a book whore. I’m rather indiscriminate with my favors, and I will do it anywhere. *ahem* Moving on…
This whole conversation (Monologue? Rant?) is preamble to one of my favorite books. It’s a Dean Koontz thriller. Dean-o usually falls into the grey area described in Rule #1 above. His plots usually get me through the rough prose patches, but I have to read him sparingly. He is, however, a fantastic airplane read.
But one of the “Masters of Modern Horror” owns, and loves, golden retrievers. (awwwww.) His golden retriever Trixie even wrote a few books before she passed away. See her webpage here: http://www.deankoontz.com/trixie-about/ Yeah, yeah, yeah…corny. I know. Koontz’s A Big Little Life is still worth reading for all dog lovers, though (bring tissues).
So, back to…Watchers.
There are two books being written here. One is a dog book. If you don’t like dogs, firstly you won’t care for this book. Secondly, why are we friends, Gentle Reader? I mean, really. What do we have in common? Anyway, the other book is a science fiction genetic-mutation-runs-amok story, which is one of my favorite sub-genres. The great thing about Watchers is that these two halves feel organic. And not in a genetic-mutation sort of way.
Amoral scientists who have been tempted by power, money, and fame have come together somewhere in California to make super-genetic-hybrid-spy-soldier (SGHSS) things. Then, as these things tend to do, the SGHSSes get loose. There are, of course, two of them. The good one, who looks like a golden retriever, and the bad one, who eats people’s faces and looks like hellspawn. The bad one is jealous of the good one (sibling rivalry with fangs), and hunts it. It does eat people’s faces along the way: Jekyll & Hyde, with fur.
But the good SGHSS adopts a person. And since it is, physically, a dog, the SGHSS cannot speak. Which is where the book gets really fun. Our friend Dean writes dog behavior beautifully. Anyone who has ever been owned by a dog knows that his or her dog is obviously super-smart. Smarter than most people. Certainly smarter than I am. This SGHSS dog is the apex of my-dog-is-amazingly-smart. Because, you know, it is. Genetically modified and all. There is some seriously good dog-owner wish-fulfillment going on in this book. Plus, you know, faces being eaten. And chase scenes.
Some of the book is silly. There’s a girl-being-stalked subplot that is just shoved in there, but serves to get the romantic leads together. Frankly, it’s superfluous. Some of the plotting needs a nudge, and it is not beautifully written. BUT THE DOG HAS A PEOPLE-BRAIN. So it all works out.
It's pretty tightly-plotted, and the faint of heart ought not to read it alone in the dark. Read it amongst friends, in a brightly-lit coffee shop in the middle of a sunny afternoon. You'll still bite your nails.
And yes, it made me cry. By the end I even cried for the bad SGHSS. It is not his fault, after all, that the amoral scientists made him “wrong.” And he’s still a puppy. In spite of the face-eating.
Here is the B&N link, but you can find it cheaply on any book site. It was, after all, first published in 1987. My paperback is beat all to hell, and I am actually considering finding a hardback edition that I don't have to hold together with rubber bands and spit. Or you could vist your local library, otherwise known as my happy place.
[NOTA BENE: Koontz also wrote The Darkest Evening of the Year, another book with golden retrievers. It’s a total waste of time.]