Forever Odd (Odd Thomas Series #2) [NOOK Book]

Overview

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

BONUS: This edition contains an excerpt from Dean Koontz's The City.
 
I see dead people. But then, by God, I do something about it. Odd Thomas never asked for his special ability. He’s just an ordinary guy trying to live a quiet life in the small desert town of Pico Mundo. Yet he feels an obligation to do right by his otherworldly confidants, ...
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Forever Odd (Odd Thomas Series #2)

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Overview

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

BONUS: This edition contains an excerpt from Dean Koontz's The City.
 
I see dead people. But then, by God, I do something about it. Odd Thomas never asked for his special ability. He’s just an ordinary guy trying to live a quiet life in the small desert town of Pico Mundo. Yet he feels an obligation to do right by his otherworldly confidants, and that’s why he’s won hearts on both sides of the divide between life and death. But when a childhood friend disappears, Odd discovers something worse than a dead body and embarks on a heart-stopping battle of will and wits with an enemy of exceptional cunning. In the hours to come there can be no innocent bystanders, and every sacrifice can tip the balance between despair and hope.
 
You’re invited on an unforgettable journey through a world of terror and transcendence to wonders beyond imagining. And you can have no better guide than Odd Thomas.
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Editorial Reviews

Janet Maslin
Forever Odd retains the voice of the earlier book. It also retains some super-cute characters, like the ghost of Elvis Presley, who wordlessly hangs around Pico Mundo. A lot about these books can be deduced from the way they present Elvis: he is lionized for his faith, his struggles and especially for his devotion to his mother. The ending of this second Odd Thomas story indicates that dead Elvis will also be around for a third, and hence that Mr. Koontz is no fool.
—The New York Times
Publishers Weekly
A dead-on performance by narrator Baker brings Koontz's supernatural thriller to life. Odd Thomas, the psychic protagonist of Koontz's 2003 novel of the same name, is blessed, or cursed, with the ability to see the dead. Thomas is summoned to the house of his best friend, Danny Jessup, by Danny's murdered father. Danny is missing and it is up to Thomas to find him. His search leads him to an old, abandoned casino and into the clutches of the frightening Datura, who plans to use Thomas and his powers to further her own demented and deadly exploration of the supernatural. Baker excellently keeps the suspense as taunt as Koontz's prose. He gives Thomas an appropriately youthful vocalization while at the same time capturing the "old soul" weariness of someone who has seen and endured too much sorrow and tragedy, for his age. With Datura, Baker offers a perfect interpretation as he bounces effectively from seductive through menacing to just plain insane. Baker hits all the right thrills in this enjoyable melding of reader and writer. Simultaneous release with the Bantam hardcover (Reviews, Nov. 7). (Nov.) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
In this sequel to the best-selling Odd Thomas, Odd again stands between danger and the little town of Pico Mundo. Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
From the Publisher
"Forever Odd is a fast and exciting read.... [the climactic scenes are] fraught with tension."—Rocky Mountain News

"The nice young fry cook with the occult powers is [Dean Koontz's] most likable creation. ... candid, upright, amusing and sometimes withering, especially when thinking about the state of contemporary popular culture."—The New York Times

"Inventive.... It's refreshing to come across a character as good-hearted as Odd.... [Dean Koontz is] an interesting writer with a voice all his own."—Washington Post

"Odd's strange gifts, coupled with his intelligence and self-effacing humor, make him one of the most quietly authoritative characters in recent popular fiction."—Publishers Weekly, starred review

From the Hardcover edition.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780307414311
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 6/29/2007
  • Series: Odd Thomas Series , #2
  • Sold by: Random House
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 384
  • Sales rank: 5,040
  • File size: 3 MB

Meet the Author

Dean Koontz, the author of many #1 New York Times bestsellers, lives with his wife, Gerda, and the enduring spirit of their golden retriever, Trixie, in southern California.


From the Hardcover edition.

Biography

He is one of the most recognized, read, and loved suspense writers of the 20th century. His imagination is a veritable factory of nightmares, conjuring twisted tales of psychological complexity. He even has a fan in Stephen King. For decades, Dean Koontz's name has been synonymous with terror, and his novels never fail to quicken the pulse and set hearts pounding.

Koontz has a lifelong love of writing that led him to spend much of his free time as an adult furiously cultivating his style and voice. However, it was only after his wife Gerda made him an offer he couldn't refuse while he was teaching English at a high school outside of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, that he had a real opportunity to make a living with his avocation. Gerda agreed to support Dean for five years, during which time he could try to get his writing career off the ground. Little did she know that by the end of that five years she would be leaving her own job to handle the financial end of her husband's massively successful writing career.

Koontz first burst into the literary world with 1970's Beastchild, a science fiction novel that appealed to genre fans with its descriptions of aliens and otherworldly wars but also mined deeper themes of friendship and the breakdown of communication. Although it is not usually ranked among his classics, Beastchild provided the first inkling of Koontz's talent for populating even the most fantastical tale with fully human characters. Even at his goriest or most terrifying, he always allows room for redemption.

This complexity is what makes Koontz's work so popular with readers. He has a true gift for tempering horror with humanity, grotesqueries with lyricism. He also has a knack for genre-hopping, inventing Hitchcockian romantic mysteries, crime dramas, supernatural thrillers, science fiction, and psychological suspense with equal deftness and imagination. Perhaps The Times (London) puts it best: "Dean Koontz is not just a master of our darkest dreams, but also a literary juggler."

Good To Know

Shortly after graduating from college, Koontz took a job with the Appalachian Poverty Program where he would tutor and counsel underprivileged kids. However, after finding out that the last person who held his job had been beaten up and hospitalized by some of these kids, Koontz was more motivated than ever to get his writing career going.

When Koontz was a senior in college, he won the Atlantic Monthly fiction competition.

Koontz and Kevin Anderson's novel Frankenstein: The Prodigal Son was slotted to become a television series produced by Martin Scorsese. However, when the pilot failed to sell, the USA Network aired it as a TV movie in 2004. By that time Koontz had removed his name from the project.

Some fun and fascinating outtakes from our interview with Koontz:

"My wife, Gerda, and I took seven years of private ballroom dancing lessons, twice a week, ninety minutes each time. After we had gotten good at everything from swing to the foxtrot, we not only stopped taking lessons, but also stopped going dancing. Learning had been great fun; but for both of us, going out for an evening of dancing proved far less exhilarating than the learning. We both have a low boredom threshold. Now we dance at a wedding or other celebration perhaps once a year, and we're creaky."

"On my desk is a photograph given to me by my mother after Gerda and I were engaged to be married. It shows 23 children at a birthday party. It is neither my party nor Gerda's. I am three years old, going on four. Gerda is three. In that crowd of kids, we are sitting directly across a table from each other. I'm grinning, as if I already know she's my destiny, and Gerda has a serious expression, as if she's worried that I might be her destiny. We never met again until I was a senior in high school and she was a junior. We've been trying to make up for that lost time ever since.

"Gerda and I worked so much for the first two decades of our marriage that we never took a real vacation until our twentieth wedding anniversary. Then we went on a cruise, booking a first-class suite, sparing no expense. For more than half the cruise, the ship was caught in a hurricane. The open decks were closed because waves would have washed passengers overboard. About 90% of the passengers spent day after day in their cabins, projectile vomiting. We discovered that neither of us gets seasick. We had the showrooms, the casino, and the buffets virtually to ourselves. Because the crew had no one to serve, our service was exemplary. The ship dared not try to put into the scheduled ports; it was safer on the open sea. The big windows of the main bar presented a spectacular view of massive waves and lightning strikes that stabbed the sea by the score. Very romantic. We had a grand time.

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    1. Also Known As:
      David Axton, Brian Coffey, K.R. Dwyer, Deanna Dwyer, John Hill, Leigh Nichols, Anthony North, Richard Paige, Owen West, Aaron Wolfe
    2. Hometown:
      Newport Beach, California
    1. Date of Birth:
      July 9, 1945
    2. Place of Birth:
      Everett, Pennsylvania
    1. Education:
      B.S. (major in English), Shippensburg University, 1966
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One


WAKING, I HEARD A WARM WIND STRUMMING THE LOOSE screen at the open window, and I thought Stormy, but it was not.

The desert air smelled faintly of roses, which were not in bloom, and of dust, which in the Mojave flourishes twelve months of the year.

Precipitation falls on the town of Pico Mundo only during our brief winter. This mild February night was not, however, sweetened by the scent of rain. I hoped to hear the fading rumble of thunder. If a peal had awakened me, it must have been thunder in a dream.

Holding my breath, I lay listening to the silence, and felt the silence listening to me. The nightstand clock painted glowing numbers on the gloom—2:41 A.M.

For a moment I considered remaining in bed. But these days I do not sleep as well as I did when I was young. I am twenty-one and much older than when I was twenty.

Certain that I had company, expecting to find two Elvises watching over me, one with a cocky smile and one with sad concern, I sat up and switched on the lamp. A single Elvis stood in a corner: a life-size cardboard figure that had been part of a theater-lobby display for Blue Hawaii. In a Hawaiian shirt and a lei, he looked self-confident and happy.

Back in 1961, he'd had much to be happy about. Blue Hawaii was a hit film, and the album went to number one. He had six gold records that year, including "Can't Help Falling in Love," and he was falling in love with Priscilla Beaulieu.

Less happily, at the insistence of his manager, Tom Parker, he had turned down the lead in West Side Story in favor of mediocre movie fare like Follow That Dream. Gladys Presley, his beloved mother, had been dead three years, and still he felt the loss of her, acutely. Only twenty-six, he'd begun to have weight problems.

Cardboard Elvis smiles eternally, forever young, incapable of error or regret, untouched by grief, a stranger to despair.

I envy him. There is no cardboard replica of me as I once was and as I can never be again.

The lamplight revealed another presence, as patient as he was desperate. Evidently he had been watching me sleep, waiting for me to wake.

I said, "Hello, Dr. Jessup."

Dr. Wilbur Jessup was incapable of a response. Anguish flooded his face. His eyes were desolate pools; all hope had drowned in those lonely depths.
"I'm sorry to see you here," I said.

He made fists of his hands, not with the intention of striking anything, but as an expression of frustration. He pressed his fists to his chest.

Dr. Jessup had never previously visited my apartment; and I knew in my heart that he no longer belonged in Pico Mundo. But I clung to denial, and I spoke to him again as I got out of bed.

"Did I leave the door unlocked?"

He shook his head. Tears blurred his eyes, but he did not wail or even whimper. Fetching a pair of jeans from the closet, slipping into them, I said, "I've been forgetful lately."

He opened his fists and stared at his palms. His hands trembled. He buried his face in them.

"There's so much I'd like to forget," I continued as I pulled on socks and shoes, "but only the small stuff slips my mind-like where I left the keys, whether I locked the door, that I'm out of milk. . . ."

Dr. Jessup, a radiologist at County General Hospital, was a gentle man, and quiet, although he had never before been this quiet. Because I had not worn a T-shirt to bed, I plucked a white one from a drawer. I have a few black T-shirts, but mostly white. In addition to a selection of blue jeans, I have two pair of white chinos.

This apartment provides only a small closet. Half of it is empty. So are the bottom drawers of my dresser.

I do not own a suit. Or a tie. Or shoes that need to be shined.

For cool weather, I own two crew-neck sweaters.

Once I bought a sweater vest. Temporary insanity. Realizing that I had introduced an unthinkable level of complexity to my wardrobe, I returned it to the store the next day.

My four-hundred-pound friend and mentor, P. Oswald Boone, has warned me that my sartorial style represents a serious threat to the apparel industry.

I've noted more than once that the articles in Ozzie's wardrobe are of such enormous dimensions that he keeps in business those fabric mills I might otherwise put in jeopardy.

Barefoot, Dr. Jessup wore cotton pajamas. They were wrinkled from the rigors of restless sleep.

"Sir, I wish you'd say something," I told him. "I really wish you would."

Instead of obliging me, the radiologist lowered his hands from his face, turned, and walked out of the bedroom.

I glanced at the wall above the bed. Framed behind glass is a card from a carnival fortune-telling machine. It promises YOU ARE DESTINED TO BE TOGETHER FOREVER.

Each morning, I begin my day by reading those seven words. Each night, I read them again, sometimes more than once, before sleep, if sleep will come to me.

I am sustained by the certainty that life has meaning. As does death.

From a nightstand, I retrieved my cell phone. The first number on speed dial is the office of Wyatt Porter, chief of the Pico Mundo Police Department. The second is his home number. The third is his cell phone.

More likely than not, I would be calling Chief Porter, one place or another, before dawn.

In the living room, I turned on a light and discovered that Dr. Jessup had been standing in the dark, among the thrift-shop treasures with which the place is furnished.

When I went to the front door and opened it, he did not follow.

Although he had sought my assistance, he couldn't find the courage for what lay ahead.

In the rubescent light from an old bronze lamp with a beaded shade, the eclectic decor-Stickley-style armchairs, plump Victorian footstools, Maxfield Parrish prints, carnival-glass vases-evidently appealed to him.

"No offense," I said, "but you don't belong here, sir." Dr. Jessup silently regarded me with what might have been supplication. "This place is filled to the brim with the past. There's room for Elvis and me, and memories, but not for anyone new."

I stepped into the public hall and pulled the door shut.

My apartment is one of two on the first floor of a converted Victorian house. Once a rambling single-family home, the place still offers considerable charm. For years I lived in one rented room above a garage. My bed had been just a few steps from my refrigerator. Life was simpler then, and the future clear. I traded that place for this not because I needed more space, but because my heart is here now, and forever.

The front door of the house featured an oval of leaded glass. The night beyond looked sharply beveled and organized into a pattern that anyone could understand.

When I stepped onto the porch, this night proved to be like all others: deep, mysterious, trembling with the potential for chaos. From porch steps to flagstone path, to public sidewalk, I looked around for Dr. Jessup but didn't see him. In the high desert, which rises far east beyond Pico Mundo, winter can be chilly, while our low-desert nights remain mild even in February. The curbside Indian laurels sighed and whispered in the balmy wind, and moths soared to street lamps.

The surrounding houses were as quiet as their windows were dark. No dogs barked. No owls hooted.

No pedestrians were out, no traffic on the streets. The town looked as if the Rapture had occurred, as if only I had been left behind to endure the reign of Hell on Earth.

By the time I reached the corner, Dr. Jessup rejoined me. His pajamas and the lateness of the hour suggested that he had come to my apartment from his home on Jacaranda Way, five blocks north in a better neighborhood than mine. Now he led me in that direction.

He could fly, but he plodded. I ran, drawing ahead of him.

Although I dreaded what I would find no less than he might have dreaded revealing it to me, I wanted to get to it quickly. As far as I knew, a life might still be in jeopardy.

Halfway there, I realized that I could have taken the Chevy. For most of my driving life, having no car of my own, I borrowed from friends as needed. The previous autumn, I had inherited a 1980 Chevrolet Camaro Berlinetta Coupe.

Often I still act as though I have no wheels. Owning a few thousand pounds of vehicle oppresses me when I think about it too much. Because I try not to think about it, I sometimes forget I have it.

Under the cratered face of the blind moon, I ran.

On Jacaranda Way, the Jessup residence is a white-brick Georgian with elegant ornamentation. It is flanked by a delightful American Victorian with so many decorative moldings that it resembles a wedding cake, and by a house that is baroque in all the wrong ways.

None of these architectural styles seems right for the desert, shaded by palm trees, brightened by climbing bougainvillea. Our town was founded in 1900 by newcomers from the East Coast, who fled the harsh winters but brought with them cold-climate architecture and attitude.

Terri Stambaugh, my friend and employer, owner of the Pico Mundo Grille, tells me that this displaced architecture is better than the dreary acres of stucco and graveled roofs in many California desert towns.

I assume that she is right. I have seldom crossed the city line of Pico Mundo and have never been beyond the boundaries of Maravilla County.

My life is too full to allow either a jaunt or a journey. I don't even watch the Travel Channel.

The joys of life can be found anywhere. Far places only offer exotic ways to suffer.

Besides, the world beyond Pico Mundo is haunted by strangers, and I find it difficult enough to cope with the dead who, in life, were known to me. Upstairs and down, soft lamplight shone at some windows of the Jessup residence. Most panes were dark. By the time I reached the foot of the front-porch steps, Dr. Wilbur Jessup waited there.

The wind stirred his hair and ruffled his pajamas, although why he should be subject to the wind, I do not know. The moonlight found him, too, and shadow. The grieving radiologist needed comforting before he could summon sufficient strength to lead me into his house, where he himself no doubt lay dead, and perhaps another.

I embraced him. Only a spirit, he was invisible to everyone but me, yet he felt warm and solid.

Perhaps I see the dead affected by the weather of this world, and see them touched by light and shadow, and find them as warm as the living, not because this is the way they are but because this is the way I want them to be. Perhaps by this device, I mean to deny the power of death.

My supernatural gift might reside not in my mind but instead in my heart. The heart is an artist that paints over what profoundly disturbs it, leaving on the canvas a less dark, less sharp version of the truth.

Dr. Jessup had no substance, but he leaned heavily upon me, a weight. He shook with the sobs that he could not voice.

The dead don't talk. Perhaps they know things about death that the living are not permitted to learn from them.

In this moment, my ability to speak gave me no advantage. Words would not soothe him.

Nothing but justice could relieve his anguish. Perhaps not even justice. When he'd been alive, he had known me as Odd Thomas, a local character. I am regarded by some people-wrongly-as a hero, as an eccentric by nearly everyone.

Odd
is not a nickname; it's my legal handle.

The story of my name is interesting, I suppose, but I've told it before. What it boils down to is that my parents are dysfunctional. Big-time. I believe that in life Dr. Jessup had found me intriguing, amusing, puzzling. I think he had liked me.

Only in death did he know me for what I am: a companion to the lingering dead. I see them and wish I did not. I cherish life too much to turn the dead away, however, for they deserve my compassion by virtue of having suffered this world.

When Dr. Jessup stepped back from me, he had changed. His wounds were now manifest.

He had been hit in the face with a blunt object, maybe a length of pipe or a hammer. Repeatedly. His skull was broken, his features distorted. Torn, cracked, splintered, his hands suggested that he had desperately tried to defend himself-or that he had come to the aid of someone. The only person living with him was his son, Danny.

My pity was quickly exceeded by a kind of righteous rage, which is a dangerous emotion, clouding judgment, precluding caution.

In this condition, which I do not seek, which frightens me, which comes over me as though I have been possessed, I can't turn away from what must be done. I plunge. My friends, those few who know my secrets, think my compulsion has a divine inspiration. Maybe it's just temporary insanity.

Step to step, ascending, then crossing the porch, I considered phoning Chief Wyatt Porter. I worried, however, that Danny might perish while I placed the call and waited for the authorities.

The front door stood ajar.

I glanced back and saw that Dr. Jessup preferred to haunt the yard instead of the house. He lingered in the grass.

His wounds had vanished. He appeared as he had appeared before Death had found him-and he looked scared.

Until they move on from this world, even the dead can know fear. You would think they have nothing to lose, but sometimes they are wretched with anxiety, not about what might lie Beyond, but about those whom they have left behind. I pushed the door inward. It moved as smoothly, as silently as the mechanism of a well-crafted, spring-loaded trap.

From the Hardcover edition.

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Table of Contents

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 449 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(196)

4 Star

(153)

3 Star

(71)

2 Star

(18)

1 Star

(11)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 450 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 24, 2008

    I Also Recommend:

    Better than expected

    Koontz's novel "Odd Thomas" was clearly a bigger hit than anticipated, because his publishers have urged him to continue the story of the twenty-something fry cook who sees dead people. The result is "Forever Odd", which sees Odd left deflated and dispirited (not literally - he still communicates with ghosts) after the soul-shattering conclusion to his previous misadventure. Now that his desert town of Pico Mundo has returned to its state of relative calm, Odd wonders if he'll have time to rest and repair himself. Unfortunately, fate has something else in store for him. A young and very twisted lady has taken interest in the man with the unwanted gift, and has abducted a young and vulnerable friend of Odd's in order to get his attention.<BR/>Through his character, Koontz made it clear in the first novel that he intended to keep the tone light and the story swift-paced. He kept his promise for "Odd Thomas", and has done the same for the sequel. Every page in this novel feels relevant and un-belaboured, making this every bit the page-turner that the cover says.<BR/>The light tone occasionally feels forced, however, with Odd spinning out weak jokes and sometimes excruciatingly unfunny extended similes. Odd's young friend Danny, who Odd claims has a rapier wit and unparalleled sense of self-deprecating humour, is even worse, making the reader wish that Koontz just hadn't bothered.<BR/>Aside from that, the story is solid and still often amusing, and very occasionally emotional and chilling when intended. The conclusion and its admittedly minor revelation about the villains of the piece manages to shed a whole new layer to the narrative the reader has just finished, making up for minor niggles with a suitably uneasy conclusion.

    9 out of 9 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted June 6, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Another Amazing Odd Thomas Adventure!

    All I can say is that I was hesistant about the Odd Thomas series because I am not into ghosts, but the books are amazing! The depth of the characters, and Odd's personality and conversations are beyond inspiring, and draw you right into his heart and very offbeat and challenging life.

    7 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted April 4, 2009

    I Also Recommend:

    You just have to love Odd.

    I have a small library of books that adds up to 100+ books, and I think that of all the characters that I've become attached to, Odd is my favorite. Other than being able to see ghosts, he is about as down-to-earth as a character you can get. With Odd, what you see is what you get. Koontz has done a wonderful job creating a character that you can relate to, other than seeing the ghosts. Lol. This is a set that is worth your time to read!

    5 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted February 12, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Wow

    You know its a good book if Dean Koontz's name is on the cover.<BR/><BR/>This book is wonderful, even better that the first Odd Thomas book. The characters are still wonderful, and Odd Thomas himself seems so real, you almost expect for the back cover to have a short biography of his life now. <BR/>Fantastic read. I suggest that you wiat to start it until you have a few hours of uninterrupted time, because it's hard to put down.

    4 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted March 5, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Not what I expected from book 2

    Loved Odd Thomas (book 1) and figured Forever Odd (book 2) would follow the same general storyline and character plot from the first book, unfortunately it did not. Yes, book 2 did have the same characters and story background, however it quickly, (without much explanation/closure that I was expecting from the book 1) went into a completely unrelated plot with unknown characters we weren't previously introduced to.

    Since we were being introduced to these few new characters I had hoped Koontz would expand the overall storyline, however, I'm not sure why we met these few characters and what they're role was in the overall story line. I kept expecting an "ah ha" moment where the plot would double back to book 1 and the storyline would make more sense, no such luck.

    However, I love Odd's quirky personality, sense of humor and his view of the living and the dead is quite fun/silly. Overall a good read - I can't wait to find out who, where and what Odd Thomas will face next!
    xoxo_leigh

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 17, 2005

    Excellent, excellent, well worth reading.

    Forever Odd doesn't disappoint, in fact I enjoyed it even more than it's prequel. The character Odd Thomas is superb and his unique talents wonderfully described. The story is a delight and unforgettable from the revelation to the terror. I became so absorbed I almost believed Odd Thomas was real. Dean Koonz's FOREVER ODD and another recent read, Bruce Huntly's FUSION, are two of the most entertaining books I have read for a while. Such a pleasure to offset so many other mediocre new offerings.

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 21, 2012

    ODD THOMAS NEVER FAILS TO SATISFY

    Odd Thomas is one of those characters that the reader loves and the bad guys stalk. Yet despite their stalking, Odd prevails and makes everything right again. A blend of imagination, a snippit of humor and a cast of unique characters keeps the reader on the edge of his seat...reading into the wee hours of the night. IMHO this would make a great movie, mini series or even a series. It has a uniqueness like non other and Odd is simply perfect in these books!

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted October 24, 2011

    Amazing!

    One of the best books ive read in a long time!

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 31, 2011

    AMAZING READ

    THIS BOOK WAS VERY INTERESTING, IF YOU ARE NOT AFRAID TO BE OPEN TO DIFFERENT THINGS, THEN YOU WOULD ENJOY THIS BOOK!!!!!

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 19, 2011

    My favorite series

    Love Odd Thomas series.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted July 6, 2011

    Odd not so much

    All I cam say is stick with you will be rewarded; truly

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted April 13, 2011

    Who can resist a 'odd' guy who communes with ELVIS! by sandy

    I mean how original is that! I would want to talk to the dead who hang around the 'power ball' offices myself! So anyway, its a heck of a haunt following Odd around!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted March 14, 2011

    very good

    really enjoyed this book

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted March 5, 2011

    awesome read

    loved this series so much

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted February 28, 2011

    I love odd.

    I love odd thomas. have read them all. wish there were more.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted February 9, 2011

    A little disappointing.

    I loved the first book. I adore Odd's character, who makes you fall in love with him with his slight nerdiness and sweet manner. I thought the story line was very original even though there are plenty of medium or 'ghost whisperer' type stories out there and even more ghost stories in general. I eagerly jumped into the second book and found it to be a little lackluster. It's not a bad book, it's just that compared to the first book 'Odd Thomas,' it falls suprisingly short. I'm about to start the third book and hope it follows way of the first book, not the second.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted January 24, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    Sincerely a good read.

    If you have already began the Odd Thomas series, then you'll love this next installment. Odds' Pico Mundo family all play a bit of a role. Even the lovable "Terrible Chester" pops up. It is a bit different than the first Odd Thomas novel, but nonetheless captivating. I loved it. I hope you will too.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 31, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    love this series of books

    coould not put it down read it in a couple days

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 31, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Really ties into Odd Thomas

    This book tied into Odd Thomas perfectly. The description of everything was amazing and I couldn't help but laugh at Koontz's clever comedy.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 10, 2010

    love this entire series!

    Every single Odd book sucks me in and won't let me put it down until I've read every last page. Wonderful books!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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