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From the Hardcover edition.
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."
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.
“It’s a mystery.”
“To be a winner, you gotta be in the game,” Rooney said.
“I’m in the game.”
“Shooting hoops alone isn’t a game.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got women beating on my door.”
“Yeah,” Rooney said, “but they come in pairs and they want to tell you about Jesus.”
“Nothing wrong with that. They care about my soul. Anybody ever tell you, you’re a sarcastic sonofabitch?”
“You did. Like a thousand times. I never get tired of hearing it. This guy was in here earlier, he’s forty, never been married, and now they cut off his testicles.”
“Who cut off his testicles?”
“Some doctors.”
“You get me the names of those doctors,” Tim said. “I don’t want to go to one by accident.”
“The guy had cancer. Point is, now he can never have kids.”
“What’s so great about having kids, the way the world is?”
Rooney looked like a black-belt wannabe who, though never having taken a karate lesson, had tried to break a lot of concrete blocks with his face. His eyes, however, were blue windows full of warm light, and his heart was good.
“That’s what it’s all about,” Rooney said. “A wife, kids, a place you can hold fast to while the rest of the world spins apart.”
“Methuselah lived to be nine hundred, and he was begetting kids right to the end.”
“Begetting?”
“That’s what they did in those days. They begot.”
“So you’re going to–what?–wait to start a family till you’re six hundred?”
“You and Michelle don’t have kids.”
“We’re workin’ on it.” Rooney bent over, folded his arms on the bar, and put himself face-to-face with Tim. “What’d you do today, Doorman?”
Tim frowned. “Don’t call me that.”
“So what’d you do today?”
“The usual. Built some wall.”
“What’ll you do tomorrow?”
“Build some more wall.”
“Who for?”
“For whoever pays me.”
“I work this place seventy hours a week, sometimes longer, but not for the customers.”
“Your customers are aware of that,” Tim assured him.
“Who’s the sarcastic sonofabitch now?”
“You still have the crown, but I’m a contender.”
“I work for Michelle and for the kids we’re gonna have. You need somebody to work for besides who pays you, somebody special to build something with, to share a future with.”
“Liam, you sure do have beautiful eyes.”
“Me and Michelle–we worry about you, bro.”
Tim puckered his lips.
Rooney said, “Alone doesn’t work for anybody.”
Tim made kissing noises.
Leaning closer, until their faces were mere inches apart, Rooney said, “You want to kiss me?”
“Well, you seem to care about me so much.”
“I’ll park my ass on the bar. You can kiss that.”
“No thanks. I don’t want to have to cut off my lips.”
“You know what your problem is, Doorman?”
“There you go again.”
“Autophobia.”
“Wrong. I’m not afraid of cars.”
“You’re afraid of yourself. No, that isn’t right, either. You’re afraid of your potential.”
“You’d make a great high-school guidance counselor,” Tim said. “I thought this place served free pretzels. Where’re my pretzels?”
“Some drunk threw up on them. I’ve almost finished wiping them off.”
“Okay. But I don’t want them if they’re soggy.”
Rooney fetched a bowl of pretzels from the backbar and put them beside Tim’s beer. “Michelle has this cousin, Shaydra, she’s sweet.”
“What kind of name is Shaydra? Isn’t anyone named Mary anymore?”
“I’m gonna set you up with Shaydra for a date.”
“No point to it. Tomorrow, I’m having my testicles cut off.”
“Put them in a jar, bring them on the date. It’ll be a great ice-breaker,” said Rooney, and returned to the other end of the bar, where the three lively customers were busy paying the college tuition for the as-yet-unborn Rooney children.
For a few minutes, Tim worked at convincing himself that beer and pretzels were all he needed. Conviction was assisted by picturing Shaydra as a bovine person with one eyebrow and foot-long braided nose hairs.
As usual, the tavern soothed him. He didn’t even need the beer to take the sharp edges off his day; the room itself did the job, though he did not fully understand the reason for its calming effect.
The air smelled of stale beer and fresh beer, of spilled brine from the big sausage jar, of bar wax and shuffleboard powder. From the small kitchen came the aroma of hamburgers frying on a griddle and onion rings crispening in hot oil.
The warm bath of agreeable scents, the illuminated Budweiser clock and the soft shadows in which he sat, the murmurs of the couples in the booths behind him and the immortal voice of Patsy Cline on the jukebox were so familiar that by comparison his own home would seem to be foreign territory.
Maybe the tavern comforted him because it represented, if not permanence, at least continuance. In a world rapidly and ceaselessly transforming, the Lamplighter resisted the slightest change.
Tim expected no surprises here, and wanted none. New experiences were overrated. Being run down by a bus would be a new experience.
He preferred the familiar, the routine. He would never be at risk of falling off a mountain because he would never climb one.
Some said he lacked a sense of adventure. Tim saw no point in suggesting to them that intrepid expeditions through exotic lands and across strange seas were the quests of crawling children compared to the adventures waiting in the eight inches between the left ear and the right.
If he made that observation, they would think him a fool. He was just a mason, after all, a bricklayer. He was expected not to think too much.
These days, most people avoided thinking, especially about the future. They preferred the comfort of blind convictions to clear-eyed thought.
Others accused him of being old-fashioned. Guilty as charged.
The past was rich with known beauty and fully rewarded a look backward. He was a hopeful man, but not presumptuous enough to assume that beauty lay, as well, in the unknown future.
An interesting guy came into the tavern. He was tall, although not as tall as Tim, solid but not formidable.
His manner, rather than his appearance, made him interesting. He entered like an animal with a predator on its trail, peering back through the door until it swung shut, and then warily surveying the premises, as though distrusting the promise of refuge.
When the newcomer approached and sat at the bar, Tim stared at his Pilsner glass as if it were a sacred chalice, as though he were brooding on the profound meaning of its contents. By assuming a devotional demeanor, rather than a pose of sullen solitude, he allowed strangers the option of conversation without encouraging it.
If the first words out of the newcomer’s mouth were those of a bigot or a political nut, or the wrong kind of fool, Tim could morph from a pose of spiritual or nostalgic reverie to one of bitter silence and barely repressed violence. Few people would try more than twice to break the ice when the only response was a glacial chill.
Tim preferred quiet contemplation at this altar, but he enjoyed the right kind of conversation, too. The right kind was uncommon.
When you initiated a conversation, you could have a hard time putting an end to it. When the other guy spoke first, however, and revealed his nature, you could shut him down by shutting him out.
Diligent in the support of his yet-to-be-conceived children, Rooney arrived. “What’ll it be?”
The stranger put a thick manila envelope on the bar and kept his left hand on it. “Maybe . . . a beer.”
Rooney waited, eyebrows raised.
“Yes. All right. A beer,” said the newcomer.
“On tap, I have Budweiser, Miller Lite, and Heineken.”
“Okay. Well . . . then . . . I guess . . . Heineken.”
His voice was as thin and taut as a telephone wire, his words like birds perched at discreet intervals, resonant with a plucked note that might have been dismay.
By the time Rooney brought the beer, the stranger had money on the bar. “Keep the change.”
Evidently a second round was out of the question.
When Rooney went away, the stranger wrapped his right hand around the beer glass. He did not take a sip.
Tim was a wet nurse. That was the mocking title Rooney had given him because of his ability to nurse two beers through a long evening. Sometimes he asked for ice to enliven a warm brew.
Even if you weren’t a heavy drinker, however, you wanted the first swallow of beer when it was at its coldest, fresh from the tap.
Like a sniper intent on a target, Tim focused on his Budweiser, but like a good sniper, he also had keen peripheral vision. He could see that the stranger had still not lifted the glass of Heineken.
The guy did not appear to be a habitué of taverns, and evidently he didn’t want to be in this one, on this night, at this hour.
At last he said, “I’m early.”
Tim wasn’t sure if this was a conversation he wanted.
“I guess,” said the stranger, “everyone wants to be early, size things up.”
Tim was getting a bad vibe. Not a look-out-he’s-a-werewolf kind of vibe, just a feeling that the guy might be tedious.
The stranger said, “I jumped out of an airplane with my dog.”
On the other hand, the best hope of a memorable barroom conversation is to have the good luck to encounter an eccentric.
Tim’s spirits lifted. Turning to the skydiver, he said, “What was his name?”
“Whose name?”
“The dog’s.”
“Larry.”
“Funny name for a dog.”
“I named him after my brother.”
“What did your brother think of that?”
“My brother is dead.”
Tim said, “I’m sorry to hear it.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Did Larry like sky-diving?”
“He never went. He died when he was sixteen.”
“I mean Larry the dog.”
“Yeah. He seemed to like it. I bring it up only because my stomach is in knots like it was when we jumped.”
“This has been a bad day, huh?”
The stranger frowned. “What do you think?”
Tim nodded. “Bad day.”
Continuing to frown, the skydiver said, “You are him, aren’t you?”
The art of barroom banter is not like playing Mozart on the piano. It’s freestyle, a jam session. The rhythms are instinctual.
“Are you him?” the stranger asked again.
Tim said, “Who else would I be?”
“You look so . . . ordinary.
From the Hardcover edition.
Anonymous
Posted September 8, 2009
In my opinion, Dean Koontz is usually at his best when writing in a realistic vein. This novel has none of the other-worldly overtones or supernatural elements so prominent in much of his work. This is a straight-up thriller. Dean gives us a quirky serial killer, a Hitchcockian premise, a nail-biting chase, some witty (but cliched) dialogue, and a bit of preaching (his libertarian political views are clearly on display). The story is, however, somewhat predictable and is very similar in its themes and plot to other recent Koontz novels (Velocity and The Husband come to mind). For a light and breezy way to pass a summer day, it's worth checking out.
2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.I have to say that I enjoyed THE GOOD GUY a whole lot more than THE HUSBAND, which I didn't even finish. Although there's no paranormal elements to this book, like my favorite Koontz books have, this is a pretty good thriller.
Tim Carrier is the quiet, stay-out-of-the-way-and-disappear-into-the-shadows type of guy. That seems to be working fine, until a customer walks into the bar where Tim's at and mistakes him for a hired killer. Before he can rectify the mistake, another man enters, and it doesn't take Tim long to figure out that THIS man is the REAL killer. It also becomes quite clear that offering the hit man money to not kill anyone isn't going to work.
What follows is Tim doing what Tim does best -- taking on the problems of others as if it were his mission. As the humble mason tracks down Linda, the woman the hit man was going to be hired to kill, the story turns into a book version of the TV show "24."
There's action-adventure here, and well-drawn characters (the villain, by far, is the most interesting character in the book), and a plausible story line. I really enjoyed THE GOOD GUY!
2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Anonymous
Posted April 27, 2009
As a Koontz fan, I found this to be a disappointing read. It was very predictable and the end made me wonder if he was close to a publisher's deadline and wrapped up in a hurry.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.TulaneGirl
Posted December 11, 2008
I Also Recommend:
Usually I'm intrigued by the characters and their thrilling journey. This, however, was slightly disappointing. Although the male lead character was engaging, the female lead was not as engaging and at times irritated me. I was unable to connect with her and sometimes wished the killer-for-hire would just get her already. He definitely has better books to represent him.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.catloverMJ
Posted October 20, 2008
I usually enjoy Kean Koontz books, but The Good Guy was very dragged out and did not keep my interest. I got bored with it and only read half the book.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted October 15, 2008
I thoroughly enjoyed this book. I liked the characters, and I liked the plot. I highly recommend it.
I also recommend: Bliss to You, Watchers, Lightning, Midnight and Darkfall. Actually, I recommend almost every book written by Dean Koontz.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Anonymous
Posted October 11, 2007
i was unimpressed. bored. it took over a week to read. i usually finish a koontz novel in two or three days. i wanted to throw it away b/c it just didn't do anything for me. it was like the husband and velocity, both of which were pretty decent.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted August 28, 2007
I should have known not to read this book. Koontz writes best when he writes sci-fi. And I LOVE the Odd Thomas character. And I love dry humor but not in more than one character. This book may be suspenseful but I quit reading after a few chapters. If I buy Koontz, it's to read believable sci-fi with great characters. Gone are the good 'ol days apparently. Sorry Dean
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted July 5, 2007
The Dean Koontz formula was too clearly recognizeable in this story. The story line lacked originality and at times unrealistic. It the main character can climb a Joseph's Coat Rose, he's made of steel. 'Not Realistic' The protagonist's deep dark secret that was hinted at throughout the story was not what I might think of as something to hide. The ending was rushed and not very realistic.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted July 9, 2007
I had hoped for more, but like Stephen King, Koontz's vintage work just isn't there any more. The characters were very shallow and underdeveloped. The big secret that was so elusive was really nothing that interesting. It was just a giant chase scene with a very quick, undramatic ending.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted July 17, 2007
This is just one long chase scene, and there are no clues as to why that would keep you interested. The whole story is just ridiculous and the ending a farce.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted September 8, 2007
thought it was OKAY. I really like the killers character. Would have like to see more of him. Thought the ending was way over the top. Loads of annoying charactors. Finished it because I started it. Not one of his best.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted June 27, 2007
Usually love his books, but this one was a real disappointment. Never made me like the characters and was totally clueless when it comes to describing how a woman thinks. Read half of it and was relieved to put it down. Hope he gets back to his old self because I wouldn't read anything else like this. Bring back Christopher Snow!
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.After work mason Tim Carrier drinks beer at his friend Liam Rooney¿s bar, Lamplighter Tavern. Tim prefers routines so although Liam wants to set him up with his wife¿s cousin, he makes it clear that he prefers being alone or perhaps having his testicles cut off instead. However, he also enjoys quiet conversation so when the stranger with the manila envelop sat next to him, he thought this might prove an interesting discussion as the man with a beer seems like a fellow ¿wet nurse¿ nursing a drink or two for the night. --- The stranger tells Tim his stomach is in knots just like skydiving for the first time. He then gives Tim the envelop stating 'Half of it's here. Ten thousand. The rest when she's gone.' Not sure where the man is going, Tim pretends to listen until the stranger abruptly leaves. Stunned Tim opens up the envelop to learn the target is writer Linda Paquette of Laguna Beach when a second stranger sits down and says to Tim ¿you¿re early¿. For not heeding mom¿s advice of never talk to strangers, Tim finds himself as target number two from an invincible killer with government connections. As the targeted pair meet and flee together, they struggle to learn why even as the hit man keeps coming. --- No writer today takes an everyman and places them in scenarios where they die or adapt better than Dean Koontz consistently does. His latest thriller hooks the audience from the moment Tim meets the two strangers and never lets go as Tim and Linda struggle to elude a killer out of the Energizer Bunny mold. Suspense fans will want to read Mr. Koontz's action-packed thriller starring two sly everyday people and a cold blooded terminator. --- Harriet Klausner
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted May 10, 2007
As much as I love Dean Koontz, a story of an ordinary guy dodging a psycho-killer backed by the government is territory he's covered before. Let's hope it doesn't disappoint,
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted June 24, 2007
Disappointing, boring, characters I couldn't even care about. Yes, we have seen this story before, and it's been done too many times. Let's get back to some original story lines from Koontz.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted September 18, 2011
I loved this book. He is such a good writer. Ive read almost all of his books
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Anonymous
Posted June 20, 2011
Will not down load took my money
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Dean Koontz has a distinctive style in the thriller genre, and I have always liked it. I haven't read a book by him in a while, and realized that it's been long enough that a good half-dozen new ones are available. Of them all, this one sounded the most intriguing, so I tried it first, and I am very glad I did. This is trademark Dean Koontz -- a page-turner from the very first paragraph. I could not put this book down, and read the whole thing in three days despite being on vacation and visiting relatives.
The book's strength, as with many of Koontz's, resides in a tight, twisty-turny plot, and in very well drawn characters. The villain is suitably threatening, and the two main characters -- Linda and Tim -- are wonderfully drawn. Koontz will have you caring about them both from the get-go, and you will be hard-pressed to put this book down without making sure they are both safe.
If you have never tried a Dean Koontz book, this is as good as it gets, and a reasonable one to get you started. If you have read Koontz and you like his style, you will love this one. It is up there with False Memory, Watchers, and Lightning as one of my all-time favorites.
Angela2932ND
Posted April 16, 2010
Disappointing. I thought the plot was disjointed and unbelievable, with not enough "pay-off" for wading through it. There were intriguing moments in this novel, and I kept hoping that the plot, though unbelievable in so many ways, was going to finally come together and make sense of the convoluted mish-mash. It never did. The biggest mystery of all was that at the end, I kept wondering whether I had the author right--wasn't this the guy who usually wrote really gripping, fantastic horror novels? I could swear I'd read some great books by him many years ago. . . but maybe not. I felt like the author just got tired of writing at the end, and suddenly couldn't resist blurting out "The End!" and that was it!
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Overview
Timothy Carrier, having a beer after work at his friend’s tavern, enjoys drawing eccentric customers into amusing conversations. But the jittery man who sits next to him tonight has mistaken Tim for someone very different—and passes to him a manila envelope full of cash.“Ten thousand now. You get the rest when she’s gone.”
The stranger walks out, leaving a photo of the pretty woman marked for death, and her address. But things are about to get worse. In minutes another stranger sits next to Tim. This one is a ...