Odd Apocalypse (Odd Thomas Series #5) [NOOK Book]

Overview

“Koontz gives [Odd Thomas] wit, good humor, a familiarity with the dark side of humanity—and moral outrage.”—USA Today
 
Once presided over by a Roaring ’20s Hollywood mogul, the magnificent West Coast estate known as Roseland now harbors a reclusive billionaire financier and his faithful servants—and their guests: Odd Thomas, the young fry cook who sees the dead and tries to help them, and Annamaria, his inscrutably charming traveling ...
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Odd Apocalypse (Odd Thomas Series #5)

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Overview

“Koontz gives [Odd Thomas] wit, good humor, a familiarity with the dark side of humanity—and moral outrage.”—USA Today
 
Once presided over by a Roaring ’20s Hollywood mogul, the magnificent West Coast estate known as Roseland now harbors a reclusive billionaire financier and his faithful servants—and their guests: Odd Thomas, the young fry cook who sees the dead and tries to help them, and Annamaria, his inscrutably charming traveling companion. Fresh from a harrowing clash with lethal adversaries, they welcome their host’s hospitality. But Odd’s extraordinary eye for the uncanny detects disturbing secrets that could make Roseland more hell than haven.
 
Soon enough the house serves up a taste of its terrors, as Odd begins to unravel the darkest mystery of his curious career. What consequences await those who confront evil at its most profound? Odd only knows.
 
“Odd Thomas is the greatest character Dean Koontz has ever created. He’s funny, humble, immensely likable, courageous, and just a joy to read about.”—Seattle Post-Intelligencer
 
“[Odd Thomas is] one of the most remarkable and appealing characters in current fiction.”—The Virginian-Pilot
 
“Supernatural thrills with a side of laughs.”—The Denver Post
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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
At the start of bestseller Koontz’s wry, offbeat fifth Odd Thomas novel (after 2008’s Odd Hours), short-order cook Thomas, who has prophetic dreams and can “see the spirits of the lingering dead,” has a vision while he’s a guest at a California retreat known as Roseland—of a blonde woman in a white nightgown on a black horse. Though unable to speak, this ghostly woman is able to communicate that her son, who’s also at Roseland, is in danger. Thomas embarks on a quest to avenge the woman’s death that will involve brutish piglike creatures that walk erect and travel in packs as well as secret discoveries by the legendary Nikolas Tesla. This supernatural thriller surely ranks as one of the series’ funniest. Even as Thomas fights the forces of darkness, he observes, “Of course, one must always remember that although The Sound of Music is the most feel-good movie musical of all time, it is crammed full of Nazis.” (Aug.)
From the Publisher
ACCLAIM FOR DEAN KOONTZ AND HIS ODD THOMAS NOVELS
 
“An inventive . . . mix of suspense, whimsy and uplift. It’s refreshing to come across a character as good-hearted as Odd.”—The Washington Post
 
“If Stephen King is the Rolling Stones of novels, Koontz is the Beatles.”—Playboy
 
“Koontz is a master of melding the supernatural with the commonplace. [His] writing [crackles] with dry, tongue-in-cheek wit.”—The Boston Globe
 
“Heartfelt and provocative . . . a wonderfully rich and entertaining story.”—Chicago Sun-Times
 
“Koontz gives his character wit, good humor, a familiarity with the dark side of humanity—and moral outrage.”—USA Today
Library Journal
Odd Thomas, a fry cook who can see dead people, was first introduced to readers as a teenager in 2003's Odd Thomas. An engaging young man who peppers his narratives (Brother Odd; Odd Hours) with wisecracks, he also seems to have a sagelike understanding of humanity. As we encounter him again in this new adventure, he is a guest at Roseland, a sinister Pacific Coast estate set farther from reality's borders than Odd has ventured in the past. Here he is compelled by one of the restless dead to rescue a young boy from the grips of Roseland before he, like its other inhabitants, is no longer able to leave. VERDICT With this offering Odd's fanbase with fantasy-horror devotees is certain to grow, while previous admirers of his quirky charms will not be disappointed. Odd's screen debut, starring Anton Yelchin and Willem Dafoe, later this fall is certain to attract new readers. [See Prepub Alert, 1/30/12.]—Nancy McNicol, Hamden P.L., CT
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780345533586
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 7/31/2012
  • Series: Odd Thomas Series , #5
  • Sold by: Random House
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 368
  • Sales rank: 6,194
  • File size: 3 MB

Meet the Author

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

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

One

Near sunset of my second full day as a guest in Roseland, crossing the immense lawn between the main house and the eucalyptus grove, I halted and pivoted, warned by instinct. Racing toward me, the great black stallion was as mighty a horse as I had ever seen. Earlier, in a book of breeds, I had identified it as a Friesian. The blonde who rode him wore a white nightgown.

As silent as any spirit, the woman urged the horse forward, faster. On hooves that made no sound, the steed ran through me with no effect.

I have certain talents. In addition to being a pretty good short-order cook, I have an occasional prophetic dream. And in the waking world, I sometimes see the spirits of the lingering dead who, for various reasons, are reluctant to move on to the Other Side.

This long-dead horse and rider, now only spirits in our world, knew that no one but I could see them. After appearing to me twice the previous day and once this morning, but at a distance, the woman seemed to have decided to get my attention in an aggressive fashion.

Mount and mistress raced around me in a wide arc. I turned to follow them, and they cantered toward me once more but then halted. The stallion reared over me, silently slashing the air with the hooves of its forelegs, nostrils flared, eyes rolling, a creature of such immense power that I stumbled backward even though I knew that it was as immaterial as a dream.

Spirits are solid and warm to my touch, as real to me in that way as is anyone alive. But I am not solid to them, and they can neither ruffle my hair nor strike a death blow at me.

Because my sixth sense complicates my existence, I try otherwise to keep my life simple. I have fewer possessions than a monk. I have no time or peace to build a career as a fry cook or as anything else. I never plan for the future, but wander into it with a smile on my face, hope in my heart, and the hair up on the nape of my neck.

Bareback on the Friesian, the barefoot beauty wore white silk and white lace and wild red ribbons of blood both on her gown and in her long blond hair, though I could see no wound. Her nightgown was rucked up to her thighs, and her knees pressed against the stallion’s heaving sides. In her left hand, she twined a fistful of the horse’s mane, as if even in death she must hold fast to her mount to keep their spirits joined.

If spurning a gift weren’t ungrateful, I would at once return my supernatural sight. I would be content to spend my days whipping up omelets that make you groan with pleasure and pancakes so fluffy that the slightest breeze might float them off your plate.

Every talent is unearned, however, and with it comes a solemn obligation to use it as fully and as wisely as possible. If I didn’t believe in the miraculous nature of talent and in the sacred duty of the recipient, by now I would have gone so insane that I’d qualify for numerous high government positions.

As the stallion danced on its hind legs, the woman reached out with her right arm and pointed down at me, as if to say that she knew I saw her and that she had a message to convey to me. Her lovely face was grim with determination, and those cornflower-blue eyes that were not bright with life were nonetheless bright with anguish.

When she dismounted, she didn’t drop to the ground but instead floated off the horse and almost seemed to glide across the grass to me. The blood faded from her hair and nightgown, and she manifested as she had looked in life before her fatal wounds, as if she might be concerned that the gore would repel me. I felt her touch when she put one hand to my face, as though she, a ghost, had more difficulty believing in me than I had believing in her.

Behind the woman, the sun melted into the distant sea, and several distinctively shaped clouds glowed like a fleet of ancient warships with their masts and sails ablaze.

As I saw her anguish relent to a tentative hope, I said, “Yes, I can see you. And if you’ll let me, I can help you cross over.”

She shook her head violently and took a step backward, as if she feared that with some touch or spoken spell I might release her from this world. But I have no such power.

I thought I understood the reason for her reaction. “You were murdered, and before you go from this world, you want to be sure that justice will be done.”

She nodded but then shook her head, as if to say, Yes, but not only that.

Being more familiar with the deceased than I might wish to be, I can tell you from considerable personal experience that the spirits of the lingering dead don’t talk. I don’t know why. Even when they have been brutally murdered and are desperate to see their assailants brought to justice, they are unable to convey essential information to me either by phone or face-to-face. Neither do they send text messages. Maybe that’s because, given the opportunity, they would reveal something about death and the world beyond that we the living are not meant to know.

Anyway, the dead can be even more frustrating to deal with than are many of the living, which is astonishing when you consider that it’s the living who run the Department of Motor Vehicles.

Shadowless in the last direct light of the drowning sun, the Friesian stood with head high, as proud as any patriot before the sight of a beloved flag. But his only flag was the golden hair of his mistress. He grazed no more in this place but reserved his appetite for Elysian fields.

Approaching me again, the blonde stared at me so intensely that I could feel her desperation. She formed a cradle with her arms and rocked it back and forth.

I said, “A baby?”

Yes.

“Your baby?”

She nodded but then shook her head.

Brow furrowed, biting her lower lip, the woman hesitated before holding out one hand, palm down, perhaps four and a half feet above the ground.

Practiced as I am at spirit charades, I figured that she must be indicating the current height of the baby whom she’d once borne, not an infant now but perhaps nine or ten years old. “Not your baby any longer. Your child.”

She nodded vigorously.

“Your child still lives?”

Yes.

“Here in Roseland?”

Yes, yes, yes.

Ablaze in the western sky, those ancient warships built of clouds were burning down from fiery orange to bloody red as the heavens slowly darkened toward purple.

When I asked if her child was a girl or a boy, she indicated the latter.

Although I knew of no children on this estate, I considered the anguish that carved her face, and I asked the most obvious question: “And your son is . . . what? In trouble here?”

Yes, yes, yes.

Far to the east of the main house in Roseland, out of sight beyond a hurst of live oaks, was a riding ring bristling with weeds. A half-collapsed ranch fence encircled it.

The stables, however, looked as if they had been built last week. Curiously, all the stalls were spotless; not one piece of straw or a single cobweb could be found, no dust, as though the place was thoroughly scrubbed on a regular basis. Judging by that tidiness, and by a smell as crisp and pure as that of a winter day after a snowfall, no horses had been kept there in decades; evidently, the woman in white had been dead a long time.

How, then, could her child be only nine or ten?

Some spirits are exhausted or at least taxed by lengthy contact, and they fade away for hours or days before they renew their power to manifest. This woman seemed to have a strong will that would maintain her apparition. But suddenly, as the air shimmered and a strange sour-yellow light flooded across the land, she and the stallion—which perhaps had been killed in the same event that claimed the life of his mistress—were gone. They didn’t fade or wither from the edges toward the center, as some other displaced souls occasionally did, but vanished in the instant that the light changed.

Precisely when the red dusk became yellow, a wind sprang out of the west, lashing the eucalyptus grove far behind me, rustling through the California live oaks to the south, and blustering my hair into my eyes.

I looked into a sky where the sun had not quite yet gone down, as if some celestial timekeeper had wound the cosmic clock backward a few minutes.

That impossibility was exceeded by another. Yellow from horizon to horizon, without the grace of a single cloud, the heavens were ribboned with what appeared to be high-altitude rivers of smoke or soot. Gray currents streaked through with black. Moving at tremendous velocity. They widened, narrowed, serpentined, sometimes merged, but came apart again.

I had no way of knowing what those rivers were, but the sight strummed a dark chord of intuition. I suspected that high above me raced torrents of ashes, soot, and fine debris that had once been cities, metropolises pulverized by explosions unprecedented in power and number, then vomited high into the atmosphere, caught and held in orbit by the jet stream, by the many jet streams of a war-transformed troposphere.

My waking visions are even rarer than my prophetic dreams. When one afflicts me, I am aware that it’s an internal event, occurring only in my mind. But this spectacle of wind and baleful light and horrific patterns in the sky was no vision. It was as real as a kick in the groin.

Clenched like a fist, my heart pounded, pounded, as across the yellow vault came a flock of creatures like nothing I had seen in flight before. Their true nature was not easily discerned. They were larger than eagles but seemed more like bats, many hundreds of them, incoming from the northwest, descending as they approached. As my heart pounded harder, it seemed that my reason must be knocking to be let out so that the madness of this scene could fully invade me.

Be assured that I am not insane, neither as a serial killer is insane nor in the sense that a man is insane who wears a colander as a hat to prevent the CIA from controlling his mind. I dislike hats of any kind, though I have nothing against colanders properly used.

I have killed more than once, but always in self-defense or to protect the innocent. Such killing cannot be called murder. If you think that it is murder, you’ve led a sheltered life, and I envy you.

Unarmed and greatly outnumbered by the incoming swarm, not sure if they were intent upon destroying me or oblivious of my existence, I had no illusions that self-defense might be possible. I turned and ran down the long slope toward the eucalyptus grove that sheltered the guesthouse where I was staying.

The impossibility of my predicament didn’t inspire the briefest hesitation. Now within two months of my twenty-second birthday, I had been marinated for most of my life in the impossible, and I knew that the true nature of the world was weirder than any bizarre fabric that anyone’s mind might weave from the warp and weft of imagination’s loom.

As I raced eastward, breaking into a sweat as much from fear as from exertion, behind and above me arose the shrill cries of the flock and then the leathery flapping of their wings. Daring to glance back, I saw them rocking through the turbulent wind, their eyes as yellow as the hideous sky. They funneled toward me as though some master to which they answered had promised to work a dark version of the miracle of loaves and fishes, making of me an adequate meal for these multitudes.

When the air shimmered and the yellow light was replaced by red, I stumbled, fell, and rolled onto my back. Raising my hands to ward off the ravenous horde, I found the sky familiar and nothing winging through it except a pair of shore birds in the distance.

I was back in the Roseland where the sun had set, where the sky was largely purple, and where the once-blazing galleons in the air had burned down to sullen red.

Gasping for breath, I got to my feet and watched for a moment as the celestial sea turned black and the last embers of the cloud ships sank into the rising stars.

Although I was not afraid of the night, prudence argued that I would not be wise to linger in it. I continued toward the eucalyptus grove.

The transformed sky and the winged menace, as well as the spirits of the woman and her horse, had given me something to think about. Considering the unusual nature of my life, I need not worry that, when it comes to food for thought, I will ever experience famine.

Two

After the woman, the horse, and the yellow sky, I didn’t think I would sleep that night. Lying awake in low lamplight, I found my thoughts following morbid paths.

We are buried when we’re born. The world is a place of graves occupied and graves potential. Life is what happens while we wait for our appointment with the mortician.

Although it is demonstrably true, you are no more likely to see that sentiment on a Starbucks cup than you are the words coffee kills.

Even before coming to Roseland, I had been in a mood. I was sure I’d cheer up soon. I always do. Regardless of what horror transpires, given a little time, I am as reliably buoyant as a helium balloon.

I don’t know the reason for that buoyancy. Understanding it might be a key part of my life assignment. Perhaps when I realize why I can find humor in the darkest of darknesses, the mortician will call my number and the time will have come to choose my casket.

Actually, I don’t expect to have a casket. The Celestial Office of Life Themes—or whatever it might be called—seems to have decided that my journey through this world will be especially complicated by absurdity and violence of the kind in which the human species takes such pride. Consequently, I’ll probably be torn limb from limb by an angry mob of antiwar protesters and thrown on a bonfire. Or I’ll be struck down by a Rolls-Royce driven by an advocate for the poor.

Certain that I wouldn’t sleep, I slept.

At four o’clock that February morning, I was deep in disturbing dreams of Auschwitz.

My characteristic buoyancy would not occur just yet.
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 269 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(138)

4 Star

(65)

3 Star

(24)

2 Star

(27)

1 Star

(15)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 269 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 3, 2012

    ??

    Why do some people feel like when they write a review they have to write a book of their own? Irritating when half of the story is told in the review! Anyway, i love Odd Thomas and am glad to see the new book. :D

    18 out of 21 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 1, 2012

    Odd Thomas Rocks!

    Oddy's strangest adventure to date! Superbly written as always, so descriptive it's a movie in my head. Depicting such detail and emotion as to transport me to Odd's world. Love it and can hardly wait for the next book!

    16 out of 18 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 5, 2012

    Not As Not on par with earlier Odd novels

    Love, love, love Odd Thomas, but this was the first one of the series that took some effort for me to get through. Unlike the previous books, this one lacked much interaction between the characters, focusing instead on long stretches of introspection and observations. The result was that much of the usual fun banter was replaced by long intervals of overly descriptive, boring prose. Because I enjoy the Odd Thomas character, I pushed through to the end but, if this had been the first in the series, I most likely wouldn't have continued on. It would be wonderful to see Odd return to his endearing, interesting self in the future, once again making readers anticipate each page instead of dragging themselves through them.

    13 out of 14 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted July 31, 2012

    What's Odd gotten into now?

    Roseland. During it’s heyday in the 1920s it was a pleasure palace on the west coast owned by a Hollywood mogul. Now it’s owned by a billionaire financier and run by his minions. While the outside may look the same, it’s more like the mouth of hell than a place of untold sweet fantasies. And this is where Odd (had a mistake at the hospital not taken place, his name would have been Todd) and his 7 ½ month pregnant traveling companion Annemarie (the Lady of the Bell) find themselves.



    The problem is that time does not run normally here, and no one means to be evil or cruel. And that fact alone makes them even scarier.



    Top that with the fact that Odd’s first experience in this place involve a deceased woman on horseback that rides, not up to Odd, but through him.



    Then, throw in the awareness of Nicholi Tessla’s experiments, terrorists, and Homeland security, and one has to ask if Odd has finally met his match.



    Koontz does himself proud with the development of characters that are well fleshed out, and that as a reader, you care about. While “Odd Apocalypse” is a continuation of a series, this book is so finely written that one could select and read it and still come away with a knowledge of who Odd is, and it leaves a reader wanting more.

    13 out of 22 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 6, 2012

    Mr. Koontz, You Rock!!!

    I have been a Dean Koontz fan for some time now, but I must say I have a special place in my heart for Odd Thomas. The whole concept, just outlined sounds really ridiculous but Mr. Koontz has always made it work. Every one so far has always been a real page turner, addicting, heart pounding, thrilling, and relatable. I find myself relating to a lot of what Odd goes through, his struggles, his insecurities, and such. This addition to the Odd Thomas saga doesn't disappoint in the least. I would highly recommend reading the bridge between the last novel and this one though, found only on e-readers. It’s a 3 part adventure that will leave the reader wanting to dive write into this novel. Thank you Mr. Koontz, but please don't take so long for the next adventure of Odd.

    11 out of 11 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted September 2, 2012

    more from this reviewer

    A weak three stars at that. I'd like to grab the author and ask

    A weak three stars at that. I'd like to grab the author and ask, "Who are you, and what have you done with Dean?" This is not the Odd novel I'm used to, which always has notes of hope and even spirituality. This is really unpleasant, though well-written and containing those wonderful flashes of humor I associate with Odd. Odd and the enigmatic (and the very pregnant) Annamaria find themselves on the magnificent and sinister country estate of a billionaire magnate. Once again Odd is faced with spectres, spirits, and someone to rescue.
    Unfortunately he also encounters way too many psychos and sickos for my taste. There's an underlying plot line involving kidnapping, subjugation, and torture. Dean Koontz has gone this dark route in at least one other novel, which I stopped reading halfway through, but not in the Odd books - until now. Way too grim for my taste - I'm not sure I'll be picking up another in this series.

    9 out of 12 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 7, 2012

    So very disappointed

    I have waited for so long for this book and it does not live up to the other books. I am dragging myself through pages and pages of very boring details about the layout of a house and it's grounds. The scenes are redundant but the biggest disappointment is that Odd Thomas is not his usual charming quirky self. I couldn't wait to get back to reading the other books. I couldn't put them down. Now I really don't care if I have time to read this book. That is sad. I have never written a book review before but felt strongly enough to do so now.

    7 out of 8 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 9, 2012

    I love Dean Koontz's book, especially the Odd series, Frankenst

    I love Dean Koontz's book, especially the Odd series, Frankenstein series (miss Jacko) and the Chis Snow series, I have read all his novels except for the Trixie books and most I have read twice. W/that said, I found this Odd edition very disappointing. It is extremely hard to get into although does pick up toward the middle...that is a long ways to go to get into a book. His characters are not engaging, you bond w/ no one including ODD who in the other books of the series I was already dreading the end of the book in the middle cuz I knew I would miss him once I finished. Koontz is now relying too much on fancy speech and confusing phrases instead of just writing the way most ppl talk and think. I understand Odd is not most ppl but some of his sentences and paragraphs get so locked up in language that I find I have to re read and still think it makes no since in relation to what is being said before and after it. He did this in 77 Street also....no engaging characters, no bondable ppl and too many fancy/artsy words to the point nothing makes sense. I hope this is not a trend he keeps up because he is my 2cd favorite author.

    7 out of 9 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 4, 2012

    Truly Odd -- but also very engaging!

    I enjoyed this latest installment of the Odd Thomas series and am looking forward to the next book!

    7 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 6, 2012

    LOVED IT!!!

    Dean Koontz has outdone himself, yet again! I literally couldn't put this page turner down. I recommend reading the entire series, but this is by far the best of the Odd Thomas novels to date. I missed a little of Odd's humor in the beginning, but considering all the character has been through it is totally understandable (afterall, it just goes to show he's human, with real emotion, not a superhuman. Just a fry cook going wherever he is needed).

    6 out of 6 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 5, 2012

    more from this reviewer

    Awsome read. Picked this book up in the late morning and finishe

    Awsome read. Picked this book up in the late morning and finished it that same day. Koontz draws the most wonderful characters and the surroundings are so detailed that it is easy to become immersed. Hate to wait for more.

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 31, 2012

    Lovin this...

    Koontz's new novel has delighted me so far. As a fan of the "Odd Thomas" series I find this book to be like sitting down with a latte and warm, wise, interesting and dryly funny friend. Have only read the !st 50 pages and cannot review as yet but cannot wait to immerse myself. Thanks, Dean Koontz.





    4 out of 6 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 26, 2012

    more from this reviewer

    Another superbly entertaining Koonntz novel

    I am constantly amazed at the fact that I LOVE reading Koontz. He makes me giggle, laugh out loud, cringe with horror and tear up all in the same book! This latest book about Odd Thomas is eminently readable and lots of fun.

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 24, 2012

    If you love Odd, you will love this book

    Incredibly original story line (Yep, the Tesla anniversary is coming up) and another great read in the Odd series. Glad Odd isn't dead yet, can't get enough of him...

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted March 24, 2012

    THIS BOOK HAS NOT EVEN BEEN RELEASED, AND WON'T BE UNTIL JULY.

    THIS BOOK HAS NOT EVEN BEEN RELEASED, AND WON'T BE UNTIL JULY.

    3 out of 44 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 1, 2012

    What?

    Overall this is the least digestable of the odd thomas books. I found it very hard to follow whats going on. Usually koontz books start with a bang and keep you hooked. Unfortunately this one had a lot of nibbling but never taking the bait.

    2 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 29, 2012

    SUPERB!

    Well, Koontz had done it again. Odd Apocalypse, with the beloved Odd Thomas, is an outstanding story. I thought the plot was riveting and fun. All my favorite characters were mentioned (except Terrible Chester - I miss that darn ol' cat)! I HIGHLY recommend this book.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 26, 2012

    Great book

    Great adventure and suspense,great humor,and some thought provoking insites that are common in all of dean koontz boks

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 26, 2012

    Good

    Good butt darker than most.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 24, 2012

    more from this reviewer

    good

    I have been a fan of Dean Koontz forever. I love this series too, but this one just was not as good to me as the others. It was good don't get me wrong, but just not as good as Dean Usually is.
    I love his writing so I will continue to read anything that he puts out.

    2 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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