Relentless

Review by Booklist Review

Koontz has injected his opinions about the state of the culture into his crackerjack thrillers ever since Dark Rivers of the Heart (1994), which bristled with indignation over murderous law enforcement against the Branch Davidian religious sect and others. Not since then has he made his perception of cultural disintegration so central to the plot as it is in this outlandish but, once again, smoothly spun nail-biter. Successful novelist Cullen Greenwich Cubby to his intimates at long last gets reviewed by the lead critic of the most prestigious American newspaper. But it's a severely hostile review that indicates that the reviewer didn't bother reading the book a real hatchet job. His wife and child-prodigy son, whose passion at age six is physics, advise him to forget about it, but after he learns that the critic lives nearby and patronizes a favorite restaurant of his, he can't quite. And so, within mere hours, the Greenwiches' house blows up, and they're on the run, linked to the rest of the world by disposable cellphones only. Some critic. The murderous reviewer may have chosen the wrong victims this time, however, for the missus comes from a wealthy and very ingenious survivalist clan, and she's determined to fight back. Asking greater suspension of disbelief, or willingness to indulge angry paranoia about the state of American popular culture, than he ever has before, Koontz still grabs readers as few other thriller scribes can.--Olson, Ray Copyright 2009 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

A bad book review propels this farcical thriller from bestseller Koontz (Your Heart Belongs to Me). Bestselling author Cullen "Cubby" Greenwich is mortified when Shearman Waxx, "the nation's premier literary critic," savages his work. Cubby manages to find the "syphilitic swine" at Roxie's Bistro in Newport Beach, Calif., where the author's six-year-old prodigy son nearly pees by accident on Waxx in the restaurant's men's room. In retaliation, Waxx threatens Cubby with doom and gets things started nicely by blowing up his house. With almost superhuman ease, the book critic keeps track of Cubby and his family as they flee for their lives. While some may take this as satire, the over-the-top villain's underdeveloped motivation and a jokey narrative tone that jars when juxtaposed with terrifying scenes of violence will leave others scratching their heads. By the time Koontz introduces a science fiction element, a lot of readers may have already checked out. (June) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

"Cubby" Greenwich is a best-selling novelist with a new book out and reviews hitting the stands. When he's eviscerated by renowned critic Shearman Waxx in a review full of errors, he can't help but wonder at the man behind the critique, the inaccuracies, and the poor syntax. Following one relatively harmless run-in at a local restaurant, Cubby and his family (wife and fellow author Penny, six-year-old son and off-the-charts genius son "Spooky" Milo, and similarly spooky dog Lassie) are exposed to terrors beyond metaphorical slaying. Shearman Waxx is a man bent on destroying not merely Cubby's book sales but the man and his family. He has uncanny knowledge, and Cubby soon discovers that he's not the only author to fall victim to Waxx's psychopathic attentions. Relentless echoes the very best of the Odd Thomas series in voice; this is an exquisite crafting of the thrilling, the unexplainable, and the personal, with the mirth and whimsy that Koontz throws in seemingly effortlessly just when it's most needed and least expected. Koontz fans will snap up. Buy multiple copies. Highly recommended. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 1/09.]-Julie Kane, Sweet Briar Coll. Lib., VA (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

A bestselling author and a death-dealing critic mix it up in this middling effort from thrillermeister Koontz (The Good Guy, 2007, etc.). Cullen (Cubby) Greenwich has a lot to thank Ralph forRalph being the playful name he's given his guardian angel. In his 30s, lucky Cubby has a beautiful wife, the world's smartest six-year-old son and a Lassie-like wonder dog named Lassie. Bonus: Whenever he finishes a book it cleaves to bestseller lists with the tenacity of a barnacle. Ah, but Cubby is about to swallow some bitter pills. Suddenly, it seems that Ralph has lost focus, or perhaps ventured off on sabbatical, and Cubby's life, once so chipper, is plunged into bleakness. It starts with the reviews for One O'Clock Jump, Cubby's latest. They are raves, minus one. Shearman Waxx, the nation's most influential literary critic (can there be such a thing these days?) has noticed a Cubby novel for the first time. Cubby smolders, yearns for an encounter and, against the advice of all who love him, including that savvy six-year-old, makes it happen. The results are predictable. Well, not exactly predictable, since it turns out there are dark sides to Waxx. He's a killer, a description in no way metaphorical. That's real blood on his hands. Scared silly, the family takes off, Waxx and a bevy of sinister cohorts in hot pursuit for reasons somewhat less than persuasive. Bullets fly, body bags fill, dark conspiracies mushroom. Who, Cubby wonders, could have imagined that a Ralph-less world would be quite so fraught? Loosely plotted to say the least, but readers who can suspend disbelief after a line like this uttered by a six-year-old"Mom, you've got to convince him to get a new agent" may find some rewards. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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Chapter One This is a thing I've learned: Even with a gun to my head, I am capable of being convulsed with laughter. I am not sure what this extreme capacity for mirth says about me. You'll have to decide for yourself. Beginning one night when I was six years old and for twenty-seven years thereafter, good luck was my constant companion. The guardian angel watching over me had done a superb job. As a reward for his excellent stewardship of my life, perhaps my angel--let's call him Ralph--was granted a sabbatical. Perhaps he was reassigned. Something sure happened to him for a while during my thirty-fourth year, when darkness found us. In the days when Ralph was diligently on the job, I met and courted Penny Boom. I was twenty-four and she was twenty-three. Women as beautiful as Penny previously looked through me. Oh, occasionally they looked at me, but as though I reminded them of something they had seen once in a book of exotic fungi, something they had never expected--or wished--to see in real life. She was also too smart and too witty and too graceful to waste her time with a guy like me, so I can only assume that a supernatural power coerced her into marrying me. In my mind's eye, I see Ralph kneeling beside Penny's bed while she slept, whispering, "He's the one for you, he's the one for you, no matter how absurd that concept may seem at this moment, he really is the one for you." We were married more than three years when she gave birth to Milo, who is fortunate to have his mother's blue eyes and black hair. Our preferred name for our son was Alexander. Penny's mother, Clotilda--who is named Nancy on her birth certificate--threatened that if we did not call him Milo, she would blow her brains out. Penny's father, Grimbald--whose parents named him Larry--insisted that he would not clean up after such a suicide, and neither Penny nor I had the stomach for the job. So Alexander became Milo. I am told that the family's surname really is Boom and that they come from a long line of Dutch merchants. When I ask what commodity his ancestors sold, Grimbald becomes solemn and evasive, and Clotilda pretends that she is deaf. My name is Cullen Greenwich--pronounced gren-itch, like the town in Connecticut. Since I was a little boy, most people have called me Cubby. When I first dated Penny, her mom tried calling me Hildebrand, but I would have none of it. Hildebrand is from the Old German, and means "battle torch" or "battle sword." Clotilda is fond of power names, except in the case of our son, when she was prepared to self-destruct if we didn't give him a name that meant "beloved and gentle." Our friend and internist, Dr. Jubal Frost, who delivered Milo, swears that the boy never cried at birth, that he was born smiling. In fact, Jubal says our infant softly hummed a tune, on and off, in the delivery room. Although I was present at the birth, I have no memory of Milo's musical performance because I fainted. Penny does not remember it either, because, although conscious, she was distracted by the postpartum hemorrhaging that had caused me to pass out. I do not doubt Jubal Frost's story. Milo has always been full of surprises. For good reason, his nickname is Spooky. On his third birthday, Milo declared, "We're gonna rescue a doggy." Penny and I assumed he was acting out something he had seen on TV, but he was a preschooler on a mission. He climbed onto a kitchen chair, plucked the car keys from the Peg-Board, and hurried out to the garage as if to set off in search of an endangered canine. We took the keys away from him, but for more than an hour, he followed us around chanting, "We'r Excerpted from Relentless by Dean Koontz All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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