If you follow what I write, perhaps you know that I am a huge Dean Koontz fan. My husband and I have collected probably every book Koontz has ever written, and I stash them all in one bookcase in our hallway. See my dedicated Dean Koontz cabinet here —>

When I reluctantly said goodbye to Odd Thomas, after I finished reading the last of that seven-book series, Saint Odd, I wrote:

After digesting the seven books in the series which bears his name, I’ve learned to trust Odd Thomas to inject humor into tragedy, to smother political correctness with a dollop of wisdom, to expose the mental gymnastics that insist that wrong is right. Odd nudges the reader to turn an eye toward the inevitability of death and the soul’s emergence into eternity, with all of its implications.

Koontz is a secular writer, yet the pages of an Odd Thomas book are infused with Christian morality. Through page-turning narrative, Koontz schools his readers in bioethics and on the value of friendship, and spurs even nonbelievers toward the reluctant admission of objective truth. An atheist can’t be too careful reading Koontz; eventually, he’ll concede cause-and-effect, seek the first Cause, and realize he’s been had.

And then I read The City and I tripped all over myself to praise this work, writing at my old blog:

I believe, though, that Koontz’ newest novel, The City, has the potential to overtake even his blockbuster Odd Thomas series in popularity.

That’s because The City is perhaps the most philosophical of Koontz’ novels to date–remarking, as it does, on the intrinsic value of the human person, the existence of good and evil, the strength of family. It showcases the droll humor of Koontz’ prose, his quick turn of a phrase. But while it does have a characteristic element of mystery and magic, it’s not so heavily laden with the supernatural that the realists in the room will raise an eyebrow when a small green space creature runs through the backyard, as one may encounter in some of his earlier novels.

Given the high bar he’s established with his earlier novels, it’s no small surprise that Koontz has finally disappointed me. Ashley Bell, his latest work, is… well, it’s just a novel. It’s well written, as is everything by Koontz. It’s a good story. It must have been fun to write, because Koontz is a writer and the book explores that “alternate universe” of the mind that is the sometimes home to a good novelist.

But it’s L-O-N-G (560 pages), and if I’m going to spend that much time with my nose in a book, I want the return on my investment to include some new information, and perhaps a smidgen of wonder at the skill with which he slips in a truth for the reader to ponder.

I’ve often called what Koontz does in his stories “stealth evangelization.” They’re not religious, certainly not Catholic; but Koontz’ stories are infused with grace and replete with value judgments-about bioethics, about the sanctity of life, about respect for the human person.

Ashley Bell doesn’t do that stuff-at least not in the measure I’ve come to expect from a good Koontz novel. It tells a story. It wraps in a bit of the phantasmagorical, which is classic Koontz. It entertains.

But in my case, reading is a substantial part of my daily work. I probably received eight (EIGHT!!) books in my mailbox this week. I’m supposed to read them all and comment about them.

See the problem? I don’t have hours to spend in a book just for fun, a book that’s not adding to my repertoire of ideas and information in some substantial way. I already know that Dean Koontz can tickle my imagination while at the same time leading me to consider new ideas, or at least to genuinely appreciate the way he slipped that one in on an unbelieving world. At least for me, Ashley Bell didn’t do that.

My recommendation: Go back and read Odd Thomas. Start with the first one, plain ol’ Odd Thomas. Then, after you’ve fallen in love with the fry cook from Pico Mundo, go on to read the rest: Odd Apocalypse, Deeply Odd, all the way through to Saint Odd. At some point, you may realize that each story focuses on another of the capital virtues.

Don’t throw Ashley Bell away! It’s a decent book, and if you’re on a deserted beach with nothing to do for, say, three weeks, it’ll keep you company. But don’t expect it to measure up to some of the treasures in the earlier works.