The Unnoticeables by Robert Brockway
A couple hundred pages of light horror novel, which I picked up off the new book shelf at the library and almost didn't bother reading. An impulse borrow, if you will, just because I thought I had nothing better. I figured it wasn't that much different than any of the other horror novels I'd been reading lately, an afternoon's entertainment and a lesson in why I should order more books.
Well except it turned out I'd been ordering books again and just forgotten, my two books turned into six. A week later four of those books have been returned. One was too dry, left unread. One was Fran Ross' comedic novel Oreo, the first to be devoured, laughingly in quick bites, a worthy read, much like its namesake cookie, except a rarity, rather than a store-bought cookie, a delicious, one of a kind chef-made version of an Oreo. A third was Neil Gaiman's Ocean at the End of the Lane, a fantasy which is likely a planned screenplay. I found it overly predictable and a bit of a disappointment. Perhaps I've just grown weary of Gaiman's whimsy.
Which brings me to the afterthought.
It had me at the first line "I met my guardian angel today. She shot me in the face." It went on, pleasantly surprising me with some really great prose for a horror novel. Interesting characters, good first person voices which seem like real voices, and some great phrases. One that sticks with me is a description "He looks like a jacket draped over an empty chair." I'm not saying this is the Great American novel, but unlike most horror novels I didn't feel dirty and greasy as if I'd just binge eaten an entire pizza when I was finished. It was funny, it was violent, it was fantasy-horror, but it also didn't pander to the reader. It didn't compromise
Well that was the last one.