This is the first Douglas Clegg novel I've picked up and, I have to say, after hearing so many wonderful things about him, I was disappointed.
This book is poorly crafted at best. It is severely lacking in narrative structure, even within the individual stories, and the half-hearted attempt to tie them all together detracted more than it added. I found myself continuing to read mostly just for the sake of finishing the book, rather than because of any particular feeling for the characters, or even a desire to know how it ended.
Clegg skirts around points that would seem to be essential to understanding the story, leaving the reader feeling, not pleasantly confused and hungry for more as I'm sure was his goal, but rather cheated, as if one had been listening to a long joke that at the last minute failed to deliver a punchline. At the same time, Clegg browbeats the reader with thinly veiled religious symbolism, and characters who experience moments of enlightenment, to which the only proper response can be a groan.
If you're looking for the bizarre, something to keep you glued to your seat, I reccommend P.D. Cacek, Dean Koontz, or John Steakley, to name a few. I doubt I'll be checking out any more of Clegg's work.