Why does a decent, well-adjusted guy like Dean Koontz always write about vicious, sociopathic killers? You may as well ask "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" if you're after a straightforward answer. You can tell there's an interesting story somewhere under the surface-like a tattoo lurking up the starched sleeve of a parishioner's Sunday best-but you'll have to read between the lines to find it.

Dean Koontz has written upward of seventy novels in his uniquely successful genre-transcending career, and "One Door Away From Heaven" is one of the better ones. It's not one of the best (those would include "Strangers," "Watchers," "Lightning," and "Dark Rivers of the Heart") but it's a good one, firmly lodged up near the top ten percent.

"One Door Away From Heaven" concerns itself with the murky world of bioethics, the field of modern medicine made famous by Jack Kavorkian. In his latest thriller, Koontz imagines what might happen if a sociopath who also happened to be a doctor became a little too zealous with this brand of cutthroat Darwinism.

Let me start with what I didn't like. The worst parts of this long-though never slow-moving-novel are when Koontz hauls out the soapbox and rails against the philosophy of bioethics for what seems like pages on end. His argument makes the issue appear as black and white as the latest Coen brothers film.

The best parts of "One Door Away From Heaven" are the more subtle strokes of humanity and quiet decency Koontz uses to draw his main characters. Leilani Klonk, a precocious nine-year old girl unlucky enough to be both disabled and the step-daughter of the aforementioned sociopath doctor, has reason to believe that she may not see her tenth birthday. With the help of Micky Bellsong, a young woman searching for a spiritual center, Leilani is able to take the first decisive steps out of the darkness that surrounds her.

"The world is full of broken people," Koontz writes in the novel's opening; he then makes it clear that the only way to repair one's self is by helping others. Koontz consistently writes his main characters with a sincere sympathy that can't help but affect his readers. It's hard not to care about the characters you're reading when the author so clearly does.

But if Koontz is such a nice guy, why is he also so good at creating those nasty sociopaths? You're sure to find one in every Dean Koontz novel, just as you're sure to encounter an adorable Labrador, and plucky, likable characters struggling to overcome the lingering effects of a bad childhood. "One Door Away From Heaven" thankfully breaks away from some of the repetitive plotting techniques that have beleaguered many of Koontz's recent novels, yet it still finds itself within the well-defined borders of Dean Koontz country. But maybe that's not such a bad place to be-a place where senseless evil is at least given the purpose of forging and defining by contrast the very forces of good that will battle and ultimately conquer it.

You can think of "Proud Americans" as a tasty comic hamburger, where the main story involving Jesse, Tulip, Cassidy and the Grail is the extra thick patty, coated with plenty of bright-colored oozing special sauce, all sandwiched between two toasty back stories buns.

This third helping of the Ennis and Dillon's "Preacher" begins with a flash-back to Vietnam where we learn more about Jesse's father and his influence on Jesse's current mission. Then we come back to the present and retrieve our good friend Cassidy from the clutches of the Grail (sort of like getting Solo back from Jabba in "Jedi"). In the third act of this graphic novel, we get a longish back story from Cassidy, about how he became a fanged-one, and how he made it to this side of the Atlantic.

The main thrust of "Proud Americans" is that we are nothing if we don't stand up for our friends, and that we should never allow ourselves to be led blindly into doing "the right thing". This is a great series, and I highly recommend it. I gave this one only four stars because I felt some of the second and third sections moved a little too slowly. Still, this is great stuff, and I'm eagerly looking forward to getting book 4.

This is a really well-written, extremely gripping little horror novel. If you've never read Richard Matheson before, get this book--you'll be glad you did. Stephen King has often cited Matheson as one of his main influences, and this book clearly shows why.

Matheson tells the story of Tom Wallace, a decent everyday blue collar guy (not unlike Richard Dreyfus's character in "Close Encounters") who, after being hypnotized, is able to read the darker thoughts lying under his neighbors' smiling exteriors. This is a horror novel that truly works because it deals with very human horrors-the darkness hides inside us all. It is also a very entertaining novel. The characters and dialogue feel right.

You can see echoes of this novel in many of much of King's writing, particularly The Shining, and later books such as Needful Things and The Green Mile. If you like Stephen King, you should definitely give Matheson a try.

There aren't many surprises in Madame Bovary. Everything that you think is going to happen to the characters pretty much does. Emma's fate and that of her lapdog husband Charles are written in quickly drying cement from the first few chapters. All you can really do is sit back and watch with the sick fascination of an ambulance chaser as their unrelenting boredom, sadness, and unfulfilled dreams suck them swirling to their predestined ends.

And yet, this book provides much more than a good wallowing session. Madame Bovary is one of the best written novels I've ever read. Flaubert is a brilliant writer. The characters are so alive in their death-in-life dance that you can't help but sharply feel their pain and see how they might have lived their lives differently.

Madame Bovary is a classic of French literature, but it also speaks to our modern condition in an uncanny way. Anyone searching for meaning in their life will relate to the pains and struggles of these characters. If you've been thinking about reading this (I had it waiting on my shelf for about a decade) wait no longer. Read this remarkable novel now.

I wanted to love this book, but it just didn't happen. I liked it up until about 2/3 of the way through. Tolkien has a keen imagination and a talent for making the reader want to believe in his creations. But there's also an undramatic over-reliance on exposition in his writing that needlessly bogs down the story, ultimately putting a wedge between the characters and reader (at least this one).

I wasn't wild about "The Hobbit," but still wanted to give the world of Middle Earth another try. I thought "The Hobbit" was a pretty good little adventure-quest story spoiled by a not so great ending.

I had a similar experience with "Fellowship". For the first couple hundred pages, Tolkien had me. "Fellowship" wasn't the best book I'd ever read, but I was certainly immersed in the world, and was enjoying turning the pages.

You'll have to excuse me for going to the Titanic for a fitting metaphor, but that's the only thing I can think of at the moment. I felt like the book hit its iceberg at the Meeting of Elron, about 2/3 of the way through.

The fun-if-slow-going story comes to a screeching halt as Tolkien goes into mind-numbing hyper-exposition mode for close to 30 pages. The story continues on after that, but falteringly--the fatal damage has already been done. The book just gets heavier and heavier after that, until it just can't stay afloat.

There are some great passages and concepts in "Fellowship" (I especially liked the psychological insitefulness Tolkien displays in having the ring possess its possessor). But there is a distance in the way that Tolkien writes his characters that just kept me from becoming fully engaged.

Okay, I know I'm setting myself up for a lot of flack by giving "The Hobbit" only three stars, but I don't think these reviews are worth much unless you're willing to be perfectly honest about your opinions...even if those opinions happen to be different than those of everyone else on the planet, or in the solar system. So here goes.

I'm twenty-eight, and I've been a huge fan of horror and sci-fi books and movies since I was about 12. I haven't read much in the way of fantasy fiction, however, even though it's such a closely related sibling to the two genres I love so dearly. As a kid, I loved the Narnia books, and I recently enjoyed the Harry Potter series quite a bit. So with the new movies based on Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy coming out, I decided it was time to dig into these pillars of the fantasy genre.

I decided to start with "The Hobbit," since I'm the kind of person who always reads forewords and afterwards. I had heard so many people talk about it over the years, that I felt like I had already inhaled most of the characters and plot points like second hand smoke.

Okay, let me start with some of what I liked: I think "The Hobbit" is an original, often charming and fun-to-read story with some great thematic floorboards holding it all up. I like that Bilbo Baggins has some roguish family blood in his veins causing him to crave adventure in a most unhobbit-like manner. It is inspiring that Bilbo is unafraid to follow his own path. His actions and his unbending courage to be himself make him a role model for anyone. In addition to Bilbo, most of the other hobbits, dwarves, and elves that inhabit this book are also quite likable.

It's generally a fun quest story that appeals to the imaginations of all ages. There's a dragon guarding some stolen treasure, and a series of fortunes and misfortunes along the way that keep the reader vested in the group's concerns.

But there were also a couple of major shortcomings to "The Hobbit" that, in my view, kept it from being a great book. Now here's the part where my opinion will probably veer off from most anyone else's. But like Bilbo, I feel compelled to be my own self.

I felt that the style of the narration was overly intrusive; it made me feel less than involved in the story most of the time. I've read the complaints that "The Hobbit" reads too much like a kids' book. I didn't feel that exactly, but rather, that the point of view was just too off-putting. There's an omniscient narrator who sweeps in on invisible wings from time to time, taking you away from characters and events you've invested large chunks of pages following.

Also, despite a pretty decent set up and first half, I felt that the book's ending just wasn't very well constructed. The writing isn't actually bad, but the dramatic momentum is often lacking. With less than a hundred pages left to go, a huge inter-race war breaks out, taking you away from the story you've spent most of the book following. When you finally get back to the end of the original quest, the role of hero and dragonslayer is unceremoniously taken from Bilbo by a character that we hardly know.

I just felt that there was way too much narrative gear-shifting throughout this book. It felt like I was taking a ride with someone who's just learning to drive a stick.

I don't mean to offend anyone with this review. I just felt it was best to be honest. I know lots of people who love this book, people whose opinions I greatly respect. I'll just have to live with a differing opinion on this. In my view, "The Hobbit" is a pretty good story with some major structural flaws that detract from the pleasure of reading it.

If you grew up with "The Hobbit" as I did with "Star Wars" or the stories of Ray Bradbury, you probably have the urge at this moment to poke my eye out with a key or to do something equally terrible. So I'd like to extend a peace offering of some kind. I don't think "The Hobbit" is a bad book, and I think if I had first read it as a young kid, I might have loved it. The same way that if I hadn't seen "Star Wars" until I was an adult, I might have only criticized its bad acting and been blind to the bottomless ocean of magic that swells hypnotically under its surface.

This is the first book I've read by Michael Chabon, but I can already say he's one of my favorite contemporary writers.

"Kavalier and Clay" is a long, fat, engrossing and enjoyable story. If you like John Irving, or Charles Dickens, give this one a shot. You'll be glad you did.

Chabon's writing is stylistically dazzling. His sentences are like coiled, brightly-colored image-confetti that you can just keep pulling and pulling, without ever seeming to reach an end. The style, as with much of everything else about this novel, verges on the excessive, without ever tipping the balance. Chabon uses the strong mortor of his sense of plotting and character to sandwich together his long, image-choked sentences, and the result is a structure of truly amazing proportions.

If you're looking for a really great book, one that will exercise your imagination, your heart, and your mind all at once, one that manages to be as heavy as lead and light as air, this is the one.

It's hard to believe an 80-page comic book can get so deep under your skin. But it's been a week since I finished this book, and I still find myself thinking about Enid and Becky as if they were real people I knew. Their lives are full of all the loneliness, longing and perversity that makes them so frustratingly human.

Daniel Clowes does an excellent job of creating richly complex characters, whose "adventures" are also extremely entertaining to read.

A big part of the appeal of this book, especially if you're a guy, is to be able to get into the head of a teenage girl, and be able to experience for once first-hand all of her thorny, bitter-sweet, and contradictory thoughts and feelings. You'll see that their minds can be just as jumbled as ours.

This is only the second book of comics I've ever read (Preacher, book 1 was the first), but this is great stuff.

In this second collection from Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon, we get to play a little catch-up after all the fast and furious medias res action of the first book.

That isn't to say that there isn't plenty going on in these stories. We get to meet Jesse's weird, weird family (have you ever seen "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre"?)

There's also a resolution to Jesse and Tulip's knotty love problems. And we get to travel with Cassidy, our favorite bloodsucker from the British Isles, into the belly of the beast, where we learn more about the mysterious agency that is persuing Jesse. After you've finished this second book of Preacher comics, you'll still have many unanswered questions, but you'll have a little surer footing in Jesse Custer's strange world, and you'll have no choice but to go buy the third book.

"Preacher" is one hell of a roller-coaster ride, so you better buckle your seat belt once you get in, or your bound to fall out.

Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon's edgy tale of religion and spirituality painted with the dusty and gory hues of Texas grit and horror-show exuberance is my first real foray into the intriguing world of comic books. I can't compare "Preacher" to any other comics out there, because I haven't read any yet. But "Preacher" has me hooked, and this certainly won't be the last comic I read.

"Preacher" isn't for everyone. I can think of quite a few people that it would (upset). But if that's the kind of warning that draws you forward like a moth to a flame, by all means, sink your teeth in. I first heard about "Preacher" from a blurb written by Joe R. Lansdale, one of my favorite writers. If you like Lansdale, then "Preacher"'s right up your alley.

This first compilation, "Gone to Texas," which collects the first seven comic books in the series, is a blast to read. I just couldn't stop once I picked it up. The story is strange, hip, and compelling, and the beautiful artwork makes it all go down like Jim Jones Cool-Aid.

"Preacher" stands convential religion on its ear, and is bound to be offensive to many, but actually offers a positive message of personal responsibilty and moral decency buried under all the blood, guts, and apparent blasphemy.

The story involves Jesse Custer, a former man of the cloth with a dark past, who, after finding his faith all-but-completey eroded, is hit by one hell of a divine inspiration. It's not your everyday burning bush, though, or voices coming from the sky. While preaching to a parrish in a small town in Texas, Jesse is suddenly possessed by a divine entity called Genesis, which whaps into him like a holy fireball, leaving him with the ability to speak "The Word" (sort of like the Jedi Mind trick), and hell-bent on a crusade: to find the absent-landlord in the sky, God, and hold him acountable for his wayward creations.

Jesse is accompanied on his quest by his ex-girlfriend, Tulip, and an ultra-cool Irish vampire named Cassidy who only tears the throats out of those who deserve it. I guess you could say it's all sort of like "The Wizard of Oz".