Half a fucking star, because I can't give it zero.
I cannot begin to express how disappointed I am. I went in with basement-low expectations and Koontz still managed to stoop below even that. I didn't even get the weepy send off I was looking for. I could have ignored the rehashing of ideas, the typical Koontz thriller-filler bullshit, and the morphing of Odd Thomas into goddamn 007, but I cannot forgive a ruse.
This isn't the last Odd Thomas book. The ending is left wide open. Because of that, Odd's "death" means fucking nothing to me. Any fucks I could have given were completely erased by this cheat of an ending.(show spoiler)
Gregor Xane must be acknowledged regarding this next analogy. He and I were discussing one of my updates I made while reading this book. He said to me: "It's like one of those TV flashback episodes." And you know what? I couldn't have said it better myself. You know how in the second- or third-to-last episode of a sitcom's final season, they'll post the show's most cherished characters around a table and have flashback after flashback, and all these flashbacks are are clips from previous episodes from earlier seasons? That's this book. Flashbacks of previous books.
In summation: Fuck this book. Fuck this series. Fuck what this author has become. Yeah, it's just a book, but I feel betrayed. You were one of my heroes, dude.
Final Judgment: The lowest rating I've ever given.