By Lars Walker “The pages reek with your bottomless self-pity so poorly disguised as regret, with the phoniness of your verbose self-condemnation, with the insidious quality of your contrition, which is that of a materialist who cares not for God and is therefore not true contrition at all, but only despair at the consequences of your actions. For centuries, I have been the monster, and you the well-meaning idealist who claims he would have undone what he did if only given the chance. But your kind never undoes. You do the same wrong over and over, with ever greater fervency, causing ever more misery, because you are incapable of admitting error.” “I’ve made no error,” Victor Immaculate confidently assures him, “and neither did your maker.” Looming, the giant says, “You are my maker.” Thus Frankenstein’s monster, now known as Deucalion, purified by suffering and made truly human, addresses Dr. Frankenstein, so corrupted by power and pride that he has ceased to be human at all, in Frankenstein: The Dead Town, the dramatic climax to Dean Koontz’ five-book deconstruction of Mary Shelley’s original narrative. As regular readers must be aware, I’m pretty much in the bag for
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