I ... don't think I have words for how good this novel is. I've describe reading Cosby in conversation as being like French-kissing an electric light socket (don't French-kiss an electric light socket, that'd *hurt*) and this novel is as electrifying as his others. There's less vengeance in this than in *My Darkest Prayer* or *Razorblade Tears* but at least as much pain; guilt and grief twine in the background like vines. Bigotry and abuse of power flash at all angles. Read Cosby--unlike French-kissing an electric light socket, it won't kill you.
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Black House by Stephen King and Peter Straub
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