The vast majority of us are social creatures — family, friends and community. The relationships, companionships, interchanges seem a natural part of life. Yet there are those who reject this. To paraphrase Greta Garbo, they want to be alone. They feel that they don’t need anyone to be content. Religious figures have gone into the wilderness throughout time to commute with God, several returning with “evidence” that they have succeeded. On the whole, though, we don’t respect loners. They don’t want to be with other people? Could they be dangerous? What are they trying to hide? They are not natural. It gives me the creeps. We don’t even like to read about them. They are, however, the subject of books, non-fiction and fiction. Yank Dean Koontz made them his literary niche decades ago. His characters aren’t ghosts, ghouls, zombies, vampires or werewolves, but people encountering them, almost always in the darkness, mistake them for one or another. More often than not, they are harmless, but are soon set upon, nonetheless.
The author sets Innocence in a fictitious country, possibly the UK or US, and has Addison Goodheart born in a mountain shack during a storm. His blanket catches fire, the midwife taking too long to put it out and his face becomes disfigured. His father runs off to sea, his mum leaves him in the meadow and he is befriended by animals.
After having moved to the city, Addison is intelligent if unpopular, and devotes his spare time to reading. Unprincipled practices turn him away from business. Mum passes away and he moves into a subterranean dwelling, moving through the tunnels and getting into the central library and then he meets a human who likes him.
Addison and Gweneth (single mother) team up. Meanwhile a plague has hit the surface, felling the populace. Even those attempting to escape by boat are felled. Can the odd couple, in a car now, outrace fate? Possibly by reaching the mountains. If not, will there be a single human left on Earth?
No Fitzgerald
When an author writes a book, the critic ignores the cost he or she put into it. Ink, typewriter ribbon, copies sent to the publisher. If it’s a bestseller he’ll make thousands of dollars, maybe more. Filmmaking is something else again. Particularly in Hollywood where each one costs millions. Making them on a shoestring ended a century ago. Scribers rarely spend time detailing the problems of the authors, but a number can’t resist focusing on cinemoguls. So much money is involved, especially when turning out blockbusters, budgets go over as a matter of course. Business expenses are frequently abused. It’s unclear what was signed off for, dinner for an important person or a bauble for a showgirl. Hopefully the person keeping score doesn’t have sticky fingers. But if he or she does?
There aren’t that many plots that can be made of this but Jackie Collins and Danielle Steel manage to come up with a handful. Collins is a sex-orientated writer. If you like it hot and heavy, look no further. No panting with Steel, but the pillowing is the same. In Steel’s Betrayal, the question is who is robbing the filmmaker blind.
The personae fall just short of being stock characters. Protagonist Tallis Jones is the ambitious brilliant director. There’s a daughter and husband in there somewhere and a jealous woman determined not to let her get ahead.
Old friends pass away. Those trying to take their place are undependable. Why is her current film haemorrhaging money? Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Berton splurging while making Cleopatra come to mind, but isn’t mentioned here. But we are left in no doubt that it isn’t uncommon.
The identity of the culprit is a twist, but a good sleuth would have picked up on it more quickly. Time was when each of her new publications had the sticker “Everybody Reads Danielle Steel”. No longer. She has aficionados, but not that many. Years ago she reached her plateau. Betrayal doesn’t rise above it nor fall below it. This critic’s favourite Hollywood novel is F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Last Tycoon. It has yet to be equalled, much less surpassed.
