: our statement
Cold Fire by Dean R. Koontz
Publisher: Putnam January 1991
Pap Ed: Berkley July 1996
The Nitty Gritty:
Jim Ironheart, the noble and (as per usual) blissfully
ignorant hero, a self-appointed vigilante with some sort of power
to foretell unfortunate accidents. Having at least an awareness
of his unusual abilities, we are told he buckets about the country
randomly in response to his visions of disaster, saving dear old
ladies from train crashes before they happen and the like.
The Friend, a suspiciously ISH-ian fellow who presents himself
as a formless alien upon a mission to 'help mankind,' and doles
out plodding doses of New Age pablum in between his prophecies.
The Enemy, brandishing his affirmative-action card of Token
Killer. Also manifesting as a formless force, he's evil, and possessed
of all the depth of a puddle.
A few weeks ago, we ran across a used copy of a book which a few
people in here recalled as ostensibly dealing with the subject of
plurality. Being apparently, by common consensus, the literary critic
of our collective, I was commissioned to take a few whacks at it
(metaphorically, though I would gladly have extended the whacking
to literal had we not been in the middle of a public store at the
time). "Cold Fire" is, I am told, better than the majority
of popular literature featuring plurals, which is not saying much.
Dean Koontz is one of those authors whose literary works frequent
the best-seller lists in spite of having leaden plotting and prose
as dull as dishwater. "Cold Fire" was published
in 1991, during those dark days when there were giants in the earth
and multiples terrorized the lands with their mighty hordes of flying
toasters. It becomes rather evident later in the book that
Koontz and his editors have expended little energy on research--
he refers at least once to 'multiple personality syndrome'-- although,
given the time-frame of the book's publication, the reader should
perhaps count himself grateful for that omission. Though toasters
fly left and right, the audience is at least spared the maudlin,
saccharine sentimentalising praise of 'highly creative survival
techniques,' and of cookie-cutter traumatic pasts as per the notion
of a singular 'recipe' for multiplicity.
But on to the plot, what there is of it. The grand revelation
of the story, after Ironheart and his unfortunately-named lover
Holly Thorne have been warned of The Enemy's evil machinations,
courtesy of the Friend, is that both the Friend and the Enemy are
'creations' of Jim's mind-- but being possessed of psychic abilities,
Jim has unknowingly given them physical forms. (Someone put
me in touch with this fellow so he can give me my own body.) Fair
enough-- now they can all get to know each other, and perhaps the
Enemy can take up ikebana or something and be less of a bother.
Koontz won't allow this, however; instead he insists first on dragging
the reader through a starkly unsuspenseful discovery of Jim's past.
We learn that young Jim could make things float with the power
of his mind, and his parents wanted to put him in a circus or something
of the sort, if I recall correctly. As is drearily standard
for this sort of book, the Friend and the Enemy were not, of course,
born with Jim, nor simply came to be as a result of the natural
course of things. No, we learn that when Jim was little he
saw his parents shot to death in a fast-food restaraunt by some
randomly mad fellow, which I will grant is a smidge more creative
than baby-eating Satanists, but not by far.
So far as I am concerned, the chief tragedy of "Cold Fire"
has nothing to do with the traumas of the protagonist's past, but
rather that Koontz, intentionally or no, is at one point in possession
of a genuinely inventive plot twist, and thoroughly squanders the
chance to do anything remotely original with it. The Friend
and the Enemy, as it comes to pass, are revealed to be not strictly
Jim's original creations, but rather characters from a science-fiction
book he read as a child. -Ah!- Introjects, soulbonding-- whatever
you prefer to call it! Far from mere 'voices in the head', they
are realized people (though lacking in depth, they are not much
more strikingly so than the other characters in the book) capable
of independent thought and action. Can you use this to say
something, Mr. Koontz? Perhaps even draw some conclusion, in your
unsubtle way, regarding the indistinction of the line between fiction
No. No, he does not.
The characters of the book self-righteously echo a singular conclusion:
Jim's creation of the Friend and the Enemy was a 'retreat into fantasy,'
engendered by the fact that he couldn't cope with reality. Having
remembered that they were originally characters in a book, and ergo
intrinsically 'fantasies,' Jim is mystically healed, remembers his
entire past, and the Friend and the Enemy fly off to Never-Never
Land or something (well, it's frankly a more plausible explanation
than the author's insinuation that they spontaneously ceased to
exist). Quite a 'fiction,' wouldn't you say, considering that
his 'fantasies' were capable of -taking physical form and killing
people?- Yet instead of whacking Jim soundly upside the head with
a toaster for dismissing them so, they simply vanish when proclaimed
to be fictional. If only it were so easy in reality. I
am also tempted to say that, having penned a novel in which psychics,
monsters and aliens fly about with wild abandon, Koontz is not in
the best of positions to be scolding his
characters for indulging in fantasy.
Whilst it's worth a few good laughs over the heavy-handed style,
and earns a scarce few residual points from me based solely upon
the fact that Koontz does not burden the reader with psychiatric
gumbo and weepy survivor-tales, "Cold Fire" does nothing
whatsoever for the public image of plurals-- especially those whose
systems happen to include characters of 'fiction.'