The Surrogate
By Nick Sharman
1980 Signet
Paperback, 249 pages
My
father was a bit of a douchebag. He’d belittle me, hit me; he told me I was a
mistake. He admitted that he had been unfit to be a father. But he was a saint
compared to Frank Tillson’s father!
After a
childhood of abuse and his mother’s death, Frank packed up, left home, and
never looked back. Working as a radio show host, widowed, and raising an 8-year-old
son alone, he gets summoned by his dying father to talk about who is going to
get the old man’s considerable fortune. Frank tells him to fuck off. Plus, he
tells him to fuck off on behalf of his son, Simon, who ol’ gramps wants to take
over his empire. The old man dies with the situation unresolved.
That is
when all hell breaks loose.
The old
man’s reach from beyond the grave raises plenty of chills up the spine and as a
horror villain, he is a memorable and formidable monster. With sheer residual hate,
he can force his will on people, places, and things of all sorts, even a doll
(which is always nice). Sharman creates a gloomy atmosphere, thick with
malevolent evil and sludgy black shadows, and things are never quite as they
seem.
I’d
read Sharman’s The Cats before and liked it, so I decided to grab this,
his third novel, as well. Knowing there were killer-doll parts helped push it
to the top of my pile. Sharman, real name Scott Grønmark, is a very good writer,
with excellent descriptions and pacing. He uses similes liberally, but it
doesn’t get annoying because he chooses the perfect words to paint his pictures.
He uses similes like Ghastly Graham used spittle. This is one book that I would
think about while at work, then rush home to dig back in. A real page-turner, I
tell ya.
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