The Vanishing by Bentley Little

Social worker Carrie Daniels and LA Times reporter Brian Howells each find themselves involved with something…sinister. Somebody in each of their orbits displays unique physical characteristics. Bizarre abnormalities. One person might have the face of a lama while another has scales and a backbone like a dinosaur. Are these abnormalities the result of some strange latent gene in their DNA…or something worse? When news come from across the country of similar abnormalities, Carrie and Brian follow the clues to what appears to be the source, somewhere in what used to be the gold fields of California, near Sutter’s Mill in the late 1840s.

I’ve read quite a few Bentley Little horror novels over the years and enjoyed a fair number. But fewer and fewer of them as time goes by. This novel reminds me of why. While the premise is interesting, the plot unfolds too slowly, and the suspense build-up is drawn out way too much. Looking back now it seems to have been one giant mashup of weird ideas. Abnormal freaks? Serial killers? Pod people? What is the actual horror going on here? Some people leave their loved ones and “vanish” (hence the title, I suppose, although surely there were better options). The first quarter of the book is all about introducing new characters and situations in little vignettes, only to have them die by the “horror” of whatever is happening. I couldn’t figure out who would be the protagonist(s) until about one third of the way in. And by then I wasn’t sure I cared.

There is a huge “ick” factor throughout the books as well, something that is a regular feature of Bentley Little’s works. It seemed even more prevalent this time though, or perhaps I am simply growing older and less inclined to want to see this sort of stuff on the page. If you enjoy reading of grotesque overly explicit sexual violence with outrageous details of sexual organs in action, then this book may be for you. Nothing subtle here. (This is not in any way sexy or titillating…more of a gross-out contest). I will certainly give the author credit for a creative imagination when it comes to this stuff, but I wish he didn’t always descend into such debased potty horror.

Despite these negatives, the plot does get to a conclusion eventually, although, frankly, it was a bit of a let-down. There were some nice chapters mixed in throughout the second half of the book which take us back in time to the 1800s era, so we could see how this ill-defined horror began. Or so I thought. But instead of this leading to an explanation of any kind, it was simply more examples of the same “horror” that is playing out in the present. 

In the end, the book left me thankful it was over, and I could move on to something more palatable.