The first three quarters of this novel is a pretty standard movie-of-the-week style horror yarn. Sort of a combo of a creature feature and swamp sleaze. The photographer is a young, beautiful girl who happens to be as promiscuous as can be so there are ample opportunities for sexual innuendo and teasing which morphs into full-on sex scenes. Later, as the worm infestation comes into fruition, the sex stuff morphs once again into gross-out sex, with all kinds of eggs, larvae, etc. leaking and oozing out of various orifices….ugh…you get the idea.
The final quarter of the novel seems to be a case of the author writing himself into a corner and seeking a solution that will make some kind of sense for how these worms came to be. I won’t spoil that in this review but suffice it to say that it mostly works as long as you can suspend every shred of disbelief in your brain. I did appreciate that the ignorant and arrogant souls on this island get what they deserve while the intelligent ones are able to rationally think through possibilities for survival. That doesn’t always happen in these sorts of stories.
I will likely read more of this author's stuff as I still have at least three more of his books on my shelf. But much like Richard Laymon's body of work, I'll need plenty of time between them to shower and recuperate, lest I go insane.