Driven

After plowing through Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter with still some weeks of October left, I decided to keep with my spooky-genre and read W.G. Griffiths' Driven.

This book has been collecting dust on my shelf for almost a decade, surviving multiple cross-state moves and a dog who likes to eat books. So I brought it down, dusted it off, read the back, and started on the Driven journey, which was - as it happened - full of cheese.

Griffiths' novel reminded me a lot of a Dan Brown or James Patterson; short sentences, equally short chapters, and a great deal of pontificating. The main difference is that Griffiths' is no match for those seasoned authors, experts at weaving intrigue with mystery, drama, romance, and just enough horror to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. But what I appreciated most about Driven is that the crux of the story wasn't to exploit the worst traits of the human population, as most of the horror genre seems geared towards. The culprit - spoiler alert that's easily accessible from reading the back cover - is a supernatural force, stronger than any human, that's been around since the beginning of the beginning.

Gavin Pierce is a police detective, taking the weekend off at pseudo Sea World with his grandfather, when a seemingly drunk driver causes a horrific accident that kills Gavin's grandfather and a host of others, his only calling cards being a lobster claw, too many empty beer cans to count, a dead passenger, and the crumpled mess that was the passenger's car. The most eerie and unexpected result, however, is that the driver manages to escape the carnage with barely a scrape or bruise. Clearly Pierce is dealing with something he never had to before.

Pierce quickly bands together a hodgepodge a civilian superheros to track, find, and apprehend the monster, including fellow detectives, a hypnotist, one lone survivor, a victim's sister-in-law, and a Reverend with a wooden chest he refuses to leave behind or let open.

The story is interesting, keeps you hooked, and winds you down a path of various unexpected, and sometimes obscure, pieces to the puzzle. There is, however, something lacking in the writing that reminds you of the first adjective-laden story you produced as a plucky 6th grader. The emotions are expressed in such a way that the reader almost feels forced to believe this is actually how the character is feeling.

The book has the appropriate amount of surprising twists, and the ending is a true mystery unless you're well-versed in the art of deliverance. It didn't leave me reeling, though; didn't leave me wanting more and I could give the book to charity and not wonder what happened to it days, months, or years from now. It didn't stick with me and there's a part of me that is disappointed I didn't spend my time reading something more Halloween-ish. Then again, any book I add to my done-reading list is a positive.