I'm (re)reading Dean Koontz's
House of Thunder. I read it several times as a teenager, but it has been long enough that I have mostly forgotten the ending. I can kind-of, sort-of remember it, but not fully. I was going to move on to one of my African fiction books, but I (inadvisedly) tried to start it on the tram. It was full of loud tourists and a bumpy ride, and concentrating on the beginning of what looks like a beautiful but complex and multilingual story proved beyond me. I shifted to something with a simpler narrative, and am enjoying my journey to my teen years. Nice and creepy book, too
