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Inheritance
REGINA HAD SOME LITTLE MINDS OF HER OWN...
She was foster-mother to a strange band of paranormal children. The townspeople joked about the "freak-farm" she ran, but she knew the truth: her children had rare powers, rare gifts.
Grizzle could hurl a lamp across the room without moving. Linda and Reggie could leave their bodies. Carl could think his thought in someone else's head. And then there was Peter...
Now the scenario would be completed. Now the most ancient of taboos would be violated. Now she could plot the play of death and revenge.
And a little boy would be her leading man.
She was foster-mother to a strange band of paranormal children. The townspeople joked about the "freak-farm" she ran, but she knew the truth: her children had rare powers, rare gifts.
Grizzle could hurl a lamp across the room without moving. Linda and Reggie could leave their bodies. Carl could think his thought in someone else's head. And then there was Peter...
Now the scenario would be completed. Now the most ancient of taboos would be violated. Now she could plot the play of death and revenge.
And a little boy would be her leading man.
Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1980
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June 28, 2008
Setting: 1981. A posh, palm-laden, and sprawling residence in Malibu, where “Big” Jim Hammerschlong, Senior Vice President, Sales & Marketing, Pocket Books USA, is unveiling the book which he has recently described to the eager press as an ‘earthshattering work of unfathomable significance’, which also happens to be the instrumental device in his planned ascension from mere Sr. VP, S & M, Pocket Books USA to a unanimously-selected member of the grandiose Board of Directors, Pocket Books Global Conglomerate.
The Book: Uncrated with the utmost care and diligence, held aloft before the clamoring horde with fanatical pomp and ado, and sworn to the world as the defining Next Great Work! “Some Fuckin Story About Kids Eking Through A Troubled Existence” by V.C. ‘Charlie’ Andrews, her 17th consecutive abortion posing as a legitimate story.
“You have got to be goddam kidding me,” decries young Winthrop, a promising young chappie in the realm of manuscript editing, knowing he’s about to run face-first into a certifiable shitstorm at the office.
“At least the champagne was good,” chimes Brick, the flamboyantly zany gay dude in charge of Paper Procurement from the New Orleans office, qualifying his statement by tossing back his fifth flute in the last two minutes while conspicuously masticating his equally gay counterpart from the Atlanta office with the manner of stare that leaves no question of its intent.
The Outcome: Once the train got a’rolling, there was no stopping this mind-wrecking drek occupying Pocket’s replicating resources and also leading to the long-expected suicide of poor Winthrop (glowingly described in his obituary as ‘the unfaltering editor of the latest bestselling ‘Fuckin Story’ by VC Andrews, by none other than the benevolent “Big” Jim Hammerschlong). However, all was not for naught. At one tumultuous point in this ridiculous hullabaloo, there was a curveball thrown into the mix when the cover was deemed unworthy of this fantastic fare. It was decided that the original cover should be replaced with an enhanced, dual-layered cover, in which you could see a sliver of a child’s frightened face through a slightly ajar closet door, and when you pulled that cover open, the bottom layer revealed this wretched child…..tied….to….a…..chair! And goddam mortified by the looks of it. Industry publications such as ‘Paperpeddler Monthly’ immediately declared this crafty maneuver was genius beyond fitting description by the clumsy words of mere mortals.
The Original Cover: About to be binned without regard when a buck-toothed press operator solemnly vowed that his cross-eyed nephew could work a story around that first cover, querying “Hell, it wasn’t so bad, right guys?” Hank, Joe, and Smitty shook their heads sadly and went back to laboriously oiling the trusty off-set press to give birth to cover v2.0.
Thus, I suspect, was the humdrum commencement of “Inheritance”, a book which I certainly am not attempting to promote here.
Peter is a sweet little Aryan kid, well developed physically, quite possibly with some form of psychical power, the true ubermensch personified, except his adoptive family is just this side of nuckin futs. Hella dysfunctional. His oft-absent old man, Ian, is completely uninspired by anything except for laying the wood to his mistress, Liz. His mother, Pamela, is Sylvia Plath in all aspects save moniker, and after her latest breakdown/suicide attempt/piteous cry for help, she’s retreated from the bustling heart of London to a remote cabin to recuperate and recovery and claim some of the joys one should rightfully claim from existence which have been thrown aside during this emotional rollercoaster ride. Afraid that some misfortune or danger might befall Peter at any instant, she drags his honky ass along. At the cabin, Pamela can kick back, sunbathe, paint, smother the kid with affection, and drop some quaaludes prior to busting out a rubber St. Bernard’s tongue for unstated purposes before lapsing into some sort of torpor. Peter, in the meantime, hangs out with the kids next door, a herd of freaks interestingly supervised by their weird Kathy-Bates-resembling adoptive mother, and this clan of miscreants apparently thinks that Peter is one of their kind.
The neighbors are certainly a handful; one kid is telekinetic, another has the gift of astral projection, and of course there’s the empath, the telepath, and one kid who has no discernable gift aside from being attached to an unbelievably-proportioned dong. I have to admit, what I’ve never liked about these types of stories (in which a group of outcasts bands together to show their solidarity) is that each kid always has their own unique trait, you never have two kids with the same ability; what the hell is with that? Couldn’t you have three with elephantine dongs and maybe a pair of mindreaders; the seldom-played ‘full house’ of freaks? Or maybe one who can see the past, one that sees the future, and a third who can only see what the kid-who-sees-the-future thought yesterday about what the kid-who-sees-the-past was thinking about doing tomorrow? Go ahead, give yourself a minute to think about how you would write that book. It’s good, isn’t it? Apparently, author Owen Brookes knows better than to tread there, but he doesn’t really do much better while painting by the numbers in this rather lame story.
I don’t know if Owen Brookes did anything prior to, or following, this work, and I’m certainly not going out of my way to find out. While I guess the premise of a bunch of adolescents armed with paranormal abilities and led by a cunning sociopath with a shady past is pretty decent, the way that Brookes works this concept is pretty half-assed. I expected him to lay all this out in a straightforward manner, but he instead opts to baffle with a series of dream sequences (or hypnotically-influenced manic visions, depending on how long you dare continue punishing yourself toward the lame finale) which make your last acid trip seem well-structured and easily navigable. My head spun as I sat there trying to figure out what sort of influence each scene could possibly have on the book at large, and then when I’d strained enough to somehow make sense of it, I was totally sidetracked wondering why someone would chose this method of narrating this particular story.
Another major nuisance was the fact that Brookes tried shrouding absolutely everything in some sort of mystery, no matter how painfully spelled out it was for the reader. It wasn’t until about page 220 of 330 that he grudgingly admitting that the troubled teens possessed some sort of paranormal ability, prior to that point you could see them in action, you know what’s going on, but he continuously beats around the bush, ceaselessly wasting words for no better reason than to add meaningless filler. That’s the sort of pitiful amateur shit I do in a book review, when I could simply say “This book blows a syphillitic hyena” right from the giddy-up and resume my normal daily routine of being denied intercourse by my girlfriend.
I also didn’t like the fact it took place in England, if only because I don’t like England. Spare me the crap, English-folk, your great-great-great-great-great-great-grandpappies got a boot in the ass from a group of pagans that would go on to spawn the guests of the Jerry Springer Show; I don’t need your sass.
Hopefully, this has persuaded you to stay clear of “Inheritance”. This warning is not hyperbole, but in case you happen to still cling to the fruitless hopes that this book might have some redeeming element, please note that I haven’t even touched upon the boneheaded inclusion of Nazi psychical experimentation, reincarnation of the most absurd degree, and what might be the lamest and most preposterous father-son bonding ever put to paper and then expected to sell.
The Book: Uncrated with the utmost care and diligence, held aloft before the clamoring horde with fanatical pomp and ado, and sworn to the world as the defining Next Great Work! “Some Fuckin Story About Kids Eking Through A Troubled Existence” by V.C. ‘Charlie’ Andrews, her 17th consecutive abortion posing as a legitimate story.
“You have got to be goddam kidding me,” decries young Winthrop, a promising young chappie in the realm of manuscript editing, knowing he’s about to run face-first into a certifiable shitstorm at the office.
“At least the champagne was good,” chimes Brick, the flamboyantly zany gay dude in charge of Paper Procurement from the New Orleans office, qualifying his statement by tossing back his fifth flute in the last two minutes while conspicuously masticating his equally gay counterpart from the Atlanta office with the manner of stare that leaves no question of its intent.
The Outcome: Once the train got a’rolling, there was no stopping this mind-wrecking drek occupying Pocket’s replicating resources and also leading to the long-expected suicide of poor Winthrop (glowingly described in his obituary as ‘the unfaltering editor of the latest bestselling ‘Fuckin Story’ by VC Andrews, by none other than the benevolent “Big” Jim Hammerschlong). However, all was not for naught. At one tumultuous point in this ridiculous hullabaloo, there was a curveball thrown into the mix when the cover was deemed unworthy of this fantastic fare. It was decided that the original cover should be replaced with an enhanced, dual-layered cover, in which you could see a sliver of a child’s frightened face through a slightly ajar closet door, and when you pulled that cover open, the bottom layer revealed this wretched child…..tied….to….a…..chair! And goddam mortified by the looks of it. Industry publications such as ‘Paperpeddler Monthly’ immediately declared this crafty maneuver was genius beyond fitting description by the clumsy words of mere mortals.
The Original Cover: About to be binned without regard when a buck-toothed press operator solemnly vowed that his cross-eyed nephew could work a story around that first cover, querying “Hell, it wasn’t so bad, right guys?” Hank, Joe, and Smitty shook their heads sadly and went back to laboriously oiling the trusty off-set press to give birth to cover v2.0.
Thus, I suspect, was the humdrum commencement of “Inheritance”, a book which I certainly am not attempting to promote here.
Peter is a sweet little Aryan kid, well developed physically, quite possibly with some form of psychical power, the true ubermensch personified, except his adoptive family is just this side of nuckin futs. Hella dysfunctional. His oft-absent old man, Ian, is completely uninspired by anything except for laying the wood to his mistress, Liz. His mother, Pamela, is Sylvia Plath in all aspects save moniker, and after her latest breakdown/suicide attempt/piteous cry for help, she’s retreated from the bustling heart of London to a remote cabin to recuperate and recovery and claim some of the joys one should rightfully claim from existence which have been thrown aside during this emotional rollercoaster ride. Afraid that some misfortune or danger might befall Peter at any instant, she drags his honky ass along. At the cabin, Pamela can kick back, sunbathe, paint, smother the kid with affection, and drop some quaaludes prior to busting out a rubber St. Bernard’s tongue for unstated purposes before lapsing into some sort of torpor. Peter, in the meantime, hangs out with the kids next door, a herd of freaks interestingly supervised by their weird Kathy-Bates-resembling adoptive mother, and this clan of miscreants apparently thinks that Peter is one of their kind.
The neighbors are certainly a handful; one kid is telekinetic, another has the gift of astral projection, and of course there’s the empath, the telepath, and one kid who has no discernable gift aside from being attached to an unbelievably-proportioned dong. I have to admit, what I’ve never liked about these types of stories (in which a group of outcasts bands together to show their solidarity) is that each kid always has their own unique trait, you never have two kids with the same ability; what the hell is with that? Couldn’t you have three with elephantine dongs and maybe a pair of mindreaders; the seldom-played ‘full house’ of freaks? Or maybe one who can see the past, one that sees the future, and a third who can only see what the kid-who-sees-the-future thought yesterday about what the kid-who-sees-the-past was thinking about doing tomorrow? Go ahead, give yourself a minute to think about how you would write that book. It’s good, isn’t it? Apparently, author Owen Brookes knows better than to tread there, but he doesn’t really do much better while painting by the numbers in this rather lame story.
I don’t know if Owen Brookes did anything prior to, or following, this work, and I’m certainly not going out of my way to find out. While I guess the premise of a bunch of adolescents armed with paranormal abilities and led by a cunning sociopath with a shady past is pretty decent, the way that Brookes works this concept is pretty half-assed. I expected him to lay all this out in a straightforward manner, but he instead opts to baffle with a series of dream sequences (or hypnotically-influenced manic visions, depending on how long you dare continue punishing yourself toward the lame finale) which make your last acid trip seem well-structured and easily navigable. My head spun as I sat there trying to figure out what sort of influence each scene could possibly have on the book at large, and then when I’d strained enough to somehow make sense of it, I was totally sidetracked wondering why someone would chose this method of narrating this particular story.
Another major nuisance was the fact that Brookes tried shrouding absolutely everything in some sort of mystery, no matter how painfully spelled out it was for the reader. It wasn’t until about page 220 of 330 that he grudgingly admitting that the troubled teens possessed some sort of paranormal ability, prior to that point you could see them in action, you know what’s going on, but he continuously beats around the bush, ceaselessly wasting words for no better reason than to add meaningless filler. That’s the sort of pitiful amateur shit I do in a book review, when I could simply say “This book blows a syphillitic hyena” right from the giddy-up and resume my normal daily routine of being denied intercourse by my girlfriend.
I also didn’t like the fact it took place in England, if only because I don’t like England. Spare me the crap, English-folk, your great-great-great-great-great-great-grandpappies got a boot in the ass from a group of pagans that would go on to spawn the guests of the Jerry Springer Show; I don’t need your sass.
Hopefully, this has persuaded you to stay clear of “Inheritance”. This warning is not hyperbole, but in case you happen to still cling to the fruitless hopes that this book might have some redeeming element, please note that I haven’t even touched upon the boneheaded inclusion of Nazi psychical experimentation, reincarnation of the most absurd degree, and what might be the lamest and most preposterous father-son bonding ever put to paper and then expected to sell.
July 16, 2017
When looking at horror paperbacks from the ‘70s/’80s, there's a confluence of factors that determines a book’s final score. Unfortunately for “The Inheritance,” the bad factors outweigh the good.
The good is that Owen Brookes seems to be an able prose writer. “Inheritance” features prose with a high word count, good descriptors and competent dialogue. Because these types of books so often lack those qualities, that’s no small feat.
The bad, though, is that “Inheritance” is a dull slog. Although the last third of the novel tries to ratchet up the tension, it really just devolves into a convoluted mess of arcane lore and featuring one of the more confusing action climaxes I’ve ever read (e.g.: two of the many characters in the scene are named Regina and Reggie. I’d think a fiction writer would avoid such similarly spelled names in the same story, but whatever).
The good is that Owen Brookes seems to be an able prose writer. “Inheritance” features prose with a high word count, good descriptors and competent dialogue. Because these types of books so often lack those qualities, that’s no small feat.
The bad, though, is that “Inheritance” is a dull slog. Although the last third of the novel tries to ratchet up the tension, it really just devolves into a convoluted mess of arcane lore and featuring one of the more confusing action climaxes I’ve ever read (e.g.: two of the many characters in the scene are named Regina and Reggie. I’d think a fiction writer would avoid such similarly spelled names in the same story, but whatever).
October 25, 2018
The evils you do by
two and two you will pay for...one by one
Wat.
The book description promises that "the most ancient of taboos would be violated," so naturally, I went in expecting a bonkers story. However, the "big reveal" is drawn out until the last 50 pages or so and unfortunately the setup, which is like the entire first third of the book, felt like a slog. The "ancient of taboos" is vaguely referenced at the end of the book without much description.
At least the cover is pretty neat. It's got a cut-out at the eye and behind it is an eerie illustration. On the other hand, it's a bit of a spoiler :/
January 29, 2025
It's not as bad as other reviewers say. I struggled a little in the beginning because it seemed like too many characters were introduced at once, but there is really only about 10 or so characters in this book. While it's not the quickest paced story, I still found it engaging and enjoyable.
May 7, 2019
meh. DON'T.
I was reading VC Andrews at the same time along with any other other Pocket/Zebra/Kensington Horror books. So I thought I'd give it a go. I had to read it twice, since I didn't get it the first time. The writing was alright I suppose, but for the first part of the book, it wasn't really interesting, just depressing. the second half of the book it kept on being depressing, dull and some stuff was happening, but not enough to really capture my attention. I only finished this schlock to see what happened at the end (the second time). Don't read this book. Read something else.
I was reading VC Andrews at the same time along with any other other Pocket/Zebra/Kensington Horror books. So I thought I'd give it a go. I had to read it twice, since I didn't get it the first time. The writing was alright I suppose, but for the first part of the book, it wasn't really interesting, just depressing. the second half of the book it kept on being depressing, dull and some stuff was happening, but not enough to really capture my attention. I only finished this schlock to see what happened at the end (the second time). Don't read this book. Read something else.
Read
August 9, 2020Although the story is a bit difficult to follow, it is a different type of scary book. The involvement of children and how they are manipulated is somewhat distressing to think how they can be persuaded to do something that is inherently wrong. When I thought I had it figured out, there were twists that arose I was not expecting.
January 21, 2018
3.5 stars.
August 14, 2020
Read in 1982. Supernatural novel.
May 18, 2015
Not the best book I ever read. It was kind of suspenseful, but never really was sure what was happening. A bunch of supernatural stuff. Not really too good.
January 27, 2008
Creepy children and an even creepier Mama. An entertaining read but not great.
May 22, 2014
A good tale. Creepy kids and lots of action, kept me intrigued right up till the end.
Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews