Something More Than Night by Kim Newman

​ This book had so much promise. I loved the concept – a wild What If scenario from the bygone age of cinema, directly at the intersection of supernatural and noir, a mystery with otherworldly undertones.  I can’t even quite decide what failed in the execution here and I’m perfectly willing to put this down as one of those reader/writer incompatibility things, and yet…
Ok, so more words. Plot related words.
Imagine if Chandler (one of mysteries’ greats) and Karloff (one of Frankenstein fame) were pals. Besties, even. It’s possible, the two were contemporaries and their paths had plenty of opportunities to intertwine. Imagine if they set off to solve a crime. Imagine if that crime had supernatural flavor to it. So far so good, right? Now, set that in a WWII era LA, the place where fantasies come to be cinematized, and behold…it ought to be spectacular. Or at least a spectacle.
Why did it fall so flat? No idea. It wasn’t the writing itself, probably more to do with the plotting. It began nicely, but then it’s like it tried to do too many things at once or tried to cram several different stories into one.
Something strangely disjointed about the narrative, it was either too busy, too tangential, or too convoluted. For me, the reading experience was kind of like a bunch of words that worked individually but didn’t make up the sentences quite right. Very odd.
Unlike Frankenstein’s monster, made up of many separate aspects into a cohesive sum total, this novel didn’t manage the same trick.
Again, probably a very personal sort of disconnect, so take it as such.
Overall, pretty disappointing. And a much longer read that it ought to have been by page count alone. Thanks Netgalley.