In the unassuming small town of St. Joseph, Missouri (why does that name sound so familiar?), the Andrew Bender house has loomed over the neighborhood for nearly a hundred years. New residents move onto the block full of promise and good intentions, only to have the pall cast by the Bender House ruin their motivation and cause them to leave their yards unattended, their home repairs incomplete. And the Bender House itself, the last person who owned it, Mike Thompson, was thrown from the roof and wound up in a wheelchair. Now, happy couple David and Julie Conroy are moving in from Indianapolis to turn the place into a bed and breakfast and allow the Conroy’s to quit their jobs and David to live out his dream. Only the Bender House is still not quite at rest.It starts when Julie, on their first night in the house, sees the shape of a man scurry across the bedroom ceiling. Later, something grabs her ankle and pulls her into the closet. The refrigerator door is torn off the hinges. Her brother-in-law Paul comes up missing--he’d last been seen standing inside the front door as Julie pulled out of the drive to run some errands. And the stained-glass portrait of Andrew Bender keeps changing.
Julie digs into the history of the Bender House, thanks to neighbor Katy and former owner Mike Thompson--plus the River Bluffs Regional Library--and learns the supposed fate of Andrew Bender and his family. Bender, a wealthy man in town at the turn of the century, ran a brewery which supported the town. One day his right-hand-man absconded with Bender’s wife and children. Then the brewery burned down. Bender himself later died heartbroken and alone. Or so the story goes.
But when David comes into town for the weekend from Indy and winds up in a coma, Julie begins to realize the forces within the house are holding her husband hostage until she performs the task they require of her.
I love haunted house stories. Far as I’m concerned, they’re the only truly frightening form of fiction. I saw this book used on the bookstore shelf, glanced over the back cover synopsis and saw it was a haunted house story, and immediately wanted it. The fact it’s set in my own town was something I only discovered after the fact, but I thought it was pretty cool. Actually, it turned out to be only the first of many things wrong with TOUCHES.
Let’s explore that a little further. I know a lot of stories are set in famous places like Boston or New York, and I often wonder what it must be like for people who live in those towns to read these stories. I imagine it’s such a common thing in some places, they don’t give it a second thought. Well, no one sets stories in St. Joe, unless the main character happens to be named Jesse James. Hell, even I don’t set my stories in St. Joe. And that’s because nothing exciting happens here, ever. It’s nearly impossible to suspend my disbelief in this novel when I know good and well it ain’t gonna happen like that. Also, to find things in my town specified in a novel just feels . . . kinda nerdy. I mean, to see things referred to as the River Bluffs Regional Library . . . well, there were, at a time, 4 libraries in town, all River Bluffs branches, in different locations. It was never the River Bluffs Regional Library. There was the library downtown, the library by the school, the library on the Belt, and the library I didn’t know where it was.
Second thing wrong with TOUCHES is the writing. If you’re reading a book and one of the biggest problems is the writing, that’s a huge thing. But behold:
“David grabbed his work shirt and like a man burning up with fever he started to rip it off. But as I heard the first threads snap, he let go and grabbed his hair instead. He leaned back, threw out his chest and screamed, ‘No!’”
Yeesh. Seriously? Or this:
“What I was hearing in the Bender House had nothing to do with cleaning snow off a driveway. It had to do with laying bricks. And just like you, my thoughts immediately shot to the tunnel in the basement.”
Actually, my thoughts DIDN’T go to the tunnel and while we’re on the subject, you’re a narrator, don’t talk to me!
“I know that it sounds impossible. David weighs twice as much as me. How could I carry him all the way up the tunnel stairs, through the basement, up those stairs and out onto the lawn? I can’t tell you how. The only thing I can tell you is that I did it.”
And I said STOP TALKING TO ME.
Bad writing aside, though, author Jonathan Wise has another problem I find is all too common in too many writers who take themselves way too seriously:
“I wasn’t expecting Mike to shut me down like that and it took me back.”
The phrase is TAKEN ABACK. ABACK!!! But Wise gets it wrong at least three times here.
Another:
“Paul looked at me like my question had come from right field.”
LEFT field, dammit, LEFT field. God, I hate that even more than I hate bad writing. I just don’t understand how some people--and not just writers, I run into every day at work among common folk--can hear a phrase all their lives, and yet never get it right. I know a person who refers to Lowe’s, the home improvement store, as LOWELLS. Are you kidding me???
And finally, my third gripe with TOUCHES is characterization. Written by a man, but told from the first person POV of Julie, we get these gems:
“In a panic, I turned to what every woman looks to in a time of need. And that’s right where they were--there on the seat next to my purse.”
You sure you don’t want to edit that little bit out there, dude? And my absolute all-time favorite (you might want to sit down for this one):
“As always, I felt safe and protected under the loving shoulders of my husband. So much so in fact that I actually wasn’t thinking about anything else. I moved in compliment to his rhythm, contracting my muscles to ensure his pleasure. Over the span of our marriage, and the two times prior to our marriage, I’d learned to understand the body of my mate. So when I feel him on the verge, I know how to move and contract to peak his orgasm. David would always try to prolong himself for my benefit, but I’d tell him not to worry about it. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had an orgasm before, but I primarily derived my pleasure by knowing that David wanted only me and that I satisfied him completely.
“I’ve heard other women talk about how their man climbs off them once finished, and falls asleep by himself. David isn’t like that. He stay on top of me and we kiss until--”
Alright, I can’t even finish that. I’ve written some filth in my time, but that’s just gross. Survey says: “Single”.
God, but I wanted to love TOUCHES. I like St. Joe, I think the architecture here is incredible in some neighborhoods, and I was excited to see the place featured as the main location not somewhere people in Kansas City go to get away from it all. But for all my hopes and dreams that this would be an ass-kicking novel, one I could eagerly recommend to my horror- or St. Joe-fan friends, I just can’t do it. Beset by problems almost from the beginning, TOUCHES is a plodding story that never delivers on the scares and can’t even make up for that lack with brilliant writing. Just an all-around disappointment and no one is more unhappy about that than me. Well, Wise might not be too fond if he ever stumbles across this review, but my points are all valid and I stand behind them.
I’m all for showcasing St. Joe, I’m all for haunted house stories, I’m even all for eager young writers looking to make a name for themselves, but there’s one things you cannot forego in these matters and that’s the writing. Learn your phrases, learn when to edit something that has nothing to do with the plot (Julie’s considerations in bed have nothing to do with the ghosts of the Bender House), and for God’s sake learn to stop emulating bad movies (the whole pulling his hair and shouting NO thing really got to me). In the end, my hunt for the perfect ghost story continues, and my fears I’ve already read the best I’ll ever find are growing. My kingdom for an honest to God scare.
