"Eye Contact"

By Stephen Collins
Having unfortunately run dry of unread Koontz, Gresham, Patterson, Grafton (and all but abandoning Evanovich and Cornwell, whose latest work would have to improve to reach ‘lackluster’) - all the writers I turn to for standard uncomplicated reading entertainment - I found myself staring at one of several shelves full of reading material whose reason for being on my shelves, though at one time perfectly valid, has long since escaped me - which tells you exactly how long many of these novels have languished on my shelves unread. Eye Contact is one such selection, apparently in residence since the mid-‘90s.

The cover blurb, by author Stuart Woods, promises a work of erotic, funny, and before long, terrifying” nature. Erotic, definitely, but overly so for my taste (at least in style); funny, perhaps, but infrequently and somewhat misplaced, IMHO; terrifying, not so much. For me, the mix just didn’t work.

The book also contains several characters whose purpose for appearing still escape me, and that might even include the protagonist. As one other reviewer noted on Amazon, the characters are not developed in any significant depth. The “terrifying” portions appeared to me to be predictable and abrupt, and frankly rather naive in its concept and execution, as well as anticlimactic.

At over 400 pages, Collins droned on for much longer than may have been necessary, but I couldn’t in good conscience ever say I was actually bored. His style is clean and minimalist, but unfortunately I never could get past the fact that I just plain didn’t like his main character. I found her to be selfish, without any age-appropriate personal insight whatsoever, lacking in professional and personal integrity, and either unwilling or unable to make use of the available personal and professional tools to put some order and redeemable purpose into her life. Emotionally she reminded me of a small child playing dress-up with people: she tries them on for size and when they aren’t a perfect fit, she moves on to something else. With a few t.v. credits and a career that still hangs in the balance, actress Nickolette Stallings (an AKA) spends more time in the throes of practically uncontrollable exhibitionism and engineering throw-away sexual dramas than she does studying lines. Her only committed relationship is to two goldfish given to her by a neighbor. I guess that’s supposed to be the funny part. One of her sexual encounters proves to be with a restaurant pickup who turns out to be even more twisted than she suspects, and after she spurns any future contacts, he commits gory suicide in her apartment and - as he promises her before coughing his last - engineers the event in such a way that she ends up the prime suspect. The case itself wasn’t much of a challenge for the attorney who helps Nicolette out of the morass, and IMO neither was the book.

You should check out the other reviews on Amazon, but I’m still trying to figure out what point I missed because I couldn’t disagree more with those who “couldn’t put it down” or compared it to Fatal Attraction. About the only two good things I got from this book were that the attorney who represents Nickolette isn’t portrayed as a slimeball, and I was finally introduced to a main character who makes worse life decisions than I ever did.

Reviewed by Alana Carson