There is a lot of media to consume out there. I hate wasting my time on poor or mediocre stories considering all the A level ones I often miss. Reading Red Rain by R. L. Stine was a complete waste of time. Nothing in the book was scary, let alone captivating. While there was a small glimmer of interest at first, it quickly faded the book delved deeper into pointlessness.
Lea, a blogger (I hate that word), travels to an island off the coast of South Carolina to write about it while there’s an impending hurricane. She learns the people there have a ritual to bring people back from the dead (that’s important later, wink). Hurricane comes, destruction, blah blah. In the aftermath she finds twelve year old perfect angel twins with their perfect blonde hair and blue eyes. She brings them home to Sag Harbor New York where they go on and on about ruling the school. Turns out, their demons or something.
The book’s broken down into four parts. I enjoyed the first part. The setup was interesting, though maybe it was the promise of what was to come that heightened my enjoyment. The first few chapters centered on Lea before switch between her and her husband back home, Mark. At first I thought the book would primarily take place on the island, until another character, Officer Pavano, was introduced in New York. I thought this was very odd. Immediately he felt extraneous.
The first part ended with Lea bringing the twins she found, Samuel and Daniel, home. After that the book continues delivering an exorbitant amount of detail and superfluous information before reaching the ultimate predictable conclusion. The big twist that the twins died in the 1935 hurricane and were brought back to life wasn’t a surprise. Their agenda was boring as well. Daniel was adept at manipulation while Samuel could shoot lasers from his eyes. Fricking lasers.
I had long stopped caring by the time the last act came. Nothing was surprising or interesting. Everything proceeding it was about 100 pages of story with 200 pages of nonessential crap to increase the page count. This read like a left over Goosebumps story with some pointless profanity and sex thrown in to make it adult.
What aggravates me the most is the fact that this was published. I’ve been part of a writing critique group for some time and have read plenty of short and long stories similar to this that were terrible, and I’ve lambasted them. I’ve also read just as many great stories that can’t find their way into publication. But this garbage gets printed? Also, I don’t know if this is a thing with modern books, but the supplemental book club questionnaire at the end was incredibly pretentious. Especially because they were all positive slanted questions. “What writing technique did you find the most successful at building suspense?” That assumes there was suspense. Pompous.
In case you’re wondering why I didn’t stop reading, my girlfriend wanted me to read this with her because she heard it was scary. I got a head start on her and began telling her how abysmal this was. I had less than 100 pages left when she told me she wasn’t going to read it. At that point I rage read the rest of the book. I will not read another book by Stine, and punch my kids in the face if they bring a Goosebumps book home.
Did you waste your time with this hot street trash? Rant below!
This got a 2.7 on goodreads.