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The Witness is highly reminiscent of the 70's era's, gritty, mean-spirited and nasty horror films that, free from most of the previous decades regulations, delighted in throwing intestines, torn flesh, buckets of blood and high-pitched screams of anguish at the viewer. It is also highly polished and well-written by an author who was clearly enjoying himself. This is my first Zach Bohannon book and it will NOT be my last.
Having said that, I really, really hated this book, for all the same reasons so many of those films now piss me off. The main character is a bland, ineffective, brain-dead, do-nothing loser who watches her friends die horrible, excruciating, drawn-out deaths and considers herself worse off because she, completely unharmed, has to sit and watch it. A friend is literally skewered, something she could have prevented, and she cries over a splinter in her hand. A splinter.
It's to Bohannon's absolute credit that I saw all of this book play out so vividly in my head. He is a GOOD writer, and I have no complaints about Robin Rowan's narration. She performed wonderfully. I just hated, more and more, every moment I had to spend in the head of this character.
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