We are floating, hovering at the periphery of a story, peeking at a plot that promises to be gritty, violent and compelling. We glimpse characters that are instantly engaging and impossible to ignore. But just as we connect — at the moment we are actually engaged — we are pulled away. Held off by a distracting narrative as the pages flitter by.

        Two decades ago, Stephen King and Peter Straub sent 12-year-old Jack Sawyer on a dark odyssey across America and into an alternative world called The Territories.

        His quest: Find a talisman in order to save his dying mother and, not coincidently, the universe from a man-made evil threatening to burst from a portal connecting the worlds.

        This inspired tale, called The Talisman, oddly reminiscent of Tom Sawyer's amazing adventures (if Mark Twain, while tripping heavily on acid, experienced a remote viewing of the late 20th century), ends with Travelin' Jack crossing the Blasted Lands to confront the Black Hotel.

Suppressing his memories

               Now, Mr. King and Mr. Straub have sent Jack on another trip, this time to Black House.

        Jack, who suddenly quits his job as a Los Angeles homicide lieutenant, has no memory of The Territories — and doesn't want any. But in his attempt to block out his experiences, he has settled near a Wisconsin town that is, well, slipping.

        A vicious killer is stalking the children of French Landing. A killer who likes to leave their parents tokens and missives about his misdeeds.

        “Sorry, there is only one kiddie-"knee' (kidney). The other I fryed and ate. It was very good!”

        Stumped, the local police chief beseeches Jack for help. Though reluctant, he once again agrees to be a policeman. He soon comes to understand how the killer is able to snatch kids and seemingly vanish from the face of the Earth.

        This is solid ground for Mr. King and Mr. Straub, who have deliveredsome nasty and profound literary nightmares through the years. And, boy, do they have a story to tell.

        @subHed:Distracting narrative
       @colText:It's just too bad they couldn't figure out another way to tell it. When Jack stood on the shore of a New Hampshire beach in the opening pages of The Talisman, we saw what was about to unfold through his eyes. This time, we are led through the book by a disembodied voice that tells us what to see, hear and feel.

        “Let us flow in through the big glass doors, cross the handsome lobby (noting as we do so, the mingled odors . . .”

        After the first 100 pages, the voice fades but never really goes away, seemingly always at the ready to pluck us from the story.

        There's nothing wrong with an experimental narrative so long as it works. In Floating Dragon, Mr. Straub frequently switched voices and perspectives to create one helluva a horror fest. But in Black House all it does is distract.

        That's a shame, because the characters are colorful enough to step far beyond the narrative. There's Jack, who finds his love inside a mental ward; the Thunder Five, a terrifying biker gang who brew ale when not quoting obscure literature; and Henry Leydon, a blind disc jockey whose on-air personalities inspire readers almost as much as they do Jack.

        We meet old friends as well, including Speedy, who introduced Jack to The Territories and is now desperate to send him on a journey again.

        What's facing Jack this time is an amalgam of Mr. King's earlier stories. As he enters the black house, a doorway opens into Mr. King's four-volume (soon to be five) Dark Tower opus, where Roland the Gunslinger is on his own violent quest.

        There is also the killer's latest victim, who echoes Danny from The Shining, a boy with extraordinary powers that evildoers try to exploit.

        While The Talisman painted a bleak picture of America in the 1980s, Black House is much darker.

        Then, the otherworldly horror couldn't compare to the real-life terror Jack experienced walking through middle America. Now, there appears to be no separation between the evil men do and the horror lurking under the bed. Black House blurs the lines and twists the themes together. It suggests there might not be any distinction at all. In a sense, it gives evil a home.

        And as we watch from above, it makes us want to go in — even when the voice struggles to keep us out.

Photographer creates portraits of America
KNIPPENBERG: Singer draws heavenly crowds
KIESEWETTER: Networks get real, pull reality TV
Get to it
Islamic women called to be faithful to family, God
King, Straub dark partners
Humorous, but serious, encounters with 'pets'
Tristate best sellers list
What Tristaters are reading
Owner is boutique's best ad
Linda Love puts on a show