Pornokitsch

And so Dale grows up, but never goes on: he remains haunted by his terrible guilt, not about Clint's actions but about a single, unguarded thought that flitted through his mind during the tragedy. He spends years isolated and angry, trapped in his own head by his own conscience. Until the day he meets Raeanna, the twin sister of the girl Clint murdered, years before.

Stimulated by Raeanna's own tragedies and led to experiment with his regenerative abilities, Dale decides that he's finally found a way to make up for what happened years before. He gets Mack, now a successful wheeler-dealer, on board with his plan... and starts giving his body-parts away. On reality tv. Of course, deep in his heart, Dale knows he's trying to atone not for the atrocities Clint perpetuated, but that single, horrible thought. But, superficially, he's helping people without expecting any reward, and making the world a better place, right?

[Ok, you can come back now.]

Who says redemption can't be bought?

The Samaritan is a horror novel, of course, so it's bursting with blood and guts and suppurating wounds. But, like the best horror novels, it uses the visceral as an anchor to explore the worst of the human condition - all those fears, the anger, the pain, and the self-loathing that make people such complicated, fucked-up animals. Dale's a kid with problems to begin with, but his life gets much, much worse after he becomes a victim in a tragedy - not because of any physical trauma, but because of his guilt. Because he had a terrible moment, and thought a terrible thing. A thing that anyone might have thought, in the same situation. Dale hates himself, because Dale fears himself.

Venturini's accomplishment with The Samaritan lies in that single moment, and the way he explores its fall-out, and how guilt lacerates a body as horrifically as any physical trauma. Healing from guilt is just as difficult as healing from injury. And guilt leaves scars, too. [Anne]

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