This is one of those novels about which I have to be ambivalent. There's no doubting Richard Matheson's credentials in our field (and I won't go into them here for lack of space, except to say HELL HOUSE, I AM LEGEND, STIR OF ECHOES and THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN), so you know the book's going to be well-written in any case. No, my ambivalence lies in these dilemmas: is it a tour-de-force, or a potboiler? Is it a novel, or religious rumination disguised by novel structure? Is it a good read?

The first is up for debate— a strong case can be made for either categorization. The second is also questionable— it's a novel, albeit a short one and of limited physical and temporal scope, but there's a lot of ruminating going on there. The third has an answer— a qualified yes.

Frustrating, isn't it? It felt that way to me as I read it. Occasionally I'd stumble on something that jarred me from the story (which isn't always the author's fault, admittedly). For instance, the protagonists on stage for 90% of the book are named Bob and Doug. It's not Matheson's fault that I couldn't stop hearing SCTV's Bob and Doug Mackenzie (those hosers) and their Great White North schtick (Ku-ru-ku-ku-ku-kuku-koo!). Perhaps different names or less reliance on the two men calling each other by name so often would have done the trick.

Then there's the "Deliverance"-meets-"The Most Dangerous Game" plot, with which I have little or no problem except that much of the shock value is blown on the jacket copy and, well, within about ten pages. Perhaps there was no need to keep it a secret, but it would have worked better as a bit of a surprise— jacket copy can be slanted to obfuscate rather than divulge (still not really the author's fault!)

Here's what it's about. Out of work macho actor Doug takes his friend, successful novelist and screenwriter Bob, on a three-day hike over rugged mountain country to help Bob research his next novel. They're heading for Doug's cabin, where Bob's worry-wart wife Marian awaits. The main differences between them are that Bob is successful and Doug is not, and that Doug is an outdoorsman and Bob is a bit of a wimp. Along the way, feelings are hurt, edges rubbed raw, jealousy rears its ugly head, humanity slips, and well, I may have given away too much already. Maybe the jacket copy writer had no choice!

In theory you're supposed to sympathize with Bob, the backpacking neophyte, who can't do anything for himself. But since he asked to be taught, it's puzzling to note that every time he asks Doug a question, he gets annoyed when Doug "lectures" him with the answer. And he sounds a bit smug though he hides it with humility. Thus, it's sometimes hard to like Bob! Can this be intentional? If so, I couldn't see the reason to make Bob somewhat of a wussy, unless Matheson's game is to make us secretly root for Doug when he loses it. But why? When Doug loses it, he loses it big. And then it's still a leap to go from mere dislike to murderous rage. It's a big leap, and it requires a bit more grounding. Does Matheson pull it off? Three weeks after reading it, I'm still not sure I buy it. But then, who am I to criticize a master? All I know is that some parts didn't work for me as I think they were intended.

Perhaps the novel doesn't work as well as it could, plain and simple, because it doesn't explore Doug's point of view at all — only Bob's. Insanity is easy to label, but to make the label stick one needs to look through the insane character's eyes for a while. In a truly ingenious film version, the camera could give us a little of both, transforming a weakness in the book into edgy suspense and keeping us guessing as to who's the unhinged one.

There's also a bit of a "Fatal Attraction" syndrome going on at the end— you know, where the evil critter just won't die — and it seemed annoyingly transparent, serving only to extend the climax artificially without really extending the novel's emotional impact at all.

Ultimately, the book's a good read because Matheson manages to make enough of the dialogue sound quite convincing, though occasionally— during one specific violent scene (think "Dueling Banjos") — it would have seemed to me a lot more authentic if the two merely grunted at each other, rather than carrying out a perfectly grammatical conversation.

HUNTED PAST REASON is Machiavellian in a way, because it does ensnare the reader in a web that won't let go until the end. I confess that I wanted to know how it ended, even if I wasn't completely accepting once I got there. I also confess that sometimes I sided more with the antagonist, and maybe that was a sneaky aspect Matheson intended. I'm certain the movie version will be more of a grabber, with the camera capturing both points of view (and facial expressions hidden from each other, and so on). But I could not help thinking that this novel was a novella in jungle camouflage. Marginally recommended, but Matheson's been better.