I was enjoying this book until the plot decided to completely jump the proverbial shark and include a twist of WTF-ery.
I get that this was written in 1979 as a pulp horror book, but there is just never a good time to present me a with a plot that involves this:
And then we have this:
The intelligence looked hard at the soft white skin of the alien creature and stifled a surge of revulsion; how ugly, how ugly and alien. How weak and puny the body. How unlike the gracious stately calm of a Saurian mate. And yet the alien had the right chemical mix of life by which to perpetuate part of the Saurian being, a being that would be part of its siring and its immortality. Yes, the thing had to be done; for to have lived, to have suffered, to have loved, to have feared, to have cried, to have fought and to have had so much ambition … and then, simply, to pass down into the blackness, into forgetfulness, into oblivion as if it had never existed … how could such a thing be? The ego refused to accept the fate of its kind. The puny white-skinned alien offered hope, at least … What did it matter that other aliens had come before … other aliens, how many times before the intelligence no longer cared; they had been offered and had perished. All attempts to create a new generation of Saurian had failed. The intelligence dismissed that fact. It did not fit in with its hope. This time it would succeed … it would … it would … it would …
I read this during the weekend that Brett Kavanaugh was voted onto the SC bench. It was not a great time (not that there ever is one) to read about some dude's imaginings of interspecies rape.
I finished the book but this turn of events pretty much ruined the read for me.