Webster defines "horror" as a "strong feeling caused by something frightful or shocking." I can't say I ever had any such strong feelings reading this book; the feeling was more of a general creepiness, of something evil bubbling under the surface. I kept reading because I wanted to find out what it was.

There are no monsters or murderers in the story, instead the "ordinary horror" here is more or less a gnawing feeling of menance. It all starts when the book's main character, Mr. Delabano, a 70-year-old widower, mail-orders an exotic plant to rid his rose garden of gophers. As the plant grows, so does the dread. Nothing overt, it's more of a MOOD of evil, than any particular mode: a dead animal in the gutter, a neighbor child who intuits an evil presence, the glow of a backyard grill, all have a general air of malice. But what does it all amount to? What does it all mean?

Though I enjoyed the moodiness of the writing and the idea that even the most mundane circumstances and every-day things can inspire feelings of fright, I found myself wanting something more to happen, so overall, I was disappointed with the story.

For a book categorized as a 'horror novel,' there's little action here. Mostly the book is a third-person narrator putting us inside the head of seventy-year-old widower Frank Delabano whose life consists of trying to isolate himself from his neighbors and who finds refuge in his roses, which are for him a sort of redolent drug, an intoxicant that he associates with serenity and safety. The roses have an underside or a demonic side as well, for they are not real. They represent the artificial kind of sanctuary we find when we're cut off from the human race. In many ways, then, Delabano is a picture of Dead Suburban Man who, unable and unwilling to connect with society, immerses himself in the false comforts of suburban life.

In many ways 'Ordinary Horror' is a long essay or critique of suburbia disguised as a horror novel. Apart from the novel's slow pace, which gets bogged down, especially when we must go over lengthy expositions on horticulture, this approach works, showing us, like David Lynch's film 'Blue Velvet,' the hideous malaise that afflicts those of us who isolate ourselves in suburbia and infatuate ourselves with our own mythology of innocence.

If you like the theme of Modern Man Dying in the Suburbs, you might want to take a look at Thomas Berger's classic and funny novel 'Neighbors,' which showcases Earl Keese, a spiritual cousin of Frank Delabano.

anyone who doesn't like this book is stupid, stupid, stupid.

This is quite possibly the worst book I have ever read. This book is confusing, with sentences that run on forever and dialog that comes out of nowhere and makes no sense. I kept putting this book down and telling myself that it wasn't worth the effort, but then I would pick it up again and struggle with it some more. I thought maybe when I finished it, it would make some sense. I should have just put it down and left it down! At least it did help me fall asleep several nights.

Always looking for "new" horror, I read several professional reviews of this and "Ordinary Horror" that all seemed to indicate a possibility that Mr. Searcy might have what I was looking for. I cannot speak for his first book, but "Last Things" was unexpectedly pedantic, and, frankly, boring. I found myself consistently falling asleep every time I sat down to read it.
This is truly unfortunate, because there is some good language in here, and intimations of signs of what could be good psycho-surreal horror, but it never arrived.
The book begins well, though I got the feeling that Mr. Searcy's editor ultimately dropped the ball and let the author meander incessantly. Many of the sentences in this book could not be read without losing one's breath, and the voice of the narrator often clashes violently with the character being followed.
I believe that if you were in just the right mood and just the right kind of person this book might work for you, but it simply didn't for me. Perhaps his first book is better.

I will give this book two stars just from the fact that Mr. Searcey got away with writing three page paragraphs. I am a struggling writer so it is hard for me to criticize another, but I really don't understand how he was able to get away with virtually everything I can't, and get published in hardcover to boot. I read the first four chapters and did not know what I just read. I finally forced myself to get into the book and actually finished it. When I reached the ending, I had to go huh? As I think back on the book, I can see that there was a really great story in there somewhere. Mr. Searcey has a talent for making you taste the dust, and smell the weeds in East Texas and some of his descriptions are just awesome. But, he writes in a style that is very hard to take. I have to say that reading his book was a chore. If this is "literary" horror, I know what to avoid. I almost sent this book back to the book club twice, but stuck it out and despite everything, I am still glad I did. Mr. Searcey, I wish you the best with the "intellectual" crowd.