The Brave by Nicholas Evans (unabridged audio book read by Michael Emerson)

Nicholas Evans, a British author with a fascination for the American West (he also wrote The Horse Whisperer), returns to his forte with The Brave. It centers on Tommy Bedford, a divorced documentary filmmaker with an estranged son, and Evans leaps back and forth in time as he covers different parts of Tommy's life.

The primary focus is on his childhood, including his time at boarding school, the dotage of his sister Diane — an aspiring, then famous, actress (then convicted murderess) — and her turbulent relationship with TV cowboy Ray Montane.

Montane is the star of Sliprock, and he's watching the coming end of the heyday of the Western — and watching his grip on Diane crumble under the weight of lies.

We also learn about Tommy's courtship of his wife Gina, which leads to marriage and the birth of their son Danny. In the present, Tommy is trying to reconnect with Danny after a long period of estrangement. Danny is an Iraq war veteran, a lance corporal currently under investigation by the Marines. Evans juggles a number of storylines without giving a single one short shrift.

All in all, The Brave is a satisfying, moving listen filled with genuine human drama. It will likely appeal to a wide variety of listeners, from fans of TV Westerns and classic Hollywood, to those who appreciate coming-of-age tales, picaresques, and mainstream literary fiction — old or young, male or female — because its main subject is families, both the ones we're born with and the ones we choose.

This isn't usually the kind of novel I seek out to read, but the Western connection intrigued me enough to begin it, and then I had to see it out to the end. Actor Michael Emerson (Ben Linus on Lost) does a fine job reading The Brave. His voices are sometimes indistinguishable, and his characters' accents seem to come and go, but his gentle narration allows the material to bloom.

Stephen King's Rose Red directed by Craig R. Baxley (starring Nancy Travis, Judith Ivey, Melanie Lynskey, David Dukes)

Stephen King's Rose Red (2002). Screenplay by Stephen King.

I feel that I must first warn all readers of this review of the fact that this miniseries is over four hours long -- without commercials. This is simply so that everyone will know what they are getting into from the very beginning, not because I have anything against long movies per se, just long movies that are way too long.

There are several things wrong with Rose Red, but the main ones involve its relationship to previous Stephen King works. There is much familiar in this production, with references to Carrie, The Shining, Firestarter, and a tip of the hat to Cujo being the most obvious. Unfortunately, these references seem to be just there in order to move along an already-thin plot, not leaving a lot to recommend it.

Nancy Travis (who was so good in the Hollywood remake of The Vanishing) is sorely miscast as paranormal researcher Joyce Reardon (the supposed author of book tie-in The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer); she just doesn't have the presence to be believable in such an academically passionate role. The usually-wonderful Judith Ivey is ill-used in a histrionic performance.

On the other hand, soap veteran Kimberly J. Brown knows just how to wring every last bit of sympathy from the audience in her role as Annie Wheaton, the catalyst meant to "wake up" the events at Rose Red. Her sister, "Sister," is played by Melanie Lynskey (Heavenly Creatures), who, despite her relatively small role, fares the best of all the cast (or perhaps because of it).

Matt Ross and the late David Dukes are both quite game in their roles (Emery Waterman and Professor Miller, respectively). But Dukes's character is one-note (sad to think it was his last role), and Ross's acting crescendos throughout the film from "subtle" to "absolutely annoying."

After about two hours of exposition, the plot actually begins to move a bit, but it is always slowly, and it is not worth the lackluster "inspirational" ending. For a horror movie, far too many of the cast of Rose Red survive — if more than two or three people are left at the end of a "haunted house thriller," the audience has been cheated.

One would think that Stephen King would know how to write a bang-up ending, especially for something that is partially based on Carrie, which epitomizes the shocker ending. But unfortunately, Rose Red is just one four-hour-long disappointment.

The Book of Lists: Horror edited by Amy Wallace, Del Howison, and Scott Bradley (introduction by Gahan Wilson)

The Book of Lists began a franchise in 1977 that has lasted over 30 years. It has resulted in a New York Times bestseller, three other general collections, and one each on the 1990s and punk rock. Now they move even further out of the mainstream with The Book of Lists: Horror.

"Trying to prod a thing as elusive, sneaky, and totally out-of-bounds as horror into an informative and highly usable book of lists would seem to be pretty much impossible," states author/illustrator Gahan Wilson (one of the first artists I learned to recognize by style) in his introduction. But it seems that editors Amy Wallace, Del Howison, and Scott Bradley have managed to somehow compile over 400 pages' worth of opinions, recommendations, and commentary into this endlessly fascinating volume. If you're a fan of the genre, The Book of Lists: Horror is a must read; if you're not, it will make you one.

Here's just a sampling of the contents, limited to lists by 15 of my favorite authors (and not necessarily my favorite lists):

• Edward Lee—"Ten Best Horror Movies with Gratuitous Nudity"
  
• Stephen King—"Ten Favorite Horror Novels or Short Stories" (reprinted from The Book of Lists 3)
  
• Bentley Little—"Ten Horror One-Hit Wonders That Everyone Should Read"
  
• Michael Slade—"Horrific Inspirations for His Thirteen Novels"
  
• Jack Ketchum—"Ten Best Horror Novels That Don't Call Themselves Horror Novels"
  
• Robert Bloch—"Ten Favorite Horror-Fantasy Novels (reprinted from The Book of Lists 2)
  
• Poppy Z. Brite—"Top Ten Dine 'N' Die Stories in Horror Fiction"
  
• Mark Justice—"Seven Favorite Horror Stories from the Bloody Pulps"
  
• J.F. Gonzalez—"Top Thirteen Obscure Shockers from the Pulps and Beyond"
  
• T.E.D. Klein—"Twenty-Five Most Familiar Horror Plots" (reprinted from Raising Goosebumps for Fun and Profit)
  
• David T. Wilbanks—"Ten Favorite Dark Works of Classical Music"
  
• Bryan Smith—"Top Ten Horror-Themed Rock 'N' Roll Songs"
  
• Christopher Golden—"Ten Favorite Supernatural TV Series
  
• Steve Niles—"Top Twenty Horror Comic Covers"
  
• Gary A. Braunbeck—"Seven Disparately Horrific Triple Features"

...and that's just scratching the surface. The Book of Lists: Horror took up every free moment I had from the day I got it until ... well, I still refer back to it now and then and expect to keep it on my reference shelf right next to another horror-list classic: Horror: 100 Best Books. In fact, my only real complaint is that there is no comprehensive index or table of contents that would allow the reader to relocate a favorite list. But there are so many terrific takes on the genre included in The Book of Lists: Horror, however, that the search will undoubtedly result in finding something else great in the process.

The Dream Sequence Always Rings Twice (Moonlighting, Season 2, Episode 4)

"The Dream Sequence Always Rings Twice" (1985), episode 4 from season 2 of the television series Moonlighting. Teleplay by Debra Frank and Carl Sautter.

Casual Moonlighting fans will likely remember "The Dream Sequence Always Rings Twice" as "the one in black and white." Operating as investigators on a dubious "unfaithful spouse" case, private investigators Maddie Hayes and David Addison (of the Blue Moon detective agency) are told about the notorious Flamingo Cove Murder, which involved a clarinetist, his songbird wife, and the new cornet player in their swing orchestra. The clarinetist was murdered, and the singer and cornetist (?) always swore that the other did the killing, right down to their dual executions.

Hayes and Addison instantly form opposing opinions as to who is "obviously" guilty, leading to an argument, after which each goes home and dreams his/her side of the story. It's fairly weak for a wraparound, but the dreams make it worth it.

Done in a film noir style, "The Dream Sequence Always Rings Twice" references films of the era (especially The Postman Always Rings Twice) in addition to being solidly crafted, designed, shot, acted, written, and directed. (That year saw the series nominated for sixteen Emmys, eight of them for this episode.)

Each's dream perfectly suits their personalities. Maddie's is more reminiscent of the expected style: straightforward, romantic, and melodramatic (with a nicely cathartic first kiss for Shepherd and Willis), while David's involves more ironic voice-over, wisecracks, and parodic fourth-wall breaking. (For those reasons, I prefer David's, although a tad more seriousness would have made it perfect.)

And how they did this, I don't know, but Orson Welles made his final filmed appearance by introducing this "Very Special Moonlighting." ("Television," he says with the ever-present glint in his eye, "is about to take a huge step ... backwards.") "The Dream Sequence Always Rings Twice" is my second favorite of the series; only the second-season finale "Camille," guest starring Judd Nelson and Whoopi Goldberg, tops it for pure entertainment value.