Development Hell, by Mick Garris, features a nameless antihero who works, lives and dies in Hollywood; he's a screenwriter and director whose work is very poorly received. He falls in love, then loses everything when his wife has a stillborn child, after which he commits suicide in a very public manner; from that time on, he is a disembodied spirit looking for flesh to inhabit. Whenever he finds a host, however, he manages to ruin that individual's life as well.... I really, really hated this book. Not so much for the writing (which is adequate) or the frequent hackneyed blasts against Hollywood's soul-sucking nature (Garris is himself a screenwriter and director, mostly of horror films), but because of the way the protagonist relates to women, which is entirely and solely through sex. Even when he's "in love," the reader learns nothing of the woman he loves except that she is very beautiful and what sexual positions she prefers. I frequently felt like I was reading porn - and not very good porn at that. In addition, the book is divided into chapters that read as loosely connected short stories rather than a coherent narrative, but that is really a minor qibble compared to the utter sleaziness and shallowness of the main character. Don't waste your money on this; Garris's films are much, much better. ( )