Richard Matheson was a giant. Most people know him for I Am Legend or that terrifying Twilight Zone episode with the gremlin on the airplane wing. But honestly? The What Dreams May Come novel is his most ambitious swing. It’s a book that tries to do something almost impossible: map the geography of the soul using actual research.
When it hit shelves in 1978, it didn't just tell a story about a guy dying in a car crash. It attempted to synthesize decades of parapsychology, theology, and near-death experience (NDE) accounts into a cohesive narrative. If you’ve only seen the 1998 movie starring Robin Williams, you’ve basically seen a beautiful, neon-colored postcard of a place that the book describes with the clinical detail of a travel guide.
The Weird, Studied Reality of Chris Nielsen
Chris Nielsen dies. That's not a spoiler; it’s the first few pages. But what makes the What Dreams May Come novel stand out is how Matheson treats the transition. It isn’t some mystical, blurry fade-to-black. It’s confusing. It’s tactile. Chris hangs around his own funeral, frustrated because he can't make his wife, Ann, feel his presence.
Matheson spent years reading the works of people like Elizabeth Kübler-Ross and Raymond Moody. He wasn't just making stuff up because it sounded "spiritual." He wanted to ground the afterlife in a sort of pseudo-physics. In the book’s introduction, Matheson explicitly states that the characters are fictional, but the setting—the world they inhabit—is based on "extensive research." That's a bold claim for a fiction writer.
The central conceit is that "Summerland" (the book’s version of Heaven) isn't a reward given by a bearded man on a throne. It’s a mental construct. You build your reality with your thoughts. If you’re a painter, you might live in a landscape that looks like a canvas. If you’re miserable, you’re going to have a very hard time.
Why the Movie Changed Everything (and Why the Book is Better)
Visuals are great. The film won an Oscar for Best Visual Effects for a reason. But the movie softened the edges of Matheson’s philosophy. In the film, the "Hell" sequence is a dark, epic sea of faces. It’s cinematic. In the What Dreams May Come novel, Hell is more like a psychological cul-de-sac. It’s a place where people are stuck in their own worst habits and mental loops forever.
There’s a grit to the book that the movie misses.
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Take the character of Albert. In the movie, he’s a mentor figure played by Cuba Gooding Jr. In the book, he’s actually Chris’s son, but he appears as an older man because age doesn't exist in the afterlife—only "state of mind." It forces you to rethink how identity works. If you aren't your body, who are you? Matheson pushes that question until it hurts.
The stakes are also different. The novel deals heavily with the concept of "soul mates," but it defines them through a lens of Theosophy. It suggests that some souls are literally halves of a whole. When Ann dies by suicide in the book, she isn't "punished" by a judgmental God. She is simply in a state of mind that makes it impossible for her to perceive the beauty of Summerland. She’s in a self-imposed fog. Chris’s mission isn't just a rescue mission; it’s an attempt to change her vibration.
The Controversial Take on Suicide
We have to talk about the elephant in the room. The What Dreams May Come novel takes a very specific, and some would say controversial, stance on suicide. Matheson depicts it not as a sin, but as a massive "technical" error.
Basically, the idea is that if you end your life early, you still have to "play out" the time you were supposed to have, but you do it in a state of stasis. You’re stuck in the mental state you were in at the moment of death. Since most people who die by suicide are in deep pain, they stay in that pain.
Is it fair? Matheson doesn't seem to care about fair. He cares about "laws" of the spirit.
- The environment is malleable.
- Thought is action.
- Distance is irrelevant.
- Love is a literal, physical force of gravity.
This perspective has made the book a staple in bereavement groups for decades. Some find it incredibly comforting because it suggests that our loved ones are just "in the next room," refining their souls. Others find it terrifying because it implies we are 100% responsible for our own happiness after we die. There’s no "Easy Button" once you cross over.
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The Literary Legacy of Richard Matheson
Matheson’s prose isn't flowery. It’s direct. He writes about the afterlife like he’s writing a manual for a car. This "matter-of-fact" tone is exactly why it works. If he had used purple prose and shimmering metaphors, the book would feel like a Hallmark card. Instead, it feels like a report.
He was influenced by the 19th-century Spiritualist movement. If you look at the bibliography he included in some editions, you’ll see names like Frederic Myers and Oliver Lodge. These were serious scientists and thinkers of their day who were convinced they could prove the existence of the soul. Matheson took their data and turned it into a heart-wrenching love story.
It’s a short read, honestly. You can knock it out in a weekend. But the imagery of the "Lower Realm" stays with you. The idea of "The City"—a grey, crumbling metropolis where people ignore each other because they are too caught up in their own egos—is a more haunting version of Hell than any lake of fire.
Actionable Takeaways for Readers and Fans
If you're planning on diving into the What Dreams May Come novel, or if you've already read it and want to understand the context better, keep these points in mind.
First, check the edition. Some later printings include an afterword or a list of the sources Matheson used. It’s worth reading those. It changes the book from a "fantasy" novel into a "speculative non-fiction" piece of sorts. You start to see the patterns he took from NDE accounts.
Second, compare the ending. Without spoiling the final pages, the book’s conclusion is much more complex regarding reincarnation than the movie's ending. The book suggests a cycle of growth that spans multiple lifetimes, which adds a layer of "cosmic homework" to the story.
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Third, look for the subtle differences in how "heavenly" communication works. In the novel, communication is telepathic—"thought-talk." Matheson explores the frustration of having your every thought visible to those around you. It’s an interesting take on intimacy. There are no secrets in Summerland.
Finally, read it as a companion to Matheson’s other work. You’ll notice a theme: the isolated man. In I Am Legend, the hero is isolated by monsters. In The Incredible Shrinking Man, he’s isolated by size. In this book, Chris is isolated by death. Matheson was obsessed with the idea of the individual trying to maintain their identity against an overwhelming force.
Moving Beyond the Page
The impact of this book persists because it tackles the one thing we all have to face. It doesn’t rely on "faith" in the traditional sense. It relies on the idea that the universe is a logical, if complicated, place.
If you want to explore the concepts further, look into the "Silver Birch" teachings or the works of Emanuel Swedenborg. Matheson clearly leaned on Swedenborg’s idea that "Heaven and Hell are states of being before they are places."
The What Dreams May Come novel remains a polarizing, fascinating, and deeply emotional piece of literature. It’s not just a book about dying; it’s a book about the terrifying responsibility of being a conscious being.
To get the most out of your reading, try this:
- Read the novel first, then watch the film to see how visual interpretation changes the narrative.
- Research the "Cross-Correspondences" to see where Matheson got his ideas for mediumship.
- Pay attention to the color symbolism in the text; Matheson uses light and vibration as a shorthand for spiritual health.
This isn't a story that leaves you easily. It sticks. It makes you look at your own thoughts and wonder what kind of world you're building for yourself right now. After all, if Matheson is right, we’re already living in the suburbs of our own personal Heaven or Hell.