When last seen in the novels of Thomas Harris, Dr. Hannibal Lecter -- clinical psychiatrist, criminal mastermind and grisly gourmand -- was dancing with former FBI agent Clarice Starling on a terrace in Buenos Aires. The discomforting finale of "Hannibal" (1999), which suggested that Clarice had succumbed to Lecter's chemicals, if not his charm, was rejected in the movie version in favor of a more (dare we say?) palatable confection. Now Harris eludes the dissonance of those alternative endings by writing a suspense-driven prequel, "Hannibal Rising": a portrait of the cannibal as a young man.

Thomas Harris owes Anthony Hopkins a debt that he may never adequately repay. Before Hopkins starred as serial killer Hannibal "The Cannibal" Lecter in the film adaptation of Harris' thriller The Silence Of The Lambs, Harris was already a popular author, with two books under his belt, both adapted to film. But it took Hopkins' sublimely creepy portrayal to catch audiences' imaginations and assure that they'd lay out cash for any book about Lecter, no matter how hacky, tacky, and ill-conceived. The latest, the Silence prequel Hannibal Rising, is at least a step up from the wallowing, pointless grotesqueries of 1999's Hannibal; this installment has its irritating quirks and its notable lacks, but at least it points its Grand Guignol tropes to some purpose.

It really is a shame about Thomas Harris. Red Dragon, published in 1981, and The Silence of the Lambs, which came out seven years later, are among the greatest thrillers of our time.

At a certain point, great pop-culture creations tend, like Frankenstein's monster, to slip their bonds and escape from the control of their progenitors. And Thomas Harris, who dreamed up the pre-eminent fictional boogeyman of our time, seems to recognize that Hannibal Lecter, the homicidal epicurean psychiatrist he brought into being as a plot device and a good sick joke in his 1981 thriller, ''Red Dragon,'' isn't quite his anymore.

The new Thomas Harris novel goes by the title of “Hannibal Rising” (Delacorte; $27.95). This has the effect of making Dr. Hannibal Lecter sound like a soufflé, a fever chart, or a storm—all comparisons that the good doctor, who prides himself as an epicure and a force of nature, would be bound to welcome.