Feb 28 - Mar 8, 2011

Pet Sematary
Stephen King
Horror
Published 1983
374 pages

9/10

    Death can be a real downer, but with the convenience of a handy local Pet Sematary (and an ancient Micmac burying ground with the power to resurrect the deceased just beyond) fatality will be the least of your worries!
    I'll admit it here and now, before we get too far into our relationship and one day you're suddenly shocked by my obsessive adoration: I love Stephen King.  He's a master of the written word, and in my eyes the man can do no wrong.  Wrote an extra long book?  Awesome.  Moved into experimental fiction?  Fantastic.  Murdered an innocent man?  I know where they have discount shovels, like, two blocks that way.  He's probably my all-time, all-around favorite writer.  Meeting Stephen King is pretty much my number-one literary dream (those of you with connections, take note) and I'd give my left arm to do it.  Maybe not forever, but I'd loan it our for a Dutch Rudder, if I can wear gloves.  Now, I know there's some of you out there who think he's a wordy asshole who's riding the coat-tails of his own fame, but you know what?  We'll just have to politely agree to disagree.  I mean, I probably hate some stuff you really love... like lychee nuts, and crocs, and white lipstick.  Hey, we can still be friends.
    But I digress.
    Here's what my problem is with this particular story, though.  Have you ever had a great book totally ruined by it's all-encompassing utter pervasiveness in popular culture?  Pet Sematary is famous - so famous, in fact, that if people haven't read it, they've seen the movie, or at least heard of it in some manner.  Ask anyone.  Really, literally do it.  The person sitting closest to you, someone on Facebook chat; hell, just open your door and holler out yonder.  Ask if they ever heard of Pet Sematary, and I kid you not, not only will they have heard of it, they'll probably also give away three quarters of the major plot points.  Not because they're assholes who like to ruin your shit (that's what kids are for) but because they just assume you know all about it, too.  Today, for example, I had 20-some-odd pages to go before I finished the book, and when I mentioned what I was reading to a buddy of mine, he goes, "Aww, remember right at the end there where boyo's staggerin' around with the syringe hangin' out his neck?  That part gets to me every time."  And in my head I'm going, "Actually, no, because I've been trying to block all that out so I can just enjoy it and not be all impatient to get to the next part because yeah, I already know what happens.  I'm trying to get lost  in the magic here."  But on the outside, I just nod.  Because you know, I do remember, now that you mention it.  And that's the trouble.  No matter what, you know what's coming, and it takes away from some of the fun, the anticipation, THE HORROR.
    But you know, there were still scenes (especially towards the end) where I was sucked in and thoroughly enchanted by how swift and natural the writing was.  One scene in particular, regarding the activities of a certain Oz the Gweat and Tewwible really struck me as... well, spooky.  Just straight up spooky.  Because it kind of transcended the book itself and just spoke to me about the realities of mortality, and how death can come for you at any time, whether you be a centurion who just passes quietly in your sleep, or just kind of choking yourself out, naked in a closet while touching yourself where your bathing suit covers.  Death is everywhere, man.
    It's a great book, it truly is.  It's an easy read without making you feel like you're lowering your literary standards (*cough* Twilight *cough* most embarrassing guilty pleasure ever *cough*) and as long as you've been living under a rock your whole life, or been raised by feral animals in the woods, or even if you're just a nice Amish lad with a lust for forbidden reading, this book will shock the hell out of you.   It's well written, it's creepy, and it can even make your tear up, just a little.  And it'll really make you wonder about how much you really want Kurt Cobain back.

Dec 1 - Dec 8, 2010

Gerald's Game
Stephen King
Horror
Published 1992
332 pages

9.5/10

  A married couple heads to their summer house for a little frisky Fall business... unfortunately, our husband has the bad graces to die of a heart attack while our wife is handcuffed to the bed.  And then the fun really begins.
  Gerald's Game is another favorite book of mine, and I've read it multiple times for a couple of reasons.  And just to be fair, I have to admit this right off the bat - I LOVE Stephen King books, and while he walks on rivers of blood and viscera in my eyes, this book rocks my world because it's one of his shorter, more condensed works - I can spend a week on it instead of a month (although it still took a while to gather up steam and get chugging along to Mutilationville).  It's a little wordier than the bare bones stylings of, say... Carrie or Night Shift, but it's still a far cry from Under the Dome and The Stand (all of which I've read and enjoyed.)
  Gerald's Game is incredibly graphic and vivid; when reading this, I almost always have uber disturbing dreams involving variations of Jessie's final attempt to escape her cuffs... and I'm always Jessie.  For whatever reason that scene with the water glass has just STUCK with me, which, in my books, is the mark of a fantastic story... horror that  doesn't just horrify for an instant, but lingers to horrify for a lifetime.  Ahhh.
  Most importantly, this story contains the Almighty Kicker, the Final Twist that leaves you in awe of such a clever, twisted mind and twists your brain and you gut just so.  The final confrontation with Joubert is SPECTACULAR, not because of her pert in it per se, but because of his.  It would have literally broken my brain to have been in that situation, in that moment, and again, it's so VIVID.  King has a way with words that makes everything so damn clear and crisp that I can see him perfectly in my mind, mocking her and shrieking.  Ugh.
  And the idea of a person, handcuffed to a bed, trapped with no outside help ( but that of the author, haha) and only their ingenuity to save them... such an intriguing idea.  I love stories about the human mind's survival instincts, and the lengths people will go to for simple self-preservation... if only to take notes for myself just in case a similar scenario were to occur (which is probably why I read so many zombie books, as well).
  But on top of that, survival stories are just damn entertaining.  They usually have all the elements of a great horror novel: the degradation of the spirit, the slow torturous spiral of impending insanity, psychotic meltdowns, and usually culminating with terrific shocking violence.  Does loving these elements make me a sick girl?
  Now, unfortunately for me, because I've read this before, there was a fair bit of "GET TO THE GOOD STUFF" in the first half of this book, but that's not the book's fault.  I faintly recalled the main plot points, so there wasn't really any creeping up to most of the big reveals.  It was just a lot of "Yeah, yeah, quit mincing around it.  I know all about your sticky unmentionables..." and greatly anticipating THE HORROR.  But if I was a first time reader, whoo boy, I'd be gasping at every turn.  Luckily, I never seem to recall the final twist, so I still get a surprise or two.
  I also thought Jessie was portrayed as a smidge... melodramatic.  But then again, she may have been ovulating.  Hell, she attracted that dog.
  All in all, I'd give this book a hearty "Awesome!" and this is one of those books that I find myself recommending to friends.  Because I'm sick that way.

Nov 2 - Nov 6, 2010

The Bachman Books: The Running Man
Richard Bachman/ Stephen King
Sci-Fi
Published 1982

9/10

  In a not-too distant future, the poor are given the option of slowly starving, or competing on deadly game shows.  Just an evolved version of current affairs, I suppose.
  As wildly unreal as this book seems, as hard as it is to take it completely seriously with it's futuristic weapons and hover cars and ludacris forms of entertainment - I know on an intellectual level that this is an all too real possibility of our direction as a society.  In general, the theme is the ever-widening gap between the Haves and Have-Nots (which is, without question, an issue occurring as we speak... type?  Read?  Whatever.) and the repercussions of this societal trend.  The upper and upper middle class - or "Haves" - will continue to live out their daily lives in their ever dwindling numbers, and the lower class - the "Have-Nots" - will grow and become more feared, less human, and therefore more expendable, which will ultimately lead to anarchy.  Richard's thoughts about how the slum-dwellers would eventually mutate, adapt, and rise up against the weak aristocracy and eventually destroy them was incredibly poignant.  The Running man was thought provoking, surely, but kind of silly and fun, which is great for entertainment value, but takes away some of the impact.  However, it must be noted - there was a GREAT twist at the end there.  Totally blindsided me.  So, a fun book.  Good, well-written, if a little unbelievable (Duh, It's sci-fi).  For sure it's a rad concept.
  Although I wonder if reality TV execs have ever read this, or if they even should...

Oct 28 - Nov 1, 2010

The Bachman Books: Roadwork
Richard Bachman/ Stephen King
General Fiction
Published 1981

10/10

  A man's house is his castle.  A man's mind is his keep.  And when the government decides to put a highway through the home and business of  Barton George Dawes, he decides he's simply not going to stand for it.
  The idea that the average North American can be forced out of their home on the Government's say-so is terrifically compelling.  Clearly George thinks so too, on a superficial level, anyways.  But English class and Lolita have taught me to look beyond the obvious.  George clearly hints that the death of his son has been his slow, cancerous unraveling, and the parallel between his ticking time bomb of insanity and the time bomb of his son's tumor are duly noted and filed.  I also noted the author's presence in the book itself - George speaks of how "people are only remarkable in books," and feeling "...from time to time that I'm a character in some bad writer's book," and it's TRUE.  Self awareness is so rare, and therefore so delicious in novels.
  I loved the old school paranoia.  The Italian stereotypes.  The GODDAMN SMOKING in restaurant, so casual with no clue that it would become so taboo in a few short years,  Most of all, I loved Barton George Dawes.  You see, he's a regular guy, messed up, totally vulnerable, and therefore human.  I LOVE that he dropped psychotropic drugs before going to a party with all his regular square(ish) friends.  I literally got butterflies in my stomach with anticipation, and vaguely considered dropping some LSD (I swear Bachman, regular people won't use this story as an excuse to do drugs) and I could just... identify with George completely.  I understood him.  And in a way, I envy him.       You see, he was willing and able to stand up for his convictions, no matter the cost.
  As a side note, this story has some of the wort editing errors I've ever seen in print.  I hope to God they rectified them in later re-printing.