You know that one friend that is extremely long winded and the minute they start telling a story you regret not taking a pee break and pouring a tall glass of wine to get through it?
That’s kinda how I feel about reading Stephen King. Now, I know he’s a famous storyteller… and I say storyteller over writer because I refuse to come to terms with people actually liking his writing style, but his stories are fantastic… but I digress…. I know he’s a famous storyteller, but the dude could SO get away with getting his story down with a lot less words.
And I love words.
But not his.
There are entirely too many words, too much repetition, too much fluff. It takes away from the story. I LOVE all movies that were adapted from his books! But this is the second time I attempted reading one and I am literally angry now that I’ve completed it. Not angry because it was a bad story, but angry that it was so poorly put together. I have no more connection to his protagonist now than I did in the first 5 pages.
She’s a very lovely woman, but there’s nothing relatable about her. OK… I’m being coarse. She has a lot of redeeming qualities, but they’re spread so far apart in the book, that you’re so irritated with how everything is being dragged out so damn much that when you finally get to another piece of the puzzle you’re basically only JUST quenching your thirst before you dive back into the desert.
What it boils down to (and come the last about 5 chapters, I began skipping whole paragraphs because I couldn’t take it anymore) The main character Jessie goes with her balding, overweight lawyer husband to their lake house for a sexual rendezvous for the weekend. She doesn’t necessarily swoon for him anymore, so she reluctantly agrees to some bondage sex play to appease him, only to be struck with some deep dark shit with her deep dark daddy issues and decides NOPE! Not gonna do this and kicks at her husband Gerald to get him to understand that shit was not about to go down. No red light special for you bub. So Gerald, because he’s older and fat, has a heart attack and dies. Right there. As she’s handcuffed to the bed (note to all you freaks out there… always make sure the cuff keys are on your bedside table, or a cell phone).
She spends the next day or 2 trying to figure out how she’s going to get out of this pickle, while a stray dog comes to feast on poor fat dead Gerald. You also get a lot of fluff backstory on the savage homeless dog.
Don’t get me wrong, all the story Mr. King comes up with, is gory and intense and awesome… but it’s just so maddening to get through.
So. Many. Words.
Anyway… so Gerald becomes an all you can eat buffet, Jessie is pissing herself while talking to the many voices in her head (made me think of the movie Sybil)…. OH! Then she starts flashing back to when her daddy kind of molested her. Like just the tip but not all the way type deal…still horrific. Gross. And intense. Which is why we love Stephen King.
But why did we have to wait almost half the damn book to know this story… this is your meat! No pun intended. I mean I love how Liane Moriarty waits to reveal her meat, but her build up cuts the shit and gets to the nitty gritty of every scene. And whatever backstory she has, is relevant and discussed once. Like a solid side note, instead of reminding the reader OVER AND OVER of the same thing. I can’t STOP reading whereas with this one… I literally loathed having to do it. I cherished the meaty parts. But they were so few and far between.
So homegirl gets out by slicing herself up like a Thanksgiving turkey and bolts to freedom. After, of course, a creepy figure of her imagination stalks her in the night – driving her and her voices to get out of dodge a lot quicker.
Then, just when you think you’ve FINALLY gotten to the end… with an anticlimactic climax… she starts writing a letter to one of her voices. Well… an old friend that she created to be one of her voices subconsciously. And then retells the whole damn story AGAIN to her.
Why Steve. Why.
Turns out the creepy thing was a real person that robs graves and puts his weiner in corpses mouths. Cute. And she spits on him in court.
Would make an excellent movie! The story itself – well stories is great. It just isn’t well put together. It doesn’t move seamlessly like it should when you’re telling multiple stories that culminate to a larger one. And then this guy she meets through her husband’s firm… like does he not realize she’s a nut job? I half expected him to admit her to a hospital for psychiatric care. The bitch hears multiple voices and shed not even half a tear when her husband died and then was feasted on while she lay naked and tied up in front of him…. And if the killer/figment of her imagination was a real person… how did he manage to get in the car with her when he was in the house just moments before.
I guess that’s the beauty of Stephen King novels? Maybe I’m just ungrateful or unappreciated of his work? And I like a good twist… hell… I have one in my own book… but I like to think it makes sense in relation to the rest of the book. Reading this one made me feel like it was an afterthought. Like he got to the end and thought “Let me just throw this in”.
Needless to say, I won’t be reading another of his. Please literary gods, do not punish me for this. I swear I really enjoyed the story.
I’m just left with a lot of… What the F was the point of that?
Anyway… on to my next that I’m sure will be a lot more pleasant. Going with Gillian Flynn’s Sharp Objects because I need another thriller to make up for this one. Maybe You spoiled me?
By the way… they’re making You into a movie… Imma be watchin’ THAT!
And I’m totally seeing the remake of IT.