Okay, okay. I've been gone for a while.
I get it.
And I'm sorry.
But I have a really good excuse. I've been busy training for the zombie war and zombie proofing my apartment.
Can't really get into what all that entails, but just trust that all that shit consumes a lot of time.
But even though the impending zombie war is a blog unto itself (have you guys noticed all the zombie press lately? Aren't you the tiniest bit curious about what THAT'S about?), that's not why I'm back from my brief hiatus.
I'm here because of Stephen King.
Why, you may ask, is Stephen King the reason you stepped away from the gun range and the planks of plywood covering your windows?
Three words: Under the Dome.
Have you seen this book? Yes. Yes, you have. Except you probably thought it was a Buick.
Dome is King's longest singular work to date, weighing in at a hefty 1,074 pages (or something like that). The hardcover also doubles as a home body sculpting kit. Or a yacht anchor.
I'm a big King fan - have been since the 8th grade, when my childhood friend, a collector of Fangoria magazine and lover of all things horror, introduced me to a meek, socially awkward young girl named Carrie.
It was love at first sight. Here I was, a young Black misfit from a mid-sized city in the Midwest, awkward and often alone, who thought I could smite my enemies if I only squinted hard enough.
Or wished I could, at least.
And then, I met Carrie White.
Hooked. Can you dig it?
I read almost everything he printed from that point on, falling head first into the worlds that King created, emerging mole-eyed and dazed, weeks later.
So when Dome appeared on the shelves, I was excited. I read blurbs about the plot, and was excited. I was prepared to be taken far away from what had become a safe, comfortable life, and was looking forward to the trip.
I got exactly what I wanted. It's just, well...
You know how it is when you go to Las Vegas, and at first it's awesome? You're all excited to be there, you stay up all night the first night, walking around, all google-eyed and shit...
Then the second night, you try the slots...
And the third night, you try to catch Cirque du Soleil or Cher or something...
And on the fourth night, you realize that all the women's boobs are fake.
And that constant noise from the slot machines is getting on your fucking nerves.
And all of the lounge acts are awful.
And by day five, you just wanna get the hell outta there.
That was my experience with Dome - basically, it could've been a nice trip, but it was just too damn long.
It was basically about a small New England town (surprise, surprise) that winds up trapped under an enormous, transparent dome made of indeterminate material. The book isn't as much about the dome itself (and its origin and purpose) as it is about the people trapped underneath it.
Great. A story about the human condition, the will to survive under adverse circumstances, blah, blah, blah...
I can dig it. But after 650 pages, I really couldn't give a damn about those people under the dome, and started thinking about other shit like:
"I wonder what cats think about."
"Whatever happened to Colonel Abrams?"
"Will Boy George ever make music again?"
"Will J.K. Rowling ever take us back to Hogwarts?"
Shit like that.
Not to say that this book didn't have its stellar moments. Without giving too much away, there's a moment when all HELL breaks loose, and I thought: FINALLY. Now things are getting interesting.
But that was like, almost at the end.
Now let's get one thing clear: I'm not intimidated by a long story. After all, I hiked through King's Dark Tower series, which was freakin' AMAZING (although the ending pissed me off, but that's another blog), and the Harry Potter series.
The key word here - series.
At least with Dark Tower and Potter, I got some breathing room in between. Free time for sex and laundry.
Not this endless, meandering voyage. Think Neverending Story minus the flying dog and sexually ambiguous children.
Because you see, when I read a book, I get involved. I get to know the characters, form alliances, root for them (or not), care about them (or not). Want to see them succeecd. Or become disfigured in a horrible boating accident.
It's a serious undertaking for me. But The Dome presented some problems for me.
Number one, there were too many characters. Granted, most of them were dead by the end of the book (spoiler alert), but it was just too hard trying to keep up with whoever was dying at the time...
Secondly, most of the characters just weren't likeable. Which, I suppose, could be a credit to King's character development. No one can sketch out a three dimensional psychopath better than him.
Or an asshole. And Dome was full of 'em.
One of the redeeming qualities of this book is that in typical King fashion, the bad guys get their comeuppance. And one particular bad guy (a dude named Jim Rennie - a man so repulsive and morally corrupt he made me shudder) gets exactly what he deserves. It was quite satisfying.
But after all was said and done, I can't say that I walked away from this book feeling fulfilled. I was just glad it was over.
Not like the end of Insomnia or Green Mile, which left me in tears, or The Stand, which left me paranoid and sleeping with the lights on.
Jus ready for something else.
Anything else.
