This is another book I picked up at Detroit Metro Airport so as to be
sure I wouldn’t run out of reading material on the flight home. I did in
fact start it on the plane, but finished it at home…not surprising, as
it’s huge.

I used to read King’s books in hardcover, as soon as they came out; more
than once I bought the latest at the airport while picking up a friend, simply because that’s where I first saw it.
But then Insomnia came out, and the plot was so remarkably
asinine that I quit. I’ve picked up all (I think) of his short story
collections since then, and I’ve got a copy of Bag of Bones
that someone gave me, and that’s been it. But there I was at the airport,
in need of a book, and I saw this one, and I said, “What the heck.”

Being a horror novel, it was, of course, gory, profane, and
obscene by turns. But it was also a masterful piece of storytelling.
I recently read something that described King as the 20th Century
Charles Dickens, and while that’s a bit of stretch, it’s only
a bit. King is damn good at creating multi-dimensioned, believable
characters and settings, and he’s always in firm control of his plots. I
don’t care for his pure fantasy work (e.g., “The Dark Tower” series) as
much, because he’s at his best when rooted in the everyday.

Anyway, this one’s about a small Nevada town, on desolate and sparsely
travelled Highway 50. It’s a mining town, and the miners have dug too
deeply, awakening a terribly evil thing. Mass bloodshed ensues–and then
the thing starts waylaying travellers.

Anyway, I liked it. It’s billed as being a companion novel to King’s
The Regulators, which was published at the same time under
the name “Richard Bachman”; I’ve just picked up a copy. More on that
later.

What can I say? Sometimes I have low tastes. It’s good to see that King
is back in his old form.