Benvenuto

Recently I have been trying to broaden my book-mind and read things outside of my usual catalogue. I tend to be a little bit of snob when it comes to reading any mass-market, huge blockbuster books. I figure all the hype and craze over it will end up in the fashion of Dan Brown’s the Da Vinci Code — a poorly written blockbuster that is more puff than rich pastry. For years, I have turned up my nose to authors like James Patterson, Nora Roberts, and Stephen King, just because I couldn’t possibly believe they would all have written THAT many good books (Roberts sometimes has 5 releases in one year). Template writing I call it. Formulaic. I tend to read stuff written no later than the 50s and 60s because I figure, if the book is 50 years or older, and a big publishing house is still re-printing new eds. and covers, there has to be a lot of substance here. I think the newest thing I ever read was Don Delillo, Chuck Palahniuk, and Jay McInerny (all for their seemingly dark and glamorous cult following and deeply depressing central characters).

Book snobs and music snobs are a lot alike, they hate the top 40 stuff, are always on the hunt for stuff that no one else is listening to, and tend to live in the past, only trusting stuff that has stood the test of time.

Fast Forward to a few months ago, while in the basement I was looking through old boxes. Among the dusty bins — originally intended for kitchen appliances — I found my dad’s book collection. Three boxes chalk full of sci-fi, horror, and self-help (I found a book that said, “The courage for divorce” and confronted my parents, they denied it was theirs, but my dad wanted to take a look at it anyhow…). Ploughing through the Asimov and Herbert ruins, I happened upon a harmonica, a yellow bouncy ball, and five novels by Stephen King. The collection included the well known “Christine” and “It.” I have always turned away from King, a) because I don’t like scary, and b) because he is just so popular. I figure if the masses like him, I can’t. Curious however, I decided to break the spine, take Christine out of her dusty garage and for a spin.

I started the book last weekend, slowly, and I loved it. I couldn’t put it down. I have found a new respect for Stephen King as his descriptions crumble me. Amazing. I’ve always heard he was a really good writer, but I didn’t think his style would carry me through the story (come on, a possessed Plymouth Fury??? Only a real good writer can pull that one off). Next is “The stand,” I don’t think I’m ready for Pennywise yet.

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