I usually like Stephen King’s short stories, but this collection didn’t quite do it for me. A few of the stories were great, but the rest were more sad than scary, which is not what I’m looking for here.
“I’ve made some things for you, Constant Reader; you see them laid out before you in the moonlight. But before you look at the little handcrafted treasures I have for sale, let’s talk about them for a bit, shall we? It won’t take long. Here, sit down beside me. And do come a little closer. I don’t bite. Except . . . we’ve known each other for a very long time, and I suspect you know that’s not entirely true. Is it?”
First of all, I loved the introductions to each of the stories, and to the book as a whole. I love when King talks directly to his Constant Readers — I’ve been among their numbers since about 1995. And I really liked a few of the stories — the pink Kindle that gave glimpses into other worlds of books, the obit writer who discovered he could kill with his writing, and the strange combo of old man and slightly less-old son in Batman and Robin Have an Altercation.
But overall, the book was just too sad. Way too many kids and animals die. The stories focused more on the day to day horror of real life — moms who drive drunk, people who forget their pets in the car, etc. Terrible things that actually happen in real life affect me way more than ghouls and goblins, and not in a fun, give you the creeps kind of way.
I just finished this last night and feel exactly the same. I think this will be the first of his short story compilations that I won’t re-read.
And that story about the aging advertising guy with the sick wife? Just about killed me.
I am still — and always will be a constant reader. But this one just didn’t do it for me.