Ok, I know that my review is 4 hours late today, but I also know that no one will notice or care except for Karen from Edmonton, and that she’ll forgive me (hi Karen!). I’ll spare you the long version of the last few days, but it ends with ‘and then I wrote the exam and then I died.’ (But then there’s an epilogue wherein I start studying for the next exam.)
But I totally lied to you on Monday when I said I hadn’t read anything from the last century, because I definitely read Thinner, and it was the palate cleanser I needed after To Say Nothing of the Dog when everything I picked up was reading like sub-standard tripe. Because I kind of expect Stephen King to be a little bit tripe-y, and I don’t even care. Books like this are the ‘going for a walk’ version of reading, in that it’s still exercise, but you aren’t going to sweat.
Ok, was SK so much scarier when I was fourteen because I was fourteen? Or is it because I was reading the freaky shit back then, like Cujo and The Stand (from what I remember of The Stand, it would give me crow-laden nightmares even now)? Anyway, Thinner = not that scary.
This is not to say that I wasn’t screamletting a little the whole time, because I AM that person, and also because this is Stephen King and somewhere there will be gobbets of brains and also because GYPSY CURSES!!!!.
So, Billy is a big fat man, who is fat, and much is made of him being fat, and then HOLY SHIT HE HITS A GYPSY WITH HIS CAR!!!! And then the gypsy’s even older gypsy father promptly curses Billy and everyone in the Good Old Boy’s Club who helps him get off with just a warning, and then Billy starts getting inexplicably thinner and starts talking about gypsy curses and his wife thinks he’s bats and then everything goes to shit.
And because the book is only two years younger than I am, Billy’s daughter runs around sporting a sexy velvet ribbon in her ponytail and reading Judy Blume and basically being eleven-year-old-me. Which is something I can always get behind.