by Stephen King (1987)
2025 reads, 12/25:
“I am your number one fan.”
Alright you dirty birdies: I have once again attempted a Stephen King novel. Overall, it was a similar to my experience with other King novels: a great beginning that captured my attention, a slow middle with some side plots I did not care about, but an ending that I appreciated and stuck the landing.
Misery follows writer Paul Sheldon and his greatest fan, Annie Wilkes. When Paul gets in a car accident near Annie’s house, and nearly incapacitates himself, Annie happens to find him and takes him in. While caring for him, she finishes Paul’s most recent novel, which essentially ends the series and kills off her favorite character (aptly named Misery). She then forces him to write a new book, one where the ending satisfies her. Overall, it’s an incredible coincidence that does not bode well for Paul.
Misery definitely drags a bit in the middle, probably for a few reasons. The first is my own fault: I intended to read this as a winter book, as the log cabin and snowy imagery work well that time of year – but after putting it off for a bit, as the weather started getting warmer, I was dissuaded from reading it. But other than that, there were some chapters where King actually shows us the manuscript of the new book that Paul is writing for Annie – and since those novels are eighteenth century romantic dramas, I was extremely disinterested.
But my main reason for reading this was because I wanted to see the movie (and I do prefer to read the book before watching the movie, if possible). I’ve heard nothing but great things about Kathy Bates and James Caan’s performance, so I really wanted to finish it. Which is funny, because as I was reading, I was already picturing Bates and Caan in their respective roles.
This is regarded as one of King’s “classic” horror novels, but to me it’s not on the same level as ‘Salem’s Lot. I hope I didn’t peak too early reading that one, because I have yet to read a King novel that holds a candle to it. But I digress – he is famous for his horror novels, so I will always look to his repertoire when I want to scratch that itch.
“In a book, all would have gone according to plan... but life was so fucking untidy — what could you say for an existence where some of the most crucial conversations of your life took place when you needed to take a shit, or something? An existence where there weren't even any chapters?”