I am currently reading three books (yeah, I’m weird like that). Stacked next to my bed is a western, an Elmore Leonard thriller, and my kindle, from which I am currently reading Stephen King’s On Writing. The western is fun and Elmore Leonard is always cool, but the most enjoyable is King, even though it’s non-fiction. The guy really has the gift, so that his non-fiction reads, not like fiction, that’s a cliché, but like, well, Stephen King. In some ways, he sets such a high bar that I sometimes expect too much, which brings me to the point of this post.
A few months back, I read his latest collection of short fiction, Bizarre of Bad Dreams. As always, there were a few real gems. But normally, the diamonds and emeralds are sprinkled among amethyst, jade, and other semiprecious stones. In this rendering, most of the rocks in the jewel case were zircons, what QVC dubs Diamonique, and Donnie Brasco dubs fugazi (fuggedaboudit).
Probably the best of the gems was Blockade Billy, but next to it, shining brightly until you looked through the jewler’s loop, were some (what seemed to me anyway) half-hearted, un-Kingly efforts. Stories whose conclusions were obvious (Under the Weather) or that were parodies of his former work (I’m thinking of Mile 81). I was also disappointed to see that for the first time (as far as I remember), he’d included stories already published in his previous anthologies. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love rereading the King, but I don’t want to pay for the same ruby twice.
Although I found the above somewhat disappointing, the worst is yet to come. He’d included (gasp) poetry. Now, I am no poet and don’t read a lot of it, although I enjoy the occasional Poe or Frost piece. But the King is no Robert Frost (or even David Frost). To his credit, he acknowledges that fact up front, but says he’s includes some of his better efforts at the craft. Wow! Let’s just say, I read a couple of these space fillers, scanned one, and then put the book down.
It’s sad to say, but I think age is catching up to the master. But worse than that, he is starting to turn off the quality filter and sell whatever will sell. I recognize that he’s in a business, but I was a little embarrassed for him. It almost felt like I saw him signing T-shirts at the head of a long line at Monster Fest. “Step right up and get your genuine, autographed, Tommy-knocker T! Comes with a complimentary copy of Bizarre of Bad Dreams and a bamboo steamer.”
"The three sure signs of aging are baldness, a bit of a spread, and feet of clay."