I started Reading Stephen King when I was 10. I dug out a copy of Salem’s Lot out of my mothers bookcase which was 99% dominated by bodice ripping historical romance books. I remember reading it in bed, way after my bedtime had come and gone, with a penlight flashlight hiding under my covers and jumping at every creak that the house gave up at 1 am. I fell in love. I devoured everything that he wrote afterwards. His books scared me as a kid and freaked me out at a teen and kept on freaking me out as an adult. I gleefully went for the rollercoaster ride and loved every scary minute of it.
I have found that as time went on and King got older his books became less and less frightening and scary. I started to see that instead of writing horror he was writing more normal stories with a slight paranormal bent that was on the side of normal more than not. 11/22/63 was one of those. Fantastic story writing but not the King I knew, loved and grew up with. Don’t even get me started on Under the Dome and Cell. There was one exception and that was Doctor Sleep, I felt that the old King had returned “Long Live the King” but that didn’t last. I enjoyed and am enjoying the Bill Hodges trilogy so far, again great story writing but not horrifying King.
When I saw The Bazaar of Bad Dreams for sale, and it was short stories, I eagerly bought it in the hopes that I would find some wonderful stories that I could sink my teeth into, but I was wrong. I found stories, well written ones, but ones that left you scratching your head wondering what you had just read and not in a good way. The stories seemed to have been cut off midway through leaving you wondering what it was supposed to be and did he forget to finish it. That poem…. What the hell was that about?!?!?! To be honest I like the story intro’s better than the stories themselves.
I will be honest here and say that I didn’t finish the whole book, I got to the 50-55% mark and gave up. I just felt sad at what was going on and felt that the stories were just put out there for the sake of it.
He started writing books that would grab you by the seat of your pants dragging you screaming into the night, then that gave way to pulling you by the arm down the road to see what was going on and now onto holding your hand strolling through the midday sun. The magic for me in a way is gone, the story writing is still amazing but just not doing it for me any more and it makes me sad as a ‘constant reader’ to see that the master has let me down yet again.
This should have been called The Bazaar of Meh Dreams instead.
Buy: Amazon UK