Even if he's not the most lovely guy in literature (or is this only my opinion?), you cannot deny the guy has talent and style. Closing at 1,074 pages, I could not believe how fast I read this (and I'm a slow reader). Unsurprisingly for a King novel, this monster of a book never drags and always keeps the reader on edge. Even if the dome's required explanation is, I'm sad to say, disappointing, Under the Dome is an exciting read that puts in perspective how delicate is the notion we call the human condition.
As fantastical and improbable as the actual "dome" is (it's really more of a force field, and not really a dome-shaped one at that), the people and their actions are incredibly credible and tangible. I can't help but shudder when I think that that's exactly how real people in a similar situation would react—and that is the story's true horror. It's a claustrophobic novel that forces its characters to reveal themselves as they truly are. We see jealousy, desperation, dementia, megalomania and many other human emotions in their most deadly form.
It may be horrible, but it makes for truly wonderful and entertaining literature.
Georgia grabbed a bunch of Sammy’s paperbacks off the top shelf of the bookcase and looked through them. “Nora Roberts? Sandra Brown? Stephenie Meyer? You read this stuff? Don’t you know fuckin Harry Potter rules?” She held the books out, then opened her hands and dropped them on the floor.
I’m sure his editor removed: “ ‘Don’t you know how fucking much Harry Potter, The Stand and The Dark Tower rule?!’ Luckily, humble reader, you know better.”
Pfft I'd do the same. In fact, I'd slap Sammy on the face with Twilight.
Well, I'm not saying he's wrong, but that doesn't make him any less of an asshole. That condescending attitude is in everything he writes nowadays. I can't read The Pop of King without rolling my eyes.
As Dome Day became Day Two, all the blogs were suggesting the same thing: the pony in this case was not terrorists, invaders from space, or Great Cthulhu, but the good old military-industrial complex. The specifics varied from site to site, but three basic theories ran through all of them. One was that the Dome was some sort of heartless experiment, with the people of Chester’s Mill serving as guinea pigs. Another was that it was an experiment that had gone wrong and out of control (“Exactly like in that movie The Mist,” one blogger wrote).
I'm finding King's third-person universal omniscient point-of-view to be awfully smug and distracting, however sharp his writing may be. Please tell me he won't keep this up. I don't think I'll be able to stand 1,000 pages of it.
We have toured the sock-shape that is Chester’s Mill and arrived back at Route 119. And, thanks to the magic of narration, not an instant has passed since the sixtyish fellow from the Toyota slammed face-first into something invisible but very hard and broke his nose.
He doesn't do that in the novels of his I've read... it's kind of ridiculous. Which just strengthens my ghostwriting argument. You should have read Everything's Eventual instead. He's a brilliant short story writer. Or, he used to be.
I don't remember him doing that either. I do have to admit that he has toned it down. It seems like he only went crazy with the main exposition; the book's running smoothly now.
You know, as unlikable as King is (he's kind of a prick,) the motherfucker can write. I just hope he doesn't fuck this up at the end.
PS: You know, he goes back to that tone a couple more times nearing the end. As much as I love the breakage of The Fourth Wall (it works wonders on comics), there's no place for it on a serious(ly long and dire) novel. Not only does he speaks directly to the reader on occasion, but at one time he literally (you know, in a figurative kind of way) takes us by the hand and walks us though the town. While his foreshadowing works wonderfully, anything more direct is mostly eerie and just falls flat.