A review by catladyreba
Different Seasons, by Stephen King
3.0
I think I have finally figured out the allure of Stephen King. His writing is mundane, yet compelling. And then out of nowhere, while you are buzzing along, he hits you with an uncomfortable turn of phrase, emotions or thoughts that are usually left unsaid. King says them all, lays it bare. The very earthiness of his writing unsettles the reader enough so they really have no idea is coming next. Here is a small sample of a dream sequence from the short story The Body to illustrate my point;
"I could see two bloated, naked corpses holding his ankles. One was Vern, and the other was Teddy, and their open eyes were as blank and pupilless as the eyes of Greek statues. Their small pre-pubescent penises floated limply up from their distended bellies like albino strands of kelp."
I mean, right? Like the added details about penises? So extra, Stephen King, but we love you anyway.
"I could see two bloated, naked corpses holding his ankles. One was Vern, and the other was Teddy, and their open eyes were as blank and pupilless as the eyes of Greek statues. Their small pre-pubescent penises floated limply up from their distended bellies like albino strands of kelp."
I mean, right? Like the added details about penises? So extra, Stephen King, but we love you anyway.