Devouring Stephen King: Dreamcatcher

"And oh man, why was the world so hard? Why were there so many spokes hungry for your fingers, so many gears eager to grab for your guts?"

The first time I read Dreamcatcher many many moons ago*, I haaaaated it. I don't know if I hated it to the extent that I ended up hating it in the following years, when the memory of the plot and characters and everything had faded so that all I could remember was a feeling of hatred towards the book, which intensified and got nice and hatey, but you know. I definitely hated it.

You could say, then, that I was dreading reading it again. Or, not so much dreading as, wanting to either avoid it forever or read it as quickly as possible so it was DONE. And I didn't have to read it, you know, ever again. However. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be, if only because I had a thing where, in my state of misery, I really wanted some comforting reading, and apparently, having read 40-odd of his books makes Stephen King comforting rather than terrifying. Just the way he intended it, I'm sure.

Ahem.

And yet. Just because I didn't hate this book as much as I thought, doesn't mean I'm going to be really nice about it. Because I just can't. Admittedly, there are things I appreciate now more than I did when I first read it (where I appreciated nothing), and there are some really King-ian elements that I want to talk about, but on the whole... No. This is a novel based around an invading alien species who spread through shit-weasels. What this boils down to, really, is SO MUCH description of farts and shitting and burping and oh god, the bodily functions, I just cannot.

It's not that I'm being a prude! It's just that, the constant description of bodily functions takes what should be a terrifying situation (vaguely antagonistic alien invaders) and makes it ridiculous.** There comes a point in one's life when they're reading Dreamcatcher when you have to say no. No more. I can't read about anymore farts and stuff. WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME, STEPHEN?

And it's not just that. The major problem Dreamcatcher has, I think, is that there's very little story for the number of pages you have to read. I mean, there are kind of two narratives that split into three somewhere in the second half of the book, but the first half is pretty much just figuring out how they got to this point, and the second half is pretty much just a big chase scene. It's difficult to explain how many fewer pages there could be unless you've read it, but trust me, there could be a LOT fewer pages.

But. There are some redeeming features of this book. Firstly, I find it interesting that King wrote this not too long after he was hit by a car, after which he had an excruciating recovery, because there are so many descriptions of pain and its effects on the mind and all that other good stuff. That was an interesting little glimpse into the interesting part of the King psyche, the other parts, I assume, being mostly interested in farts and shit and stuff.

And then. The part that really makes it worth reading, the part that, in general, is the best part of a Stephen King book, is the friendship part. Even though it's kind of shoddily done, even though deaths aren't properly grieved at any point and friends seem to be sacrificed willy-nilly, the parts where King describes the main group as children are the parts where Dreamcatcher comes anywhere close to his usual magic. There's something Stephen King does with childhood friendships that I would match against anyone who's done the same thing, probably ever, and that's the saving grace here.

But it's not really enough. For me, there's too much army crap, too much blah blah blah and not enough story, and far, far too many shit weasels.*** It's troubling to me that people could read this without an extensive King background and think 'fuuuck, this dude sucks', and it's troubling to me that THIS is what he came up with after he nearly died. Not something incredibly profound (even though it tries to be at times). Shit and farts and burps. I just can't, really, in the end. 

*Which I say because, you know, I can't remember when I read it.
**I would say hilarious, but it's not even funny toilet humour.
***Note: ONE is too many.