Bookstorm

It's probably been fifteen years since I first read Stephen King's The Stand. I don't remember much about it. A virus with a ninety-nine percent mortality rate sweeps across the country, and the survivors are divided into two camps: the good guys go to Boulder, Colorado, and the bad guys go to Las Vegas, Nevada. I remember Randall Flagg and, vaguely, the Trashcan Man.

In other words, it's time to reread it.

Speaking of King, he has a new short story and interview in The Atlantic this month.

JP: It is odd, though, if you think about it, that with all the speeding-up that we're being told about, and the dwindling of the attention span and all that, that people would rather chomp their way through a 400-pager than just get zapped by a little story ...

SK: And so many of the 400-pagers are disposable in themselves. When I see books by some of the suspense writers that are popular now, I think to myself: "These are basically books for people who don't want to read at all." It just kind of passes through the system. It's like some kind of fast-food treat that takes the express right from your mouth to your bowels, without ever stopping to nourish any part of you. I don't want to name names, but we know who we're talking about.

I'm trying to get back into the swing of things.

It's been a few years since I read anything by John le Carré, but I think Our Kind of Traitor sounds excellent. (I picked up A Most Wanted Man recently.) I don't blame him for wanting to be removed from the shortlist for the Man Booker International prize. Really: does anyone give a shit about literary awards anymore?

I've spent the last month or so reading Alex Haley's The Autobiography of Malcolm X. I picked it up thinking it was something I should read--I knew almost nothing about Malcolm X, aside from others' views of him (he's a racist hate-preacher or a color-blind human rights activist, depending on whom you ask). I've been pleasantly surprised--his autobiography is fascinating, and what's more, he's a very intelligent and sensitive person. He's certainly no racist. (While working on the book, he broke with the Nation of Islam, and his views veered towards international human rights, rather than domestic civil rights.) I haven't finished the book yet, but it's completely engrossing.

I finished Philip K. Dick's Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said. It was a fun acid-trip novel. Taking place in a bleak police state, the novel revolves around a television and recording star who, overnight, ceases to exist. Not literally, of course, but every trace of his existence--his identity cards, his birth certificate--has disappeared, and no one remembers him. People don't recognize him, and lovers don't know who he is, and there's no evidence that he'd ever starred in a television show or recorded an album. I don't know how I managed to ignore Dick for so long--I may have read a short story of his--but it'll be interesting to delve into his work. (Aside: looking over his bibliography, I think he may have come up with some of the worst titles in the history of American letters.)

And that's all I have for you, kids. Enjoy your weekend.