On Goodreads, I give 5 stars out of 5 to Misery by Stephen King.
I really can’t figure out why I waited so long to read this one. I haven’t seen the movie, and I never wanted to put the book on my To Read radar, but I finally did. It had to be done. I loved it!
The story is gruesome and harrowing, making the reading both frustrating and exhilarating. With her mood swings and murderous past, Annie Wilkes is a cockadoodie brat and one heck of an antagonist. Paul is a big baby cry, but I probably would be too under similar circumstances. Along with his legs, Paul’s agency is completely crushed. O! the helplessness of it all!
Misery is a nightmare, and I mean that in a most positive way. It’s easy to harp on the connection to King’s own drug addiction and creative journey, but there’s more here.
What about the writing process itself? Isn’t it grueling and tolling and downright frightening? Doesn’t a writer lose bits and pieces of himself/herself in the process and after the writing is done? Don’t all creative people have an Annie Wilkes looming over them with an axe and a blowtorch at the ready, threatening, cajoling, insisting?
I suppose when the writing is done, it’s time to kill your Number One Fan who has hobbled you to the grinning Royal, the legal pad, the chair, and your own fears and doubts.
You can’t be saved until you write The End.
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“A little talent is a nice thing to have if you want to be a writer, but the only real requirement is that ability to remember the story of every scar.”
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What do you think?
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