The Colorado Kid

Hey Kids! Want to read about an unexplained mystery as told by two very old New England reporters in a meandering style similar to how your grandfather used to go on about his ’64 Chevy pick-up? Then break out the Coca-Colas and switch on the Mr. Coffee, Uncle Stevie has a book for you.

To be fair, The Colorado Kid is not quite that discouraging. The true narrative of this book, which slightly deceptive, is more about the craft of the story then the, as mentioned within the tale’s journalistic jargon, feature thru-line. This is also King’s love-letter to old-fashioned reporting as well as a chance to back up the treatise laid out in his memoir On Writing, which is a book any lover of stories, let alone those told by King, should have in their library. The Colorado Kid, however, can at best be settled on as a borrowed rental.

The Colorado King has old men Dave and Vince, islanders from birth, pass on their newspaper torch to their flat-earthed intern Stephanie, who has raw talent in need of honing. King cleverly, and ploddingly, explores the nature of telling a mystery, as opposed to actually solving the damn thing. Stephanie plays the role of the everyman/woman as King takes his time through the codgers at hand, to lay out the mystery – a dead man discovered on an island beach off the coast of Maine, no ID, save for a pack of cigarettes purchased in Colorado – and gives the reader, through Stephanie, the ability to play catch-up, to give life to what should be a dead story, to fill in the Ws for all the Qs, while learning they don’t always line up to a perfect A. The purpose of a story is that it needs to be told, and not always with a happy ending, which is what happens here. Yet, that story does need to be compelling and the main one here, that of Stephanie’s youth and eagerness, should have been the road explored, and not the well-worn paths of two men trailing off into the twilight. King, however, acting as the spokes piece, deserves that attention of an elder statesman and makes an even somewhat rote tale entertaining. Now pass me a cuppa coffee, willya? Uncle Stevie has more to tell.


As Always,
theJOE

A Disaster Movie... Without the Entire Disaster...

The Hatching has all the makings of a b-grade, camp classic disaster film: a large cast of intertwining characters, a global threat, no eminent solution. This should be great stuff – c’mon, carnivorous spiders! Spiders that can hide in shadows, in containers, under furniture, and, especially for this story, inside host bodies. Such a simple, tiny fear exacerbated into apocalyptic terror. The problem the novel runs into is that the story is not campy enough and while the horror is played straight, the weak characters bloat a simple enough narrative.

 

Perhaps this is a personal fetish for author Ezekiel Boone, or perhaps his metaphorical mirror is a tad too concrete, but the lack of depth in the cast characterization, the blatant similarity of the players, adds to the cliché the story is desperately trying to break from. Every main character is in their early- to mid-forties and sustains solely on Diet Coke. The men are either overweight schlumps or Captain America. The women are normal enough to be the girl next door, but hot enough to be former lingerie models (Boone’s words, not mine) – including the Hillary Clinton-esque POTUS. And these are the people in whose hands hold the fate of all humanity. 

Granted, once the action kicks in and Los Angeles becomes the beachhead for the arachnid menace, The Hatching is a fun page-turner. Boone keeps up the pressure and amplifies the stress as each character deals with the oncoming global catastrophe. And then it ends. Rather abruptly. No sooner does humanity accept its finale, then the first spidery wave ends. Because, of course, there is an upcoming sequel. A sequel whose web I shall not become entangled within.

A fun read if spiders tickle a special fear you are looking to overcome – and don’t mind a continuing story over a cycle of creepy-crawly novels. Those seeking a typical three-act approach should spin their silk elsewhere.

As always,

theJOE