I am writing this because if I don’t today I might not tomorrow, but right now I’d rather be reading than writing. I have the newest Stephen King novel, Never Flinch, sitting on my coffee table and I can’t wait to get back to it. It is ironic that as of last night I was questioning when Stephen King’s last great novel was.
I have enjoyed all of his work, but it feels like he hasn’t written a legendary novel in awhile, and last night I was having doubts if Never Flinch was even up to par to his recent work. I normally feel terrible leaving characters in bad situations, but here I am at the climax of the novel and I was able to put it down and not think about it for the rest of the night.
I don’t know what it is about Stephen King’s writing style, but I have found his books to be the most engaging of any I have read. They demand to be read and demand to take up your time. Never Flinch has felt less like that and more like a meandering tale that any crime fiction writer could have told. It lacks that normal Stephen King oomph.
Still, I find myself waiting for my writing timer to go off so I can get to the book and through the climax. As I said the story is on par with most modern crime fiction. The problem is that it is from The Master of Horror. It is to Stephen King what Load and Re-Load were for Metallica.
I am uncertain if The Outsider or The Institute was Stephen King’s last truly great novel, but it is starting to feel like he is in a drought. He is also no spring chicken, a legend in the industry, and one of the most read and well known American authors of all time. He doesn’t have to write another book to cement his status. Yet it feels like he should. It feels like he is holding back.
Either way my writing timer is just about up and I am ready for the exciting conclusion of Never Flinch. It has been an enjoyable ride, even if it hasn’t had the pizzaz we’ve come to expect from a Stephen King novel.
David Huzzard Writes 