When last I blogged, I was responding to Julia's "eight books by March 14" challenge. Austin has, of course, already read well past eight, and is being appropriately gloaty. Julia has read five. I'm... slower, but my books are longer (really) and I have this whole "new job as a nurse in a town an hour away" thing going on. So every day is an adventure, but I try to get a little reading done anyway.
I finished Stephen King's 11/22/63 weeks ago, and damn... this one is a good one. I feel in love with Stephen King's work when I was fourteen and I have never given up on him (no, not even after Gerald's Game). 11/22/63 is probably his best work in years, and I say that as someone who really enjoyed both Duma Key and Full Dark, No Stars. Did I have some quarrels with the new novel? Yes. The basic concept is a time travel book - the protagonist goes back in time to try to save JFK from being assassinated. Most of the story is set in the past, and most of it rocks along compellingly. It drags a bit at times when King offers too much detail about Lee Harvey Oswald's politics and associations, and I have a quarrel with the heavy-handedness of aspects of the end of the story, but overall this one deserves an A. Note to those of sentimental disposition: having several tissues handy for the last few pages is helpful. This book will have a permanent spot on the bookshelves at my house. Not surprisingly.
I moved from the sublime to the ridiculous next, picking up The Other Side of Midnight by Sidney Sheldon. I remembered enjoying it when I was in high school... and it is compulsively readable, but for all the wrong reasons. It's entertaining but stupid, and I spent most of the book wondering just who the protagonist was even supposed to be.
There's nothing particularly believable in this (or any book by Sidney Sheldon, as I recall); it's full of rich, beautiful, wildly talented people, all of whom are having an unrealistic amount of badly described sex. The main character, Noelle, becomes rich and famous with almost no effort, and of course she's luminously beautiful, a fantastic cook, and no man she's ever been with can forget her. Her only motivation in life, though, is to get revenge on Larry, the first man she ever loved, a cocky playboy womanizer pilot. This book is set mid-twentieth century, and much of it is set against the backdrop of World War II. There's one minor character that can be described as a hero (a doctor who fights against the Nazis), but everyone else is consistently out for themselves. This flaw might make the characters likable if they had any other flaws... they just seem like paper dolls.
Curiosity compelled me to finish, and it is amusing, but this book is going in the donation pile. A better title for it would have been The Other Side of Nonsense.
I'm currently reading two more books; Diana Gabaldon's The Scottish Prisoner and Max Brooks' World War Z. I'm still hoping to get those eight books read by March 14... three down, five to finish.
