I read Stephen King’s ‘The Dead Zone’ as book two of my honeymoon.

As you all know, I’m a massive King fanboy. I went through a phase in my teens/early twenties where I read nothing but King. Somehow, I managed to read every classic book of his except for ‘The Dead Zone’—I guess it slipped under the radar!

Anyway, I tore through this pretty hefty novel in no time. The old-school King style wrapped me in a warm blanket of nostalgia. I love all stages of King’s career, but—man—for a time in the seventies and eighties, he was untouchable.

The story follows John Smith, who has had a life plagued with bad luck. The poor chap conks his noggin as a kid and again as an adult. As a result, when he touches people, he gets a hint of their future. Of course, this labels Johnny as a pariah. I had no idea where the story would end up, and I won’t spoil it here. But let me say this: it’s unsettling how prescient King’s view of the future of America was.

If you still need to read ‘The Dead Zone’, go out and get a copy; it’s King at the height of his powers.