For my second read of the year, I took on Stephen King’s Gerald’s Game.
I read this couplet’s other half (or should that be its other dark half?), Dolores Claiborne, about a decade ago. I adored that book, and—surprise, surprise—I also loved Gerald’s Game.
The setup is fascinating. King sets the novel in a single room with a woman chained to a bed. As a writer, I’d never dare such a novel out of fear of boring the reader. After all, how much can one write about a woman lying in bed? But King is no ordinary writer, and Gerald’s Game grips the reader like anything else to which the man puts his mind.
I am a hardened horror fan, having loved the genre since I was a young boy. Yet, there are moments in Gerald’s Game that made me squirm. Fair warning, it’s not for the weak of stomach!
As I’ve always said since I picked up The Shining at the age of 13—in an almost religious mantra:
King is king.
