I had to shut this book, while I was in middle of it. I couldn’t bear with the bullshit.
Paul Sheldon, author of a best-selling series of romance novels written around Misery Chastain – the central character, meets with an accident while he is drunk. He is wrecked by Annie Wilkes, his biggest and craziest fan. Instead of taking him to the hospital, she takes him home.
There she feeds him a dangerous painkiller and brings him back to life. She gets mad, real mad to find out that in his last novel Paul has killed Misery. Now, she wants him to bring Misery back. And she is psycho about it, literally.
With his legs gone for good, he is at Annie’s mercy for his very life. He has no choice.
At first, I couldn’t believe it was Stephen King. The first few paragraphs are horribly written. Eventually, it gets better, interesting, vivid and gets crazier with every page turn.
And then it gets monotonous, boring and slow.
Stephen King has a real control over what you know and he knows how to use it well. Technically, the book uses a lot of new ideas and good technique. For instance, the slow and well timed release of information and manuscript-in-progress of the new Misery novel etc.
But the book doesn’t have enough substance to support the mighty 400 page storytelling. It’s boring, slow and painfully long.
The characters are half-baked. They don’t feel complete, I couldn’t get myself to imagine them as real life character.
There is hardly any shock element, it all gets very predictable in psychological sense. There is no real imagination – just cheap hollywood psycho drama.
It seems like the book was written for the sake of it. Literal masturbation, literally.