Stephen King turned into a writer sometime while my back was turned. A first, he was a commercial success and a critic's nightmare come true. I couldn't stand his early prose, so I ignored him. Then one August day I was combing the shelves, craving a good ghost story. (Ghost stories and haunted houses are DOCs of mine.) This book was on the shelf and I was desperate enough to try anything, even a book by Stephen King. It hit like a tidal wave.
Because Joanna Noonan is dead on page one and Mike is left alone. His ability to write packs up and leaves shortly after her funeral. Now, Stephen King published thirty-three novels in the quarter century before Bag of Bones but somewhere along the way he learned about writer's block. It's real and it's hell and he captures that pain on the pages of this book. Without his wife or the ability to work, our hero is a man without focus.
Luckily, he still has a few things left to love, like his summer home "on the TR" and reading. If anything, Bag of Bones is a book-lovers book. It cites authors from Melville to McDonald and is tied, through multiple references to Rebecca (one of my all-time, hands-down, favorites) After four years of grief, Mike returns to the summer home he and his wife loved so well. That's when the bad stuff really starts.
Lyrical in places and perfectly paced, Bag of Bones turned me into a fan. If you pick it up now, you'll read it at the height of the summer, the perfect time for this story. Read it in the woods, or by the lake but don't read it when you're alone. It's too easy to believe in ghosts when you're book-deep in a summer's night.
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