28, WG11, M13, E28

Stephen King, Misery

Eigentlich wollte ich das Buch schon länger mal wiedergelesen haben, aber scheute dann doch immer wieder davor zurück, weil ich soviele Szenen als zwar nicht un- aber doch schwer erträglich in Erinnerung hatte. Aber da war soviel was mich reizte, vor allem Paul Sheldons Gedankenprozesse rund ums Schreiben, seine Theorie um das Scheherazade-Syndrom und diese Ironie, wie ihn genau das rettet, an dem er vorher fast zugrunde gegangen war. Und ja, ich gebe es zu, die bewußten Stellen hab ich ziemlich schnell gelesen.

There was no ten-second deadline, of course - he'd had no contract for the book, had written it on spec, and hence there was no delivery date to think about. Yet there was always a deadline, a time after which you had to leave the circle, and most writers knew it. If a book remained roadblocked long enough, it began to decay, to fall apart; all the little tricks and illusions started to show.
.
The gotta.
It was something he had been irritated to find he could generate in the Misery books almost at will but in his mainstream fiction erractically or not at all. You didn't know exactly where to find the gotta, but you always knew when you did. It made the needle of some internal Geiger counter swing all the way over to the end of the dial. Even sitting in front of the typewriter slightly hungover, drinking cups of black coffee and crunching a Rolaid or two every couple of hours (knowing he should give up the fucking cigarettes, at least in the morning, but unable to bring himself to the sticking point), months from finishing and lightyears from publication, you knew the gotta when you got it. Having it always made him feel slightly ashamed - manipulative. But it also made him feel vindicated in his labor. Christ, days went by and the hole in the paper was small, the light was dim, the overheard conversations witless. You pushed on because that was all you could do. Confucius said if man want to grow one row of corn, first must shovel one ton of shit. And then one day the hole widened to VistaVision width and the light shone through like a sunray in a Cecil B. DeMille epic and you knew you had the gotta, alive and kicking.
The gotta, as in: 'I think I'll stay up another fifteen-twenty minutes, honey, I gotta see how this chapter comes out.' Even though the guy who says it spent the day at work thinking about getting laid and knows the odds are good his wife is going to be asleep when he finally gets up to the bedroom.
The gotta, as in: 'I know I should be starting supper now - he'll be mad if it's TVdinners again - but I gotta see how this ends.'
I gotta know will she live.
I gotta know will he catch the shitheel who killed his father.
I gotta know if she finds out her best friend's screwing her husband.
The gotta. Nasty as a hand-job in a sleazy bar, fine as a fuck from the world's most talented call-girl. Oh boy it was bad and oh boy it was good and oh boy in the end it didn't matter how rude it was or how crude it was because in the end it was just like the Jacksons said on that record - don't stop til you get enough.

(Stephen King, Misery, 1987)

27, WG10, M12, E27

Stephen King, Hearts in Atlantis

Das letzte Mal, dass ich dieses Buch komplett wiederlas, muss sehr lange her sein, irgendwann vor 2008. Tatsächlich hatte ich auch schon einige Handlungsfäden und sogar einen ganzen Teil - Blind Willie - völlig vergessen, bevor ich das Buch wiederlas, dachte ich sogar es bestünde aus drei Teilen. Im Grunde ging es mir um die beiden Hauptteile, Bobby und Ted Brautigan und Pete und das Kartenspiel Hearts im College. So schön es war, die Stellen wieder zu lesen, die mir im Gedächtnis geblieben waren, so wundervoll war es auch, die vergessenen Teile neu zu entdecken. Irgendwann tue ich es wieder. Ganz bestimmt.
.
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I felt that lightness inside me again, that sense of lifting off. Sometimes your view widens and grows hopeful. Sometimes you think you can see around corners, and maybe you can. Those are good moments.

(Stephen King, Hearts in Atlantis, 1999)

26, WG9, M11, E26

Stephen King, Joyland

Ich kann mir selbst nicht erklären, was mich an dem Buch so fesselt, dass ich es jetzt zum dritten (oder vierten?) mal lesen musste. Vielleicht der Geist in der Geisterbahn. Oder Devin im Howie-Kostüm. Oder der todkranke kleine Mike. Oder Devins erstes Mal. Oder diese überaus anschauliche Beschreibung des Vergnügungsparks in den 70ern. Oder ... oder ... wer weiß. Weil's eben einfach ein gutes Buch ist.
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The end of my first love doesn't measure up to the death of one old friend and the bereavement of the other, but it followed the same pattern. Exactly the same. And if it seemed like the end of the world to me - first causing those suicidal ideations (silly and halfhearted though they may have been) and then a seismic shift in the previously unquestioned course of my life - you have to understand I had no scale by which to judge it. That's called being young.

(Stephen King, Joyland, 2013)

25, NG17, F15, E25

Lisa Jewell, The Truth about Melody Browne

Noch ein vom Fleck weg faszinierendes Buch, das mich von den ersten Seiten an in die Geschichte hineinsaugte. Wobei ich den Handlungsteil in der Gegenwart mit Melodys langsamer Öffnung und Neuentwicklung noch interessanter und spannender fand als die Geschichte ihrer Kindheit, ungewöhnlich wie sie war.
Allmählich sind nicht mehr viele Jewells übrig, alas. Im August kommt ein neues Buch, bis dahin werde ich die verbliebenen vermutlich auch geschafft haben ...

Parents, Melody realised, were the linchpin of normality, even when they were far from normal themselves. Parents, even distracted, slightly ambivalent parents, acted as a kind of a strainer through which life got poured. They were there, in essence, to catch the lumpy bits. Without parents, life felt oblique and directionless. Without a parent, the world was too close for comfort.

(Lisa Jewell, The Truth about Melody Browne, 2009)

20, NG13, F11, E20

Lisa Jewell, The Third Wife

Auch dieses Buch saugte mich binnen kürzester Zeit in das faszinierende und komplizierte Familiendrama hinein und ließ mich nicht mehr los, so dass ich das Buch einmal mehr viel schneller aushatte als geplant. Besonders bewunderswert ist hier, wie gekonnt Jewell mit den Erwartungen des Lesers spielt bis sich bei der Auflösung am Schluß alles anders herausstellt als gedacht.

He was aware that there would always be the last time for these intimate nuances of his relationships with his children and that often that time would pass unnoticed. When, for example, had Cat sat on his lap for the last time? When had he last kissed Otis on the lips, picked Pearl up in his arms, called Luke one of his childhood nicknames, held Beau up on his shoulders? He had no idea. He thought of crying at the leavers' ceremonies of his oldest children, knowing that he would never again see them in their primary uniforms, that they would never again be little. But there were no ceremonies for these other 'lasts', no realisation or acknowledgement that something precious was about to end.
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She had been so desperate to be a part of this, had watched the machinations of this life from a distance all those months, marvelling at the magical glow of it all: the Islington townhouse, the trophy wives and darling children, the weekends away en masse, the ramshackle parties, the legends, the traditions, the glittering story of them all and their sprawling mass of friends and people. She'd seen it, she'd smelled it and she'd wanted it. And now it was hers. And, like a shiny thing seen and coveted through the plate-glass windows of a fancy shop, now she had it in her hands it had lost its allure.
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(Lisa Jewell, The Third Wife, 2014)

18, WG6, M8, E18

Stephen King, The Green Mile

Das ist eines der Bücher von King, die ich - vermutlich - nur einmal gelesen habe (vielleicht ein zweites Mal kurz nach dem ersten Mal oder nach dem Film) und die trotzdem mir gut im Gedächtnis geblieben sind. Eigentlich kam es mir nur auf einige Stellen an, wie der Rahmenhandlung mit Briar Ridge und die Wunderheilung, aber mit so einem Pick & Chose habe ich es nicht mehr so, oder nur bei Kurzgeschichten, und statt die sechs einzelnen Bücher zu lesen, die immer noch in meinem Bücherregal stehen, lud ich mir das Buch auf den Paperwhite. Und ja, viele Passagen sind sehr bedrückend, noch mehr als ich sie in Erinnerung hatte. Und dadurch, dass ich das Buch schon kannte, nervte der Krebsgang-Erzählstil mit den ständigen Neuansätzen nicht mehr so sehr wie beim ersten Lesen, als ich wochenlang auf die Fortsetzung warten musste.
Und in dem Vorwort fand ich endlich die kleine Anekdote, die mir im Gedächtnis blieb und die ich irgendwie immer woanders verortet hatte - bei 'Misery' oder 'Bag of Bones' z.B. Aber sie ist hierdrin enthalten:

And I liked the high-wire aspect of it, too: fall down on the job, fail to carry through, and all at once about a million readers are howling for your blood. No one knows this any better than me, unless it's my secretary, Juliann Eugley; we get dozens of angry letters each week, demanding the next book in the Dark Tower cycle (patience, followers of Roland; another year or so and your wait will end, I promise). One of these contained a Polaroid of a teddy-bear in chains, with a message cut out of newspaper headlines and magazine covers: RELEASE THE DARK TOWER BOOK AT ONCE OR THE BEAR DIES, it said. I put it up in my office to remind myself both of my responsibility and of how wonderful it is to have people actually care - a litte - about the creatures of one's imagination.

(Stephen King, The Green Mile, 1996)

16, NG12, F10, E16

Lisa Jewell, The Making of Us

Die Synopsis des Buches war schon so vielversprechend, dass ich nicht widerstehen konnte und mir das Buch auf den Paperwhite lud, als ich fürs erste genug von Krimis und Kurzgeschichten hatte. Und dann enttäuschte es nicht, sondern erwies sich als so spannend und nahezu unwiderstehlich - als ob es mich förmlich einsaugte - dass ich es kaum aus der Hand legen mochte und in zwei Tagen durchhatte. Schon die Idee ist einfach so ansprechend, drei völlig unterschiedliche Kinder eines Samenspenders, die zueinander und damit auch zu sich selbst finden und es auch schaffen, ihren biologischen Vater noch kennenzulernen bevor es zu spät ist. Jede einzelne der Geschichten wäre für sich schon ein Buch wert.

He had not chewed anything for days. He had not held a tea cup or picked up a paper for days.Deah was playing a childisch game, tip-toeing around mischievously: 'Here I am! Oh, no, only joking, I'm over here... no, over here!' Every time she asked a nurse, 'How long? How long do you think?' she would be met with the same response. It could be anytime. Death did not just hit you with a stick and then walk away and leave you to die. Death fiddled about with you first. Death forced you head first into the toilet bowl of your demise and then yanked you back by the collar. Death was not as simple as Maggie had imagined.
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There she lay, her fists curled inwards towards her ears, a living, breathing amalgamation of a hundred thousand different people, all of whom had at some point in their lives had a night of passion with somebody else and made another one, outwards and onwards in ever-increasing circles, an unstoppable force of humanity extrapolating itself across millennia. Until here, in a small cottage in a Bury St. Edmunds backwater, it was all distilled down into one perfect, creamy pearly - Matilda.
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The more ill he becomes, the less he finds himself alone. Possibly because he sleeps for much longer but also because people do not like to leave the dying in case there is no one there to see them go. Like waiting for a bus, the more time you invest in awaiting the outcome the harder it is to walk away.
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(Lisa Jewell, The Making of Us, 2011