In the Darkness

I lost two days of my life to this book. Not in a bad way, just- it kept me from the tasks one must perform to sustain one's facade as a functional member of society, like sleeping, and eating, and leaving the house. Have you read it yet? Well, why not? Seriously, go find a copy (they are literally everywhere right now), open to the first page and resign yourself to a 1-2 day gap in your existence. I promise you, it will be worth it.

I'm not a big thriller reader now, probably because I am a huge snob, but I was once. In my early teens I devoured Stephen King, Dean Koontz, any six-by-eight inch paperback I could find with giant, raised glossy letters and a picture of something ominous gracing its cover. And I loved them. Somewhere in there I stopped reading Peter Straub and started name-dropping Deleuze and so it went. Reading Shutter Island felt like coming home, reading a book not because of the title or the author but simply because once I started, I could not stop. The writing is intelligent but unobscure, well-informed without being dense. It lends itself singularly to the screen and, for once, I am breathlessly awaiting the movie version of the book. Faulkner, DeLillo, Berger and Tolstoy, I'll always love you, but that doesn't mean I won't cheat every once in a while.