L o b a B l a n c a {dot} c o m

First, a bit of a confession. I never did return to the book to which I alluded at the end of my Book 15 entry. That book was José Saramago’s Seeing, which was the sequel to Blindness. I loved the latter novel, which is why I sought out the sequel. I had forgotten, however, that Saramago has a very Kerouacian long-form stream of consciousness style that you sort of have to be in a certain mood to enjoy. I just wasn’t in that mood this time. I tried to fight my way through Seeing, but I just wasn’t getting into it. And then I became distracted by a Trek novel, and then a Wells novel…and then it was time to take Seeing back to the library.

I hate not finishing a book. Which is why when I dove into the book I finally settled on for conquest number 19, I was determined to finish it, regardless of how difficult it became. So…did you know that Stephen King’s wife, Tabitha, is also a writer? I remember reading this fact in passing several times, but it never really registered with me. Then I happened to find one of her novels while perusing stacks at a charity book sale at my last job. First thing I thought was, “Hey, cool! I wonder if her books are as scary as her husband’s books are.”

Yeah, so just because you’re married to the master of horror, that doesn’t automatically mean that you will be a horror writer as well. I bought this book, One on One, almost 10 years ago. It’s been sitting, untouched on my shelf ever since. Like I said, I have an embarrassing backlog of books that I’m trying to sort through. I saw this sitting there, collecting dust, and decided that it was time to finally read it. Plus, I was up for something scary.

What I got was almost 500 pages of high school basketball, high school angst, high school drama, high school hijinks, and high school sex, all in overabundant doses. (You’d think I would have surmised something close to this from the cover, but I honestly never paid attention to it until about 50 pages into the book; sometimes I’m just really slow.)

Minus the fact that I think watching paint dry is more entertaining than watching basketball, I really don’t want to relive high school, either through my own memories or through the imagined world of some of the most dysfunctional high school students this side of the Mississippi. But, dammit, I’d already failed at finishing one book less than a week prior to this. I was going to finish this one.

I have to admit that had I actually read this book a decade ago when I bought it, or even better, if I’d read it when it first came out (the year I was a high school senior and the same age as one of the protagonists), I have a feeling that it would have resonated with me far more than it did now. I recognized in several of the characters, including Deanie Gauthier and Sam Styles—the two primary characters—traits and fears and issues that I remember from my own adolescence. Only a few though. These kids are seriously FUBAR. And, honestly, if you don’t really, really, REALLY love basketball, you’re going to be skimming over a big chunk of this book, which is exactly what I caught myself doing a lot toward the end. King dives deep into the details of the game.

She also dives deep into the details of the sex as well. I’m twice the age of the primary female character. I really don’t want to read the details of her barely pubescent sex life. Call me prudish if you must, but that’s just how I feel.

I’m not going to completely rip the book simply because I chose to read it even though its subject matter didn’t appeal to me. It’s well written, if a little adjective heavy (I’m often guilty of squeezing as many adjectives as can possibly fit into a sentence, so who am I to critique this writing faux pas?). But if you don’t want to ever revisit the woes and miseries of high school amped up to the power of the nth degree, then I don’t think this book is for you.

Final score: 2/5. Not completely terrible, but also not staying in my collection.

I have no idea what’s next, but it better be good.