'The Name of the Wind'

I just finished Patrick Rothfuss' 'The Name of the Wind'. I've read many, many fantasy novels. Some of them are just bad. Most are middle of the road : not great, but not a complete waste of my time. I started reading Rothfuss' blog some time ago. I'm not sure how I ended up there; linked from some blog that I found from some other blog that I found... you get the idea. His blog is refreshing. Here's this fairly regular guy who has struggled along writing this novel for years, and suddenly it's picked up and published and people like it. Really like it. And all of the notoriety and recognition and promotion and accolades are new to him, and his reaction is great to read. Very unassuming, very low-key.

And he hasn't forgotten from whence he came. He's currently giving away a slew of stuff if you'll donate to charity.

And to top it off he lives in Wisconsin, which is like my second home now (soon maybe my first!) and I ran across some signed copies of the book when the paperback came out at the giant Barnes and Nobles in Madison. Which was very cool for a book nerd like myself.

So it was with some amount of hope and a great amount of trepidation that I finally approached "The Name of the Wind". I needn't have worried. This thing is _great_. It is the reason we read, to discover new and wondrous things, to be transported to worlds we know not and behold their magic. To say "I could not put it down" would be an understatement. It is quite simply the best fantasy novel I've read in years and years, and I'll be recommending it to everyone I know that reads. I'll let Kvothe tell you about it:

My name is Kvothe, pronounced nearly the same as "quothe." Names are important as they tell you a great deal about a person. I've had more names than anyone has a right to. The Adem call me Maedre. Which, depending on how it's spoken, can mean The Flame, The Thunder, or The Broken Tree.
"The Flame" is obvious if you've ever seen me. I have red hair, bright. If I had been born a couple of hundred years ago I would probably have been burned as a demon. I keep it short but it's unruly. When left to its own devices, it sticks up and makes me look as if I have been set afire.
"The Thunder" I attribute to a strong baritone and a great deal of stage training at an early age.
I've never thought of "The Broken Tree" as very significant. Although in retrospect, I suppose it could be considered at least partially prophetic.
My first mentor called me E'lir because I was clever and I knew it. My first real lover called me Dulator because she liked the sound of it. I have been called Shadicar, Lightfinger, and Six-String. I have been called Kvothe the Bloodless, Kvothe the Arcane, and Kvothe Kingkiller. I have earned those names. Bought and paid for them.
But I was brought up as Kvothe. My father once told me it meant "to know."
I have, of course, been called many other things. Most of them uncouth, although very few were unearned.
I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.
You may have heard of me.
So begins the tale of Kvothe—from his childhood in a troupe of traveling players, to years spent as a near-feral orphan in a crime-riddled city, to his daringly brazen yet successful bid to enter a difficult and dangerous school of magic. In these pages you will come to know Kvothe as a notorious magician, an accomplished thief, a masterful musician, and an infamous assassin. But The Name of the Wind is so much more—for the story it tells reveals the truth behind Kvothe's legend.

Rothfuss displays a love for music, a high regard for craftsmanship, and places the female on a high, high pedestal. He also makes us completely empathize with Kvothe through his trials. It's clear Rothfuss knows what it is to pinch pennies. Kvothe is constantly concerned with money. He's terribly under informed about women.  He is both a genius and a fish entirely out of water at school. I kept wondering how much of Kvothe was Rothfuss, and how much was projection of his dreams and desires. All of us at one time have wanted to win the battle of wits, make a fortune, slay the dragon, rescue the maiden, win the fair damsel. Kvothe does them all, and ends up nearly where he started.

If you read, you must read "The Name of the Wind". If you stopped reading fantasy because of where it's gone over the last dozen or so years, this is the book that will bring you back. The best thing that I can say is that, for the first time in a long time, I can't wait for the next one in the series.

Go get it now.

Slander! Outrage!

From Slashdot:

"Eoin Colfer, the Irish author of a number of books (including the popular children's book series 'Artemis Fowl'), has been directly approached by Douglas Adam's widow, Jane Belson, to write a sixth book to continue the (even more) increasingly inaccurately named Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy trilogy."

Is nothing sacred? Surely they can't need the money that would come from this farce. First it was Gone With The Wind, then The Godfather, then the Wheel of Time series, now this?

The Hitchhiker's books are sacrosanct. Unique works of glee and genius, they can't be duplicated. Anyone who tries is on a fool's errand. Adams unique brand of whimsy and farce is not something that can be "continued".

The man is gone. Let the books stand alone.

In other news, Tad Williams has been asked to write the next book in the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy, and John Irving is reportedly working on "A Christmas Carol: Continued."

A Letter

To Judith Claire Mitchell:

I normally don't do this kind of thing.
I mean, I read a lot. I'm a reader, y'know? It's not what I do, it's part of who I am. Non-readers don't get it, never will.
But write letters to authors? I think I wrote Stephen King once, when I was seventeen or so.
So I picked up "Scribner's BEST of the Fiction Workshops 1998" at the library book sale on a whim. Didn't even look at the contents, and frankly thought it was going to be a treasury of how-to and advice for writers. I am glad I was wrong.
I read "A Man of Few Words" on the way in to work, on the bus, today. Just this morning. I started at the bus stop, I finished just before my stop.
I stepped off the bus with tears in my eyes and a hitch in my throat. I couldn't tell the bus driver to "Have a good day". I was afraid I would burst into tears, and that would look completely foolish. She already thinks I'm half baked.
Stories about fathers and sons get me every time, to some degree. Stories of love and loss. But this, this little gem that you crafted, this marvelous little diamond - it's the kind of story that could change things. Change people.
The first sentence grabs, the last sentence elevates. In between is home run after home run. The way Ike views his son's plastic surgery :

"How could he think the face belonged to him only?" : Priceless.

"By the color of fingernails."

My father's nails are crushed and mangled from decades of dirty work. What I tried to say in an entire blog post you said better in five words.

"If Ike had made a mistake, it was not in his failure to shout his love. It was his failure to teach the boy how to say "Boy, oh boy, that sun sure feels good on the back, doesn't it?"

If there is a lesson I long for my kids to learn from my life and example, it is this. Not wealth or power or fame, but small pleasures and simple things will you remember and cherish.

"I want to see her face," Ike says. "I want to see how pretty she looks."

I have never been so blown away so many times within one short little story. As a 41 year-old son and a father of sons and a daughter it spoke to me on so many levels I was literally dizzy.
This book will remain by my bedside on the "re-read" shelves for a long, long time. Even if every other story stinks - - which I doubt - - yours was more than worth the price of admission.
Of course at the library sale it was $.025, but it would have been worth full price had I paid it.
I will remember this story for the rest of my life.
Thank you.

Two from the King

I freely admit that I avoided Blaze when it came out in hardcover. I knew it was a revised and updated "trunk" novel from pre-publicity, and I think King has talked about it before in one of his earlier works (On Writing or something). So I just wasn't enthused about something he wrote 30 + years ago that he didn't think was publishable then. I thought I'd catch it at the library, or wait for the paperback. Or both.

Well, my boss, knowing me to be a pretty big King fan, gave the paperback to me after he finished it. And I was wrong, OK? Blaze isn't a bad book, and it's well worth reading. I wouldn't put it near the top of any list of King's work, but it mostly held my attention and was interesting.

Clayton Blaidsell is our main character, and he's a big boy who's a few cards short of a full deck. He finds it easiest to make money by being 'muscle' for the bad guys. Then his partner is killed and he's left on his own, deciding to pull of the last big job; a kidnapping.

Blaze is mostly the story of the kidnapping, the aftermath, and the chase. We learn about Blaze in a series of flashbacks that are frankly often more interesting than the 'main' story.

This is typical of early King works, where we know early on what is going to happen and the suspense comes in the waiting until it does. Only here the suspense never really comes, we're just along for the ride. It's a good ride, but not a great one.

So it was with much trepidation that I picked up "Duma Key" in hardback. I knew it was a different King story. Not set in Maine, not about an author, not a Dark Tower book. Something new. I had read the short story "Memory" that was at the end of Blaze and was intrigued to see how it would play out.

I don't really have words to describe how profoundly this book affected me. Duma is not merely a great King story, it is a great novel period. It's the kind of thing that makes me glad I stuck with him through the "Tommyknockers" phase. It's just an excellent, excellent read.

It's the story of Edgar Freemantle, a self-made man in the construction industry. He loses his arm and nearly his life in an accident, then proceeds to lose his wife and perhaps his mind. As therapy he picks up and moves to Duma Key, a small isolated island off the coast of Florida. And he paints, meets some local residents, and paints some more.

And that's all I'm willing to say. The plot is amazing and surprising. We don't know where this story is going and it's delightful. There are things that happen that I had no idea would happen, delightful things that are both wondrous and scary. The Florida setting is evocative and well realized.

Plainly put this is just great, great book and you are doing yourself a disservice if you miss it. If you've never read King this is a great place to start.

The Traveler

I just finished "The Traveler" by John Twelve Hawks. To be honest I'd heard nothing of this book or the author before buying it. I ran across it at The Frugal Muse and it looked interesting.

Apparently the internets are rife with speculation about who John Twelve Hawks might be. The book tells us that he lives "off the grid", and not much else. Some say it's Dan Brown writing for the YA market.

I'm not sure who the author is and don't really care. It's mediocre at best.

It details an omnipresent corporation that has fingers into every database, every public surveillance camera, every system. Big Brother is most certainly watching you. There are folks called Travelers that can cross over into other "realms", and folks called "Harlequins" that protect them. And of course, the bad guys are out to kill or control the travelers.

It's not a bad book, by any stretch. It kept the pages turning, and most of the action was well-paced and believable. It just didn't have a character I could bring myself to give a rip about.

I won't seek out the next book in what will be a four book series, but I won't turn it down if I see it for $3.95, the price I picked up this one for a The Frugal Muse.

A Walk in the Woods

It's been since before I can remember that a book made me laugh out loud in public. This is a book you want to be careful with. Read it over lunch at your own peril. There are laugh-out-loud, snort hot & sour soup out your nose moments.
And if you've never snorted Hot&Sour soup out your nose, my friends, let me tell you: your sinuses will never be so clear again.
After returning from a 20-year stay in Europe, Bill Bryson decides to rediscover America and hike the Appalachian trail. In searching for companions willing to walk with him, he gets only one response: Stephen Katz, and old friend whom Bryson hasn't spoken to in 25 years.
What ensues is part travelogue, part personal discovery, part history of the Appalachian Trail and it's surroundings. To say that they meet 'colorful characters' upon the way is the definition of understatement. I will never be able to hear the question "What's your sign" again without laughing. They meet inept boy scouts, too-talkative females, and the endlessly lost Chicken John. The section of the book where Katz tries to pick up a married woman at a laundromat along the way is worth the price of admission by itself.
We learn much about the trail and it's history, and how it managed to survive in spite of Bureaucracy's best efforts to screw it up. Short insights into towns and stops along the way prove to be entertaining and integrated, and add well to the whole.
Those who are looking for a pure hiking and travel story may be a bit put off by the history and the enviromental bend of some of the passages, but I found them important. I learned enough about the Forest Service to make me view it with renewed skepticism.
You may be wondering why there's a bear on the cover of the book. Bryson tells us much about bears, and his fear of them, but whether or not he evers encounters one is up to you to decide.
I seek forgiveness for purchasing this book at Wal-Mart. I was there, and it was there, and I was out of reading material at the time. I could have got it from BookMooch, I'm sure. Or better yet, from my local used bookstore. But something about Wal-Mart (which is the seventh level of Hell, by the way) induces you to buy if you go in the door. I think it's pheromones.
A Walk in the Woods is highly recommended.

BookMooch

While updating my catalog of books on LibraryThing the other day, I discovered Bookmooch, a website for cheap book lovers everywhere. (Ok, that was poorly worded. Not inexpensive books, but miserly readers.)
The concept is simple. You get points for listing books that you want to get rid of. Other people list books they want, and if there's a match they can mooch them off of you. You ship them at the amazingly cheap Media Mail rate, and you get more points. You then use those acquired points to mooch books off of others.
The service is fairly new, in internet terms. They are just at 10,000 members. So at the moment there are lots of books on wish lists, but none of the books I put on my list were immediately available for mooching. Besides, I didn't have the points yet.
The hard part for me is going to be continually selecting books I'm willing to give away. Obviously, there are some I'll never get rid of. In fact, I rarely give away a book. Invariably I miss it somewhere down the road. I haven't read The Tommyknockers in years, but I just know that someday I'm going to have time to kill, and the desire to re-enter works from King's 'addicted' stage will come over me. (That's what that book is really about, by the way. It might be full of alien artifacts and strange mind powers, but it's really about all the crap King was shiving into his system (mostly through his nose) at the time.) But I've found five or six in my pile so far that I'm willing to be seperated from.
The fun part for me is going through the local Borders, seeing a book I like, firing up Bookmooch on my PDA and entering the ISBN into my wish list. Somewhere I gave away my copy of Wicked, and there's no way I'm going to by another. But I'll gladly mooch it from someone!

John Varley

I recently picked up Red Thunder at the airport, Varley's omage to Heinlien. It was such a great read, and what a pleasure it was to be back in VarleyLand once again. Thunder is about a group of kids and an drunk ex-astronaut who build a rocket ship, fly it to Mars, and rescue a Nasa crew along the way. Pure camp, pure entertainment, pure fun.
The best thing the book did for me was remind me how much I loved Varley's work. I went back and bought Titan, Wizard, and Demon, which make up his Gaean trilogy and just finished those. While the books certainly remind of Ringworld, that quickly goes away as Varley introduces wild ideas, creatures, characters, and situations. These are three books where literally anything can happen (biological creatures that run kerosene ramjets and drop bio-bombs!) and generally does. The characters pull us through the mayhem, in that we genuinly care what happens to them, and where they're going. Even the odd ones.
Let's just say I never expect to be saddened by the death of a blimp again.
Ultimately, one of the best things about the series is Varley's decision to put the women front and center. Yes they are flawed, and sometimes overly needy, and overly vulnerable. But they are in charge and good at it, and manage to maintain their sexuality. Perhaps not thier sanity.
Re-reading made me hope that Mr. Varley still has something up his sleave for Cirroco and Gaby. Gaea is a huge world, and there are millenia yet to fill. How about a repair mission?

The Book Fair

The book fair came through my son's grade school last week. Book Fair week was always my favorite week of school. I devoured books like they were my only means of sustenence. And maybe they were. A new book, fresh off the presses, was like a rare jewel I had never seen and couldn't wait to lay my hands on. They were things to be touched and felt and absorbed, my tickets out of my ho-hum existence.
I wanted to be ten again, looking at all of the titles. I wanted to buy and read almost all of them. Today's covers and titles are so intriguing in ways that they weren't when I was in school. Charlie Bone and Lemony Snicket, Harry Potter and Julie Moon.
My son is in second grade, too young for the books I wanted. But I ended up with Peter and the Starcatchers anyway, which was of course "for him" when he gets old enough to read it. Maybe this summer, or next year.
I devoured it over the weekend. This prequel to Peter Pan is a wonderful romp by the unlikely duo of Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson. It is long on action and wild characters, wonderful twists and turns, and funny bits here and there. It is also a nearly perfect bedtime reading novel, with short chapters and cliffhangers throughout.
We get to learn where Peter met Captain Hook, and where captain Hook met the Crocodile, and how TinkerBell came to be, why Peter never grows up and can fly... all wonderfully and plausibly spelled out for us. As Peter and his friends jump from adventure to adventure we are effortlessly sucked in, hooked, if you will.
While I certainly enjoyed it and recommend it, what struck me is that I kept viewing the book from an adult's eye, thinking what the kids would think. They'll like this bit, they'll find that funny, I wonder if they will get this bit. I was never really to hoist up my disbelief and just react to the book.
That could be because Peter and the Starcatchers is exactly the kind of book I wish I'd written. I want to give back to the world what was given to me: good escapist books for kids, particularly boys. I"m trying something in the vein of Three Investigators / Brains Benton / Danny Dunn meets some fantastical thing, but not really having much success. I read the book as a writer.
But at the end I found myself wishing I was ten again, so I could run outside with my wooden sword, playing Peter to some friends Black Stash. I could do that today, but a trip to the psychiatrist would probably be the end result.

Book Seven

Recently, a fan site I occasionally visit held a contest to write the opening to Book 7 of the Harry Potter series. I had just finished Book 6, thought it was the best of the lot, and was at the time looking for more things in the Harry Potter universe. So I wrote my opening.
I'm not a Potter nut. I could not tell you the titles to all six books, or name more than two or three spells, or more than the main characters. I like what JK Rowling has done simply because it's good fiction, and it's encouraging more kids to read.
It was fun writing the little peice, but I didn't win, place, or show. Drat. So much for a new broom or wand to display in the office. It would have went nicely with my Darth Vader coin bank, my Iron Giant, and my Munch blow-up statuette.
Here's the peice, if you interested (or even if you're not):
Hogwarts Express came to a stop in a whirl of steam and noise
at platform 9 3/4. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione looked up at
each other for the first time in miles and miles. They hadn't
spoken much along the way. Ron and Hermione slept, and Ginny held
onto Harry, in one way or another, knowing that this was the last
time she would get the chance for awhile. Harry pretended to
sleep, but his mind was awash with visions of Snape, and
hoarcruxes, and R.A.B., and most of all Dumbledore, hanging
suspended beneath the Dark Mark.
"How long will you be staying? At the Dursley's, I mean?"
asked Ron.
"Depends," Harry answered. "As short as possible. Overnight,
maybe. I'll have to talk to your mum."
"I wish you could just come to the Burrow straightaway," Ron
said.
"One more time back to the Dursley's," Harry said.
"Dumbledore at least made that much clear. Then after the wedding
I'm off to Gringott's, then Headquaters."
"Headquarters?" asked Ginny.
"I guess I should say... my house, now." Harry answered.
He really needed information, everything the Order knew about
Voldemort and his followers, every spell and charm and jinx that
they could think to teach him. More than a home, that's what he
needed.
"Coming, then?" Ron said. While Harry had been woolgathering,
the rest gathered their things and were prepared to leave the
train.
They stepped out onto the platform. It was crowded with
parents and students, but without the usual joyous noises as they
greeted each other. There were hugs and tears to be certain, but
they were of gratitude for a safe return. Heads turned and
followed them as they walked down the platform, looking for the
Weasleys.
"Harry!" a voiced called from behind them. "Wait up!" They
turned and saw Neville Longbottom running towards them.
"Listen," Neville said, catching his breath, "I want in. I
know you're planning something, and I want in. I want to help."
"We're not planning anything," Hermione said, looking at the
others.
"C'mon. It's obvious, don't you think? There's a fight to be
faught, and with Dumbldore gone we'll have to fight it."
Harry looked at the others, thinking of Neville's parents in
St. Mungo's, and the Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange that put them
there. "We don't have a plan, Neville. I'm not sure what is going
to happen. I've still got a lot of things to work out."
Neville looked Harry in the eye, not dejected but
determined.
"But if there's a chance, and time, we'll make sure you're
there." Harry said. "You deserve that much."
"Yes," Neville said, nodding. "Yes I do. Thanks, Harry."
Neville walked on ahead of them. "And good luck!" he called out
over his shoulder.
"You'll let him help, then?" asked Ginny.
"I have to. You know. He stood with us, him and Luna. They
were the only two. The both deserve to help, if that's what they
want."
"There they are," Hermione said, nodding ahead. Harry looked
down the platform and there was Mrs. Weasley, waving. Beside her
stood Petunia Dursley.
Harry blinked, and shook his head, and looked again. Still
there she was.
"Whose that with Mum?" Ginny asked.
"Don't know," Ron and Hermione said in unison. They all
looked at Harry.
"It's my Aunt Petunia," Harry said. They could not have been
more shocked to see Dumbledore or Siruis standing there. In fact,
Harry thought, I would expect them MORE than this.
"Right then," Mrs. Weasley said as they approached. "Everyone
got eveything?"
They all nodded, still too shocked to speak. Petinua stood
mute, wringing her hands.
"Harry, I had to let your Aunt know what happened, why you're
back early. She asked me to bring her here." Mrs Weasley and
Petunia exchanged glances. "To meet you."
Harry met his Aunt's gaze for the first time. "I have to come
back," he said. "You know that."
"Yes," Aunt Petunia said. "I know. I know you don't want to.
I can't say as I blame you." Harry wanted to go on about what the
Dursley's had done to him, and how they had treated him. He wanted
to tell them everything that Dumbledore told them the last time he
saw them, all over again. He wanted to tell her how terrible an
Aunt she was, how terrible a sister she must have been. But he
somehow didn't have the strength, or the energy, or the real
desire. I'll be shed of the Dursleys soon enough, he thought.
"I am dreadfully sorry about your Professor Dumbldore,"
Petunia said.
"You couldn't possible begin... you didn't know him." Harry
said. Why would she care? He didn't understand. Dumbledore gone
would only mean one less wizard mucking about in her affairs.
"I know he thought highly of you. I know what an honor that
must have been. And I know Lilly thought the world of him."
At the mention of his mother's name, Harry looked up.
"Right, then," said Mrs. Weasly. "Off we go! Harry, we'll see
you at the burrow whenever you're ready to come." There were hugs
all around, and Harry gave Ginny a quick kiss, feeling awkward
under the eyes of her mother. He was still reeling from seeing
Petunia standing there, reeling more from her demeanor.
Then Harry and Petunia were alone.
"I'll have to hold on to you to get back," Petunia said.
"Muggles can't pass."
Harry held out his arm.
"Where is Uncle Vernon? And Dudley?" he asked.
"I've sent them on holiday," Petunia said, stepping towards
the brick wall. "Come, we have much to discuss." She stopped,
looking back at Harry, who hadn't budged. "If you'll let me."
Harry thought about years under the cupboard, about being
treated as a servant and not as a nephew. He couldn't bring
himself to move.
"I was only trying to protect you," she said. "The best that
I knew how."
And together, they stepped through the brick wall and into
London.

Revisiting Old Friends

How did we get along before EBay?
I've been buying up books I loved before but couldn't afford in hardback, and EBay is a great place to start. I've managed to pick up all of the Brains Benton books, I'm beginning to get the old Alfred Hitchcock Three Investigator's Series, and my greatest acquisition so far has been the 50th Anniversery boxed editions of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. Both are very nice, even though they were mass-market editions and probably will not appreciate much in value. I picked them both up for less than $75.
I recently started collecting the Tad Williams Osten Ard trilogy Memory, Sorrow and Thorn. I've picked up fine editions of the first and last books, and am waiting on a decent one of the second to come to a close.
I just finished the first volume, The Dragonbone Chair, and found it to be a mixed bag of memories, revaltions, and disappointments.
The Dragonbone Chair begins with the birth of Seoman, clearly someone important who we'll hear more about later. Then we pick up his life as a teen, stuck as a kitchen worker to the taskmaster Racheal. He wants adventure and swordplay and travel.
That's the first 200 or so pages.
Yeah, it takes a while to get going.
Then the King dies, mysterious things start happening, there is evil afoot. Simon's mentor is killed, and off he goes, turned out to the wild to find his fate.
There are the requisite fantasy creatures here: trolls, giants, fairies (although Williams calls them Sithi, we know what they are) and wizards. There's ancient evil, and a land with a long history of great import.
So it was slow going, but once Simon leaves the Hayholt (the castle he grew up in), things get better. There is the occasional expository segment by someone wise to fill us in on history we should know. Williams has the annoying habit here of occasionally throwing in bad dialogue attribution (he smirked, etc), but mostly the writing stands up well from a structural standpoint and sometimes soars.
At 765 pages (hardback) and containing appendices of names and places, it's a daunting read. But it is well worth the effort, as Williams weaves a brilliant world here, full of rich history, characters and mystery. On to book two, as soon as I win it.
Once I'm done with this series, I think my next purchases will include the Williams's Otherland series. Longer and more complex than the Osten Ard trilogy, but more creative.

Cell

I just finished Cell, Stephen Kings new book. In it, everyone carrying a cell phone goes mad when they answer a 'pulse' that is sent out through what we assume is the entire cellular network.
When I first heard of the plot of King's newest novel, I immediately thought of it as a Bachman book. For those who may not now, King wrote several books as Richard Bachman, both to prevent a 'glut' of his work on the market and to publish some of his back - list stuff that he wrote around the time of Carrie. Once his pseudonym came to light, he wrote a few more as Bachman, and they tended to be the ulta-violent, go for the gore type of novel.
I was not wrong. Here, King certainly does not avoid the blood. Bodies fly apart, humans munch on each other, and the 'pulsed' zombies rule all.
One thing I had a hard time doing initially was throwing away my disbelief. Most horror novels have some kind of premise where the reader has to think 'yeah, that could happen." In this case, I never did. I never bought into "The Pulse", and I never bought into the final climactic scene between the main characters and the "Pulsed" zombies.
However, King drew me in anyway through his hallmarks of characters I cared about thrown into extreme situations. In this case, King is dancing on the end of the world again, and it works. Not because I really believed anything, but because I cared about the people that were stuck in the mix.
The action in this novel is relentless, moving the plot along at a rapid pace. There are the obligatory "And now we pause for exposition to explain of few things" moments, but they are fewer and farther between than in other King novels.
Just when I thought I had things figured out, King did a good job of throwing in a twist that I had not foreseen.
There's quite a bit of controversy over King. Is he our Dickens, or a hopeless hack who merely appeals to the masses? Or perhaps both at once? The bottom line for me is that the masses don't care. King is our treasure, for our time, and that's what matters.