Still Mad At Stephen King

Last October I posted a review of 11/22/63. In that post I wrote: This was 900 pages of wasted time. I enjoyed most of it. But the ending ruined every good feeling I had about this book. Why did I read it? Nothing changed at the end of the story. Nobody got a happy ending; not even a smidge of one. It feels like a betrayal. It feels like a sucker punch right to the face. If you go back and read that review, you can tell I was pissed off. The thing is, it’s been months, and I’m still furious. I still think about this book several times a week, if not more. Anytime I read about something that happend in the 50s or 60s, I think of this book (and that’s quite often, given my interest in history). It lives in my head, and I know why: this had the potential to be my favorite book ever written. It has everything I love in a book: solid characters, a love story, and somewhat realistic historical events. It was also superbly well written, as most things by Stephen King are. That potential to…