As of now, I’m only a Stephen King fan. I used to be a super-fan, but then his quality in the nineties and early-aught’s basically took a nosedive and I stopped reading the new material. Couldn’t get into Insomnia, couldn’t get into Rose Madder, finished Lisey’s Story and The Cell, but basically thought they both sucked. Even the newest work, which was been great, has it’s weak spots — I hated the endings of both Under The Dome and 11/22/63.
All in all, I’d say I’m a super-fan of the early work, pretty much everything up to The Dark Half — excluding The Dark Tower series, which I find dull.
I’m pretty well disdainful of the middle work — except Dolores Claiborne, which is fabulous.
I’m merely a fan of anything from Bag of Bones onward, recognizing some is good, some is bad, and some is spotty.
That being said, revisiting The Shining after so many years away from it, I was hoping it’d be better — I hoped it’d be as good as my memory wanted it to be. Unfortunately, at this point, I love Kubrick’s movie and — here comes a bit of Stephen King sacrilege — wish King wrote that book, not the one the mini-series was made from. Sadly, my wish has not been granted.
(As an aside — at this length, this probably doesn’t qualify as a ‘Terse’ review does it?)