Once upon a time, a fellow named Richard Bachman wrote Blaze on an Olivetti typewriter, then turned the machine over to Stephen King, who used it to write Carrie. Bachman died in 1985 (“cancer of the pseudonym”), but this last gripping Bachman novel resurfaced after being hidden away for decades—an unforgettable crime story tinged with sadness and suspense.
Clayton Blaisdell, Jr., was always a small-time delinquent. None too bright either, thanks to the beatings he got as a kid. Then Blaze met George Rackley, a seasoned pro with a hundred cons and one big idea. The kidnapping should go off without a hitch, with George as the brains behind their dangerous scheme. But there's only one problem: by the time the deal goes down, Blaze's partner in crime is dead. Or is he?
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About the Author
Date of Birth:September 21, 1947
Place of Birth:Portland, Maine
Education:B.S., University of Maine at Orono, 1970
Read an Excerpt
George was somewhere in the dark. Blaze couldn't see him, but the voice came in loud and clear, rough and a little hoarse. George always sounded as if he had a cold. He'd had an accident when he was a kid. He never said what, but there was a dilly of a scar on his adam's apple.
"Not that one, you dummy, it's got bumper stickers all over it. Get a Chevy or a Ford. Dark blue or green. Two years old. No more, no less. Nobody remembers them. And no stickers."
Blaze passed the little car with the bumper stickers and kept walking. The faint thump of the bass reached him even here, at the far end of the beer joint's parking lot. It was Saturday night and the place was crowded. The air was bitterly cold. He had hitched him a ride into town, but now he had been in the open air for forty minutes and his ears were numb. He had forgotten his hat. He always forgot something. He had started to take his hands out of his jacket pockets and put them over his ears, but George put the kibosh on that. George said his ears could freeze but not his hands. You didn't need your ears to hotwire a car. It was three above zero.
"There," George said. "On your right."
Blaze looked and saw a Saab. With a sticker. It didn't look like the right kind of car at all.
"That's your left," George said. "Your right, dummy. The hand you pick your nose with."
"I'm sorry, George."
Yes, he was being a dummy again. He could pick his nose with either hand, but he knew his right, the hand you write with. He thought of that hand and looked to that side. There was a dark green Ford there.
Blaze walked over to the Ford, elaborately casual. He looked over his shoulder. The beer joint was a college bar called The Bag. That was a stupid name, a bag was what you called your balls. It was a walk-down. There was a band on Friday and Saturday nights. It would be crowded and warm inside, lots of little girls in short skirts dancing up a storm. It would be nice to go inside, just look around --
"What are you supposed to be doing?" George asked. "Walking on Commonwealth Ave? You couldn't fool my old blind granny. Just do it, huh?"
"Okay, I was just -- "
"Yeah, I know what you was just. Keep your mind on your business."
"What are you, Blaze?"
He hung his head, snorkled back snot. "I'm a dummy."
George always said there was no shame in this, but it was a fact and you had to recognize it. You couldn't fool anybody into thinking you were smart. They looked at you and saw the truth: the lights were on but nobody was home. If you were a dummy, you had to just do your business and get out. And if you were caught, you owned up to everything except the guys who were with you, because they'd get everything else out of you in the end, anyway. George said dummies couldn't lie worth shit.
Blaze took his hands out of his pockets and flexed them twice. The knuckles popped in the cold still air.
"You ready, big man?" George asked.
"Then I'm going to get a beer. Take care of it."
Blaze felt panic start. It came up his throat. "Hey, no, I ain't never done this before. I just watched you."
"Well this time you're going to do more than watch."
"But -- "
He stopped. There was no sense going on, unless he wanted to shout. He could hear the hard crunch of packed snow as George headed toward the beer joint. Soon his footsteps were lost in the heartbeat of the bass.
"Jesus," Blaze said. "Oh Jesus Christ."
And his fingers were getting cold. At this temperature they'd only be good for five minutes. Maybe less. He went around to the driver's side door, thinking the door would be locked. If the door was locked, this car was no good because he didn't have the Slim Jim, George had the Slim Jim. Only the door was unlocked. He opened the door, reached in, found the hood release, and pulled it. Then he went around front, fiddled for the second catch, found that one, and lifted the hood.
There was a small Penlight in his pocket. He took it out. He turned it on and trained the beam on the engine.
Find the ignition wire.
But there was so much spaghetti. Battery cables, hoses, spark-plug wires, the gas-line --
He stood there with sweat running down the sides of his face and freezing on his cheeks. This was no good. This wouldn't never be no good. And all at once he had an idea. It wasn't a very good idea, but he didn't have many and when he had one he had to chase it. He went back to the driver's side and opened the door again. The light came on, but he couldn't help that. If someone saw him fiddling around, they would just think he was having trouble getting started. Sure, cold night like this, that made sense, didn't it? Even George couldn't give him grief on that one. Not much, anyway.
He flipped down the visor over the steering wheel, hoping against hope that a spare key might flop down, sometimes folks kept one up there, but there was nothing except an old ice scraper. That flopped down. He tried the glove compartment next. It was full of papers. He raked them out onto the floor, kneeling on the seat to do it, his breath puffing. There were papers, and a box of Junior Mints, but no keys.
There, you goddam dummy, he heard George saying, are you satisfied now? Ready to at least try hot-wiring it now?
He supposed he was. He supposed he could at least tear some of the wires loose and touch them together like George did and see what happened. He closed the door and started toward the front of the Ford again with his head down. Then he stopped. A new idea had struck him. He went back, opened the door, bent down, flipped up the floormat, and there it was. The key didn't say FORD on it, it didn't say anything on it because it was a dupe, but it had the right square head and everything.
Blaze picked it up and kissed the cold metal.
Unlocked car, he thought. Then he thought: Unlocked car and key under the floormat. Then he thought: I ain't the dumbest guy out tonight after all, George.
He got in behind the wheel, slammed the door, slid the key in the ignition slot -- it went in nice -- then realized he couldn't see the parking lot because the hood was still up. He looked around quick, first one way and then the other, making sure that George hadn't decided to come back and help him out. George would never let him hear the end of it if he saw the hood still up like that. But George wasn't there. No one was there. The parking lot was tundra with cars.
Blaze got out and slammed the hood. Then he got back in and paused in the act of reaching for the door handle. What about George? Should he go in yonder beer-farm and get him? Blaze sat frowning, head down. The dome light cast yellow light on his big hands.
Guess what? he thought, raising his head again at last. Screw him.
"Screw you, George," he said. George had left him to hitchhike in, just meeting him here, then left him again. Left him to do the dirtywork, and it was only by the dumbest of dumb luck that Blaze had found a key, so screw George. Let him thumb a ride back in the three-degree cold.
Blaze closed the door, dropped the gear-shift into Drive, and pulled out of the parking space. Once in an actual lane of travel, he stomped down heavily and the Ford leaped, rear end fishtailing on the hard-packed snow. He slammed on the brakes, stiff with panic. What was he doing? What was he thinking of? Go without George? He'd get picked up before he went five miles. Probably get picked up at the first stop-n-go light. He couldn't go without George.
But George is dead.
That was bullshit. George was just there. He went inside for a beer.
"Oh, George," Blaze moaned. He was hunched over the wheel. "Oh, George, don't be dead."
He sat there awhile. The Ford's engine sounded okay. It wasn't knocking or anything, even though it was cold. The gas gauge said three-quarters. The exhaust rose in the rearview, white and frozen.
George didn't come out of the beer joint. He couldn't come out cause he never went in. George was dead. Had been three months. Blaze started to shake.
After a little bit, he caught hold of himself. He began to drive. No one stopped him at the first traffic light, or the second. No one stopped him all the way out of town. By the time he got to the Apex town line, he was doing fifty. Sometimes the car slid a little on patches of ice, but this didn't bother him. He just turned with the skid. He had been driving on icy roads since he was a teenager.
Outside of town he pushed the Ford to sixty and let it ride. The high beams poked the road with bright fingers and rebounded brilliantly from the snowbanks on either side. Boy, there was going to be one surprised college kid when he took his college girl back to that empty slot. She'd look at him and say, You are a dummy, I ain't going with you again, not here or nowhere.
"Aren't," Blaze said. "If she's a college girl, she'll say aren't."
That made him smile. The smile changed his whole face. He turned on the radio. It was tuned to rock. Blaze turned the knob until he found country. By the time he reached the shack, he was singing along with the radio at the top of his voice and he had forgotten all about George.
Copyright © 2007 by Stephen King
Blaze by Richard Bachman Foreword by Stephen King
Dear Constant Reader,
This is a trunk novel, okay? I want you to know that while you've still got your sales slip and before you drip something like gravy or ice cream on it, and thus make it difficult or impossible to return. It's a revised and updated trunk novel, but that doesn't change the basic fact. The Bachman name is on it because it's the last novel from 1966-1973, which was that gentleman's period of greatest productivity.
During those years I was actually two men. It was Stephen King who wrote (and sold) horror stories to raunchy skin-mags like Cavalier and Adam, but it was Bachman who wrote a series of novels that didn't sell to anybody. These included Rage, The Long Walk, Roadwork, and The Running Man. All four were published as paperback originals.
Blaze was the last of those early novelsŠthe fifth quarter, if you like. Or just another well-known writer's trunk novel, if you insist. It was written in late 1972 and early 1973. I thought it was great while I was writing it, and crap when I read it over. My recollection is that I never showed it to a single publisher -- not even Doubleday, where I had made a friend named William G. Thompson. Bill was the guy who would later discover John Grisham, and it was Bill who contracted for the book following Blaze, a twisted but fairly entertaining tale of prom-night in central Maine.
I forgot about Blaze for a few years. Then, after the other early Bachmans had been published, I took it out and looked it over. After reading the first twenty pages or so, I decided my first judgment had been correct, and returned it to purdah. I thought the writing was okay, but the story reminded me of something Oscar Wilde once said. He claimed it was impossible to read "The Old Curiosity Shop" without weeping copious tears of laughter. So Blaze was forgotten, but never really lost. It was only stuffed in some corner of the Fogler Library at the University of Maine with the rest of their Stephen King/Richard Bachman stuff.
Blaze ended up spending the next thirty years in the dark. And then I published a slim paperback original called The Colorado Kid with an imprint called Hard Case Crime. This line of books, the brainchild of a very smart and very cool fellow named Charles Ardai, was dedicated to reviving old "noir" and hardboiled paperback crime novels, and publishing new ones. The Kid was decidedly softboiled, but Charles decided to publish it anyway, with one of those great old paperback covers. The whole project was a blastŠexcept for the slow royalty payments.
About a year later, I thought maybe I'd like to go the Hard Case route again, possibly with something that had a harder edge. My thoughts turned to Blaze for the first time in years, but trailing along behind came that damned Oscar Wilde quote about "The Old Curiosity Shop." The Blaze I remembered wasn't hardboiled noir, but a three-handkerchief weepie. Still, I decided it wouldn't hurt to look. If, that was, the book could even be found. I remembered the carton, and I remembered the squarish type-face (my wife Tabitha's old college typewriter, an impossible-to-kill Olivetti portable), but I had no idea what had become of the manuscript that was supposedly inside the carton. For all I knew, it was gone, baby, gone.
It wasn't. Marsha, one of my two valuable assistants, found it in the Fogler Library. She would not trust me with the original manuscript (I, uh, lose things), but she made a Xerox. I must have been using a next-door-to-dead typewriter ribbon when I composed Blaze, because the copy was barely legible, and the notes in the margins were little more than blurs. Still, I sat down with it and began to read, ready to suffer the pangs of embarrassment only one's younger, smart-assier self can provide.
But I thought it was pretty good -- certainly better than Roadwork, which I had, at the time, considered mainstream American fiction. It just wasn't a noir novel. It was, rather, a stab at the sort of naturalism-with-crime that James M. Cain and Horace McCoy practiced in the thirties. I thought the flashbacks were actually better than the front-story. They reminded me of James T. Farrell's Young Lonigan trilogy and the forgotten (but tasty) Gas-House McGinty. Sure, it was the three Ps in places, but it had been written by a young man (I was twenty-five) who was convinced he was WRITING FOR THE AGES.
I thought Blaze could be re-written and published without too much embarrassment, but it was probably wrong for Hard Case Crime. It was, in a sense, not a crime novel at all. I thought it could be a minor tragedy of the underclass, if the re-writing was ruthless. To that end, I adopted the flat, dry tones which the best noir fiction seems to have, even using a type-font called American Typewriter to remind myself of what I was up to. I worked fast, never looking ahead or back, wanting also to capture the headlong drive of those books (I'm thinking more of Jim Thompson and Richard Stark here than I am of Cain, McCoy, or Farrell). I thought I would do my revisions at the end, with a pencil, rather than editing in the computer, as is now fashionable. If the book was going to be a throwback, I wanted to play into that rather than shying away from it. I also determined to strip all the sentiment I could from the writing itself, wanted the finished book to be as stark as an empty house without even a rug on the floor. My mother would have said "I wanted its bare face hanging out." Only the reader will be able to judge if I succeeded.
If it matters to you (it shouldn't -- hopefully you came for a good story, and hopefully you will get one), any royalties or subsidiary income generated by Blaze will go to The Haven Foundation, which was created to help freelance artists who are down on their luck.
One other thing, I guess, while I've got you by the lapel. I tried to keep the Blaze time-frame as vague as possible, so it wouldn't seem too dated. It was impossible to take out all the dated material, however; keeping some of it was important to the plot. If you think of this story's time-frame as "America, Not All That Long Ago," I think you'll be okay.
May I close by circling back to where I started? This is an old novel, but I believe I was wrong in my initial assessment that it was a bad novel. You may disagreeŠbut "The Old Curiosity Shop" it ain't. As always, Constant Reader, I wish you well, I thank you for reading this story, and I hope you enjoy it. I won't say I hope you mist up a little, but --
Yeah. Yeah, I will say that. Just as long as they're not tears of laughter.
Stephen King (for Richard Bachman)
January 30th, 2007
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Clayton Blaisdell is "...soft in the head..." due to being thrown down the stairs three times by his father, and although they were partners in crime, Blaze has had George to look after him in many ways....just as the George in 'Of Mice And Men' looked out for Lennie. Therefore anyone who has read 'Of Mice...' can't fail to be reminded of it when reading this book.
BUT, the George in this story is dead and only lives in Blaze's head which Blaze realises to some extent and which worries him at times. George is the 'bad voice' on Blaze's shoulder...telling him things which might save his skin but that Blaze doesn't always want to do...and Blaze is ultimately a criminal who endears himself to you. You can't help but feel sympathy for a boy who's had the life he has. He's been abused and misunderstood and every time there's a glimmer of something better, had his hopes dashed.
The chapters move back and forth from the present day where Blaze is planning to kidnap a baby for a ransom, to his growing up in care and his friendship with John Cheltzman.
I found the way Blaze cared for Joe quite touching and very believable for this gentle giant who after all is just yearning for something of his own to love and love him back. Whilst I knew it couldn't happen (could it?) I really was rooting for him all the way. Great read, you will not be disappointed.
Not a horror story in Kings normal style...instead he gives us sociological observations on society, encased in a good story. Unlike some reviewers I liked the ending...it was moving to know that when Joe cried "It was the wrong face..." that bent over and tried to comfort him.
The direction one's life takes is often out of his/her control. A simple twist of fate here and there and it is a completely different outcome, a whole different story. Some lives are just tragic. The story had me feeling for all of the victims.
I really enjoyed this book. He made the characters compelling and it became a quick and thrilling read. I found myself being pulled into the story much like "Rose Madder", another favorite of mine. This was a fun and quick book to get through . . . great for a first time King reader or someone who might want to "come back" to King.
Stephen King may be the "master of horror," but with BLAZE he proves that he's also just a plain ole good writer. This story is a mixture of a thriller, a mystery, a police procedural, and a personal struggle to figure out who you are.
Blaze, aka Clayton Blaisdell, Jr., is a dummy, and he knows it. Ever since his father threw him down a flight of stairs (and then hauled him back up and did it a couple of more times), Blaze hasn't had the brains for learning. The dent in his forehead might make him look scary, but we soon learn that Blaze isn't much of a threat -- except when he's really angry. He might look like a giant at 6'7" and nearly 300 pounds, but this man's heart is as soft as his mind.
Blaze has pretty much drifted through life by skirting the law and mostly (with exceptions) avoiding trouble. When he meets George Rackley, Blaze learns the art of the con. The two of them (or, rather, George) have been planning one big job for awhile now. That big job would be kidnapping the baby of a rich couple, collecting the ransom, and living the high-life somewhere with white sandy beaches and lots of sun.
But we soon learn that things aren't going quite the way either man had expected. For one, George is dead, even though he's still helping with the kidnapping plot. For another, Blaze, as we've already learned, isn't the smartest guy around.
What follows is a mixture of present day mystery/thriller as Blaze carries out the kidnapping of little Joey, mixed with the flashbacks of his life that show how Blaze ends up where he's at.
King (aka Bachman..does it really matter the name?) shows great control in the pacing of BLAZE, and expertly weaves the present with the past. You'll also be surprised (and entertained) by the joy that is Blaze, who is a wonderful, fully-developed character.
Read this book because I thought it would be a quick easy read. Ended up that I really liked the book a lot! One of the better books that I've read in a while. You really have to feel sorry for Blaze.
Very fun, fast paced, thrilling book. An old trunk novel that King decided to revive from his Backman days, very glad that he did. A little too short and predictable, however could not put it down, loved it.
Set in Maine. Written from inside the 'hero's' head, this book was more psychological, sympathetic, and political than a simple thriller. The hero is a 300 pound boy with a dent in his head, a soft heart, moments of deadly violence, and a brutal life story full of cruelty and disappointment. A lost soul. Reminiscent of Russell Banks in telling the story of poor white folk with emphasis on psychological detail. Politcal commentary at the end is fair enough, and leaves you wanting to strengthen safety nets of community, church, social institutions. Very sweet, sad story.
Not scary, only mildly supernatural, and perilously close to being as bad as Cell. Not quite, though. But if the author himself denounced the book as unpublishable 30 years ago, it's really a mark of the author's fading passion for his work and his fans that it suddenly and inexplicably is now fit for public consumption. It wasn't awful, but it's hardly worth the time it takes to read it. At least it's a modest improvement on his last few stillborn literary abominations.
Stephen King's ode to Of Mice and Men, by way of Richard Bachman. I enjoyed this book. It was a quick, easy read with a main character that's likable despite the fact that he's a criminal. The novel details Blaze's kidnapping of a baby as well as the backstory that led him to that point. Turns out he's a good guy who's had some real tough breaks. You get a sense early on that things aren't going to turn out well, and of course they don't, but it comes down to an ending that's probably best for all concerned.
It took me just a little over a day to read this one. Excellent story. Blaze and his friend George had planned an abuction of a wealthy family infant child. George is dead now and Blaze decides he will go through the planned kidnapping by himself. Main problem with Blaze is he is a few bricks shy of a load. With the help of his "late friend George" Blaze commits what he thinks is the perfect crime. It's not the typical Stephen King novel and if your looking for horror you won't find it here. A very sad ending.
More Bachman than King, this story was a quick read set up like a classic crime thriller. I enjoyed it but it isn't something I'd call life-altering.
Blaze, a 384-page novel by Stephen King, is a must read for every bibliophile. It is inconceivable that this novel became a trunk novel; it should have been dusted off and published years ago. In fact, many readers that take up Blaze will agree that the text should have never been stashed away in the first place. Blaze is truly a remarkable piece of work: one that a reader has come to expect from King. To think that this book remained hidden away for so many years before Stephen King even thought about publishing the text: the notion seems almost criminal.Written when King was using the pseudonym Richard Bachman, Blaze is a fast read, and like everything King creates, the novel draws the reader into the text immediately. The reader will have no difficulty when it comes time to suspend disbelief and enter into the fictive dream state; and if the reader pays close attention, they can see what seems like the early beginnings of some of King¿s novels following the creation of Blaze. Blaze was written before the novel Carrie, the novel that ultimately launched the writer¿s career: a fact revealed in King¿s On Writing. King himself confesses that he has edited the text extensively before publishing it, so the fragments of King¿s work may be inserted as hindsight, or the recognizable elements may be the first seeds of what King would eventually write. Either way, Blaze becomes a work that is easily weaved into the broad and mystifying fictional universe that King has spent his entire career creating.Stephen King sensitizes the reader to the trials and tribulations endured by Clayton Blaisdell Jr., a.k.a Blaze, by humanizing him despite his criminal undertakings. The reader is therefore forced to struggle with his or her moral compass when attempting to identify with Blaze¿s character. Blaze, a not-so-wise small time criminal with a Goliath-sized physique (which far outweighs his mental abilities: big body, little brains), attempts to retire from his criminal career by taking one last big gig: he kidnaps a child with the attempt to get enough ransom money so that he can live out his days in peace. King aptly establishes an illustrative background for Blaze¿s character: the ill-fated and abused childhood, and the struggles of daily existence all make the reader sympathetic for the character. In contrast, Blazes actions contradict the reader¿s induced sympathies ¿ the reader begins to develop an empathic attitude toward the protagonist while simultaneously viewing him with immense disapproval. Despite the fact that the reader can understand how Blaze grows up to become the individual he becomes, the reader cannot bring him or her self to comprehend his illicit activities. King¿s talent for portraying round characters is evident in this novel; Blaze possesses amazing psychological complexities. Blaze is unquestionably a page turning novel; one that keeps the reader thoroughly engaged in the plot. While it is not necessarily written in the usual creep-me-out style that many of King¿s fans welcome and appreciate, Blaze is not a novel that should be passed up. In fact, for those readers that may stray from reading King¿s more terrifying works, Blaze offers such readers an opportunity to enjoy his masterful writing abilities. More tragic than terrifying, more poignant than uncanny, Blaze is a tale that will become permanently etched in the mind of the reader.
I loved how I was hoping Blaze would get away with Joe but I suppose he couldn't really. I thought the sad thing though was how everyone thought that Blaze was such a horrible person but really he loved Joe so much that he was willing to give his life for him...
Clayton Blaisdell, Jr. (Blaze) has never had an easy life. A drunk driver killed his mother when he was three years old. His father was a drunk and when Blaze was in the first grade, his hungover father threw him down the stairs three times in a fit of anger. Although Blaze survived, he suffered brain damage and was made a ward of the state. He was sent to live at Hetton House, which was home to him for much of his youth, although several families did take him in when they needed their crops picked. After leaving Hetton House Blaze drifted along, moving from job to job and pulling various petty crimes. It's not until Blaze meets George Rackley that he starts pulling regular con jobs. George has an idea for a big con - kidnapping the baby of a wealthy family and holding it for ransom - but he dies before they can pull it off. But that doesn't matter to Blaze, he can still "talk" to the dead George and he decides to kidnap the baby himself. Since this was a "trunk" novel by Stephen King (King himself warns readers of this in his introduction), written in 1973 and published under the name Richard Bachman, I wasn't expecting much, especially since I'm not a big fan of the books put out under the Bachman name. I was, however, pleasantly surprised. When King is at his best, he's a great storyteller and "Blaze" is a good example of his storytelling skills. Told in both the present and through the use of flashbacks, I liked the flashbacks best as they helped develop Blaze as a character. King has a knack of creating characters that come alive and readers care about one way or the other and Blaze does come alive for better and worse. He is at times a sympathetic character, especially in the way he has been treated, used and abused throughout his life and at other times a very brutal character who kills several people. You know from the beginning that the book can't end well, but King still has readers turning the pages both to learn more about Blaze's past as well as what is happening in the present. The book is not perfect, King goes a little overboard in creating Blaze's miserable childhood and a plot line involving a family called Bluenote was a bit too convenient and melodramatic. Although Blaze is a fully developed character, the others aren't as full developed, with only Blaze's childhood friend John Cheltzman coming close. King may have done this on purpose as the book is from Blaze's viewpoint. However, I would have liked to know more about George, he was an interesting character, but there wasn't enough about him, even in the flashbacks. Fans of Stephen King, especially those that like to collect everything he writes, will enjoy "Blaze".
I couldn't even finish this book...definitely not the tone of voice used by King (though that's not a bad thing). The protagonist seems to "dumb."
I had given up on reading a Stephen King novel because most of his later novels read like a parody of his earlier work, pre The Stand. I soon discovered that this was part of King's earlier work and I'm glad I gave it a try. I loved this book. The lean, spare writing was classic King. The characters and especially the lead character captured my imagination from the beginning and I soon felt so much sadness at the helplessness of Blaze's circumstances. Where it eventually led was tragic, but I still am glad I got to know this character and was allowed to know him without King's later excesses in narrative and prose. I highly recommend it to King fans and to those discovering King for the first time.
Yes this is a "trunk" novel, fast paced, but absolutely intriguing. Blaze (Clayton Blaisdell, Jr.) was physically abused by his father and later on maltreated at the orphanage. He displays some symptoms of schizophrenia and well I couldn't help but to feel sympathy towards this character. It is a picturesque and bittersweet ending.
Summary: Blaze is a dummy, as George would say. Bu George is dead, or is he? As he lurks in the shadows and deepest parts of Blaze's mind, he helps Blaze pull of the crime of the century, but when things go wrong George disappears. But Blaze is to far into the crime to stop now, plus what's he s'posed to say? He pulled off the kidnapping of the richest family in the area with a dead man! So now, in the cold Manhattan woods Blaze runs, with baby Joey in his arms, the police on his tail, and a one million dollar ransom. Review: A really good book. Kind of feel sorry for Blaze, some.....adult content.
Obviousy not one of Stephen King's best...but still entertaining. Depressing at times, frustrating at others. It drags on a bit and I don't particulary care to reread it like most of King's, but enjoyable nonetheless!
A very different Bachman book. This is more of a look at the life of Clayton ¿Blaze¿ Blaisdell Jr. than a compelling story. It feels much like Of Mice and Men, as Stephen King describes in the forward. Blaze is a tragic and sympathetic character who swings back and forth between trying to do what is right for himself and trying to do what is right for others. He¿s the kind of character that sticks with you.The forward by Stephen King also talks about his process of writing as Bachman ¿ why he used the pen name and how the Bachman books were different from his other stories. Worth a read for any King fan.
I enjoyed the hell out of this book, tho the ending made me sad. There's also a short story included which is a prequel to his new book Duma Key.
In this book, we get a glimpse into King's writing as he developed. George, dead even from the beginning of the book, is actually a more vivid character than Blaze. Yet it's easy to feel for Blaze as he decides to go ahead with the dream heist George cooked up before he died. He doesn't even do it for the money. He does it because, after George is gone, he really doesn't know what else to do.
This is an absorbing tale. The protagonist, Blaze, is written very well, allowing the reader to both hate him and love him. I wanted him to succeed and to fail. I knew from the start what would happen to Blaze, but until the last page I had to keep fearing and wondering what would happen to the baby. The hints at something supernatural were interesting--I wish they could have been explored a bit more.The short story Memory at the end is intriguing, and I look forward to reading the book it grew into.
It wasn't bad. It wasn't great either. Blaze was an incredibly well developed character that was lovable till the bitter end in spite of the fact he'd kidnapped a child. But what about George? What about George! I loved the idea but it never panned all the way out...