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Rage is a slimy little book that comes to us from the bottom of some dank pond in fairyland. It's about a maladjusted high school kid who takes his Algebra class hostage in order to give his classmates a crash course in puerile psychology. Written by a future best-selling novelist, the kids all talk not like high school seniors but like future Stephen Kings. If this is an honest book, as King claims, it's a little scary how divorced from reality the man was even before he'd gone whole hog on drugs. Honest or not, the book is so light on truth that it practically floats. It belongs in the sewers with Pennywise. (Which, more or less, is evidently where it is these days. King and his publishers allowed it go out of print after several disturbed kids attempted to recreate the plot in real life.) After Charlie Decker takes over, his classmates become willing participants in his ridiculously unbelievable psychotherapy group, chipping in with their own horror stories. Fat guy with overprotective mom, fat girl who gets no dates, and so on. (There's little danger of the reader imploding under the weight of such psychological depth.) It's all ostensibly leading to one guy, the jock who isn't the All-American he appears to be. But his story is no less superficial than all the others so King goes all Lord of the Flies on him to try to generate some excitement. He fails. A truly miserable book, one that purports to reveal the humanity of its characters, but which instead celebrates only hate and violence. King's first "Richard Bachman" book.
Rage is a slimy little book that comes to us from the bottom of some dank pond in fairyland. It's about a maladjusted high school kid who takes his Algebra class hostage in order to give his classmates a crash course in puerile psychology. Written by a future best-selling novelist, the kids all talk not like high school seniors but like future Stephen Kings. If this is an honest book, as King claims, it's a little scary how divorced from reality the man was even before he'd gone whole hog on drugs. Honest or not, the book is so light on truth that it practically floats. It belongs in the sewers with Pennywise. (Which, more or less, is evidently where it is these days. King and his publishers allowed it go out of print after several disturbed kids attempted to recreate the plot in real life.) After Charlie Decker takes over, his classmates become willing participants in his ridiculously unbelievable psychotherapy group, chipping in with their own horror stories. Fat guy with overprotective mom, fat girl who gets no dates, and so on. (There's little danger of the reader imploding under the weight of such psychological depth.) It's all ostensibly leading to one guy, the jock who isn't the All-American he appears to be. But his story is no less superficial than all the others so King goes all Lord of the Flies on him to try to generate some excitement. He fails. A truly miserable book, one that purports to reveal the humanity of its characters, but which instead celebrates only hate and violence. King's first "Richard Bachman" book.