/lit/ - Literature

It occurs to me that Ben Hanscom's name might be a reference to Mark Twain's Schoolhouse Hill, in which there is a bully named Henry Bascom.

You gotta admit, this was pretty scary

Why do stephen king books feel so soulless? Like some ai generated prompts that dont even come with endings

I picked this out for inspiration since I knew it had a few similar themes to the novel I'm writing. Never seen any of the film adaptations and I didn't know much about the plot so I went in with a fresh perspective. It's very good so far.

>Go in expecting a Spielbergesque adventure
>A detailed scene of 11 year old kids having an orgy

What the actual fuck is wrong with King? Even George R.R. Martin wouldn't write something this pedophilic.

Do you get scared reading horror fiction?

my ex told me the girl gets gangbanged in the books and she thought that made king a pedophile for even thinking about putting that sort of stuff in his book.

I said that just because its in a book doesnt mean the person likes it.

She then said "would i let stephen king be alone with my daughter". and i said no because i wouldnt let any man be alone with my daughter.

She's such a dumb bitch

>The terror, which would not end for another twenty-eight years — if it ever did end — began, so far as I know or can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newspaper floating down a gutter swollen with rain.
The first fucking sentence ... and it's not even witty or forceful or anything.

How did he get away with it?

Thoughts?

is this worth reading? is it kings best novel? r u?

>>13247720
the underage gangbang in It

>dabs on academia
>gay rape handjob
>underage gangbang
>spider from outer space
>turtle from outer space
Why does /lit/ never talk about Stephen King's It? It's easily his best novel.

>Speaking carefully, not stuttering (he has not stuttered in better than five years), he says: “I don’t understand this at all. I don’t understand any of this. Why does a story have to be socio-anything? Politics ... culture ... history ... aren’t those natural ingredients in any story, if it’s told well? I mean ...” He looks around, sees hostile eyes, and realizes dimly that they see this as some sort of attack. Maybe it even is. They are thinking, he realizes, that maybe there is a sexist death merchant in their midst. “I mean ... can’t you guys just let a story be a story?”
>No one replies. Silence spins out. He stands there looking from one cool set of eyes to the next. The sallow girl chuffs out smoke and snubs her cigarette in an ashtray she has brought along in her backpack.
>Finally the instructor says softly, as if to a child having an inexplicable tantrum, “Do you believe William Faulkner was just telling stories? Do you believe Shakespeare was just interested in making a buck? Come now, Bill. Tell us what you think.”
>“I think that’s pretty close to the truth,” Bill says after a long moment in which he honestly considers the question, and in their eyes he reads a kind of damnation.
>“I suggest,” the instructor says, toying with his pen and smiling at Bill with half-lidded eyes, “that you have a great deal to learn.”
Who was in the wrong here?