I used to have this irritating and time consuming habit of reading
all the books ever written by an author, if I liked the one book I tried. Of course, I couldn't complete the entire set from prolific writers like Wodehouse, Enid Blyton and Agatha Christie, but I did give it a fair shot. I remember finishing off whatever had been written by folks like Sidney Sheldon, Robert Ludlum, Ken Follet, Alistair MacLean, Desmond Bagley, 'Franklin W Dixon' and even Craig Thomas and Colin Forbes.
I think I gave this up after reading a tome called
Windmills of the Gods The Doomsday Conspiracy by Mr Sheldon. Shocked me out of it, really.
However, I still do collect books written by two people - Stephen King and Ed McBain. Specifically, the 87th Precint series by Ed McBain. I do collect the odd Travis McGee books by John D MacDonald and the occasional John (Irving/Updike/Fowles/Steinbeck) too, but they do not fill my bookshelves like King and McBain. King occupes one and a half rows in my library; McBain takes up one. I believe I have over 75% of the Stephen King books and about 60% of the 87th Precint Series. It's easy enough to go to Landmark and buy up the remaining Stephen Kings and at least the later McBains, but I don't feel tempted to do that. I'd rather stretch it out: wait for a good deal, browse the pavements, kick it around a little.
I like Ed McBain for his dialogue. No one does it better. His dialogues are a bit like those from the scene in
Million Dollar Baby where Clint Eastwood and Morgan Freeman discuss Freeman's socks. It goes on for a couple of minutes, it's not directly relevant to the main story, yet it contributes a lot in fleshing out the characters.
I read King for the way his characters think. The way he describes everyday situations. The way he talks about childhood and growing up. Yeah, he does write horror pretty well, but that's just gravy.
These guys have written absolute junk too - oh, have they! The last two books I read were King's
Song of Susannah and McBain's
Hark!. Both were unpalatable. McBain has become old, tries too hard to be clever and frankly, the Deaf Man looks more like a complete nincompoop than the criminal mastermind he is supposed to be.
Song of Susannah is not a novel. It's a by-the-way scribble on the margin of a used notebook, a hairball coughed up by someone thoroughly bored of writing.
Which doesn't change a thing, of course. I am looking forward to buying
The Dark Tower and
Money, Money, Money, the next time I visit a bookstore. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.