My relationship with King started out badly, back when I was fifteen. Already a voracious reader, I was invited to the birthday of a classmate of mine by the name of Christine. Her last name shall remain shrouded in obscurity. Not the brightest cookie in the jar, one might say. And Christine showed me her bookshelf. Twelve books. Every single one by Stephen King. “And I read all of them!” Christine proudly proclaims, as if she has just come up with the square root of pi…

Well, anyway. That was then. I apologize for any bad thoughts that I have had about Mr. King in the years to follow. First impressions can be deceiving. The Dark Tower and It have taught me otherwise in the meantime.

And now Cell. After the long intro I have to admit that Cell doesn’t need a very long review. The novel is above all solid. It has solid characters. King seems to have a knack for those. The plot is solid too, except for the slightly abrupt ending, but I shall refrain from going into detail here. Cell concentrates on the characters, their fears, hopes and needs and still doesn’t fail to be, well, epic. That’s what I call a good book.

And that’s all I need to say.