From a Buick 8

This time it's another crazed car, a Buick Roadmaster with some serious quirks. Its powers come from somewhere other than its V-8. It blasts colored lights of such brightness that ordinary sunglasses are useless. People and small animals disappear into its vortex. D Troop of Pennsylvania's State Police keeps it in Shed B. Young Ned's trooper father died recently, and he wants information. The audio is narrated by six fine readers who explain what happened to Ned's father and their own strange experiences with the car even as they witness Ned's growing obsession with it. Written in chapter monologues, FROM A BUICK 8 is a perfect fit for audio. The performances are as fascinating as the plot. Few do this genre better, and while this is not his strongest work, Stephen King is still king. S.J.H. (c) AudioFile 2002, Portland, Maine

Starred review from June 3, 2002
A tinted review in adult Forecasts indicates a book that's of exceptional importance to our readers, but hasn't received a starred or boxed review. FROM A BUICK 8 Stephen King. Scribner, $28 (368p) ISBN 0-7432-1137-5 King, we learn in an author's note, hashed out the plot of this gripper while driving from western Pennsylvania to New York. The first draft took two months to write. That's quick work, and it's reflected in the book's simplicity of plot and theme; unlike King's chewy last novel, Dreamcatcher, this one goes down like a shot of moonshine, hot and clean, much like Cujo, say, or Gerald's Game. In 1979, an odd man drives what at first glance looks like a 1954 mint-quality Buick Roadmaster up to a service station in rural Pennsylvania, then vanishes, leaving behind the car. The state police of Troop D deposit the vehicle in a shed near their barracks, where, up to the present, it remains a secret from all but cop colleagues—for the car isn't exactly a car; it may be alive, and it certainly serves as a doorway between our world and... what? Another dimension? Another galaxy? The troopers never find out, despite their amateurish scientific investigations of it and of the weird beings that occasionally emerge from the vehicle's trunk: freaky fish, creepy flowers and more. Moreover, the "car" is dangerous: the day it appears, a state trooper disappears, and experiments over the years with cockroaches, etc., indicate that just as the car can spew things out, it will ingest them. While the book's relative brevity and simplicity does lend comparison to earlier King, and King has relied on a nasty car before (Christine), the author's stylistic maturity manifests in his sophisticated handling of the round robin of narrators (both first and third-person), the sharp portrayal of police ways and mores and the novel's compelling subthemes (loyalty, generational bondings) and primary theme: that life is filled with Buick 8s, phenomena that blindside us and that we can never understand. This novel isn't major King, but it's nearly flawless—and one terrific entertainment.