Sometimes opinions about books can be fickle due to circumstances, mood, or something else. Usually, my re-read ratings go up rather than down, but I read Insomnia back in 2009 and apparently liked it full 4-stars worth. Why? Eh, who knows.

My edition had over 600 pages, and although more King is generally a good thing, cutting 100-200 pages from this would have done wonders. The effects of insomnia are effective, the hallucinations particularly jarring, and the characters are interesting and well-written, but the plot moves at such a snail's pace that it destroys all tension and suspense. There's just no justification for all the dead space. Nothing wrong with a slow burn, but putting on the brakes too often and for no reason is a hindrance. Still, it was fun to spot the references to other King's stories, particularly the connections to It.

The Dark Tower Project
"Night Surf" from Night Shift (1978)
The Stand: Complete and Uncut Edition (1990)
The Eyes of the Dragon (1987)
The Dark Tower I: The Gunslinger (2003 Revised Edition)
The Dark Tower II: The Drawing of the Three (1987)
The Dark Tower III: The Waste Lands (1991)
The Dark Tower IV: Wizard and Glass (1997)
"Little Sisters of Eluria" from Everything's Eventual (2002)
"Jerusalem's Lot" from Night Shift (1978)
Salem's Lot (1975)
"One for the Road" from Night Shift (1978)
The Dark Tower: The Wind Through the Keyhole (2012)
The Dark Tower V: Wolves of the Calla (2003)
The Dark Tower VI: Song of Susannah (2004)
Insomnia (1994)
Black House (2001) (sequel to The Talisman)
"Low Men in Yellow Coats" from Hearts in Atlantis (1999)
"Everything's Eventual" from Everything's Eventual (2002)
The Dark Tower VII: The Dark Tower (2004)

I was waiting for the Netflix movie before writing about this. Now that I've finally seen it, I can definitely recommend it, although it's not the most gripping character drama or thriller. It kind of matches my opinion about the one-dimensional and disjointed book, but the movie has the added benefit of Jessica Chastain's and Eddie Redmayne's outstanding performances. It also focuses more on Charles Cullen's friend, Amy Loughren, and there's not a hint of sensationalism that true crime is often accused of.

I tend to gravitate toward pre-1980s true crime, but this case is one of the few modern ones that caught my attention. Understandably, a serial killer nurse preying on patients by injecting them or their IV bags with insulin and digoxin can make you a bit paranoid, but it's also an interesting story about a clearly mentally unstable man who was able to get away with it for so long. Although he claimed he wanted to save his victims from suffering and dehumanizing treatment, many of them were not terminal, so his motives remain partially a mystery.

What's frustrating is that there was a long chain of people who could have stopped Cullen. Despite suspicions of foul play, he was able to work at several hospitals for 16 years because policies and legislation were inadequate, and the hospitals cared more about their reputation. Five people would have been spared if the last hospital had contacted authorities sooner. Several workers tried to intervene informally and warn each other, but it was ultimately Amy who helped catch him. She's the good nurse, and I hope she has a peaceful life now with her family.

"[C]emeteries offer us an accurate reflection of London's social, economic and ethnic history, as well as being a treasury of fascinating stories, courtesy of their permanent residents. - - - Some cemeteries, such as Nunhead, offer spectacular views of the city and their grounds are home to the kind of wildlife and plants you don't see in the course of a normal urban day."
So far, I've only visited Highgate (gorgeous, especially when sunbeams sift through the trees), but this cute little guidebook convinced me there are so many other cemeteries worthy of visiting. Beach gives a short description of each, famous "residents", and practical information. I especially loved the explanations of memorial symbols; they will help decipher the tombstones. Another reviewer spotted a few errors, though, so do a bit of research beforehand and double-check whatever info you need, and you should be good to go.

"I wonder where people find words for all the funny things inside their heads. I keep turning around in circles and finding how well things fit together, but nothing is ever complete. I think if I could tell someone everything, every single thing, inside my head, then I would be gone, and not existing anymore[...]"

A young single mother, Blanche Lake, goes to pick up her daughter from daycare. She's not there, and no one has any recollection of her. Within the next 24 hours, it seems as if Bunny has disappeared into thin air or that she never existed. Her quest to find her and convince people she's not mad is tense, noir-ish, and kind of bizarre (the doll hospital, the psychiatrist...). It's one of those melodramatic mid-20th-century paperbacks I love and definitely want to have more of in my bookshelf.

If you can't find the book, Otto Preminger's movie adaptation is fantastic. Set in London instead of New York, it's not faithful to a T, but it does have great performances and captures the story's mood.

When I was a kid, there was this one time when I woke up in the middle of the night and the pile of clothes on my chair looked suspiciously like some deformed monster, and I quickly dove under the covers. Fortunately, I'm really good at the whole sleeping thing, so I fell asleep quickly. I also used to have an irrational fear of vampires for a few days when I was little, which made me cover my neck every night when I went to bed, but that's a different story. I rarely had any troubles with sleep or fear, or both of them together.

Then, a couple of years ago when I was already living in my own apartment, I suffered a bout of sleep paralysis. I think I was at a stage when I was about to wake up, but I couldn't move or fully open my eyes. I saw my eyelashes flickering in front of my eyes, and then I saw a shadow on the wall. It didn't have a familiar form, just this blotch that was both oily and fuzzy at the same time, but I remember being convinced that it would attack me if I didn't run away right there and then. Obviously, the fact that I couldn't move horrified me, and I felt like I was stuck in another realm. I wanted to scream, but only a tear ran down my cheek. It didn't feel like reality at all, although I knew I was still in my apartment. At some point I just fell asleep and everything was back to normal again when I woke up.

I know that none of what I saw was real, so it's strange that you can actually have an experience where you fully believe in monsters (it's also not that comforting to know that you can't stop sleep paralysis from coming; if it comes back, it comes back). Wells's short story brought all that back to me. It's a very conventional story about a man who doesn't believe in ghosts and wants to stay in a haunted room. The ending falls flat and I expected more from the actual haunting, but the approach is interesting. It's up for the reader to decide what really happened, because the first person narrative allows room for interpretation.

It's all about the power of imagination and suggestion, and what being alone in a supposedly haunted place, with only shadows as your company, might do to you. The shadows might hide something or they may not, but the human mind is nevertheless able to change innocent things into something else, especially if there's complete silence and solitude. Also, would the narrator have had the same experiences if he hadn't known about the room's past or heard the stories about ghosts? Fear is an interesting thing, because it can suddenly creep up on you even when there's no reason to be frightened.

"There is neither ghost of earl nor ghost of countess in that room; there is no ghost there at all, but worse, far worse, something impalpable—"

"Well?" they said.

"The worst of all the things that haunt poor mortal men," said I; "and that is, in all its nakedness—' Fear!' Fear that will not have light nor sound, that will not bear with reason, that deafens and darkens and overwhelms. It followed me through me in the room—"

When I was younger, I had a phase when I was into hostels (although I only had the chance to stay in two), but nowadays I admit that I value privacy and comfort the most. After a day of eating and wandering around, nestling in warm and crisp hotel sheets and listening to the hum of traffic sounds so much more relaxing than hanging out in a common room or listening to the noise of other people in the dorm.

As long as everything's clean, luxury isn't the point for me, but there are a few legendary hotels that I want to stay at at least once (hauntings may or may not be involved). Chateau Marmont, the private faux French castle nestled atop Sunset strip is one of them. It seems that despite the changing times, the essence and soul of Marmont has stayed fairly uncompromised, meaning that it hasn't been turned into a shiny and modern copy of other LA luxury hotels.

The development from the failed apartment house, when Sunset Strip was just a dirt road, to the secluded safe haven for adventurers or privacy seekers is recounted in a very no frills way in The Castle on Sunset. The right amount of history and gossip, always pointing out what stories are true and what aren't. Although I had maybe wanted something more lively and definitely something much less repetitive, Levy's narrative is a good place to start reading hotel histories. As expected, pre-80s era was the least interesting for me personally, but I won't be too discriminating with my list of Marmont movies to watch while waiting for summer.