Alicia Ham's Reviews > It

It by Stephen King
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's review
Jan 22, 10

bookshelves: horror_supernatural, stephen-king
Read in January, 2010 — I own a copy

I first read this book as a teenager, and it instantly became one of my favorite books. Not only did it have powerful imagery, but it had a good story, and well written characters that allowed me to really become immersed in the world itself. Did it scare me? Absolutely. However it also ran the gambit of emotions outside of fear. I cared about these people and their problems. I laughed with them, cried with them, and worried about them as they went about their journey.

Now, having reread it from an adult perspective, I find that I enjoy it just as much now as I did then. If anything, I appreciate the nuances of the story better, and the way that King brings us back into the world of a child. There's a magic there that he captured beautifully, and that in itself is something to be appreciated. I also liked how we saw the world through the eyes of both a child, and as an adult, but with the same characters. This really brought home the differences in the way our world changes as we age.

Most of all though, I found that the emotions that the story brought out hadn't changed. I still laughed with these children, I still worried about them despite knowing all outcomes, and most of all, I still cried for them. For me, there is no better story than one that continues to capture me in such a way. For that reason alone, this will probably always remain one of my favorite books.

Favorite quotes/passages:
"That's not such a bad thing," he said to me. "In nightmares we can think the worst. That's what they're for, I guess."

I think it was the first real pain I ever felt in my life, he would tell the others. It wasn't what I thought it would be at all. It didn't put an end to me as a person. I gave me a basis for comparison, finding out you could still exist inside the pain, in spite of the pain.

These were his friends, and maybe his mother was wrong: they weren't bad friends. Maybe, he thought, there aren't any such things as good friends or bad friends-maybe there are just friends, people who stand by you when you're hurt and who help you feel not so lonely. Maybe they're always worth being scared for, and hoping for, and living for. Maybe worth dying for, too, if that's what has to be. No good friends. No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart.

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