Stephen King endorses this book, and it actually makes sense because it suffers the very King problem: WAY much longer than it needs to be.

I get the appeal: a claustrophobic feeling of being stuck inside a cabin in the middle of nowhere, ambushed by people you don't know. You don't exactly understand what's going on; all you know is that shit is going down at it's going down real deep. You're asked to sacrifice the person you love the most for the sake of the world's safety, now will you buy that? Probably yes, probably no.

But seriously: the page count is excessive. This story should end around 200-ish pages (it means it has a hundred pages of overabundance) and we're still good. Honestly, I quite like it. This story is just goddamn too long for peak enjoyment.

We will walk down the road even if it is flooded by raging waters or blocked by fallen trees or if greedy fissures open beneath our feet. And we will walk the perilous roads after that one. We will go on.