I like to pick up a Stephen King novel when I feel like I need something of a literary palate cleanser, especially after a string of heavy memoirs or non-fictions. I know pretty much what I’m getting—cringe romance scenes, dramatic conversation, and a story I can immerse myself in. I got that again with 11/22/63, but I have to admit... that ending was pretty abrupt, unsatisfying, and incredibly cheesy. And also confusing. I think this is one of those conclusions I’ll need to chew on for a bit before it all totally clicks.