A new Stephen King book came out on the day before Halloween, and my annual rumpus of gorging on horror movies delayed me from beginning it that day. Plus, I'd only gotten about halfway through Flight Or Fright, and wanted to finish that one first.
And so I did, and moved on straightaway to Elevation, about which I shall tell you more momentarily.
Elevation is a novel. It says so right there on the cover, which means Stephen King says it's a novel; therefore, it's a novel.
Thing is, Elevation is demonstrably a novella. It can easily be read in a single sitting (as I would have done if not for pausing a few minutes to go take a load of clothes out of the dryer and hang them up); this is something that simply isn't true of most novels.
A further thing is, it doesn't much matter whether you call Elevation a novel, or a novella, or a salamander, or a marmalute, or a short novel, or a taquito. Whatever you call it, it's a sweet little tale about a guy who suddenly begins losing weight without losing mass, and finds a way to apply this newfound lightness of being to an existing problem: a mild feud with the married women next door whose dogs occasionally poop on his lawn.
It's a tale that starts well, middles excellently, and kind of peters out at some point right before the end. It's still pretty good, though; very minor King, I think, but minor King is still worth a read for virtually anyone who has stumbled their way onto this blog.