How's this for irony? Within minutes of finishing this book I birth a byrum (shit weasel) of my very own. (At least that's what it felt like. Goddam Stouffer's meat lovers lasagna.) It took a lot of effort, and I actually needed some help. 
 "Now witness the fiber power of this fully armed and operational prune danish." 
 Yeah, thanks. I decided to name the new lord byrum Tim Kaine since he's the hands down winner of the shithead of the week award. His namesake has been my mayor; he's been my governor; he's currently my senator, but after a solid (yaw haw haw) ten minutes of vigorous action with the plunger, I was finally able to introduce him to Pennywise. But don't you dems fret none; apparently byrums thrive in water, and need to be there to do their nastiest nastiness, and I think I just unwittingly introduced into the local ecosystem the spores that are going to cause millions of people to pull the D lever on election day. Who'da thunk I could cause so much damage to my own cause with one bowel movement? Oh woe is me! Just call me Randall Flagg, the bumblingest bumbler to ever bumble. 
 OK, moving on. Finishing this is kind of exciting because it marks a milestone in my Stephen King project. I have now read every fiction novel SK has ever written by himself using his own name. After I read Black House, I can mark "collaborations" off the list. That will leave most of the Bachman books, short story collections, and On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. Progress, bitches! 
 This is getting 3.5 stars rounded up to four, and I have to thank my friends on here making this book so good. None of them like it very much, and I went into it with extremely low expectations, so I guess the only way to go was up. As a result I ended up thinking this was great. It's certainly not without its flaws, but they didn't detract from my enjoyment. At 900 pages this book is definitely bloated like a byrum filled intestine, and I think the story could've been told in 600 or fewer pages just fine. But, it's Stephen King who writes well, so the journey was always pleasant even when it was slow. 
 A lot of people compare this to It. When it comes to King's books, I put It on a pedestal, and everything else vies for second place, so it's not fair for me to compare the two since Dreamcatcher has no chance. With that in mind, I was able to read it as its own story, but there is one part where Sai King forces you to look at both books (parts of this take place in Derry, ME, the setting for It), and I didn't like it at all. In fact, it pulled me out of the story for a few minutes as I tried to wrap my head around it. There's a plaque where the standpipe used to be which is dedicated to the children of the town and presented by the Losers' Club. Below is listed all seven names of the losers. This makes no sense. It's clear at the end of It that the Losers, including Mike, don't remember each other. The magic is gone and with it went many of their memories. There's no way anyone could've made that plaque. And the plaque is just strange to begin with. I think King just wanted to make a tie-in but executed it poorly. Spray painted across the plaque is "Pennywise lives" which makes just as little sense as the plaque itself because it was pretty clear she was dead at the end of It. Pennywise is one of my favorite villains, and as much as I love her, I think it'd be a really cheesy stunt to bring her back. 
 I don't mind flying saucers, aliens, parasitic monsters, etc., so none of that was a problem for me. I'm really weird about shit/fart humor, and I can't adequately explain my take on it. Chaucer's "Miller's Tale?" Funny. The dinner table fart scene in The Nutty Professor? Repulsive. In fact, I think I considered leaving the theater during that scene; I was with friends and our motel was within walking distance, but I stayed. Same goes for anything on Jackass and shit like that. I hate those, but I find most shit scenes in Southpark, and Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo and his Poo-Choo train hilarious. 
 As for the shit weasels and gas passing in this book (of which there is a veritable ton), I didn't have any problem with it. Maybe because it was part of the plot, and not a side show. And the story wasn't just about shits and farts; they were a byproduct. There are books dedicated to fecal fun I will never read. I've given a couple of them a try, but I just don't see the charm. And let's not forget that I started this review with a couple of paragraphs dedicated to toilet humor, and I apparently don't mind those. I can discuss bodily functions without batting an eye, but if you fart in my direction I might consider killing you on the instant. I don't think a friend of mine realizes how close he came to having several bones broken when he farted in my face as we were going up the stairs, him just ahead of me. He thought it was funny, but my hand was moving to grab the back of his belt. I was going to step to the side, give it a yank, and watch him tumble backwards down the stairwell, but I didn't. And that's just as well. With my luck, I just would've pulled him down on top of me, we both would've gone down, and I would've just broken his fall... Jeeze, with friends like me, who needs enemies? That was 20 years ago, and I got over it pretty quickly, but I still have a flash of anger if someone does that kind of thing. A couple of years ago a friend left a voicemail that was simply a farting noise. I got pissed because I felt insulted though I know it was just him being his usual fun, juvenile self which is something I normally love about him. I guess I consider farting or shitting at someone or in their presence when you don't have to the height of effrontery. If you can't figure my brain out, don't be too concerned. I've said it before, and will likely say it again: I make no sense. 
 Anyway, the shit talk didn't bother me, but there's plenty of it in here, so if it bothers you, then you'd better pass this by. 
 The timing of this book's release forces it to go on a different level of the tower. He wrote it before Bush was elected the first time, though the editing was done after the fact. You could tell he was bitter about it in a couple of places, but a couple of jabs at the republicans is par for the course in an SK book. At one point I was confused; I thought he was paying Bush a compliment, but looking back I see it was most likely a backhanded, sarcastic one, and very well crafted. And though this was written in 2000, and released in early/mid 2001, it was set in late 2001 after 9-11 which did not happen in this world. King always makes a reference to that when he can, so it's strange noticing its absence. 
 As you all know, Stephen King loves to kill off dogs, and I think this has one of the worst cases of dog abuse in his fiction. It might even be a runner-up to what happened to that poor little one in The Tommyknockers (another underrated King contribution, if you ask me.) I'm hardly a dog lover, but I imagine it would be hard to be one and a Stephen King fan. 
 The title: I didn't get it. There's a dreamcatcher in it (the worst one ever if they're really supposed to catch bad dreams and evil spirits), and it serves as a metaphor that I didn't follow, but that's not unusual for me. It might be really neato, and I just missed it. 
 Looks like I've done a lot of bitching, but I really did like this book. It's filled with his usual witticisms and dark comedy. I especially loved the scene with the telepathic phone call on the Glock. 
 "Congratulations! You've graduated to bigger and better things." 
 The journey was good, the story was good, the characters were good, the relationships were good, the villains were good, but none of it was excellent. I noticed the similarities to It, but this lacks an extra dimension that was found there. Just think of this as It in sepia tones instead of full technicolor. 
 Oh, and there's one thing my version of the book had that was a nice touch: little red flecks, barely perceptible on the page. I couldn't brush them off and thought I had a moldy or mildewy copy, but eventually realized it must've been intentional. (I had the same experience with Joe Hill's The Fireman.) It's the way the byrus would've looked if it were just getting started on a host. Well done, Simon and Schuster. 
 Final thought: It ain't the greatest, but nowhere near as bad as everyone says it is. I enjoyed reading it, but don't think I will reread it.