Nearly three years to read a book. Once again...hahahahahahaha.
Anyway, Danse Macabre. I thought it was pretty boss to start with. King's conversational tone is part of what makes his fiction so eminently readable, but - as evidenced by my initial stalling in this reading, and subsequent halting limp through the remainder - it just wasn't enough to keep me enthralled. I eventually got hold of the audiobook version and things looked up. But, as time wore on, I just became less and less interested.
I imagine that most people reading Danse Macabre would find it a great springboard to influential and contemporary works. Dude knows his stuff. Being in the midst of reading King's full bibliography, though, I can ill afford to add to my "to read" pile (It's actually hurts to so roundly deflect all manner of awesomeness from my life!) so, in the end, it acted more as a increasingly tiresome distraction from the main mission.
That aside, my interest in a deconstruction of the horror genre also waned heavily as things progressed. I'm not sure how well visceral art lends itself to be disassembled and explained. It takes a lot of the magic out of it (something King puts a lot of importance in as the special ingredient), a little like being shown how an illusion is actually performed. Seeing what's behind the curtain isn't for everyone. Shitty metaphors aside, some people have no problem with appreciating art purely on the technical ability and execution. I'm less inclined towards this. Similarly with music. Virtuoso instrumentalists and muso-wankers bore me senseless.
But, I digress.
The length of time it took me to get through it, multiplied by a desire to crack on with other books, sucks a lot of the weight out of my reaction and its worth (especially to me).
Read it if you want an approachable version of how the engine works. If you just like to drive, don't.