Set fifty years in the future, The Morning Star wrote: “King steadily constructs, layer by layer, an increasingly believable world where a combination of intrusive technology, ruthlessness and effectively bland public relations has ensured the domination of the majority’s thoughts and actions.” Trade Unionists Against The EU called the book: “Brave, imaginative fiction. An important political novel that is supremely relevant to our turbulent times.” A new novel – Slaughterhouse Prayer – is due to be published in 2018.
Whichever the case, I’m still deeply fond of De Laurentiis’ King Kong now, no doubt in part because we’ll never see its likes again. Whatever the failings of its ape effects, they have a tangible quality that even Jackson’s great CGI work couldn’t fake. (If younger readers wonder why the generations ahead of them complain about CGI effects no matter how impressive they become, it’s undoubtedly because films like this got into our dreams at a tender age.) The finale is now poignant in ways no one could have imagined at the time. Kong climbs one tower of the World Trade Center, then leaps to the other before falling. The ape dies. Years later, the towers would fall, and the dream of a big world filled with unexplored wonders would be edged a little further into the past by the reality of the smaller, more dangerous place in which we now live.