Last week I finished reading Stephen King's Nightmares and Dreamscapes, which was very good on the whole. I can't say I had to go around my flat checking for monsters before going to bed, but the stories certainly stirred the imagination and were very readable. The only one I just couldn't get through was a non-fiction piece he'd written about his son's baseball team. I'm sure it was very well written, but there was so much jargon I would've needed to sit with Wikipedia open just to understand what was going on. Not King's fault, though.
I also started and finished reading Anthony Horowitz's "The House of Silk", which was the first officially authorised Sherlock Holmes book written by someone other than Sir ACD (incidentally, Horowitz's second Holmes novel was released this week, titled Moriarty. Can't imagine what it's about.).
Anyway, he's previously written (maybe even created - not sure) Midsomer Murders, so he knows his way around a mystery, and he managed to capture Conan Doyle's style pretty well. He uses "singular" often, has a character point out that Watson loves Holmes more than his wife, and writes a brilliant Sherlock/Mycroft scene that could've been lifted straight from an original. The only main flaw is when he has Watson describe a historical detail, like what a landau cab is. That's when you're reminded you're not reading something written a hundred years ago.
I still prefer Wacky's stories, though.
Currently reading Iain Banks' The Wasp Factory, which weirdly I'm finding a lot easier reading than Consider Phlebas. Frank's strangely endearing, for a serial killer.