Book Note: Full Dark, No Stars

For the majority of my adolescence, I was a staunch Stephen King fan. I think the first King book I read was Nightshift, which is a collection of his older stories. What possessed a thirteen-year-old blonde girl to check out such a macabre book—perhaps my dad’s own Stephen-King habit, or maybe Dad even recommended it to me—I cannot rightly say, but I do know this: that book punched me in the face. It made me crave other things about life’s dark side and the thrill of terror racing up my spine. My favorites were the more subtler stories, the ones that left my hands a little shaky, along with my courage.

 Probably it wasn’t the best genre I could read at that age, but I was hooked. After Nightshift, I read all of King’s books: The Stand, Cujo, Firestarter, The Dead Zone. I got my hands on ‘Salem’s Lot, The Shining, Pet Semetary and, of course, Carrie. Some of these I checked out from the library while others were Dad’s copies. I remember when It came out, I waited anxiously for Dad to finish reading his copy so I could start on it. The images stay with me: the lawnmower man in his green-stained nakedness, the children in the corn; Carrie’s blood-stained gown, the hanging man with his ravaged face. Plus, language stayed with me. “The soil of a man’s heart is stonier,” someone said in Pet Cemetary and, had I known it is perfectly acceptable to write in books, I would have underlined that thought. That idea haunted me; I wrote it in strange letters in my journal and pinned my failed relationships on it.

If I had a map of all my adolescent adventures, tucked into my luggage (back pack, black bag, pocket of boyfriend’s black suede jacket) would be some Stephen King novel or other. Did the books’ darkness create mine? Or did they simply speak to what already existed? I don’t still rightly know. Perhaps both. What I am certain of: his thoughts influenced mine. Darkness and evil seemed likely in nearly anyone.

Somewhere in the changes that hit me at about 18, I stopped reading Stephen King. I’d like to link it to my discovery of Margaret Atwood, Joyce Carol Oates, and some of my still-favorite poets, but I think more than anything it was my need to turn my back on darkness. I did, in my early twenties, read the first three Gunslinger novels; sometimes at completely random times I hear my dad quoting the chirping lobsters. That was in 1993, when we were building our house, so I can safely say it’s been nearly two decades since I read a Stephen King novel. And since the Gunslinger series is much more post-apocalypse than it is full-frontal horror, it could be said that it has been twenty years (at least) since I’ve read a real Stephen King novel.

I have continued to admire him as a writer, however. Out of any hugely popular writer, his is the only opinion I pay attention to. When, for example, he said that Stephenie Meyer “Stephenie Meyer can't write worth a darn,” I stood up and cheered. I don’t have a problem with his writing (not that he’s the best novelist ever), just the subject matter. That overt darkness is something I cannot savor anymore. But, while working on a list of science fiction novels at work, I stumbled across King’s newest book, Full Dark, No Stars. More precisely, across Margaret Atwood’s review of one of the novellas in the book. If Margaret Atwood reads Stephen King, well, then! I can too! (I know how ridiculous that sounds. Fully ridiculous. Also? My true motivation anyway, even if it is ridiculous.)

 Turns out, she didn’t review my favorite novella. She wrote about “A Perfect Marriage,” which tells the story of Darcy and Bob, who have a seemingly-average but happy-enough marriage, until Darcy stumbles (quite literally) upon Bob’s long-held secret. Atwood says it proves “Our Stephen is a not-so-secret feminist.” I think my favorite novella, “Big Driver,” does that even better, but she has a point. When you are a wife and a mother, you don’t only hold yourself in your hand; your choices affect your children, too, and Bob’s secret leads Darcy to make a fairly severe (and important) choice. I’ll let you read to find out what it is.

 The other novellas are “1922” and “A Fair Extension.” The first tells the story of Wilf James, his son Henry, and his wife Arletta. He tells you this immediately: it’s the story of Wilf murdering his wife over a piece of land. Well, that’s immediately what it’s about. Deeper, though, it says something about the way our choices resonate throughout our lives, sometimes forming a perfect storm that devastates a far wider swathe of land (metaphorical) than you ever imagined possible. The second was my least-favorite, if only because of the gentleness. It’s the story of Streeter, who’s close to dying from lung cancer. He makes a Faustian bargain with one Mr. Elvid (I know: this made me roll my eyes), but it’s not exactly the traditional my-soul-for-my-life sort of deal. Since human souls have become "thin, transparent things," not worth much, the exchange is for money: 15% -for-your-life. The catch: you have to put the weight somewhere. “In words of one syllable,” Mr. Elvid explains, “you have to do the dirty to someone else if they dirty is to be lifted from you.” Streeter decides that the dirt should be transferred to his life-long, very-successful best friend. And thus the fun transpires. 

My favorite novella in the collection is “Big Driver,” which I wish Ms. Atwood had also reviewed. I’ll still take Suzanne Collins’ opinion, though: “There's an undeniable satisfaction in watching certain kinds of characters go down.” The “certain kind” is a rapist, and the person taking him down is one of his victims, Tess, who also happens to write cozy mysteries. In some aspects, all of King’s stories do this thing: what would a normal person do when presented with this very-highly-not-normal life experience? Tess’s answer: get revenge. Very carefully, in fact, using her skills as a pseudo-detective (from her novels), exacting it. 

More than the story or the character or the writing, though, what startled me most about “Big Driver” is what it reminded me of myself. Until she’s victimized, Tess doesn’t realize she has another self inside of herself. Someone far edgier than the gentle writer she projects. I would be willing to say that, after her experience, her novels will never be the same. The voice that guides her through the revenge is “the one that belonged to her deepest self, the survivor. And the killer—her, too.”

 I so get that—your alternate self. It’s not quite so crazy as multiple personalities. It’s just the parts of yourself, perhaps not so appreciated by the majority of the world, that exist nevertheless. I think that in those fractured adolescent years of mine, that is exactly what I did: I discovered some of my hidden self, both the good and the bad parts, and used it to pull myself through. Perhaps King’s books contributed to the darker parts of that self, but they also contributed the pulling-through-anyway part as well. At least, some of it. 

All of this might sound like way too much critical interpretation. We’re talking Stephen King here, people! But I stand by my opinion: I think he is a good writer. And my other opinion, long-standing, which is this: what matters about a book is what you, the reader, do with it. I think King would agree with me. In the book’s afterword, he says that “the writer’s only responsibility is to look for the truth inside his own heart.” I think readers have to do that, too. And my truth is that while I am not King’s “constant reader,” I am glad I picked up that copy of Nightshift all those decades ago. It contributed a part to the self I became, moving through darkness and then upstairs, into light.  

Comments

[Wendy]

I headed over here to give you a specific link (an article by Philip Yancey about writing), but must ask (although I'm pretty sure the answer is "yes") if you have read Stephen's King's book on writing. I loved it and so did my oldest son who begged to hear stories from it.

Now - to the article I just read and had to pass on to you:

http://www.philipyancey.com/writing/the-writer-as-psychotic

Enjoy! Keep writing. I'm pretty sure it is what God made you to do!

[Mimi]

It's funny, I was the same way. While I was hit or miss on King's books even back in the day, when I began to re-read "It" when my oldest was little, I just couldn't do it anymore.

I do read him now and then now, but much more selectively.

[Melissa Grogan]

I actually couldn't read his books until college, and even then I have to say, I only really read Nightshift all the way through. I'm a wimp. However, he did write my all time favorite movie though.. The Shawshank Redemption. That blew me away. It's underlying hopefulness... so not Stephen King!

[Pat Passamonte]

Hi Amy, It's so nice to hear that you and your dad shared the Stephen King books when you were at that tender age. My dad and I did too! It's one of the bonds we had that I recall fondly. What I love about Stephen King stories is that they suck me right in, as if I am there and can see what he is describing, in a way that no other writer has ever done quite as well for me. I read a diverse list of authors now, but I'm always ready for the next Stephen King book!