I misjudged the King

THIS WEEK’S WINNER

MANILA, Philippines - Fatima A. de la Cerna, 30, is a mass communication graduate of UP Cebu College. She’s currently a freelance writer, but has experience working as a business correspondent and an EFL editor, among other things. She’s addicted to coffee, books, and films; has a soft spot for monkeys; and is in awe of cats.

It shames me to admit that I was once so busy being a pompous idiot, I refused to give Stephen King the time of day. A big, fat pompous idiot, I tell you. And an ignorant one, too, for I didn’t even bother reading anything he’d written before concluding that he was nothing but a hack who exploits people’s morbid fascination with gore, horror, and violence.

I grew more convinced that I was right about King when I learned that members of the literary-academic community weren’t fond of his work either. Yale University professor and literary critic Harold Bloom, for instance, expressed indignation when the National Book Foundation awarded King the Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters in 2003. In a column he wrote for the Los Angeles Times, Bloom called King “an immensely inadequate writer” and remarks that, by honoring him, the organization recognizes “nothing but the commercial value of his books, which sell in the millions but do little more for humanity than keep the publishing world afloat.”

Ouch.

On Writing, Books And Humanity

I got over my prejudice against King last year, after giving in to a friend’s urging me to get a copy of King’s On Writing. I’ve never read a more entertaining, inspiring, and candid book about the craft of and life as a writer. No rhapsodizing about muses or romanticizing loneliness and despair. Only useful tips, humor, and anecdotes that enlighten.

I finished the book in two days despite being swamped with work. I had a hard time putting it down, and upon reaching the last page, I found myself stunned by the realization that I’d been wrong about King. He may have failed to impress Bloom and his ilk, and he may not be in the same league as literary greats like Steinbeck and Faulkner, but he is no hack.

Bloom, of course, has the right to regard King’s work as second-rate. It’s his opinion, just one I now disagree with. After all, what must books do for humanity to deserve recognition? To what lofty goals must they aspire?

Full Dark, No Stars, More Questions

If a book can get readers to ask questions about themselves and the people around them, can it still be described as not doing enough? If it can get them to feel and think, will it finally pass muster?

After On Writing, I decided to try one of his fiction works and chose the novella collection Full Dark, No Stars. To say that it got to me would be an understatement. It’s been weeks since I read it, yet it continues to give me nightmares, still has me asking questions.

How far would you go to protect what you value? How well do you know the people closest to you? How well do they know you? How well do you know yourself?

In “1922,” the first of the four novellas that make up the book, the protagonist goes so far as to commit a crime to protect his way of life. A farmer, Wilfred has no interest in moving to the city and is appalled when his wife suggests selling their farm to do just that. Driven by his love for the land, Wilfred murders his wife with the help of his 14-year-old son. As many are wont to do when they’ve done something wrong, Wilfred denies responsibility by distancing himself from his actions. He explains, “I believe that there is another man inside of every man, a stranger, a Conniving Man. And I believe that by March of 1922 … the Conniving Man inside Farmer Wilfred James had already passed judgment on my wife and decided her fate.”

For Tess in “Big Driver,” justice is what matters and she’s willing to carry out vengeance to get it. A mystery writer, Tess encounters a giant of a man when she experiences car trouble on her way home from a book signing. Raped and left for dead, Tess considers reporting what happened, but then thinks, “What’s in it for me?” As she plots her revenge, Tess is aware that her old self would have called the police. But she is no longer her old self. “It was as if by raping her, the giant had created a new woman.”

The shortest novella in the book, “Fair Extension,” tells the story of Streeter and the deal he makes with an “extension” salesman named Elvid (you don’t need to be a genius to figure that out). With Streeter dying from cancer, Elvid offers him a life extension on the condition that he appoints someone to suffer in his place. As the shrewd salesman puts it, “You have to do the dirty to someone else if the dirty is to be lifted from you.” And do the dirty he does, and not just to anyone but to his best friend Tom.

 “A Good Marriage,” the final and, arguably, the best of the four stories, centers on the life of married couple Darcy and Bob Anderson. Together for 27 years and with two grown kids, theirs is a tale of successful relationship. At least that’s what Darcy thinks until she stumbled upon a box in their garage that led to the discovery that her husband is hiding a terrible secret, is living a double life. He is not just a doting spouse, a numismatist, and an accountant; he is also Beadie, the serial killer responsible for the rape, torture, and death of several women. 

Bad And Good Writing, You And Me

In the book’s afterword, King writes, “Bad writing usually arises from a stubborn refusal to tell stories about what people actually do — to face the fact, let us say, that murderers sometimes help old ladies cross the street.”

To agree with his observation on what makes bad writing (and how can you not?) is to admit that Full Dark, No Stars is what good writing reads like. Wilfred and his wife and son, Tess and her rapist, Streeter and Tom and even Elvid, Darcy and Bob —they’re all real people doing real things. We read about them in the news, work with them in the same company, maybe even live next door to them. They’re the husbands who beat their wives, the addicts who rob their own families, the trusting spouses of adulterers, the business owners who screw their customers. They’re the villains, the wounded, the liars. They’re the people with secrets. They’re us.

Stephen King writes effective horror stories because he writes the truth about you and me, and we know it.