vol. 10 issue 4

Fellow readers, at 402 pages we’re about a third of the way through; do you think we’ve met all of our characters yet? I’ve been waiting (impatiently) for the arrival of Mother Abigail into the novel, and with her first appearance (at p400) it seems to me that maybe (maybe?) Stephen King is almost done arranging the pieces on the board.

For one thing, the world of the novel seems to have settled into its new normal after the turmoil of the great plague. Looking back on this first third of the text, it strikes me that it’s quite a brave choice for the author to make. I feel as though we have become accustomed to stories that take place in a post-apocalyptic setting, eliding the apocalypse itself. From Cormac McCarthy’s The Road (2006) to this year’s television adaptation of Fallout, the feeling seems to be that what happens after is the important stuff, and the mechanics of how we got there, less so.

I don’t think King would dispute the first half of this equation — he does, after all, intend to give us >800 pages set in the aftermath — but I do think he’s taken pains to start pre-disaster for a reason. If there’s one thing Stephen King takes more seriously than story, it’s character. King is famously averse to outlining the plot of his novels before he begins writing them; in On Writing he asserts that ‘plotting and the spontaneity of real creation are incompatible’. Instead, his approach is to put two or more characters into a situation, then ‘watch what happens, and write it down’. In order for this to work however, King must know his characters well, and it helps if he gives readers the opportunity to do likewise. After all, it will be more impactful for us to witness how the circumstances of the post-apocalypse change our protagonists, if we have some idea of who they were before everything fell apart.

We noted early on, that we met several of our cast whilst they were already struggling with personal problems. As one example, Larry Underwood has already been branded selfish and ‘a taker’ by multiple people in his life, even when it was ostensibly going well. How will the cataclysmic events of the novel’s first third lead to him changing as a person? The way we saw him treat Rita this week may have tempted you to put your money on his dye being cast, but her company — inconvenient to him as it is — provides an opportunity for him to grow. (A side note, partly as follow-up to the inter-textuality piece I wrote last week: Rita and Larry liken their journey (at the outset) to something from Tolkien. The harrowing tunnel section, however, was powerfully reminiscent for me of a section of The Last of Us, in which a pair of protagonists must negotiate a tunnel of their own, without knowing what lurks in the dark.)

Consider also the switch in Frannie’s impression (and ours?) of Harold Lauder. Even though we do not meet him until things have gone very wrong in the world, our introduction to him is by way of Frannie’s previous perceptions. In his initial appearance he lives up to his reputation as immature, irritating and possibly lecherous. It appears, however, that he has quickly risen to some of the challenges of survival in the new world — even if I’m not convinced of the wisdom of leaving such a detailed message concerning where he and Frannie are headed. (Does that make me paranoid?)

Before we reached Mother Abigail’s home, the most arresting new introduction of the week was to Donald Merwin Elbert aka ‘The Trashcan Man’. In contrast to many of our characters, we only meet him in the post-collapse world, but we do get a detailed rundown of his history: his family struggles, his pyromania (Charlie McGee says hi), and the steps by which he has reached the opinion that America is ‘a while country ripe for burning’ (p321). Is it too obvious to expect that Trashcan is destined to become a tool of Randall Flagg?

Take this with a pinch of salt, but I find it interesting that King is giving us Flagg as a locus of unalloyed evil, and then a spectrum of flawed people who might fall under his sway. Should things go in that direction, is a redemption for The Trashcan Man any more or less likely than for Larry Underwood? How far from any of their beginnings will the characters’ stories take them?

Of course, this week brought us a prime example, in the form of Lloyd Henreid. Whom amongst us can blame poor Lloyd for making the bargain when the offer is emancipation instead of starvation? He has the reflexive response to not want to look Flagg in the eye, but can only last so long before accepting the strange stone that the dark man offers. I enjoyed how King plays with blurring the edge of Flagg’s supernatural nature by viewing it through the lens of Lloyd’s delirium. The ‘talismanic power of the key’ (p386) is already very real for Lloyd before Flagg seems to produce one by magic. Whilst others have suffered uncanny nightmares, only Lloyd has been eye witness to the inexplicable thus far. King appears to be keeping the supernatural thread of his novel contained at this point. I cannot help but wonder whether we will reach a point at which it spreads like the blood poisoning so feared by the late Arthur Stimson of Reno, Nevada (p380).

Which brings me to Chapter 38, and I think it’s worth taking a moment to think about how this chapter functions. To my mind the intent is similar to that of Chapter 26 (which we discussed previously). By temporarily moving away from any of our growing number of ‘main’ characters, and hopping about from one unfortunate soul to the next, King shows us another facet of the spreading plague. In this particular instance, as the deaths are no longer from the disease itself, it underlines the fact that we’ve moved into a new phase of things. Here we are witness to the precarity inherent in the post-pandemic world. The litany of deaths underscores the point made by another new arrival this week: Glen Bateman, who lays out his expectations for the shapes in which society could re-emerge. Perhaps no section of the novel so far has made clearer that the centre did indeed not hold, and things fell apart. When you look for them however, King peppers the text with nails in the before times’ coffin. Frannie and Harold listen to ‘the music of a dead world’ (p359), Nick awakes in ‘the corpse of Shoyo’ (p401), and Glen is ‘dancing on the grave of the world’ (p364).

We bookended the week’s reading in the company of Nick Andros, and we leave things as on the first appearance of Mother Abigail. Other than the half sentence of description on the novel’s back cover, I don’t know what to expect from this character. It likely suffices at this stage to say that she appears to be the precise antithesis of Randall Flagg. I’m sure we’ll see plenty more of her, as each of these characters make their way in one direction or the other, both physically and metaphorically.

You may recall in the second issue of this newsletter, I wrote about the ’Top 100 Novels of the 21st Century’ list, published in The New York Times. Almost inevitably, reading that piece set me thinking about my own favourite novels from the last 25 years, and so I published my own list. As this week’s Stephen King recommendation, let me tell you a little about the novel of his that made my top 20.

I’ve read the vast majority of King’s 21st Century output, and some (Duma Key (2008); Doctor Sleep (2013)) are better than others (Dreamcatcher (2001)). Amongst all of that work, one novel stands out for me as a clear example of the author at the very height of his powers: Revival (2014). As with many of these recommendations, I don’t want to give away too much. I’m even tempted to suggest that you refrain from reading the synopsis on the back of the novel if you’re at all interested. Here’s a section of it that doesn’t give too much away:

This rich and disturbing novel spans five decades on its way to the most terrifying conclusion Stephen King has ever written. It’s a masterpiece from King, in the great American tradition of Nathaniel Hawthorne and Edgar Allan Poe.

Revival is centred around the relationship between two men, as it is shaped and reshaped by grief, addiction and obsession. Great characters who grow and change across the decades, and an absolutely captivating core narrative… just writing this makes me want to go and re-read Revival. I’m sure I’d love it the second time around, even if its surprises didn’t hit quite as hard. You, however, can experience the novel fresh, and I’m happy for you. Let me know how you get on!

Another week in the books. I’ve now heard from a few people who have finished the novel. In response to my wailing and pleading with them not to spoil anything, they’ve said only that we’re in for a treat the rest of the way. I wish you a good week of reading ahead, and I will write to you again next Sunday, to discuss the novel up to the end of Chapter 44, on p507.

✌🏻

— Adam