Full Dark, No Stars

Until now, all I knew of Stephen King were his writings about, well, writing. Specifically, On Writing. Even of that book, I have read only excerpts. So, what I knew about Stephen King was limited to what advice I wanted about my own craft. 'Life's too short,' I thought. But no, it isn't. Life is very long, years long, and 'if not, why not' (a saying I use often because it is technically meaningless but pithy).

First I picked up Full Dark, No Stars. (Well, I opened it on my Kindle app on my phone.) Short stories, for my short attention span. There are four (not so short) stories in the book. What I expected from Mr King was knife-like suspense, punch-like action and trite morals. What I received was mostly dusty foreshadowing, fleshy characters and some of my own, justified anger. You know me, this is neither here nor there (another of my beloved and lovely statements).

For his next birthday, I am going to send Mr King a sock filled with coins. The sock will have a tag saying 'Foreshadowing' and the instructions will say to use it next time he is setting up his stories for us. Then he can spend the remaining 4% of his effort in surprising us. Maybe horror stories aren't meant to be surprising. Maybe the joy of reading a Stephen King is the closure. But no, horror is meant to be surprising. Like when Dracula lives - unlives - even after Buffy stakes him three times.

The first story '1922' reminded me of Freud's Rat Man. This man was tortured by something most people don't think about, until some movie or story prompts them to, and they talk about it over coffee or beer, and then they forget about it while hunting for change to pay for parking. He was obsessed with the idea that something he did or thought would have ramifications for the people he loved. He obsessed over a stone in the road, because it could be the stone that broke the wheel of the wagon his love was travelling in. But if he moved it, he could actually be ensuring that that was what it was. He was stuck between seemingly irrelevant choices, which all seemed fateful.

The man's pseudonym came from his primary obsession: that his family would suffer a torture involving rats in a cage  attached somewhere on your body, which would obviously eat their way through you to get out. Obviously. He worried that just thinking it would cause the torture to be inflicted on the ones he loved. The notion itself seems fairly normal to me, folks, especially if you consider 'positive thinking' and 'send this email to 10 people or you will be cursed' messages. Or is truth relative, in which case my point still holds.

The crazy is in the obsession, right? (The thought-provoking torture method aside.) In nit picking every choice in your life, even the innocuous ones. Picking up a stone in the road, to save your loved one, in fact causing their death. Free will versus reality versus morality and intention. I dunno. To me, crazy is in not thinking about this at all.

As I write, my bunny is refashioning my jersey and pants into a shelter, occasionally nipping me in the process. Darnit, she's so cute, I can't stop her. Death, free will, resignation. I call that Sunday lunch.

This theme rings through each of the four stories. In '1922', a man premeditatively kills his wife with the aid of their son. He is haunted not by her but by the rats that are the last thing he sees when he fills in her resting place. 'Big Driver' is about a woman who is raped and left for dead (go, girl). 'Fair Extension' is what I associate with Stephen King: a man 'steals' his best friend's success through voodoo. 'A Good Marriage' is about what a wife does when she finds her husband's guilty pastime.

They are all about choice.

They are also filled with rats. Rats being the foreshadowing - literally, in the first story - like the sock filled with coins. The choices (and choice) are laid out in the first few paragraphs, and if you read between the lines (har!), that's it. That's the story. These characters aren't considering their options, choosing how to shake the hand of fate, choosing what they will be wearing, how they will smile, where they will be. They are justifying a decision they made at the very beginning of the story, asking you to be their alibi.

If I say to you now, oh no, I can hear the rats skittering behind me, literally and metaphorically, what do you think is going to happen? Are we going to play My Little Ponies or are they going to chew through my arm simply to stop me from typing? And if I post it once an hour for three days (with my other arm) on Facebook? That, my friends, is a Stephen King story.

As usual, I didn't hate these stories. The premises were interesting and the moral ambiguities more interesting. But I do not like to be manipulated, especially if I can see the hands moving the strings. Mr King's biggest strength is the empathicness of his characters. Whether or not I like the character or their choices, I understand them. I can even see how those types of choices are ingrained in our natures: survival of the fittest, schadenfreude, vanity, revenge.

Mr King posts signs at every exit, but they are lies - none of them really go anywhere. Our characters have made their choices. The rest of the stories are just the kind of posturing your best friend's new boyfriend or girlfriend makes when meeting you for the first time. They want your vote when it comes down to them or your best friend's ex. Even if they're pulling out that person's hair and groping for a murder weapon.

I am bitter, but I am also reading Salem's Lot. I wrote this post to convince myself something unexpected is going to happen. But no, it's vampires, isn't it? Not a bunch of marrow-sucking pygmies, real-estate agents or radioactive cows? Please be radioactive cows.