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n “Man is a gregarious, social animal, and eventually we'll get back together, if only so we can tell each other stories about how we survived the great plague.”n
After having left it to dust off on my long list of future reading material for years, I deliberately picked the most appropriate time to read Stephen King’s The Stand. What better time to delve into a huge brick centred on the downfall of the human race through a pandemic, than when one is trapped at home under lockdown resulting from a pandemic?
It is, perhaps surprisingly, a novel idea. Post-apocalyptic stories in the entire post-war era have tended to base themselves on the idea of nuclear apocalypse, on mankind’s ultimate bout of self-annihilation, creating a radioactive world of mutations and grey-green colours. Or, in the case of more absurd and low-form iterations, some form of zombie transformation. The concept of the practically instant removal of 99,4% of humanity, leaving the material world in preserved stasis, breaks with the whole post-apocalyptic feeling (although similar works have admittedly been written before; I am Legend comes to mind).
That being said, the similarities with post-apocalyptic stories which do base themselves on the nuclear explanation is easy to see. The Stand is one of the most influential works of the genre, and it struck me more than a few times how the developers of Fallout: New Vegas must have both read, loved and been forever shaped by the experience of reading this book. Here are mentions of the rise of new dictators, ‘little caesars’, the formation of depraved communities in the desert surrounding Las Vegas, crucifixion of the dissenters and so forth.
While the formation of such tropes is interesting enough in itself, the true beauty of the book lies in the exploration of humanity’s reaction to near-annihilation, sometimes expressed through the analytical monologues of sociologist Glen Bateman, but more frequently through the inner musings of various characters in doubt about their own situation. How are the advances of technology, including innovations of gender, politics and education, dealt with in a time when the advances that made them possible are now longer present? What happens to social values we have taken for granted in our post-industrial world? How does mankind reassemble and what types of communities are formed?
The exploration of these questions also inevitably means that the development of certain characters is going to be incredibly interesting. The tragic and doubt-ridden journey of the almost archetypal “disgruntled young man” Harold Lauder is one such. The life and time of the supernaturally endowed centenarian Mother Abagail equally so. As the survivors emerge from the ashes of human civilisation, so too do their stories, their motives and their dreams.t
Problematically, it is very evident that King spent so long crafting, building and setting things up, that he forgot to plan for an ending. The last section of the book feels extremely rushed, far too convenient, and fails to do any sort of justice to the first 80%. It falls miserably short of the expectations formed by simply going through the book up until the end, and it takes a significant amount of willpower to not let the final disappointment be the main takeaway.
In the long days of quarantine, however, I thoroughly enjoyed my time with the book. It is a flawed work, and the fact that I read the uncut edition meant that I had to endure origin stories for the characters which were significantly longer than they needed to be to get on with the actual plot. But invariably sitting and lying down in a variety of spots in my small London apartment, I had a great time delving through The Stand, sometimes reading it as pure entertainment, sometimes nitpicking and critically analysing the more scientific and sociological aspects of it, sometimes following the characters’ lives and sometimes being annoyed by them.
All in all, reading it was like living with it, accentuated by the situation in the real world.
After having left it to dust off on my long list of future reading material for years, I deliberately picked the most appropriate time to read Stephen King’s The Stand. What better time to delve into a huge brick centred on the downfall of the human race through a pandemic, than when one is trapped at home under lockdown resulting from a pandemic?
It is, perhaps surprisingly, a novel idea. Post-apocalyptic stories in the entire post-war era have tended to base themselves on the idea of nuclear apocalypse, on mankind’s ultimate bout of self-annihilation, creating a radioactive world of mutations and grey-green colours. Or, in the case of more absurd and low-form iterations, some form of zombie transformation. The concept of the practically instant removal of 99,4% of humanity, leaving the material world in preserved stasis, breaks with the whole post-apocalyptic feeling (although similar works have admittedly been written before; I am Legend comes to mind).
That being said, the similarities with post-apocalyptic stories which do base themselves on the nuclear explanation is easy to see. The Stand is one of the most influential works of the genre, and it struck me more than a few times how the developers of Fallout: New Vegas must have both read, loved and been forever shaped by the experience of reading this book. Here are mentions of the rise of new dictators, ‘little caesars’, the formation of depraved communities in the desert surrounding Las Vegas, crucifixion of the dissenters and so forth.
While the formation of such tropes is interesting enough in itself, the true beauty of the book lies in the exploration of humanity’s reaction to near-annihilation, sometimes expressed through the analytical monologues of sociologist Glen Bateman, but more frequently through the inner musings of various characters in doubt about their own situation. How are the advances of technology, including innovations of gender, politics and education, dealt with in a time when the advances that made them possible are now longer present? What happens to social values we have taken for granted in our post-industrial world? How does mankind reassemble and what types of communities are formed?
The exploration of these questions also inevitably means that the development of certain characters is going to be incredibly interesting. The tragic and doubt-ridden journey of the almost archetypal “disgruntled young man” Harold Lauder is one such. The life and time of the supernaturally endowed centenarian Mother Abagail equally so. As the survivors emerge from the ashes of human civilisation, so too do their stories, their motives and their dreams.t
Problematically, it is very evident that King spent so long crafting, building and setting things up, that he forgot to plan for an ending. The last section of the book feels extremely rushed, far too convenient, and fails to do any sort of justice to the first 80%. It falls miserably short of the expectations formed by simply going through the book up until the end, and it takes a significant amount of willpower to not let the final disappointment be the main takeaway.
In the long days of quarantine, however, I thoroughly enjoyed my time with the book. It is a flawed work, and the fact that I read the uncut edition meant that I had to endure origin stories for the characters which were significantly longer than they needed to be to get on with the actual plot. But invariably sitting and lying down in a variety of spots in my small London apartment, I had a great time delving through The Stand, sometimes reading it as pure entertainment, sometimes nitpicking and critically analysing the more scientific and sociological aspects of it, sometimes following the characters’ lives and sometimes being annoyed by them.
All in all, reading it was like living with it, accentuated by the situation in the real world.