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“[Charlie] was hunched tensely over the steering wheel, his face drawn in the dim glow of the dashboard instruments. ‘If the gates are closed, I’m gonna try to crash through.’ And he meant it. [Sally] could tell. Suddenly her knees felt watery…But there was no need for such desperate measures. The base gates were standing open. One guard was nodding over a magazine. She couldn’t see the other; perhaps he was in the head. This was the outer part of the base, a conventional army vehicle depot. What went on at the hub of the base was of no concern to these fellows…I looked up and saw the clock had gone red…She shivered again and put her hand on his leg. Baby LaVon was sleeping again. Charlie pattered her hand briefly and said: ‘It’s going to be all right, hon.’ By dawn they were running east across Nevada and Charlie was coughing steadily…”
-tStephen King, The Stand: The Complete and Uncut Edition
A lot of authors have attempted to narrate the end of the world. None quite manage to do so like Stephen King. This is a big book, and as subtle as a sledgehammer, but the end of the world requires a large canvas, and subtlety is not a necessity for this type of material. In short, this is a near-perfect melding of genre and author.
King’s premise for The Stand is firmly rooted in an old-fashioned distrust of the government. In the opening pages, a highly contagious virus – the superflu – escapes from a U.S. Army biological weapons facility. Despite drastic, murderous attempts to quarantine and suppress, the virus spreads the world over. Most people fall victim to this lethal bug; however, a small number of folks, for mysterious reasons, are immune.
King tells this story in the only way he knows how: voluminously. This fully restored, unabridged “author’s cut” weighs in at 1,141 pages.
(I read this is mass market paperback, which was a true test of my aging eyes. I suppose it’s shorter in other versions, but it’s no novella, no matter what way you slice it!).
This length is partially an indulgence, something you can get away with if you are an international bestselling author. Yet King also uses the space to construct a vivid, consistent, and painfully real portrait of a country gone to hell: highways clogged with vehicles; the power gone; bodies littering fields; simple medical procedures turned lethally serious. King has given himself the latitude to not only show the macro effects of the plague, but also the smaller, telling details, such as the fact that all the beverages the characters drink are warm.
(That would be the real tragedy of the situation. All those Diet Dr. Peppers, all of them room temperature and spicy as hell. One shudders to think of it).
The Stand is a deliberately paced novel. It is a thriller with extreme patience. The first 300 pages or so is all set up, following various, unconnected characters whom – it turns out – are impervious to the superflu. During the middle portions of the book, these characters, including East Texan Stu Redman, music star Larry Underwood, pregnant girl Frannie Goldsmith, and fat guy Harold Lauder, start to make their way towards each other.
(And yes, my facile descriptions of these characters are intended to make a point. Despite certain attempts at shading, especially in making putative hero Larry a bit of an ass, all of King’s characters start to meld together. They aren’t distinct as human beings. Even at the end, I was trying to keep certain individuals separate in my mind. King has created some memorable characters in his career, but this is not a character piece).
King has taken his share of literary criticism (while reaping popular success), but he is an undisputed master storyteller. He writes in the third-person omniscient, taking a Gods-eye view of the world he has created and destroyed. His style is one that would burst the blood vessels of most creative writing professors. His prose veers from formal to slangy, often within a single paragraph. His writing is peppered with idioms, pop cultural references (old television shows, movies, and even commercial jingles), snatches of music, and contains an annoying level of puns and malapropisms. King is a product of a culture that valued the collection of trivia over standard intellectualism. He is, therefore, easily accessible to others of that same culture. On the upside, the prose is easy and fun and effortlessly maintains interest. On the downside, The Stand was first published in 1978, so many of the references are hopelessly dated. (The natural consequence of being up-to-the-minute is that the minute passes so quickly).
Besides the time-capsule references, the other disadvantage of King’s voice is that it tends to overwhelm the characters and the situations. It has a homogenizing influence. Everyone talks the same and thinks the same. In one conceit, King excerpts the minutes of a council meeting in the Boulder Free Zone (where survivors have congregated); unsurprisingly, the tone of these “minutes” sound remarkably like King himself. The author and the characters almost become one. This is a disheartening prospect, when the narrator is describing a sex scene and all you can picture is Stephen King’s photograph.
A great deal of time is spent giving depth and detail to a post-civilized landscape. There is a very real-seeming, Swiss Family Robinson-like aspect to the proceedings, as various survivors find ways to carry on in an environment bereft of government and modern conveniences. King goes to extremes to remind you on every page of the conditions his protagonists face. Indeed, there is an entire section in the book devoted to one-off characters dying in relatively mundane fashion, underscoring the heightened dangers you face when the safety net of community has been cut away.
The realistic grounding is necessary, because Stephen King (being Stephen King) also has some supernatural elements to add to the mix.
All the survivors, immune from the superflu, begin having shared dreams. Actually, there are two dreams. One dream, the good dream, leads people to an old black woman in Nebraska, Mother Abigail (Here, King indulges an unfortunate propensity for mystical black characters). Another dream, the evil dream, leads people to a Satan-like figure known by several names, but mainly as Randall Flagg (a recurring character in the King canon).
The two dreams lead to a coalescing of flu survivors into separate camps. The good guys, including Larry, Stu, a deaf-mute named Nick Andros, and a low-functioning man named Tom Cullen, gather in Boulder, Colorado, and attempt to rebuild society. The bad guys, including a spree killer named Lloyd, make camp in Las Vegas (naturally!).
As you might have gathered, it is these two forces, good and evil, that must eventually come to conflict. And it is the good people of Boulder who will eventually make the titular stand.
This biblical setup gives King ample opportunity for pop philosophizing. He even creates a character, sociologist Glen Bateman, for the sole purpose of soliloquizing on topics such as community dynamics and embryonic democracy. At this point, King’s reality, which he has worked so hard to create, begins to dissipate. It is replaced by cheap symbolism and on-the-nose commentary.
For instance, with Glen’s help, Randall Flagg is tagged as a fascist, who crucifies anyone who dares cross him; yet his brand of leadership is efficient at getting the lights turned on. Meanwhile, the Boulder folk start committee after committee, strangling themselves in bureaucracy; but at least they have free will and a voice and the constitution.
The Bible 101 also gets to be a bit much. I got that Mother Abigail was supposed to be Christ-like before she wandered off alone into the wilderness.
All this adds up to an endgame disappoints. (Minor, non-specific grousing behind the tag).
Instead of all the plotlines connecting and driving towards a thundering climax, the story just meanders along, studded with tepid monologues and cutaways to emotionally unfulfilling romantic interludes. As I reached the last few hundred pages, my interest waned dramatically. I stopped caring what would happen; I got distracted and started reading other books. I finally had to force myself to finish the damn thing, and frankly, there wasn’t much of a payoff. The actual “stand” of the title, the final battle of good and evil (and literally between white and black), is disposed of in less than twenty pages. I won’t spoil it, but the resolution relies more on deus ex machina than clockwork plotting.
With that aside, The Stand’s virtues more than make up for any shortcomings. My chief complaint is the eyestrain associated with any mass market paperback. Of course, the eyestrain was worth it. The Stand is a fine mess: an ambitious, overstuffed epic that gleefully spills out in every direction. While it lacks the forcefully-focused storytelling of King’s best works, it will definitely remain a landmark against which other world-destroying writers will have to contend.
-tStephen King, The Stand: The Complete and Uncut Edition
A lot of authors have attempted to narrate the end of the world. None quite manage to do so like Stephen King. This is a big book, and as subtle as a sledgehammer, but the end of the world requires a large canvas, and subtlety is not a necessity for this type of material. In short, this is a near-perfect melding of genre and author.
King’s premise for The Stand is firmly rooted in an old-fashioned distrust of the government. In the opening pages, a highly contagious virus – the superflu – escapes from a U.S. Army biological weapons facility. Despite drastic, murderous attempts to quarantine and suppress, the virus spreads the world over. Most people fall victim to this lethal bug; however, a small number of folks, for mysterious reasons, are immune.
King tells this story in the only way he knows how: voluminously. This fully restored, unabridged “author’s cut” weighs in at 1,141 pages.
(I read this is mass market paperback, which was a true test of my aging eyes. I suppose it’s shorter in other versions, but it’s no novella, no matter what way you slice it!).
This length is partially an indulgence, something you can get away with if you are an international bestselling author. Yet King also uses the space to construct a vivid, consistent, and painfully real portrait of a country gone to hell: highways clogged with vehicles; the power gone; bodies littering fields; simple medical procedures turned lethally serious. King has given himself the latitude to not only show the macro effects of the plague, but also the smaller, telling details, such as the fact that all the beverages the characters drink are warm.
(That would be the real tragedy of the situation. All those Diet Dr. Peppers, all of them room temperature and spicy as hell. One shudders to think of it).
The Stand is a deliberately paced novel. It is a thriller with extreme patience. The first 300 pages or so is all set up, following various, unconnected characters whom – it turns out – are impervious to the superflu. During the middle portions of the book, these characters, including East Texan Stu Redman, music star Larry Underwood, pregnant girl Frannie Goldsmith, and fat guy Harold Lauder, start to make their way towards each other.
(And yes, my facile descriptions of these characters are intended to make a point. Despite certain attempts at shading, especially in making putative hero Larry a bit of an ass, all of King’s characters start to meld together. They aren’t distinct as human beings. Even at the end, I was trying to keep certain individuals separate in my mind. King has created some memorable characters in his career, but this is not a character piece).
King has taken his share of literary criticism (while reaping popular success), but he is an undisputed master storyteller. He writes in the third-person omniscient, taking a Gods-eye view of the world he has created and destroyed. His style is one that would burst the blood vessels of most creative writing professors. His prose veers from formal to slangy, often within a single paragraph. His writing is peppered with idioms, pop cultural references (old television shows, movies, and even commercial jingles), snatches of music, and contains an annoying level of puns and malapropisms. King is a product of a culture that valued the collection of trivia over standard intellectualism. He is, therefore, easily accessible to others of that same culture. On the upside, the prose is easy and fun and effortlessly maintains interest. On the downside, The Stand was first published in 1978, so many of the references are hopelessly dated. (The natural consequence of being up-to-the-minute is that the minute passes so quickly).
Besides the time-capsule references, the other disadvantage of King’s voice is that it tends to overwhelm the characters and the situations. It has a homogenizing influence. Everyone talks the same and thinks the same. In one conceit, King excerpts the minutes of a council meeting in the Boulder Free Zone (where survivors have congregated); unsurprisingly, the tone of these “minutes” sound remarkably like King himself. The author and the characters almost become one. This is a disheartening prospect, when the narrator is describing a sex scene and all you can picture is Stephen King’s photograph.
A great deal of time is spent giving depth and detail to a post-civilized landscape. There is a very real-seeming, Swiss Family Robinson-like aspect to the proceedings, as various survivors find ways to carry on in an environment bereft of government and modern conveniences. King goes to extremes to remind you on every page of the conditions his protagonists face. Indeed, there is an entire section in the book devoted to one-off characters dying in relatively mundane fashion, underscoring the heightened dangers you face when the safety net of community has been cut away.
The realistic grounding is necessary, because Stephen King (being Stephen King) also has some supernatural elements to add to the mix.
All the survivors, immune from the superflu, begin having shared dreams. Actually, there are two dreams. One dream, the good dream, leads people to an old black woman in Nebraska, Mother Abigail (Here, King indulges an unfortunate propensity for mystical black characters). Another dream, the evil dream, leads people to a Satan-like figure known by several names, but mainly as Randall Flagg (a recurring character in the King canon).
The two dreams lead to a coalescing of flu survivors into separate camps. The good guys, including Larry, Stu, a deaf-mute named Nick Andros, and a low-functioning man named Tom Cullen, gather in Boulder, Colorado, and attempt to rebuild society. The bad guys, including a spree killer named Lloyd, make camp in Las Vegas (naturally!).
As you might have gathered, it is these two forces, good and evil, that must eventually come to conflict. And it is the good people of Boulder who will eventually make the titular stand.
This biblical setup gives King ample opportunity for pop philosophizing. He even creates a character, sociologist Glen Bateman, for the sole purpose of soliloquizing on topics such as community dynamics and embryonic democracy. At this point, King’s reality, which he has worked so hard to create, begins to dissipate. It is replaced by cheap symbolism and on-the-nose commentary.
For instance, with Glen’s help, Randall Flagg is tagged as a fascist, who crucifies anyone who dares cross him; yet his brand of leadership is efficient at getting the lights turned on. Meanwhile, the Boulder folk start committee after committee, strangling themselves in bureaucracy; but at least they have free will and a voice and the constitution.
The Bible 101 also gets to be a bit much. I got that Mother Abigail was supposed to be Christ-like before she wandered off alone into the wilderness.
All this adds up to an endgame disappoints. (Minor, non-specific grousing behind the tag).
Instead of all the plotlines connecting and driving towards a thundering climax, the story just meanders along, studded with tepid monologues and cutaways to emotionally unfulfilling romantic interludes. As I reached the last few hundred pages, my interest waned dramatically. I stopped caring what would happen; I got distracted and started reading other books. I finally had to force myself to finish the damn thing, and frankly, there wasn’t much of a payoff. The actual “stand” of the title, the final battle of good and evil (and literally between white and black), is disposed of in less than twenty pages. I won’t spoil it, but the resolution relies more on deus ex machina than clockwork plotting.
With that aside, The Stand’s virtues more than make up for any shortcomings. My chief complaint is the eyestrain associated with any mass market paperback. Of course, the eyestrain was worth it. The Stand is a fine mess: an ambitious, overstuffed epic that gleefully spills out in every direction. While it lacks the forcefully-focused storytelling of King’s best works, it will definitely remain a landmark against which other world-destroying writers will have to contend.