I was 21 (I think) and at my first Society for Neuroscience conference in New Orleans. Imagine tens of thousands of neuroscientists and their students gathered in one place for about five days to present and absorb all sorts of neuroscience. Rows and rows of posters full of new and exciting data about the brain, how it functions, and what that means for all of us. Understanding of behaviors, knowledge about disease and injury, how new and old drugs impact the brain and behavior, and many more things.
I was wandering through the posters, wide-eyed and new to the field (I had attended to meet with a prospective mentor to begin my graduate work), when a crowd of people appeared out of nowhere in front of me. There was an excited buzz about them so I joined the group to see what the hubbub was about.
A space in the middle of the crowd opened up and flowed forward as the center of the space moved through the room. That center was Christopher Reeve. My eyes widened with both excitement and a sense of shock. I knew he was wheelchair bound, of course, but seeing him in person, a mere ten feet away stunned me. Here was Superman, knocked down to human form in front of me, suffering all the frailty of humanity. He passed by and the moment ended but stuck with me the rest of my life.
As my career progressed and I ended up working in the operating room with patients who suffered similar injuries to Mr. Reeve, I often thought of the impact he had on me in that moment. The feeling of my work doing something important for people. Either to work on basic science to inform more advanced work or by helping guide surgeons as they piece a broken spine back together. That moment helped my understand the gravity of that work.
My local theater is screening the new Reeve biopic, Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story, tomorrow. While I can’t make it tomorrow, I’ll be sure to watch once it’s available online.
Night Shift part 2, finally. When it comes to writing, I’ve been slacking. I need to get back on this horse. I’m not a big short story reader and so getting though collections of them is hard for me. Night Shift wasn’t the only short story book I’ve read this year. The other was Out There Screaming, another but much newer horror collection of black authors. It was awesome, but I still took a long time to roam through the pages. I couldn’t tell you why I take so long exactly, but my theory is that I get into the stories so much that I have to ruminate on each one after they’re done. I try to figure out where they might go if the author were to continue or where they could have gone to be even more impressive. No, I’m not really so arrogant to think I could improve on so many amazing authors’ works, but sometimes I wish I knew what happened to a character or what would have happened if the main character made different choices. Short stories are oftentimes incomplete to me. I want more.
Night Shift was a book of wonders to me. So many of the stories have been brought to life on TV or in movies. I was surprised by a couldn’t of them. I didn’t know Children of the Corn was Stephen King, or The Lawnmower Man, though the movie is only loosely based on the short story. There’s also Sometimes They Come Back, Trucks (Maximum Overdrive is the movie), The Boogeyman, and The Mangler. The two others that are built around other stories that have made it to the screen are Jerusalem’s Lot (‘Salem’s Lot of course and Night Surf set in the Stand world). Just a treasure trove of Stephen King was compiled in this book.
Without getting into each story, I’ll tell my favorite and least favorite stories. The latter first. I didn’t really like Gray Matter. The story is about a boy whose father was ill or injured at home. He would get beer from the local convenience store and at some point began sending the boy for the drinks (ah, the days when you could do such a thing). The boy comes in one day and is afraid. The men in the story come to help and find the dad has transformed into a large fungus-like creature that is ingesting cats and possibly some missing people. While a reasonable enough story, it just wasn’t my favorite in the book.
My favorite on the other hand was Trucks. The angry vehicles come to life were almost comical to me. I loved that they negotiated for gas to keep terrorizing the humans. Just an almost light horror story and the obvious fantasy element was enjoyable. This one could be longer for me though. Like what happened in other places, did the humans ever win out, etc. Other points of view would have been fun to add. I need to see the movie now.
Anyway, that’s it for Night Shift. Next up I’ll write something up for The Stand. My favorite book still after reading it for the third time. Thanks for reading if you made it this far 🙂
Hello, everyone! I’m sitting at my desk again. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything. I took some time off to deal with a pretty hefty health issue. Still dealing to be honest, but on the upswing. I’ve learned it’s hard to focus on writing while dealing with the stress of a bad illness and the fatigue that comes with it.
So, what was wrong with me? Last summer, I was diagnosed with a leaky heart valve after I almost passed out one day. I’d had shortness of breath, which I attributed to my anemia that I’ve had for a while now. The valve issue seemed manageable with medication for about eight months and even cleared up my shortness of breath issue some.
Image: Heart diagram with examples of healthy and stenotic aortic valve. source: Longmore Clinic
Image: Diagram of the heath with a mechanical aortic valve. source: Mayo Clinic
To make matters worse, I found a small lump. It was sitting between my skin and my breast implant, in almost the exact same position as the last tumor. I went back to Mayo and got the fast-track treatment because that wasn’t supposed to happen. The lump was removed in September, and I had 15 rounds of radiation in December. My ovaries are also medically shut down for the next five years or so. I’d like to say I’m cancer-free again, but now I’m guarded about such a declaration. We’ll see how that goes over time. Back to my heart.
In March, I had trouble breathing and went into the ER again. My valve was worse (from ‘mild’ to ‘moderate to severe’ regurgitation was the terminology) and I began losing energy with even small exertions. I had a TEE done. That’s a transesophageal echocardiogram for all of us that had no idea. They do an echo of your heart from inside your esophagus…while you’re awake. Fun times. The esophagus is right next to the heart, so it gives the doctor a much better view of the heart structure. My valve was bad. I could hear him whisper to the ultrasound tech that I needed a new valve. I didn’t ask questions. I couldn’t. The probe was still down my throat.
A few days later, I was in my cardiologist’s office hearing that same news. My valve was far worse than before and my heart was working overtime to keep up, a recipe for heart failure. I needed to have the replacement done within six months. So, I started the process of finding a surgeon. I tried to go back to Mayo Clinic, but the process seemed to take forever. I wanted this done as soon as possible. To be fair to them, I probably would have had the surgery around the same time, but I was able to secure the scheduled time faster with a surgeon who worked at St. Joseph’s hospital in Phoenix. I had worked there and was confident in their doctors and staff. It helps your confidence when you see the doctors work on other people. Luckily, though, he also did cases at Chandler Regional Hospital (same hospital system, Dignity Health), which is much closer to home, and I had my surgery there.
I was scheduled for surgery on June 19th. Perfect because my mom’s birthday was the 18th, and we could take her to a nice dinner beforehand. Well, on the 17th, they called me and asked me to move up to the 18th. That was fine, but I had to move reservations around. We had a great dinner at Elliott’s Steakhouse in downtown Chandler. My sister was also in town, so it was an awesome evening.
I was mentally well prepared for the procedure, but it was the most nerve-wracking wait I’ve ever had before going under the knife. When I got in the room, the nurse introduced me to everyone, the last being the perfusionist that would run the bypass machine. Bypass, to me, is a magical process. They shut down your heart and lungs. Your blood runs through a machine that oxygenates the blood and returns it to the body. That part isn’t magical to me. I get the science of it. The last step holds the magic. That’s when they jump start the heart and lungs and get you going again. It’s rather amazing to me that those organs can be shut down for hours and then start again like nothing happened (almost). I’ve even been in an OR and watched the process happen, and I still can’t wrap my head around it. That it happened to me still bounces around in my head as a surprise sometimes.
Image: A cardiopulmonary bypass machine in use during surgery. source: The Physiological Society
Looking at the machine is the last thing I remember before waking up in the ICU. Technically, I woke up three or four times in the ICU that night. The first time, I had the dazed “where am I?” thoughts for a few moments before I remembered. Then, I felt the tube in my throat and hoped I wouldn’t gag right before I did. I could hear people around me, telling me not to pull the tube out of my throat. I wasn’t planning on it, but I imagine I wasn’t fully running the Sarah show at that point. I tried to give a thumbs up to show I heard them. I have no idea if I was successful. I think I opened my eyes a tiny bit because I remember seeing a nurse pushing propofol into my IV. I may also have been making that part up. I did fall back to sleep right after. The process repeated one or two more times before I was breathing well enough to pull the tube out.
They kept an eye on me as I woke up. Once they deemed my heart and lungs ready (within a day I think, this part is fuzzy), they transferred me to the cardiac ward for the rest of my stay.
There, I ate, slept, got meds, and started getting out of bed. At first, there were just trips to the bathroom, but they quickly started making me walk in the halls. Walking was hard work. My lungs were not fully inflated yet. That’s how I describe the sensation at least. When they would listen with a stethoscope and tell me to take a deep breath, all I could do was a tiny gasp. As the days passed, the gasp got bigger and bigger. They gave me an incentive spirometer to help build my lung capacity back up. By the last day, I could breathe comfortably, but still had a ways to go for a full breath.
Image: Photo of an incentive spirometer. source: Beyond Surgical Supply
People came to see me. My sister came for the first couple of days until she had to go home. My mom and husband came every day and sat with me. A couple of good friends from grad school dropped in for a while. It was nice to see them all, but I was not the best company then. I guess that’s to be expected.
Surgery was on a Tuesday. I went home on Sunday. My tubes and lines were all removed. I got a huge pile of instructions. There were a ton of appointments to make. It all sounded exhausting, but I managed to get it all done over the next few weeks.
Home PT was actually kind of fun. The therapist was very nice and eased me into the routine. Mom did my PT with me on the days the therapist didn’t come. There were a lot of light leg exercises for strength, balance, and stamina.
I weaned off the pain killers.
At six weeks post-surgery, I was able to drive again. I took it slow but didn’t have any issues. Then it was time to say bye to mom. She had been so helpful during her stay, but we all had to get back to normal. Dad missed her, too. In the meantime, school has started. I’ve begun cardiac rehab, which is more cardio exercises to build up my heart while being monitored by a nurse and physical therapist. I go three days a week until sometime in October.
I’m feeling better than I have in a long time. I feel ready to accomplish more of the projects I’ve planned on around the house. I’ve been cleaning up a lot of the clutter that’s accumulated with a lot more to go. It’s exciting to get life back in order.
The funniest comment I received throughout this process was how good I looked at every stage. After a little while, I realized why. I’m 45 years old and most people receiving a new valve are at least 20 years older. The procedure takes a lot out of you and recovery can be very difficult. There is a big difference in those 20 years when talking about how well one can recover.
I am motivated to regain a lot of what my life once was and more if possible. I believe this valve issue has been impacting my life for a very long time but either wasn’t detectable or wasn’t causing bad enough symptoms to trigger a doctor to look. Because of that, I have a sort-of goal that I want to test out. I want to know if I can run now. It’s been decades since I could run much at all because I would lose my breath. I was even diagnosed with sports-induced asthma, but the inhalers never helped, but I wonder if my heart valve was causing issues as far back as my teens. It’s a sort-of goal because I don’t have the expectation that I’ll accomplish it. It’s more of a hypothesis that I’m testing. It will be awesome if I can run. A jog in the mornings would be a nice way to start the day.
My next big goal is to start writing regularly again. I received some very helpful and positive feedback regarding my book from a publisher and will tackle those changes soon. I’m also planning a Kindle Vella project and want to write more in this blog. I’m still reading Stephen King in order and need to catch up on those posts, but also I have some topics I want to explore.
Anyway, that’s been my life this summer and I’m excited to get back to it.
Quick edit to add a shoutout to Edward Bauman on Youtube for posting a video about his experiences with his mechanical aortic valve replacement. I felt so much more at ease though the process because I knew what to expect from his video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4vOu5bzHLk
I took a little break from Stephen King to read American Gods by Neil Gaiman. Battle between the old gods and the new gods with the main character, Shadow, stuck in the middle. My husband and I had opposite reactions to this book. We both agree it’s well written and researched. I liked the story. He did not. I guess we can’t agree all the time. Oh and it’s also a good comp for my god book that is currently just a thought, but I plan to work on after the Arn stories have wormed their way out of my head.
I started reading Night Shift a couple of days ago. It’s a collection of Stephen King’s early short stories. Most of the stories were published before Carrie in different magazines. I say this because I’m only three stories in and each one has a reference or a similar concept to a later book.
Jerusalem’s Lot, for example, is the first story and the tie in to ‘Salem’s Lot is obvious from the name alone. Indeed, the story is a prequel to ‘Salem’s Lot set in the 1800s. The story comes complete with nosferatu and in a very Stephen King fashion (someone said this is taken from H.P. Lovecraft, but since I haven’t delved into his work, I have no idea) there is a monster under a town (reminiscent of IT and Insomnia).
The next story, Graveyard Shift, also has a monster underground along with workplace angst. The workers manage to do what everyone wants to do if they have a bad boss and feed him to the monster.
Finally, in Night Surf, a group of teenagers are in the middle of the final days of the Captain Trips infection. The same infection killing everyone in the beginning of The Stand.
As I mentioned, most of the stories were written before Carrie was published. The hints at future stories make me wonder at the planning King was doing for his future works. Did the short stories come first and then he built from those? Was he already working on the novels and wrote the short stories as chapters or alongside the main stories? Or was there a master plan for his work and these were some of the off shoots? I have no idea, but I wouldn’t mind asking him if I got the chance. I imagine he’s been asked before.
Anyway, I felt compelled to write this because I was seeing all these connections to future King books. I’ll get back to it and see how the foreshadowing continues.
Here I sit, in a hotel, having just finished The Shining. I’m pretty sure my stay here will be relatively uneventful, but I’ll keep my eye on the exits.
I’ve been teased on more than one occasion these past few weeks about my never having read this book or having seen the movie until now. I still need to watch the movie. Of course, the mocking turns to a bit of awe when I tell them I’ve been inside The Stanley Hotel, which is the muse for The Shining novel. Another hotel in Oregon was used for the movie. One summer about 24 years ago, I was in a summer program in Boulder and we took a day trip to Estes Park and stopped for a pit stop at the hotel. We were only there for a few minutes, but it was long enough to solidify my mental image of the building while reading the book.
Funny enough, there was very little about the book that I didn’t already know. The story has been retold in pieces in so many places. The most vibrant retelling for me has been The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror episode. The book has shown up in many other shows and movies as well and I’ve seen many clips of the movie through the years as well. The plot was pretty well ruined by the time I read the book, but that didn’t take away from it in my opinion.
From the movie. Hmm…this famous scene isn’t in the book.
The Shining revolves around a small family, down on their luck because of the father’s (Jack) foul temper and history of drinking. He sober and unemployed when we meet him and interviewing for the job of winter caretaker of the Overlook Hotel. His marriage is on the rocks because of his drinking and subsequent abuse of his young son, Danny.
Danny has the ability to see into the future and can solve problems for his family from time to time. He struggles with the issues his parents face and has a bad premonition about living in the hotel, but he doesn’t share the information with his parents because they might think he’s crazy and he doesn’t want to mess up the opportunity his father has with this job.
The family moves to the hotel, and, on the first day, Danny meet Dick. Dick is also clairvoyant and recognizes the talent in Danny. He speaks with Danny about the gift. He calls it a shining. He warns Danny about the hotel. Some places have memories of the past. They may be scary, but they can’t harm you, he tells Danny. He tells Danny to call him with the shining if he needs help and he’ll come.
After all the staff has left, the family settles in and waits for winter. Jack works on a play he’s writing and works on the hotel. Most importantly, he relieves the boiler of steam two or three times a day so that it won’t explode. Jack and Danny begin to have odd experiences in the hotel.
After they are snowed in, Jack begins to lose his grip on reality. Danny has a terrifying experience and his mother wants to take him down the mountain on the snowmobile the hotel owns. Jack sabotages her efforts and the family must stay in the hotel. Danny realizes his father is no longer safe and calls for Dick. Dick, in Florida, drops everything and begins his journey to the hotel.
Another from the movie. This is in the book….sort of.
I’ll end my summary there. I really enjoyed the book. When I was younger, I did start to read it, but couldn’t get past the beginning. I don’t think I was relating to Jack very well. I was a teenager and he was older and interviewing for a job. I just didn’t connect. Now, it’s a lot easier to relate.
Oh and talk about relating. King almost convinced me (without trying) that I wanted to be a winter caretaker of a Colorado mountain hotel. The introvert in me thought it sounded awesome. The cook in me wanted the run of the fully stocked professional kitchen. A nice mountain view to sit next to and write with no access to the outside world sounds awesome, at least for a little while. This was in the 70s and I can’t imagine I’d be as enthusiastic without access to the internet. Maybe with a big pile of books…maybe.
All that in mind, I wouldn’t want to have the danger of a broken boiler hanging over my head all the time. Sleeping in once and BOOM! The whole place goes up. No thank you. I struggle with the idea that a big, swanky hotel would prefer to risk the loss over replacing the boiler. It just doesn’t make sense. Also, what happened those earlier years when bad things happened to the caretaker? Maybe it wasn’t as bad then and didn’t need to be depressurized as frequently.
I love King’s ability to introduce multiple characters and give in depth details about their lives without burying the reader in the details. I feel like I get to know the characters well. The Shining did an excellent job of this. Jack is an angry man and it stems from the confusion about his father’s love mixed with his abuse. He drank to ease his stress around his job and responsibilities to his family. His drinking led to him breaking his son’s arm when he was very small. He’s spent the years since trying to make up for it by quitting drinking, but still has a foul temper, which lost him his job. His wife, Wendy, has no good options and does her best to tolerate Jack and protect Danny. If she left Jack, she would have to move back with her mother because she doesn’t have a career or financial protections. Danny is a precocious child, which seems to be a side effect of his powers. He’s able to see into the minds of the adults around him and so can put together the problems of the adult world in a way no other child under six can. He’s so brave throughout the book, both when handling his parent’s problems and when facing the evil in the hotel. Finally, Dick is an awesome character. I love his wit and his devotion to Danny based on a short meeting. He’s figured out what he wants out of life and isn’t afraid to rock his boat to help others. Great character.
On to the next one. Night Shift. I think I read this one back in the day, but I don’t remember a thing about it. Also, I found a woman on Facebook who was selling her Stephen King books and added a ton of his books to my library. I probably still have less than half of his books, but I grabbed a good chunk of them.
Ok first off, a trigger warning. This book is about a school shooter.
That said, I’m a little torn about how to review this book. The topic is so much more in our face now than when the book was written. We’ve all been affected by the epidemic of mass shootings in the US. My 11-year-old son has lockdown drills and we’re all more wary when we’re out in public. I’m wary of saying something that can be misconstrued. Not that I have any controversial opinions about school shootings. They’re bad and they’re an indicator of a mental health crisis in our country. I don’t think many people would disagree with those two thoughts. The more nuanced arguments people make may or may not play a role, but the mental health crisis is probably the most important. How we fix that is much harder to figure out.
Rage was written in 1977 by Richard Bachman. A few years later, Bachman was outed as a pseudonym of Stephen King. In the Introduction to the Bachman compilation book, King gives several reasons for writing under a pseudonym, my favorite being that he wanted to see how well books would sell without his name attached. In terms of books, Rage did ok, but in terms of Stephen King books, even at this early point in his career, it flopped. Later, when everyone knew who Bachman was, the sales went up significantly. Funny enough, since I knew it was Stephen King, I could tell within a few pages that he wrote the book. The character development, the setting, it was all very King. He noted people were asking him if he was Bachman almost as soon as the book hit the shelves. Even so early in his career, his style stood out.
The other reason for publishing under a pseudonym and probably the one that made the ultimate decision to publish as such was that the publishers themselves believed there were too many (?) King books coming out at that time. I’m not certain this was the reason, but I’ve seen this mentioned a few times now. Whatever the reason, it makes for an interesting history of the few Bachman books we have.
In Rage, a teenage boy is expelled from his school for attacking a teacher and proceeds to burn his locker, shoot his teacher, take his class hostage, and shoot another teacher (administrator?). The remainder of the book bounces between the events in and around the classroom and the stories about the past told by the main character and the other students. The main character doesn’t kill any of his classmates and is shot by the police, ending the standoff. The book is being told by the main character after the shooting and his recovery while he’s in a mental institution.
Rage was taken out of print in 1998 after numerous incidents, both shootings and hostage-takings, that resembled the book in one way or another. King, feeling disconcerted that his work may have influenced such actions, asked his publisher to remove the book from print. They complied and now, the book is only available used and I’ve only found it (at a reasonable price) in the compilation book with three other Bachman novels that are still in press. Incidentally, the first printing of Rage is for sale at Abebooks.com for a mere $15,000. Oh and it’s signed by Stephen King.
So, why was it written in the first place? King has said the book drew upon his own frustrations and pains in high school. He knew they were reflective of mental illness, as well. I couldn’t relate as well to the main character’s specific issues, but I could empathize. His father treated him poorly and no one was in tune with his mental state. He had issues with other students and teachers. He had an embarrassing encounter with a girl in the book, but he seemed to get along with the girls for the most part. I had the impression the main character was a Holden Caulfield type, the Catcher in the Rye version. Did you know Salinger wrote multiple versions of Holden Caufield in his career and they weren’t always the same angry kid? His anger revolved around his father and the school administrators. Ultimately, Holden didn’t shoot up his school or anything so dramatic, but his angst left an impression on many high school students because we all have frustrations, anxiety, anger, etc. in high school. Holden captures that, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a template for Charlie, King’s shooter.
Do I feel like Rage caused school shootings? No, of course not. There are so many images in our society a troubled youth can draw from for inspiration. Rage may have come early relative to the timeline of school shootings in the US and maybe someone was inspired by it, but I can’t fault it. I remember Marilyn Manson being blamed for Columbine.
Personally, my son has been understanding the meaning of songs more recently and gave me a shocked look when he finally understood the lyrics of Pumped Up Kicks. I told him the purpose of the song, and we discussed the importance of talking about our feelings and getting help. Because of this, I think books like Rage and the music I mentioned can be important in educating our kids about their own metal health.
At the end of all this, I’d say the book was pretty decent. It’s short at 131 pages. I found myself feeling sympathy for all the students. Each one had some traumatic experience that made them understand Charlie. That could also be my biggest complaint about the book. The reaction to the initial shooting and being held hostage was unrealistic to me with the exception of one student. Ted was the popular, jock-type and consistently seemed to be looking for a way to get out of the situation. The other students played along with Charlie. They told their own stories. One even left the classroom to use the restroom and came back. The situation seemed more than a little unlikely.
On to The Shining. It’s the first big, well-known, popular King book I’ve never read. I’ve also never seen the movie, so all new for me.
So, I love vampire stories. Dracula, Anne Rice, Lost Boys, Fright Night, Blade, the Buffy-verse, even Twilight (though it gets a little rough when I start thinking about the relationship dynamics going on there). So many others. Serious and silly, I enjoy them.
Salem’s Lot is quintessential vampire. They can’t go out during the day. Holy water and crosses hurt them if the wielder believes in them. They can’t enter a home without permission and hypnotize their victims to get inside. They can mist through things and their reflections are not solid if present at all. A stake to the heart is the preferred method to kill them.
When people break these vampire “rules”, the story is harder to enjoy. I just think the author is trying to fix holes in their plot. Twilight is the worst of the rule breakers. Blade also breaks the rule but has a much better plot line explaining why Blade can go out in the daylight.
Salem’s Lot is a small town in Maine. Writer Ben Mears has returned to the Lot to work on a book about the town’s most notorious murder/suicide and the home it happened in, Marsten House. He planned to rent the house and write his book there, but he learned the home had been purchased. The new owners seemed to be moving in around the time Ben arrived in town.
A small boy disappears one night in the woods and his older brother is stricken with illness and can’t remember what happened to them. Eventually the older brother dies. Others come down with a similar illness and die as well.
Ben and his group of friends suspect the new owners of Marsten House are vampires and come up with a plan to confront them. One-by-one, Ben’s friends are picked off until it is just him and a boy from town. They manage to kill the head vampire and then flee town.
My biggest complaint about this book is how fast Ben and his friends decide a vampire is running around, almost like it was an everyday problem. Sure, they get concrete confirmation soon enough, but the initial jump to that conclusion was too soon.
Otherwise, I think this is a great book. The character development is spot on, which I expect from Stephen King. He can give a random, short-lived character life in a way that few other authors manage.
Next up, I’m reading Rage by Richard Bachman (aka Stephen King). King made the pseudonym because back in the 1970s, a writer couldn’t publish more than one book per year (source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Bachman). King is known for being prolific to the extent that I’ve heard some people say he has a team of writers working for him to churn out his books. Seems unlikely to me, but you never know for sure. Either way, I don’t really care. I still enjoy his books.
I found there was a hurdle to reading everything King, out-of-print. Rage is the first book I’ve come to in King’s list that is OOP. There was a collection of the Bachman books (image above), but that is also OOP. I found an old used copy for sale online finally so I’ll be able to keep reading everything in order.
Well, I have to give up on watching the movies and shows if I’m ever going to make progress on my little experiment. I made it through the first Carrie movie but haven’t found the time to watch the other three. It’s still a little surprising that there are 4 total Carrie movies.
For the rest of this, there will be spoilers. I figure most people who get even this far will have an idea of what happens in Carrie so probably no issues.
Carrie is a great short(ish) horror story. Stephen King’s first published novel, he famously threw the unfinished manuscript in the trash in frustration that the story wasn’t forming well. His wife, Tabitha, fished it out of the bin (trash can, wastepaper basket, take your pick. I’ve been seeing a lot of Tiktoks about the differences between American English and British English recently) and read the pages. She pressed him to continue the book and helped with the menstruation parts so he could get them right. Carrie was then rejected 30 times before being accepted by a publisher and published in 1974. The novel is a mix of narratives by an omniscient narrator and various scientists and writers in Carrie’s world writing articles to attempt an explanation of Carrie and the events on prom night.
My take on Carrie:
High school sucks. People are mean. Even nice people will be mean when the group is in mean mode. Carrie was the perfect victim of high school meanness and had a very public moment of weakness to feed the mean.
I relate in a small way to Sue Snell, the nice girl who is mean to Carrie. I remember joining in on teasing once in a while in middle and high school. I never tried to be mean, but I was mean. I would and still do feel bad for that. The victims of the meanness were, like Carrie, the oddballs. They didn’t behave like the rest of us. Of course, I’m one to talk there. I didn’t behave like the rest of them either, but I was close enough to whatever normal was to avoid most attacks.
Sue was different though. She was popular and could make a heroic effort to atone for her meanness. And, by all appearances, she would have been successful if not for the truly mean, mean girl, Chris. Sue’s sincere gesture to have her popular boyfriend, Tommy, take Carrie to the prom and give Carrie a chance to fit in was embraced by her peers enough that Carrie began to feel accepted before her and their doom literally fell on her head.
When the blood fell, I preferred King’s description to the movie. In the movie, the kids all just laughed at Carrie, making them seem to still fall into the mean category. In the book, the first laugh was a shocked response to Carrie’s shocked expression. Everyone else was shocked. The first laugh wasn’t born of any malice, but surprise. Unfortunately, that first laugh started a chain reaction that was part shock and part lack of knowing what was going on and part following the crowd. People are mean.
The best and most awful part of this story is how it still resonates today. Even with all the anti-bullying rhetoric over the years, kids still pick on each other relentlessly. There is little tolerance for behavior that stands out as odd and the mean kids will find pleasure picking on those who don’t fit the mold well enough. Parents of the mean kids aren’t helpful. They either don’t believe their angels would act that way or they support it. Have to be tough to survive mentality.
As for Carrie’s supernatural abilities, the book helped build that into her background in a way that was missing in the movie. Knowing that she’s always had this ability but hadn’t learned to use it was more satisfying than simply developing the power when she was made fun of once.
Also in the book, Carrie’s mother mentions that a demon came to them once and was sent away. The description reminded me of Randall Flagg (a King character that represents evil first in The Stand and then in later works as well) and now Google tells me I’m not the only one to notice that similarity. Some even suggest that Flagg is Carrie’s father. Certainly, a possibility in the world of Stephen King that would account for Carrie’s ability, but the book seemed to put a divide between Ralph White and the demon. Great tie in if the character is the same regardless of Carrie’s parentage.
All-in-all, I like the book. It’s a little rougher than King’s later work, but that’s expected for a new novelist. Even one who was destined to be one of the most successful of all time. It’s also a quick read for those who want a short read with lots of breaks to pause at.
Next book is Salem’s Lot. Vampires yay!
Summary of Carrie:
A girl with some innate, buried psychokinetic abilities grows up in a repressed, ultra-religious house with a widowed mother. Her abilities have shown up once or twice during her childhood with the biggest event happening during abuse by her mother after she observed a neighbor sunbathing in a bikini. Carrie made stone rain down on her house. Her mother didn’t seem to connect the event with Carrie, or at least she blew off the inclination to think the girl was responsible.
Fast forward, and Carrie is sixteen. She starts her period in the gym locker room shower. All the girls tease her and throw feminine products at her until the gym teacher intervenes. She shoos away the girls and gets Carrie cleaned up. She and the principal decide to send Carrie home.
Back home, her mother berates her for sinning and bringing on the period. Here’s the first part where I’m cheering Carrie on. Up to now, she’s been a passive victim and now she asks her mother why she never taught Carrie about menstruation. Her mother becomes indignant and forces Carrie into a closet she uses for punishment. Carrie begins to realize she can control things with her mind.
In the meantime, the gym teacher punishes the bad behavior of the girls by giving them a week’s detention with the threat of losing their prom tickets if they do not show up. One girl, Chris, doesn’t show up and isn’t allowed to go to prom. She’s the daughter of a prominent lawyer in town and her father threatens the principal with a lawsuit. The principal holds his ground. Chris and her bad boy boyfriend come up with a plan to get back at Carrie at the prom.
Another girl, Sue, from the gym class feels bad about the way Carrie was treated and wants to try to help Carrie come out of her shell and make friends. Sue asks her popular boyfriend to ask Carrie to the prom. Carrie refuses the invitation at first but is pressured into saying yes. Her mother hates the idea, convinced Carrie will sin and fornicate, but Carrie scares her with her powers. Carrie sews her own dress for the dance and is excited to be accepted by her peers.
At the prom, Carrie and her date are on the ballot for prom king and queen and win. After they’ve been crowned on the stage with everyone watching, Chris dumps a bucket of pig’s blood over Carrie’s head. The kids start to laugh, and Carrie begins to use her psychokinetic abilities to trap the kids and chaperones in the gym. A fire starts and most of the prom attendees die. Carrie continues walking through the town causing destruction and mayhem as she makes her way home. At home, she kills her mother, but is injured in the process. Then she hunts down Chris and kills her and her boyfriend before dying herself.
References:
King, S. (2020). On writing: A memoir of the craft. Hodder.
First a book update: I’ve finished the book and started looking for an agent or publisher. I’m about 22 agent rejections in, which isn’t terrible yet. There are hundreds of agents and attract the right one is tough to say the least.
About a month ago, I was contemplating submitting directly to publishers and one popped up that I was excited to submit to. I put together the package and sent it in. The gatekeeper (that’s what I call him in my head, he’s ever wearing a robe and holding a staff in my imagination) responded quickly saying the book sounded exciting. So now the review committee for the publisher is reading my book to decide if they want to move forward with it.
I’m really excited, but in a very tempered kind of way. They might decide it isn’t up their alley and send me packing. Either way, Daughter of Arn is a little closer to seeing the light of day and I appreciate their efforts.
So about that thing I’m gonna do…I haven’t been writing nearly as much as I should recently because of annoying things distracting me (when I am writing, I’m working on the sequel to Daughter of Arn), but I have been reading a lot. So much so that I’m currently 13 books over my Goodreads goal for the year and I’ll probably add one or two more. I still have most of December.
The other day I had a thought of something I’d like to try and accomplish, reading-wise. I’m a fan of Stephen King’s work. My favorite book is The Stand and I’ve enjoyed every book I’ve read by him. I feel like I’ve read a bunch of his work, but when I look at his bibliography, I’ve only scratched the surface. There is so much. 65 novels and novellas and over 200 short stories.
I’m going to attempt to read them all in order (except the short stories because I haven’t found a list that includes them yet; I’ll still read them). So I don’t go completely mad, I’ll intersperse other books with them and I might skip Fairy Tale since I read it in the last year. I’ll also watch the movies and shows that go along with it all. Then I’ll finish each with a post here. It’s a long-haul project, but the reader in me is excited to do it.
Anyway, I’m starting with Carrie. I finished reading it already, but haven’t watched the movies. I saw the 1976 version with Sissy Spacek back in high school, but there are 2 remakes and a sequel to watch. After that is Salem’s Lot.
“I can’t tell what any of the stops are called. They’re only in symbols.”
“They should have American letters.”
“Not American, English letters, and those are based on the Latin alphabet.”
“Fine, Einstein. Do you see any letters?”
“No, only symbols. Which one is our stop? I thought you looked all this stuff up.”
“I did. Don’t be a jerk. The webpage said all the maps had English spellings. Our stop is S-h-i-n dash K-i-b-a. The resort is near there.”
“Well, I don’t see any letters I can read and can’t tell where it is. Why don’t you come over here and look at the map? We don’t need more picture of the station.”
A sigh emanated from the other side of the sign, and the sound of the camera shutting down pinged in the empty station. A tall, stringy young man with thick rimmed glasses came around to have a look. His nose crinkled, lifting the frames as he peered at the lines with various symbols representing the stops along the way.
“Huh. Well that sucks. I’d try to ask somebody, but I haven’t seen anyone for a while.” The thought sent him down another path of confusion. “That’s odd, isn’t it? These stations are usually filled with people.”
The other young man, much shorter than his counterpart, looked around and seemed to notice they were alone for the first time. “Yeah, that is weird. You know what though? I don’t care. Where is the stop? Can’t you tell by looking at the lines?”
The tall man looked back to the map. After a moment, he shook his head. “I’m not certain, but I think this one is our stop.” He pointed to the end of a line on the east side of the map.
“Great. We can just head that way and maybe there will be people who can help us there.”
The tall man continued to look concerned but nodded his consent. He was about to try puzzling out the schedule for the train when a horn sounded down the tunnel and a train came barreling out soon after. The brakes began to squeal, the train coming to an abrupt stop near the end of the station platform. No other trains stopped at this station, so it must have been theirs. The doors opened. No one exited. The men couldn’t see anyone on the train. They looked at one another, shrugged, and stepped on board.
The ride was uneventful, assuming one considered the fact that the train was empty even though it should have been full of commuters.
“Maybe it’s the time of day,” the short man mumbled after the third stop where no passengers got on and they couldn’t see anyone through the windows. “Everyone must be at work or something.”
The train slid into their stop and the doors parted. The two men again exchanged a glance and stepped out onto an old wooden platform, nothing like they expected. All the previous stops were modern, underground subway stations. This stop was above ground and the planks of wood creaked under the men’s footfalls. A set of stairs led away from the platform. At the bottom of the steps was a wooden frame. This side of the frame was blank, but the tall man expected the front side said the name of the station. Past the frame was a forest. A trail from the bottom of the platform steps meandered through the trees and out of sight.
“Is this where we were trying to go? It doesn’t look like a resort will be anywhere near here.” The short man said, the unease clear in his voice.
“I don’t know where we are. I don’t see any signs either. Maybe we should get back on the train.”
The short man nodded, but before they turned around the train doors closed. The locomotive rumbled off into the distance.
“What are we going to do now?” the short man whined.
“Let’s see what’s down that path.” The tall man pointed at the trail at the bottom of the stairs. “Maybe we can find someone.”
As they passed through the frame at the bottom of the steps, a cold gust of wind hit them. “Why is it cold? We’re in the middle of summer,” The short man complained.
They continued walking. Coming around a turn in the woods they stopped short, confused at the scene in front of them. A group of people, monks maybe, stood in a semi-circle facing away. They wore white cowls that shimmered in the light. Before the monks was an open pit that contained a smoldering fire. A soft chant filled the air. Off to the side of the path, was a series of cages, two were open and empty, but the others contained huddling men cowering as far from the doors as possible as though they could prevent their fate.
A fate the men witnessed when one of the monks broke away to open a cage and grab one of the prisoners. A growl emanated from the monk as he hauled his poor victim to the edge of the pit and tossed him in. The screams jarred the two tourists from their stupor and they both screamed along with the dying man.
The monks turned in unison to face the men. Their faces were obscured by the cowls but looked like unhuman beasts. The men thought they saw smiles spread across the faces of the terrifying monks. They backed away as the monks moved in their direction. They glanced at the two, now three, empty cages and gulped. Worse than the beastly, grinning faces, the monks continued to hum as they approached. The men’s feet felt glued to the ground, and they watched with horror as the monks approached them.
The spell was broken when a train horn sounded behind them. They turned in unison and bolted back to the train station as fast as their legs could carry them. The tall man passed through the wooden frame and up the steps first, followed soon after by the short man. The short man turned to look back at the monks, but they were gone. Then he ran into the tall man, knocking them both to the subway floor.
Both men looked around in shock at the station. Porcelain tiled floors and walls replaced the wooden planks and railings. A ceiling with fluorescent lighting blocked out the sky. Looking behind them, the men saw an escalator crawling up towards an exit above. On the tiled subway wall was a large rectangular sign that read “Shin-Kiba Station”. Signs for their resort were everywhere. People milled about, waiting for the coming train. A few stopped to stare at the two Americans falling over themselves and then continued with their lives.
S. E. Baran 