On Stephen King's 'The Stand'

Over 33 years ago, I first read Stephen King. My Mum worked in our local library in Essex, so I spent much of my youth there and deliciously skimmed the adult fiction section looking at all the delights that were slightly out of my reach at that time. The same can be said for the browsing of the local video rental store; you'd always find me in the horror section looking in fascination and disgust at the VHS front and back covers of Carrie, Chopping Mall and Ghost Ship. I was a macabre child, it's fair to say, and it's no wonder now that I write horror. It only clicked a few years ago when I undertook my MA in Creative Writing and refused to ignore any longer that you really should 'write what you know', and that what I know - with an overactive imagination and tendency to overthink calamity in any scenario - is the strange and the horrific.

The first King I read was Pet Sematary. As an animal lover, it was truly repugnant but King's way with words and his ability to carve out a gruesome story with human interest sucked me completely in. This was closely followed by Salem's Lot, Carrie and The Tommyknockers, and I loved every book. I remember thinking 'Wow, he can get away with that?!' with the more horrific descriptions, and they were always relatively quick reads for me due to his pace and flow (well, maybe some of the books that are less like doorstops - we'll come to that shortly). They were also an early introduction to 'romance' in some of its more squelchy forms. Yep, they were certainly an eye-opener for a young girl in a village in Essex.

And then I read The Stand, and to be honest I found it hard going. Probably as I was too young for it then. It didn't capture me as much as the stories of rabid dogs, reanimated cats, vampires at your window and Prom Night revenge. The themes of a devastating global pandemic and an almighty battle between good and evil were a bit beyond me then. But today, oh today, in my 40s, that's why I've returned to read the book.

It's an absolute masterpiece, isn't it? The complexity of the plot and characters, interweaving, coming together at the right time, is superb. The menace of Randall Flagg in this particular book is so strong, he's a fantastic threat and bubbles along under the narrative as a constant presence. I'm particularly enjoying this time around Trashcan Man's story arc, as upsetting as it is. Perhaps the story bites even more as we've been through COVID and the scenes at the start of the novel echo what we have experienced of deserted New York City and the fear going through us all. Even though we're reading over 1,000 pages, at no point does the story get boring or have anything in it which I would deem unneccessary to the plot. King makes every word count, as all brilliant authors do with their craft.

I should be finished by Christmas. And then I'm seriously considering going back and reading the master's entire back catalogue.