1.) Carrie

"I should've given you to God when you were born, but I was weak and backsliding, and now the devil has come home. We'll pray".
-Carrie

Patient Reader,

Well, Carrie took me a whopping six hours to complete. I must say, the work presented a few problems to me as soon as I began.  First, it dealt entirely with a teenage girl who is ostracized beyond and conceivable comparison. Secondly, I knew the premise, journey, and ending of the novel before I began this little journey of mine and, thus, the work (inevitably) loses some of its initial impact.  If you must know, I certainly am no teenage girl, and have not the degree of separation with my peers as our young Matilda has with hers. This is not to say that this short debut is not cringe worthy or shockingly intimate, and, in fact,  after a few ponderous moments, I was able to produce a few tidbits of revelation that I would love to share with you.  Refill by the way?

For those who are not so informed, Carrie acts as the Cinderella story as told by S.K, which means a lot more blood and a very creepy evangelical mother.  The point of this blog is not to ruin the joy of reading the novel for the first time to S.K "virgins", so I will spare you plot details and spoilers and jump right into the thoughts I gathered from its pages. However, inevitably, in order to discuss these thoughts, I must disclose plot situations and scenarios in order for you to garner the full effect.  Ye be warned, oh spoiler loathers!

As soon as I began reading it, Carrie immediately reminded me of Bram Stoker's Dracula. Carrie takes on an epistolary form, in that it is told primarily through various interviews, transcripts of trials, novels, biographies, and other "records" provided by the main characters. Stylistically, I loved how this played into and disclosed the vast impact that the "White Affair" had on the town of Chamberlain, Maine, and the whole country for that matter.  Very snazzy way for King to style his first novel.

Now then, now that my nerdy diatribe over style has passed, allow me to dive into the swirling soup of thoughts  (chicken noodle, if you must know) produced from my quick yet revealing look at the young girl who attended her senior prom with Satan as that beau on her arm.

The most blatant, it seems, message this novel brings to our poker table is a feeling of isolation, a fear or cycle we (I trust) all have been through.  To put it bluntly, high school is hell, no matter who you are or what clique you belong to.  That being said, I did not perceive Carrie's relationship, or lack thereof, with her high school fellows to be the cause of her anger and eventual rampage.  In fact, the anger that allows Carrie to tap into her devastating telekinetic abilities stems from her relationship with her mother, Margaret.  Margaret's evangelical Nazi state causes Carrie's eventual rebellion, so (thought I), why not track the reason for Margaret's madness? As this ultimately leads to Carrie's rage and Chamberlain's judgment. To put it simply, Margaret is filled with guilt, a guilt of being unclean after being forced to lie with her husband after he kissed the bottle of Jack too many times that evening.  Carrie, then, is a product of that horrible incident and a walking, breathing manifestation of Margaret's guilt. Needless to say, Margaret is...unkind...to her young daughter.

It would be unfair to base Margaret's madness on her religion, as her form of religion was very different from the one practiced by the family before Ralph (Carrie's father) died.  Indeed, this is a case of a belief taken to an extreme. Margaret threw out the religion she held in a, "Well, I can do this religion thing better...I'll make my own! Harumph!" way.  Thus, Margaret White tainted, distorted, abused, an ancient, ritualistic belief in a Christian God (heck, "God" can be given to any deity these days).  Margaret White overplayed her hand, hit when she should have stayed, and the wise old powerful cosmos card dealer made her pay.  Along with her daughter and the entire town of Chamberlain.

From this abuse, we can trace down Carrie's subsequent misery at home, misery at school, and the welcoming way in which she abused her destructive power.  The "White Affair" was a long time in the making, me thinks.

So there.  My thoughts on Carrie.  A testament to the results that can be garnered if mankind abuses the knowledge it has in a supernatural/paranormal entity or God.  Does that seem like a stretch? I do not believe so.

On to the next! 'Salem's Lot. (Insert excited noise here) Vampires my friends! I cannot wait to wander into Jerusalem's Lot, Maine and discover what madness and lessons await me...and you I suppose, friend.  This one may take me awhile longer, so I will update periodically as my thoughts come to me (Carrie was a rare exception, seeing as how it was short to begin with) in order to update you on my progress and opinions.  Besides, this would not be much of a party if I just sat here next to you with my nose in a book, silent and ponderous.  Well, it could mean more scotch for you I suppose...

In the meantime, I encourage you to read Carrie yourself and give me your own feedback, as this is a journey we are taking together.  You would also do well to watch the 1976 film of Carrie directed by the amazing Brian DePalma (information below) also.  Could you also pass me my pipe tobacco on the table next you? Many thanks.

Keep the cards close to your vest, patient reader.

- I

Carrie (1976) at IMDB

Beginnings and Motives

Hello All.

All. A funny word to use I guess, seeing as how I haven't the foggiest idea who "all" is.  Perhaps I should have stuck with the more common "Hey You" greeting, but I believe that sounds so obtrusive and, well, disrespectful (and if you are taking time out of your day to view my humble little blurbs, albeit the first post no less! Then, I find, I should take it upon myself to greet you properly).  Now then, following the traditional verbal greeting usually comes the extension of the hand and a meeting (however fleetingly) of the eyes.  I would like to extend my hand here and glance into your "deep blues" as a gesture of unknowing results.  A sort of "how d'ya do, mate, glad you decided to drop by my little gathering, but I have no idea what we're celebratin'. The bar's open tho', help yourself".  A gathering so wild, we won't even use those coasters on the oak tables upon which we plop our mud stained boots; you know, that kinda party.  As you meander over to get your drink, let me introduce myself proper.

To start, I am not a "trained writer" as the phrasing goes. I do not hold a degree in English, literature, composition, mathematics, psychology, theology, chemistry, physics, biology, or anatomy.  I hold no distinction amongst my peers as a master linguist or teacher.  I am certainly no scientist, meteorologist, architect, zoologist, cryptologist, speech pathologist, magician, film director, surgeon, musician, or gas station clerk.  What I am, I suppose, is an individual of interests.  If you must know, political science is my formal course of study but, as I have stated, I have 572 varying interests that could qualify as one huge whopping minor (try fitting all of those aforementioned spheres of study on one diploma. I'd toss in the towel, my friend).  I suppose I could start 570 other blogs in order to corral my focus in all of these areas, but, for now, I choose to channel only two for you, patient reader: the supernatural and literature.

"Ah", you could tell yourself, "this Stephen King business seems so obvious now, no need to tarry here, I've heard this before.  Just let me finish my scotch on rocks and I'll leave you with only my slightly muddy footprints on your coffee table".  I would hope you reconsider.  When I greeted you at the door earlier, I told you that I had no idea what results would be obtained from this chat of ours.  But, I do know my reasons for embarking on such a journey.  Allow me to explain, let me pour you another glass of that lovely auburn liquid.  To be frank, this life of mine has been filled with strange quirks (on which I will divulge after a few bottles...) not easily explained by the Bill Gateses or Bill Nyes of the world. I would like to put faith in (in fact, I do put faith in) the hope that, as a mere human being of flesh, blood, organs, and varying tissues, I will never begin to scratch the surface of the mysteries this large floating orb of ours has to offer to us.  However, the presence of these unsolvable crime scenes in my life help to remind me of how insignificant a human life can be to this big, bad, scary, still floating orb.  The only thing to do, I propose, is for man to try and find a place in the dark, amongst the crime scenes, behind the police tape, amongst the mysteries.  Live with them in mutual recognition, but not complete cognition.  This introduces the literary aspect of my voyage.

Stephen King.  No writer of the latter half of the 20th century can be said to have had more success than he at scaring the pants off loyal fans (metaphorically, you understand).  His works are a perfect mirror to the dichotomy I just presented to you, the recognition without cognition theory.  His novels describe various instances of men's mundane, established lives clashing with the ancient mysteries of the cosmos.  His main characters (mostly) take on a role of the man stuck smack dab in the middle of hell, and trying to force his humanity to play nice with the wild card that this crazy zany world has dealt him across the poker table.  Sometimes, the world's card is a supernatural one, other times it is one of the devious, corrupt nature of a fellow man.  Always, it is a challenge.  Another drink?  Sure, lemme break out another bottle here.

That, then is my quest.  To balance my human existence with the cards that the cosmos' poker dealer has dealt me.  I will read all of Stephen King's 37 novels, in some cases view the inevitable films that follow such works, and take lessons from them.  Use them.  Find some meaning to them that will (I sure darn hope so) reveal the meaning of a human life upon this Earth.  There are only three rules I will hold myself to:
1.) The works must be read in chronological order, no matter the length, no matter the subject matter.  Besides, I would like to appreciate how King grows as an artist through this process (The only exception to this is the Dark Tower series which I will read as one long novel at the end of my journey).
2.) I will read only the novels that are still in print.
3.) I will NOT read the novels that are written under a King pen-name.  This is to save time...37 novels will take awhile, I trust.

So.  Here we are.  Your scotch is now probably watered down some.  I hope I have not scared you away with my talk of humanity, purpose, and floating orbs.  If you have decided to stick around, I appreciate it immensely.  I would not be offering my words to public view (or scrutiny, I suppose) if I did not think this journey could benefit you as well, patient reader.

Well. I suppose we must get started.  Carrie is first on my list, and tonight's gathering storm offers a perfect backdrop to begin.  Perhaps the cosmos' poker dealer is offering me a spurring omen of luck. Or, perhaps, misfortune? Whatever the case, I am glad you have decided to join me. The bar will be open all night, please help yourself when you need a little help in deciphering my ramblings.  I offer you this reading chair next to me by the fire, its quite cozy, I assure you.  You don't mind if I turn out this light do you?

Good.

- I