Pulp Fiction
- Wade
There it sat, in between a box of Wrigley's Extra Spearmint and a book entitled "Do Cats Dream."
I stood in line at the Richfield Lunds, impatient. Sent out on a last-minute sour cream run, I anxiously scanned the checkout shelves. With guests arriving any minute for our New Years' Eve party, I had better things to do than read the tabloid headlines touting the "mystery" of Nicole Kidman's hands.
That's when I saw Everything's Eventual, Stephen King's latest short-story collection. I paused and debated. Save for that oddball Dark Towers series, I'd read all of King's novels. Lately, though, I've tried to refine my reading tastes. With so many worthwhile books on my reading list, do I even bother with more pulp fiction?
Sure.
Should it pain me to admit that Stephen King is one of my favorite authors? It's my literary version of guilty pleasure, like nachos before bedtime or Saturday Night Live reruns. When younger, King's books attracted me like no other. I find myself, even now, absorbed within his prose. When reading the foreward of this book, I was amazed by how my writing style emulates his. That makes sense-- after reading all of his books, most of them twice, something had to stick.
Although I prefer King's novels to his collections of short stories, Eventual is an entertaining read. I read on my bus ride into work, and frequently wished the trip was longer so I could read more. The story I felt most strongly about was the book's first, "Autopsy Room Four." In it, we see a man who regains consciousness while being wheeled into a hospital. However, after being bit by a rare snake, he's unable to speak or move in any way. The story details his desperate attempts to catch the doctor's attention before the autopsy begins. This story illustrate's King's typical style: gracefully blending the macabre with typical human actions to create an engaging story.
Another page-turner is "1408," about an writer whose schtick is spending the night in scary places. Despite pleadings from the manager, the author insists on spending the night in a Manhattan hotel room where death and suicide are commonplace. Mike, the main character, doesn't believe in ghosts except in their ability to help him sell books. All that changes in 1408 (add the numbers up) where he barely escapes something with "slobbering, avid breath" coming at him from behind the walls.
I know what you're thinking. Cheesy. Nerdy sci-fi stuff. I admit that my fascination with Stephen King seems a bit out of character, as I tend to keep fantasy entertainment like Lord of the Rings at arm's length. But he simply has a writing style that I just can't seem to get enough of. I'm reminded of the time during the summer of 1992 when I stayed up all night reading The Tommyknockers. And that wasn't a great book.
I guess that, as long as King keeps putting out books, I'll keep reading them. I just might be putting the jacket from Jane Eyre over the cover while I read it.
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