I know (of) you

It would be easy to casually remark that Stephen King’s 2006 Lisey’s Story is the long version of the old adage, “behind every great man is an even greater woman.”  But the surface telling of a widow obsessively remembering life with her late husband is also a vessel used to explore the lives we live in public, versus those we choose to share only with our dearest confidants.  Anyone voluntarily subscribing to a celebrity Twitter-feed should understand the difference between Knowing someone, and knowing of someone.  Lisey’s unfolding memories underscore this gap, which King refers to as the difference between love and curiosity.

“When you look at me, you see me holistically,” remarks writer Scott Landon to his wife in a memory.  She cares for his person, and his personal well-being.  As a couple surrounded by followers and fanatics, she cares for the person Scott Landon, not the beloved bestselling writer.  As King brings her to life through his first person account, it’s difficult to know when he is simply providing her character’s voice, and when he’s using her to voice his viewpoint on fame and all that accompanies it.  Both voices proclaim that truly Knowing a person comes from intimacy, and the other, a sense of  knowing-of, is depth-less and trivial.

When we know-of someone in the public eye, what really can we say of them?  We know-of those things a publicist crafts while engineering their persona.  We know-of those things which spill out from tabloids, based on secondhand observations of decisions made in private.  We know-of their image, crafted to make us believe they are our dear and trusted allies.  The relationship is one-sided at its best, and unhealthy at its worst.

Truly Knowing a person is being let in behind their daily defenses.  Knowing is having the key to the little door they live behind, to the room where they think, and feel, hurt and heal...and lock when they head outside to face each day in public.  “I was lost, and you found me, I was burning, and you gave me ice,” Scott recalls to Lisey gently in recalled exchange, sitting together in a hospital room after he has been deeply wounded by an obsessed and unbalanced fan.  This is a couple with full access to each other’s hidden places--not only married, but caring and devoted friends.

As with every man and woman who has left their mother and father behind as boys and girls, they bear with one another’s sometimes literally crazy family histories.  The very burdens which can dig in and hurt us as individuals are lighter when shared between two people.  King uses his couple to illustrate the “leaving and cleaving” aspect of married life--leaving behind parents, families, and all other past histories, and cleaving to one another as supportive friends through all endeavors.  

The tightness of Scott and Lisey’s relationship is one I can see in only a handful of marriages around me; two, maybe three.  I’m pretty sure that it’s the product of a unique mindset, and of a unique pairing of people set aside for one another by design.  I don’t believe there is only one person “right” for another, but I have witnessed that there are “perfect” matches, and not just the ones found on the bestseller’s list.  

Drains

Ever wonder where the water goes after you’ve rinsed your mouth and put away the toothbrush?  Recently, I came across “The Moving Finger,” a short story by Stephen King which was also made into an odd little short in 1991’s “Monsters” video collection.  A New York City apartment-dweller hears a tiny noise coming from the bathroom, and upon investigation, finds a little index finger poking out at him from the bathroom sink.  Upset, confused, and eventually freaked out, the man goes on the attack, using everything from drain cleaner to a discount pair of hedge trimming shears.  As the neighbors hear the struggle and NYC’s finest arrive, our leading fella’s sanity is called into question—just what in the world happened to this guy?

Upon hearing King’s author’s notes on the story, we find that he wrote the story to illustrate just how wrong things can go for normal people going about their everyday lives.  Driving yesterday on a local toll road, I saw four sets of black tire marks on the fresh asphalt, and as traffic slowed, saw the lines intersect into the remnants of two SUV’s who had presumably started out the day “on track.”  In a local town, police SWAT teams responded to an accidentally dialed cell number, after his wife mistook his muffled car stereo audio for a gangster-style attack upon his schoolroom.  Presumably, she assumed that his day may have gone…wait for it… down the drain.

But King’s story isn’t about things going DOWN the drain, it’s about something coming UP from it.  It isn’t about things falling apart so much as it is bizarre happenings coming out of nowhere to throw our lives out of line.  When a United Airlines pilot recently spilled his coffee on the plane’s radio and triggered a highjack alert, that was his fault.  When something happens that we can’t explain, it’s a little more difficult to pin down. 

I plan on sitting down and watching the “Moving Finger” video online this weekend.  For me, it’s a great reminder that no matter how much I may try to line everything up and make my own plans, there’s only so much I can control.  If you read such things, the New Testament book of James goes a step further:

“Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring.  What is your life?  For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. (ESV)

There’s only so much we can control, and admitting that is not only honest and humbling, it’s freeing.  King is echoing the point made in the James excerpt:  we don’t know what tomorrow will bring along, and we’re giving ourselves too much credit when we insist otherwise.  It may be hard to know who to point that moving finger at, and even the sharpest pair of hedge clippers may not protect us from everything that comes up the bathroom drain.

“The Moving Finger” can be viewed online at Google video at the following address.  Happy viewing!

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5741702786654941097#

Under the Dome, Part Three

In this final installment focusing on Stephen King’s 2009 novel Under the Dome, we find that the story reveals an individual and collective ability to justify one’s actions in the name of piety and collective good. The very person callously responsible for instigating unrest is the person deflecting the blame and absorbing the credit, the very opposite of the window and mirror maturity exhibited by truly gifted leaders.


Under the Dome, as in our American culture, a central theme is justice versus injustice. We despise Big Jim’s character, not because he is a "conservative Christian" in name but not action, not because he is a used car salesman, not even because he is selfish in so many ways. To despise him for this might be to admit shortcomings within our own person.


We despise him because in King’s narrative storytelling, we’re given a chance to see behind the scenes to the actual events, and see injustice being served. Big Jim is the face of every abusive father, every mean-spirited teacher, every child that grows up torturing his pets, and every elected official who loses track of the "servant" part of "public servant." He is an unjust man, and King appeals to our inherent desire to see the bad guy lose in the end.

Throughout the final chapters, King repeatedly focuses on an unsettling proposition: at some point in our lives, we have all either been the person giving or receiving abuse. His narrative portrays a picture of the helplessness that a victim feels, a picture of the helplessness to stop the abuse and of the regret and shame which accompanies it.

Surprisingly, King contends, this is a feeling shared by both the offended and the offender, and he seems to argue that the actions of the offender will eventually return to haunt him. The manner in which each character accepts this proposition seems to correlate with their demise or survival. Those who accept responsibility for their actions seem to be at peace with themselves even into death. Those who will not admit their guilt it seem to leave this world suffering, either at their own hand or at the hands of others.

Without surprise, a lot of King’s characters die during this story, victims of their own and others’ decisions. Once the book closes, he leaves his audience challenged to take stock of their own lives, and reflectively ask themselves how they have abused or been abused, and how they’ve come to terms with their part in the events of their own lives. Peace, it would seem, may come in the form of our individual acceptance of our faults.

Under the Dome, Part Two

As Stephen King’s latest work progresses, the thin veil of fiction over his commentary on American policies in the war on terror is cast aside.

Like a skilled conductor before an orchestra, town selectman Jim Rennie directs his constituents into a symphony of paranoia and fear-driven decision making.  During the tumult, Rennie’s character disappears into the background, content to allow the mayhem to run freely until he can surface and provide direction.  He has methodically concocted a fear-based culture in which he alone is blameless, and “God help anyone who does not stand on ‘our side’.”

The ensuing town mentality reveals a population eager to surrender due process and individual liberties for the common good.  Supplanting due process is trial by association.  When several citizens are found guilty in the court of public opinion, Rennie wins an easy victory, using the town’s fear as the district judge.  The town quickly begins to fracture into two time honored camps:  “us,” and “them.” 

In the black and white conservative world inhabited by Becks and Palins, it’s hip to target moderate or rational people as radicals responsible for the nation’s fall from God’s favor.  The far left offers little help, painting ultra-conservatives with an anti-intellectual stigma usually reserved for children.  As Americans, we may recall recent headlines, wherein those who did not support the war in Iraq did not support the deployed American troops.  If one didn’t support the Patriot Act, one wasn’t a true red-blooded American.  King’s story alludes to all of these recent memories in his fictional town of Chester’s Mill.

King’s ability to find the voice of his characters on both sides of the aisle is remarkable.  Equally poignant is the polarizing effect upon interpersonal relationships.  People who have lived in proximity for years find themselves, in the face of adversity and human fear, aligning along two factions:  those on the side of control, and those on the side of freedom.  There is little room for discussion between sides—automatically, townspeople believe they know what is right or wrong based solely on appearance.  There is little room for self reflection, objective thought, or evidence.  If a man appears guilty, he is.

King’s veil of fiction lifts entirely as he poses the following question:  Societally, once we have demonized, polarized, and labeled, what freedoms will we willfully and joyfully give up to preserve safety and order?  Will the cultural mindset continue to be one of paranoia and distrust, or will there remain a small population which continues to value reason?

Finally, King reveals an savvy understanding of American media’s ability to sway public opinion.  Both “sides” make an effort to propagandize and energize their causes, but neither side is faultless.  This week, Julian Assange, the WikiLeaks founder responsible for releasing thousands of classified military documents against the federal government’s warnings, has been arrested after being charged with two counts of rape by Interpol.  Following weeks of Wikileaks-related headlines, many have already tried, judged, and sentenced Assange—but are these fair assumptions? 

Under the Dome’s storyline allows the cynical segment of society to question the timing and validity of these allegations.  Are they real, or a form of political retribution for airing information in the face of an administration’s warnings?  When viewed through the lens of King’s warnings, it may be better to reserve judgment.

It’s our American right to hold an opinion.  We may be well cautioned by King’s story to understand these opinions are limited by our human fallibility, our knowledge of only part of the story, and our own mental acuity.  The wisest citizens recognize the line between opinion and fact.

In the next and final installment of Stephen King’s Under the Dome:  The issues of justice and abuse.  Until then….

Under the Dome, Part One

This year, my commute has been mentally shortened by working through a catalogue of Stephen King audiobooks. Halfway through King’s 2009 work ‘Under the Dome,’ I’m struck by the story’s allegorical take on post-911 life in America. The Dome becomes our nation’s border, or a closed ecosystem with limited and depleting resources. A drifting ex-serviceman bears the burden of every xenophobic fear of the outsider our culture can muster. The town reporter and several of the town pre-teens speak as the minority voices of free, critical, and objective thinking. Big Jim Rennie is the smug, self-righteous voice of ultra conservative "Christian" values looking to demonize all others while making an unapologetic power grab and putting political force far in front of individual liberties. King has created his vilest character EVER in Big Jim, and that’s no small feat from a guy who dreamt up a killer clown that lurked in the town sewer.

The tension between ex-serviceman Dale Barbara (aka ‘Barbie’) and Rennie is uncomfortable. As the outsider, Barbara is resigned to accept his low social status in the small town of Chester’s Mill. While the character’s past life includes being a decorated war veteran and intelligence official, he finds himself inside the town border as a short order cook and the target of suspicion, aggression, and scapegoating. Like many immigrants within our borders, his past life and achievements are invisible. At the halfway point of the book, at least, he is the quintessential "suspicious foreigner" who plays a critical servant’s role in the small town, while being despised by both the town leaders and its privileged sons.

Rennie is a monster on par with any King has unleashed. The small town political figurehead is outwardly a born-again Christian, with the dangerous self-assurance that he is always right. A used car salesman and second selectman, Big Jim brings out a voice in our culture which is everywhere in our political and cultural headlines: "I’m right, but you’re stupid and going to Hell." He is most dangerous behind the scenes, passively but aggressively manipulating the town, its officials, and its resources to personal gain.

Most intriguing is King’s attention given to the spiritual condition of his characters in Under the Dome. In King’s 1974 book ‘Carrie,’ title character Carrie White has a terrifying mother whose religious zeal, suspicion of the world, and abusive nature combine to show the dichotomy between a public faith and a private failure. 36 years later, the townspeople of Chester’s Mill who express any public faith carry their own shortcomings. From substance addiction to abusiveness, each Christian character is either struggling or is completely ineffective in a moral sense. Mostly, the town would be better off without them.

With the second half of the story still unknown, it’s difficult to guess where the story will turn. But that’s true in reality, not just in fiction. As we find many in our nation quick to demonize, stereotype, and label people who are different than "we" are, it really is hard to tell where the current tone will lead us as a nation. If it’s anything like a real Stephen King novel, the end could be pretty scary indeed.