Miss Sidley Was Her Name, And Teaching Was Her Game: A Look At Stephen King's "Suffer the Little Children"

My outside cat hasn't come up this morning, so I must admit I am a little worried. The weather feels amazing today, though, and we live in the woods with plenty of places for cats to burrow down in and sleep. He's done this numerous times before, but I can't help but worry just a bit every time. I suppose this puts me in the right frame of mind to write about "Suffer the Little Children," though, which is good -- it's definitely one of Stephen King's darker short stories to date. It was written back in the '70s, when King was a young author. He was drinking a lot, which probably helped give his novels and short stories that certain edge. It's pretty unexplainable, but if you've read King's older work you know what I'm talking about.

Stephen King in the 1970s.

"Suffer the Little Children" is, if I'm not wrong, the shortest story in the collection. It's quick and painful, like a knife to the throat -- a quality present in the best of King's work. It's about Miss Sidley, a stern, older school-teacher being driven insane by her students so she takes them one by one down to the sound-proofed mimeograph room and shoots them with a small hand-gun she's concealed in her purse. She's discovered by a fellow teacher who happens to come into the room, and is soon sent away to Juniper Hill (connection to IT! connection to IT!!!), a mental institution in Augusta. Soon after, she slits her throat. Of the story, King says this in the book's notes:

"This story is from the same period as most of the stories in Night Shift, and was originally published in Cavalier, as were most of the stories in that 1978 collection. It was left out because my editor, Bill Thompson, felt the book was getting "unwieldy" -- this is the way editors sometimes tell writers that they have to cut a little before the price of the book soars out of sight. I voted to cut a story called  "Gray Matter" from Night Shift. Bill voted to cut "Suffer the Little Children." I deferred to his judgement, and read the story over carefully before deciding to include it here. I like it quite a lot -- it feels a little bit like the Bradbury of the late forties and early fifties to me, the fiendish Bradbury who reveled in killer babies, renegade undertakers, and tales only a Crypt-Keeper could love. Put another way, "Suffer the Little Children" is a ghastly sick-joke with no redeeming social merit whatever. I like that in a story."

King said all that needs to be said on the subject, so I'll go now. I know this has been a short entry, but "Suffer" is a really short story and doesn't really warrant a deep analysis. I loved it, but that's no surprise. I'm sure I won't be able to say that a little later on when discussing a few of the stories in this book, but so far Nightmares & Dreamscapes is 3 for 3.

We Killed All the Plants, But At Least We Saved the Greenhouse: A Look At Stephen King's "The End of the Whole Mess"

I must say I was really looking forward to re-reading "The End of the Whole Mess," the second story in Nightmares & Dreamscapes.  It most certainly did not disappoint. This bittersweet tale of two highly intelligent brothers (one is really smart while one is a certifiable genius) and their ambitions of wiping away evil from our world is a sad one, and honestly . . . I'm not even sure where to begin in telling you guys about it.

Our narrator, Howie, is the older brother -- he's very smart, but his younger brother Bobby is the genius and the focus of our story. Howie was a freelance writer before things went wrong, and "The End of the Whole Mess" is his first-person account of growing up with Bobby, and how Bobby got the idea to make people nicer -- the end the world's pain. We are told within the first couple of pages that Howie has killed his younger brother -- at Bobby's request -- by shooting him up with his own discovery a few hours prior. We get the impression all hope is lost and something terrible has happened, even though we don't really even know what's going on yet. Soon after, our narrator tells us after he "turned on the radio, dialed through four bands, found one crazy guy, and shut it off," he shot himself up. While he's waiting for the eventual symptoms to come, he decides to write the story down for whoever -- or whatever -- happens to find it. 

Quick note: while I usually don't care for first-person narratives where the person telling the tale is waiting to die, in hiding, etc., King pulls it off quite well, so I can dig this one. I'm not sure why I don't tend to like those kinds of stories, though -- such is life.

After we're introduced to our narrator and he tells us of his "dead-line" he goes back to his childhood and gives us a few stories about what it was like growing up with a younger brother who graduated high school at age ten and graduated college at age sixteen. The two have a normal childhood and act like brothers do -- they don't always get along, but they have each other's back. Things are simply hyped up a bit with Bobby's experiments and inventions and his bouncing from chemistry to physics to archaeology to anthropology. 

"Guys like my brother Bobby come along once every two or three generations, I think -- guys like Leonardo da Vinci, Newton, Einstein, maybe Edison. They all seem to have one thing in common: they are like huge compasses which swing aimlessly for a long time, searching for some true north and then homing in on it with fearful force. Before that happens such guys are apt to get up to some weird shit, and Bobby was no exception."

The story moves quickly through the boys' teenage years. They soon leave their loving parents and branch out on their own -- Bobby begins working on "The Calmative" and isn't heard from for three years; Howie becomes a published author and does pretty well. After three years, in the then-futuristic year 2006 (this story was written in the mid-80s, mind you), Bobby shows up at Howie's door with a bee-hive and a wasps' nest in glass boxes. After a long while of studying the water in La Plata, Texas (according to research done by the genius, it is the most non-violent town in the state -- in America, for that matter), Bobby has distilled a chemical that can -- perhaps -- eradicate the world's violent tendencies once and for all. It's an ambitious plan, but Bobby -- with the help of his older brother -- pulls it off by dumping his invention into a volcano that is expected to blow. It works perfectly -- the chemical works its way into the world's water, and slowly . . . mankind as a whole steps down. There are no more wars, no more barroom fights. For a short while, Earth is a peaceful place, a Garden of Eden . . . until people begin acting "silly" and start dropping like flies. In a way, this story is like The Stand on another level of the Tower. 

Our narrator begins experiencing the symptoms of the Calmative -- dry throat, forgetfulness, silliness -- and we're left with the nearly-incomprehensible (by this time the affects have taken away Howie's ability to form coherent sentences or even think logically) sentiment that he doesn't blame Bobby for what happened -- how was anyone to know what would happen when they released the Calmative? He tells Bobby he forgives and loves him, and signs the story "for the whole world." It's a pretty brutal ending, and it's a bit chilling, too -- I can't help but imagine this guy sitting in an arm-chair in a darkened room, the only light coming for a single lamp, and the corpse of his brother lying nearby. Perhaps Howie is the last living thing on Earth because of this experiment meant for good that went horribly, horribly wrong. Depressing, isn't it? 

Stephen King really offers up some excellent social commentary here. The world is growing increasingly violent every year . . . and what are we going to do about it? Eventually let ourselves as a species be ended prematurely? It's a hard question to ask because there might not be anything we can do. Maybe mankind will improve eventually, but it's a long shot. Along with earlier short stories "The Jaunt" and "I Am the Doorway," King shows with "The End of the Whole Mess" he can write convincing, note-worthy science fiction just as well as he can write horror . . . or any genre, for that matter. 

I'll probably read the next story in the collection tonight and write my entry on it tomorrow. Said story is, of course, "Suffer the Little Children." It's not a lengthy one, so I doubt my post will be long unless I find I have a lot to say about it. See you then!

 

His Hair Went Silver While Mine Just Went: A Look At Stephen King's "Dolan's Cadillac"

Finally -- here we are at the first entry in my Nightmares & Dreamscapes series. Settle into your favorite chair and read along, and try not to laugh too hard at my occasional inability to talk about this story.

This one is pretty friggin' great.

The story in question is Stephen King's "Dolan's Cadillac," the opener of his 1993 short story collection Nightmares & Dreamscapes -- N&D for short. I remembered liking this story a good deal, but I was never totally enamored with it. It was one of the rare short stories where I felt King got a little long in the tooth and a bit caught up in technical details. Now I realize the story is the perfect length. You see, we the readers need the details (which didn't take up as much story as my mind had exaggerated -- that's what happens when you haven't read something in a while, I suppose). The lengths to which our main character, simply called Robinson, go to to get his revenge are staggering but are very necessary to the plot. We need to feel what it's like when Robinson digs that hole.

I'm getting ahead of myself, though. What, exactly, is "Dolan's Cadillac" even about?

In short, Dolan, local wealthy mobster-type, has Robinson's wife Elizabeth murdered because she "told" on something he did to the FBI. This area of the story is left to our imaginations, but that's okay -- we "get" it. After seven years of watching and waiting and plotting, third grade school-teacher Robinson finally starts taking the steps to extract his revenge.

In a less-capable author's hands, a short story about a scorned widower wanting revenge for his wife's death might not be anything great, but Stephen King isn't just any ole author, is he?

Robinson begins working out. On summer break, he gets hired on with a highway construction crew. In Las Vegas. In the desert. These passages are almost painful to read about (says he who avoids the sun whenever possible), but that's their job. For example: 

"The big struggle was not to faint, to hold onto consciousness no matter what. All through June I held on, and the first week of July, and then Blocker sat down next to me one lunch hour while I was eating a sandwich with one shaking hand. I shook sometimes until ten at night. It was the heat. It was either shake or faint, and when I thought of Dolan I somehow managed to keep shaking."

In this passage we are neatly shown the wretchedness of the job, Robinson's dedication to getting stronger, and his utter hatred of Dolan. I'd like you to take a moment and put yourself in our narrator's shoes. Has anyone ever done you so wrong that you would stop at nothing to get back at them? Even if it meant shoveling hot tar under the desert sun? One of my favorite topics in modern fiction is revenge, and I'm not sure why. Regardless, I love it and King covers the topic well, especially here and in Needful Things (a book I'll definitely be writing about soon enough). If you can put yourself in this guy's shoes . . . then you'll see the magic, the clincher of the story. What if . . . 

So the summer ends and Robinson goes back to teaching. He's a buff guy now, and his fellow teachers don't laugh at him like they used to. Two more years pass -- two more years of working out, road-work, plotting, and stalking Dolan. Finally, the plan for revenge comes together. 

Las Vegas desert

Dolan has a place in Las Vegas and a place in L.A., and spends a lot of time on the road between the two riding in his Cadillac. Robinson knows this.  After finding out the upcoming year's schedule for road re-pavements that will result in highway detours, our narrator stealthily waits for: a.) time off b.) a long weekend c.) travel for Dolan, and d.) a national holiday. The stars align for the fourth of July weekend -- Dolan will be stayed at his Las Vegas place for the holiday. Robinson begins consulting his mathematician friend for instructions on how to dig a grave big enough for a Cadillac in the highway, and the voice in his head of his  dead beloved for strength and guidance. 

After days and weeks and months of planning and more planning (our main character's patience and attention to detail is perhaps the most frightening aspect of the story), Robinson gets the tools he need to dig the grave to fit a Cadillac with Dolan and his guards inside. It isn't easy -- Robinson spends two long, hot days digging this thing and one is reminded of the boys' exhaustion in The Long Walk -- but he finishes it just in the nick of time. The trap is set; now we wait. 

From the film Dolan's Cadillac

Like a lamb to the slaughter, Dolan's driver doesn't see the trap until it's too late and the car is in the hole with only four inches or so sticking out above ground. The doors can't be opened more than a foot. Robinson moves the road-work signs he's moved around to his advantage back to their rightful spots so people don't think this particular stretch of highway is drive-able, and also so he and Dolan can finally -- after all this time -- be alone. 

"I . . . felt a jittery moment of what I can only term sympathetic claustrophobia. Push the window-buttons -- nothing. Try the doors, even though you can see they're going to clunk to a full stop long before you could squeeze through. 

Then I stopped trying to imagine, because he was the one who had bought this wasn't he? Yes. He had bought his own ticket and paid a full fare. 

'Who's there?'

'Me,' I said, 'but I'm not the help you're looking for, Dolan.' 

I kicked another fan of grit and pebbles across the gray Cadillac's roof."

If I'm being 100% honest, despite this scene being terribly horrific, I can't help but feel a lot of satisfaction for Robinson -- he got Dolan back, and how! The dude had men strap dynamite to this guy's wife's car and had her blown to pieces, and now he's getting his. This is terrifying stuff, but what a ride! 

"'Get me out!' he shrieked. 'Please! I can't stand it! Get me out!'

'You ready for that counter-proposal?' I asked. 

'Yes! Yes! Christ! Yes! Yes! Yes!'

'Scream. That's the counter-proposal. That's what I want. If you scream loud enough, I'll let you out.'

He screamed piercingly. 

'That was good!' I said, and I meant it. 'But it was nowhere near good enough.'

........

' . . . if you make a sound come out of your mouth which is as loud, let us say, as eight sticks of dynamite taped to the ignition switch of a 1968 Chevrolet, then I will let you out, and you may count on it.' 

Needless to say, Dolan never does scream quite loud enough. He tries, oh yes, he tries, but it isn't good enough. Eventually, Robinson begins covering up the Cadillac's grave while trying to ignore the mad laughter and gun-shots from below. He goes home, soaks in the tub for hours, and eventually has to have surgery on his back due to the strenuous bind he put it in while digging the deep, long hole. But it was worth it, and this guy knows it -- oh yeah, he knows it. After a while, life goes back to normal, and all is well. Dang it if King didn't give this one a happy ending! 

(Some snatches of quotes from the story I really liked, but didn't really fit in with the rest of the post):

• "Schoolteachers and high-priced hoodlums do not have the same freedom of movement; it's just an economic fact of life."
• "'She was in pieces,' I croaked. 'I loved her and she was in pieces.' As a cheer it was never going to replace 'Go, Bears!' or 'Hook em, horns!' but it got me moving." 
• "But it was not really her voice that persuaded me to go on. What really turned the trick was an image of Dolan lying asleep in his penthouse while I stood here in this hole beside a stinking, rumbling bucket-loader, covered with dirt, my hands in flaps and ruins. Dolan sleeping in silk pajama bottoms with one of his blondes beside him, wearing only the top. Downstairs, in the glassed-in executive section of the parking garage, the Cadillac, already loaded with luggage, would be gassed and ready to go. 'All right, then,' I said. I climbed slowly back into the bucket-loader's seat and revved the engine." 

• "And Elizabeth? Like Dolan, she has fallen silent. I find that is a relief."   

This re-read definitely changed my opinion of this story from "yeah, it's pretty good, but it drags a bit" to "this is one of King's best short stories." I'm not sure if it would be in my top ten, but that's more of a testament to how great King's stories are in general. It's a definite winner, though. 

Coming up (sometime . . .): "The End Of the Whole Mess"

 

 

  

A Look At Peter Straub's JULIA [1975]

Alright, folks. It's gonna be a quick one today -- I want to finish "Dolan's Cadillac" before this evening (yes, I know it's only a short story, thus it shouldn't be taking me this long to read -- I've been busy, okay?) and hopefully write about it tonight, too. Will I do it? Who knows. But I'm shooting for a "definitely maybe."

Like I said in another entry, I haven't been reading King's work as much as I used to. That's not a dig at my favorite author or anything; I've just been branching out, which isn't ever a bad thing. I've been reading some Koontz and Dekker, King's sons' and wife's books, and even some by a guy named Peter Straub. That name might be familiar to King fans -- Peter and Stephen collaborated on The Talisman and Black House. I was never really interested in Straub's writing until I read The Talisman and was blown away by the stuff that felt rather un-King-like. It was different . . . but good. I was intrigued. I began working my way through his books, starting with 1979's Ghost Story (phenomenal book -- one I can't say enough good things about), and then I made my way backward with 1977's If You Could See Me Now and 1975's Julia. The latter is the farthest I've gotten in reading Straub's stuff, and it's the one I'm here today to talk about. It's a rather slight novel, but it's good.

This is my new favorite book cover of all-time. Yep. 

Julia is divided up into four parts: "The Haunting: Julia", "The Search:  Heather", "The Closing: Olivia", and "November," which acts as an epilogue. In The Haunting, we are introduced to Julia Lofting, a woman who is on the run from her abusive husband, Magnus, and buys a large house for herself to escape from the memories of her late daughter, Kate. Soon after, we are introduced to the tight band of characters: Magnus, Julia's "big man" of a husband who is searching for her; Mark, devilishly handsome step-brother of Magnus; and Lily, distrusting older sister of Magnus and to whom Julia's husband feels closest. The story revolves around these three and Julia, as well as the malevolent spirit that haunts Julia's new home. After a séance is held at her house and a creepy death or two, Julia realizes her house is haunted, and the spirits aren't happy -- especially with her terrible decorating ideas. (Just kidding. Julia just keeps the former owners' furniture, so she's not to blame for the terrible decorating ideas.) 

The lady who led the séance tells Julia she saw a man and girl, so naturally, Julia concludes it's Magnus and her dead daughter, nine-year-old Kate. Adding to the creep factor is the fact that said lady is found dead the next day. In "The Search: Heather", we, along with Julia, discover the girl who was "seen" is not Kate, but Olivia, daughter of famous party girl, Heather Ridge, who used to live in Julia's home years and years previous. Olivia, coincidentally enough, was killed the same way Kate was -- by stabbing. The plot thickens. 

I must say I really enjoyed how Julia researched Heather and her daughter: by looking through old newspapers, which reminded me of Jack Torrance's meticulous research of the Overlook Hotel in King's The Shining. I know the two books aren't related whatsoever, but I still thought it was cool. I'm weird that way. 

So . . . why is Olivia haunting Julia? Why is she writing on mirrors in soap and breaking furniture and laughing in dark hallways? (Yeah, this novel can get pretty creepy.) Or is Julia being haunted at all? She was in a mental istitution for a time after her daughter's death, and her tottering sanity is hinted at more than once. Or maybe it's Magnus trying to drive her insane, make her come crawling back to him. I'm rather hesitant to give anything away because it . . . well, it's a major plot point. So I'm going to keep my mouth shut. If you're curious about this book at all, check it out. It can be found for pretty cheap online.

All in all, I thought this novel was a good way to spend my time. I feel like it could have been longer (I wish Mark's character could have been fleshed out more, for one thing), and some of the pacing felt a little off to me. However, one must keep in mind that this was only Peter Straub's third novel -- second published -- and it was his first foray into the supernatural/horror world. Considering that, this is a pretty good book. There were plenty of scares to be had, the characters of Julia, Lily, and Magnus were all written really well, and the story was believable. It's cold, distant, and unmistakably British -- and I liked it. While Straub definitely improved with his next book, don't hesitate to buy this one. You'll never look at dolls the same way again. 

Sorry Is the Kool-Aid Of Human Emotions: A Look At Stephen King's CARRIE [1974]

It's pretty common knowledge by now that Carrie, Stephen King's first-published novel, is not the novel he wrote first -- that honor goes to The Long Walk (or maybe Getting It On). In fact, King wrote five novels and numerous short stories before he even began the now-famous story of Carrie White and her telekinetic revenge on her classmates at the senior prom -- so the guy definitely had some experience at the craft. Still, this was only his sixth novel, and King was still young, so the book definitely doesn't feel as "polished" as, say, Doctor Sleep or Duma Key. It's raw, crass, vulgar, blunt, and full of a young author's angst, but that's not bad. Not bad at all.

 First Edition Hardcover

I had already read Carrie two or three times before my last re-read, but it's such a short (and rich) story that I didn't mind spending a rainy Sunday with it. I meant to read it back in April in celebration of its fortieth birthday, but prom and graduation and vacations and work came up, so I didn't get around to it until a couple of weeks ago. Boy, am I glad I finally did read it. While I always pick up on new things with re-reads of any given King story, stuff really jumped out at me from this one. I had always perceived the sad tale of Carrie White as a tragedy, but not really horrific. Brian de Palma's outstanding movie adaptation? THAT is horror. But the novel? Eh. I never really thought of King as a "horror writer" until his second book, 'Salem's Lot, but I can definitely say my fourth re-read made me realize how horrific this book really is. 

"Nobody was really surprised when it happened, not really, not on the subconscious level where savage things grow. On the surface, all the girls were shocked, thrilled, ashamed, or simply glad that the White bitch had taken it in the mouth again. Some of them might have also claimed surprise, but of course their claim was untrue. Carrie had been going to school with some of them since first grade, and this had been building since that time, building slowly and immutably, in accordance with all the laws that govern human nature, building with all the steadiness of a chain reaction approaching critical mass. What none of them knew, of course, was that Carrie White was telekinetic."

King neatly sets up in the first page of the book what has come to be known as "the period scene" -- i.e., Carrie White getting her first period in the locker room shower after gym class, not knowing what's happening to her due to her growing up with a hyper-religious mother (more on that later), and the other girls throwing tampons at her and chanting "Plug it up! Plug it up! Plug it up!" I'm not a female, nor have I ever been one, but I can imagine this wouldn't be fun for any girl. It's this event that sets the rest of this short novel in motion -- the girls who did this are punished with detention, and Chris Hargensen, one of our main antagonists, is bent on revenge. Sue Snell feels bad about participating in the tampon-throwing and convinces her boyfriend, popular jock Tommy Ross, to invite Carrie to the upcoming senior prom as a way of getting the unpopular girl to become "a part of things." Carrie's mother, Margaret White (a religious nut in every sense of the word -- she locks Carrie in her prayer closet for hours on end with no food or water, physically harms her daughter and herself, tries to kill Carrie in the end because she is convinced her daughter is a witch, etc) loses it when the school calls and tells her about the period incident, thus pushing Carrie farther away and into herself. As for Ms. White, our main character? With her period comes the full maturation of her telekinetic powers, which is something she's always had, but she can now control it; use it as a weapon whenever she pleases. 

 Vintage paperback cover

The plot of this story is one of King's simplest -- socially awkward girl gets her first period later than normal in the most humiliating setting. Other girls tease her and get detention. Most are okay with it, but one girl isn't. She, her idiot greaser boyfriend, and his friends plot revenge and succeed on the night of the senior prom. Socially awkward girl, now in full control of her telekinetic powers, rains destruction down on the school and surrounding town, killing innumerable people -- some purposely, some accidentally. Those who are left eventually leave, and Chamberlain, ME., where this all takes place, eventually becomes a ghost-town haunted by the tragedy of prom night. 

Pretty simple, right? 

What makes this novel sing is the believable characters and the utter emotion that drips from every page. Margaret is scary because I've met folks like her - crazies who can't get out of the Old Testament. Sue's regret feels real, and while her making Tommy ask Carrie to the prom is a little questionable, it works. But our title character works the best, of course -- my heart ached for Carrie White. She's just an outcast who would do anything to fit in, and when she finally thinks she has . . . another prank is pulled on her. While Carrie brings the destruction, she is anything but the villain here. The ones who constantly picked on her and teased her are the villains -- they did more damage than Carrie ever could. 

"This is the girl they keep calling a monster. I want you to keep that firmly in mind. The girl who could be satisfied with a hamburger and a dime root beer after her only school dance so her momma wouldn't be worried . . ."

- Carrie

 Another thing that makes this the success it is is King's use of various sources and perspectives to tell the story, e.g. traditional narrative, Sue Snell's autobiography, various newspaper articles, police reports, scientific studies. This technique helps build the tension and delay the gratification of the climax until the last possible moment, which is something that probably wouldn't work as well in something like The Stand or The Tommyknockers but works splendidly here. Of course, King probably got the idea from Stoker's Dracula, but he makes it his own. 

Carrie author photo

Overall, I really think this story is a gem. Sure, it's sort of obvious that King was relatively new to the game at the time, but that's only because his prose isn't quite as polished as it would become, and a few of the characters are a little wonky. It's a heck of a ride though, and it's one that makes me really burn (pun intended) through the pages to get to the end, even though I've read it multiple times now. It's a classic story that is really applicable to any time period because of its simple premise: bullying and the problems that can arise from it. No, telekinesis is not real (or is it?!? Ooooh!), but school shootings are. Fist-fights are real. Slander on social media is real. Gossip is real. These are problems that plague us here in 2014 more than it ever has before, and are we, as individuals, helping or hurting? Are we the problem or solution? In some ways, Carrie is a little outdated, but it still feels genuine and real, like the best of SK's work. It made me look in the mirror, so to speak, several times during my re-read, and for that I say it's a darn good novel. 

  “People don't get better, they just get smarter. When you get smarter you don't stop pulling the wings off flies, you just think of better reasons for doing it.” 

- Carrie