If one had to look at my career, it’s doubtful that one of the authors that comes to mind as a major influence is Stephen King. Our subject matters couldn’t be any more different. Whereas he is known for these elaborate horror diatribes, I am a fan of these character studies that feel more reminiscent of table-talking dramas. If you had to force me to give an elevator pitch, there’s a good chance that I would fail most of the time to provide you with a substantial selling point. This isn’t to say that my stories are esoteric, but I am drawn to insular struggles that don’t make for flashy prose. It’s just how I am and I continue to try and find ways to evolve as a self-promoter.
But seriously, I don’t know that there’s a more interesting author in the late-20th century quite like King. At his core, he is the nerd who did good. We all dream of being able to use our obsessions to entertain the world, find people who we can connect to and make the world feel less alone. You can argue that a lot of his work is “not for you” and that he’s had period of less interesting project, but there’s no denying his transparency. His personal tastes may at times be suspect, but what you get is something genuine. He will tell you if he doesn’t like your adaptation of his work. He goes so far as to have certain stories that you can adapt for dirt cheap with the only catch being that you share a copy with him.
I love his enthusiasm not necessarily for horror, but in how he understands that it’s secondary to everything else that happens within the pages. The dark twists don’t mean anything unless we’re captivated by every page, wondering what will happen next. It’s why his best books aren’t the ones with the biggest scares, but more the most human character. We wouldn’t care about “Carrie” if the protagonist didn’t have a large interior life. To have this supernatural twist only makes it a haunting and cautionary tale of why you should be nice to others, and how religious parents can be problematic.
I am not the first to discuss King with any reverence. There will probably be many more generations that will uncover something new about him. For now I am thankful that we coexist on this mortal coil, and that there’s anticipation that he’s got another crazy idea ready to intrigue me.
As someone who has come to his work relatively late in life (2016), I have found myself working through several books a year, eager to make up for lost time and finding myself having those mixed emotions. Some books resonate while other fall flat (in the case of “IT,” both).
Ideally, he will be an author I talk about a lot on The Memory Tourist as I explore what makes his best books feel important to me. Maybe I’ll even go through every book in The Dark Tower series and explore its merit individually. Whatever the case may be, there is a reason that dozens of podcasts are dedicated to just his books. He’s endlessly fascinating, and the way he manages to personalize his work and makes you feel validated for having goofy ideas is something that will always be inspiring to me. The fact that you can take narrative risks and go into wild and sometimes incoherent directions makes you recognize the mortality of literary legends.
That is why, with all sincerity, one of the King books that I often find myself turning back to for inspiration is the 1994 epic “Insomnia.”
To most people, they won’t know what “Insomnia” is. To the King fans who are more obsessive than me, they will be pushing themselves back in their chairs, wondering what drugs I’m taking. I don’t really have to explain much besides what Vulture said when ranking hiss books in 2014, placing it No. 61 of 64:
“Unless you are familiar with King’s epic Dark Tower series, entire swaths of this gargantuan novel are unreadable. Though the sections dealing with the elderly protagonist and his lady love have a poignance to them, they are undercut by heavy-handed subplots about spousal abuse and the pro-choice/pro-life debate.”
Yes, this is going to be a frustrating book for casual fans for a variety of reasons. The most obvious is likely those Dark Tower connections, where you’re going to wonder why there’s a whole side-plot with Randall Flagg (if you’re asking “Who?” – exactly). After all, King has famously said that every one of his stories take place in one universe, so there are often small connections in all of his work. It’s how the supernatural can overlap with small and normal character dramas. It’s also one of the most admirable traits I feel about King, who puts Marvel to shame, in his ability to make you notice that The Cult of Stephen King™ really is informed by your understanding of his work.
To provide another red flag for people, it’s commonly known that “Insomnia” was written during a time when King was suffering from sleep deprivation. Depending on how generous you want to be, you can see it in how some passages are confusing, excessive, and feature the author at one of his most ambitiously strange. Even compared to The Dark Tower, it is a story that pushes boundaries and requires some leaps in logic. King himself admits that it’s a mess, and one that doesn’t get brought up often for arguably good reason.
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So why do I like it so much?
I think it’s important to understand that I love a frustrating text. I’m talking about ones that take these risks that should make sense but don’t. These are the stories that come up to the door of excellence but have one or two pieces missing. You so desperately want to call it great, but you can notice its inferiority, that the creator maybe was a bit over their head and ignored this detail. If you want an example of a great recent flawed masterpiece, please check out the film Under the Silver Lake (2019), which is purposely a frustrating movie that is both overlong and perfectly paced. To me, the engagement is equal parts hoping that it will be perfect this time as it is trying to understand how you’d personally improve it.
With “Insomnia,” King has created a book that sounds like an elevator pitch, but that is to ignore how much explaining you’ll need to do once you get through the description.
Recent widower Ralph Roberts lives in Derry and is suffering from insomnia. As the days go on, the world around him becomes something more absurd, featuring three little bald men who hold the string of life (for Greek mythology fans, think of The Fates). It’s a portal into a place not unlike The Dark Tower’s Mid-World. Roberts must save the day in a wild story that includes a kamikaze mission.
This isn’t including other plots in the real world, though those were more common of King’s growing interest in feminist characters and a rise in political awareness in his work. What you get from Roberts’ insomnia is one of the most amazing achievements in his entire career. Oh sure, he’s done it better in just about every other novel, but what you get here is a character constantly trapped in two worlds, flashing seconds apart. It’s easy to do on film, but sentences often need longer time to read. How do you convey this to audiences?
You have to use italics.
I know that this isn’t King’s first foray into italics as a form of alternate world conversation. As I mentioned, he has done it so much better in several novels before and since. Even the way that he conjoins the real with the fantasy is something he did much better in “The Drawing of the Three.” But, for the life of me, there was something about this read that enamored me to his approach, making me buy into his wacky prose in ways that changed how I perceived fiction.
As much as I am into frustrating works, I am also a fan of finding ways to make writing a more interactive experience with the reader. To me, the narrative should only be part of the excitement. You should be able to have scavenger hunts with wordplay and references that enhance the story (though at the same time don’t alienate readers). A story should resonate as this personal experience brought to life in ways that you can only achieve from providing personal attention to.
“Insomnia” comes pretty close to achieving an interactive experience for me thanks to the italics. It’s true that some will find whole pages written in this obnoxious font decision will be annoying, but for me it felt revolutionary, that a dream could be conveyed so directly and without needing these asides to provide context. The very design of a word spoke to how we were supposed to interpret it, and I loved that experience. Maybe this is the messiest example of that, but I wouldn’t deny that when things get intense, it’s because of how King can transition between realism and fantasy with such ease and fragmented sentences that it feels like you’re editing an action movie. It’s beautiful in how it transcends narrative prose and becomes manic poetry.
With that said, “Insomnia” works because it’s such an insular adventure. It’s one that is eventually about the fear of growing old and the world you loved around you dying. As much as King has notoriously botched most endings, there is something pure about this one that ties everything up beautifully. It’s vulnerable, reflecting the importance of keeping your sanity intact along with your physical health. These are things that allow us to interact with the real world, having compassion for causes that could better the world.
That is what I love about King. At the end of the day, he’s a compassionate writer who has a deep love for humanity. Whatever chaos he throws at his characters, he gives the audience this optimism that the world will eventually right itself. “Insomnia” may be one of the messiest examples of this, but it is grounded in humanity enough that its themes of high fantasy can feel awe-inspiring, like the common man rising above their cause to make the world a better place. We believe in Roberts because of how much effort is made in making him this old and depressed man.
Why do I constantly think about this book when I love others like “The Green Mile” more? I think it’s because when I read it, I never felt like I had read something like this before. Sure you can see it as a negative, but again I enjoy being allowed to try something that may not work and see where that gets us. Literature is only interesting if it’s constantly challenging the idea of who and what can tell a story. With that said, I generally don’t read fantasy outside of King. Maybe there’s crazier stories out there that I just can’t grasp. The fact that this feels accessible in spite of every noteworthy criticism for me is a sign of how much I believe in King’s willingness to believe in his vision.
Does it make sense? Not always. However, I love that King is transparent and humble enough to admit his faults, able to engage in a public conversation about his work that enriches the text. Even if King can be more of a sucker for b-movie aficionados, there’s no denying that this is the life he wanted. He is happy, able to revel in these goofy ideas that lived in his mind since early childhood watching these cheap horror movies at local cineplexes. At the end of the day, I think he’s grateful of the career he’s had because so many others couldn’t make rabid dogs and killer clowns half as successful as him. He’s someone I admire not because I want to write horror, but because he is the one author that captures how we should feel as writers, especially if you have any modicum of success. We should be grateful that we get to tell these goofy stories at all and that someone out there cares.
I hope that I can get a tenth of the way there.
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