Nowadays, it’s easy to see Stephen King’s name and have a conceived notion of his legacy. He remains well into old age one of the most prolific authors of his generation, producing masterpieces that dig under people’s skin and recontextualizes fears we’ve long taken for granted. In this Short Stop series, I will explore a period before he was the icon we know and love. Even with a handful of bestsellers to his name, his status had yet to cement. That is why I’ve chosen to take a look at his first story collection, “Night Shift,” and hopefully get a glimpse into the writer taking shape, before his style was cemented into a cultural touchstone. Was he always the master of horror, or was there a simpler time when he was as messy and weird as the rest of us? All it takes is turning the page to find out.
Continuing through his bag of tricks, King has decided to tackle one of the most famous tropes in 20th-century fiction. With the advancement of high-rise architecture, authors have used it as a source both of innovation and pure terror. While few like Harold Lloyd meet this premise in the middle with death-defying comedy, most have reveled in the suspense of a man wandering along the small ledge that separates humanity from certain death. Without safety levers, it’s the greatest source of existentialism known to man. It’s cold and unforgiving, with the protagonist often wandering alone, looking into a realm of comfort that he no longer possesses. When all he has is his physicality, how can he hope to overcome his own weaknesses?
It’s the perfect material for an author who, as seen repeatedly in “Night Shift,” is interested in the cerebral condition of man. Despite having a distinct approach, one of my few criticisms has been that he’s mostly been using these stories to develop his voice through “what if?” motifs. It’s not the worst thing, especially given how few feel plagiarized. However, these are the stories of a young man who has yet to develop his most iconic work. Some of it is here, but I’d argue this has paled in comparison to his contemporary novels.
What “The Ledge” lacks in being overt supernatural horror, it more than makes up for as the pulse-pounding study of survival wrapped up in a mystery of a man who has wronged this maniacal tycoon who holds the world over him. He’s the type that, with the dial of a phone, can call the police and have them find drugs in his car that land him decades in jail. Despite not being the most fleshed-out character, King gives the protagonist enough dignity to allow the audience to root for him. Even if he’s not the most reputable person, he’s far better than this man, who is introduced and described almost like a mustache-twirling action film villain in a flamboyant kimono.
Despite being on the longer side of short stories, “The Ledge” reflects one of the author’s greatest tools as a storyteller. Close to half of the story takes place before protagonist Stan Norris is forced to interact with the titular ledge. In this time, King unfolds the very limited scope of this world in ways that draw out tension and mystery. While a knowledgeable reader may be quick to guess that the title refers to an exterior setting, there’s no awareness of how it happens. Instead, the early pages are more focused on how it can be avoided.
At the center of the room is a bag filled with money. Norris’ car is in a compromised position as well. The other variable that he’s interested in is villain Cressner’s wife. It is here that King reveals that Norris is a tennis player who got caught in an affair. From the sound of it, Cressner has dealt with many athletes before him, given that he describes them circling the ledge of his building with varying results. The uncertainty creates worry about what lies ahead, as there’s no guarantee that Norris will be the lucky one. In fact, he might be checking out early.
The most interesting variable is ultimately the wife character. The story works because it’s a love story, one of ultimate sacrifice, where Norris would rather die than waste away in jail without her. As foolish as it may seem in reality, the nobility in fiction goes a long way to endear his pursuits. After all, who wouldn’t want to put their dark past behind them and start anew with a comfortable, happy life? What’s one bad afternoon to a lifetime with the one you love?
The ledge in itself is an odd duck. Cressner has made it accessible by having employees remove the separating windows for this occasion. What balcony he has is described as being the size of a postage stamp. While some of the details are cliché, King’s hyperbolic dread of what lies beyond them creates expectations for the reader. It’s life or death the minute that Norris steps outside. He’s practically envisioned his death pages before he accepts his fate. By creating this overreaction against the calm, mysterious conversation, the contrast helps to build fear of Cressner’s sadistic power. He seems to play with people’s vulnerabilities for his own amusement to a cartoonish degree. The question is how you defeat a man with a presence so dominant that no other building in town stands as high as his, to the point that Norris has to fear the lack of windbreakers?
That suspense definitely carries the bulk of the story. Readers may think that the simple act of sliding along a glass surface would lack suspense, but King does his best to make the journey memorable. For starters, Cressner continues his candidacy for goofiest character in the “Night Shift” pantheon by watching him from inside while throwing barely eaten apples to the ground below and blowing noisemakers as distractions. He is an expert at belittling Norris’ confidence, and it works to create the dissonant tension that’s not overstating the existence of gravity. The cruelty only highlights how insignificant Norris seems to the world around him, and yet the reason for his survival is the only one that loves him.
It’s enough of a motivation beyond the banal arc of going from one corner to the other. While there’s fear of turning to the next side, this is a story that can blend into one long example of wiping sweat from your forehead. King’s fascination with highlighting the different ways this could go wrong elevates the material, specifically in how Norris could let himself down. He could move too fast. His legs could tighten up. The simple act of looking down could screw him over. By extrapolating on each point individually, he has made Norris feel recognizable to the working-class reader, who may not be a tennis player but also lack the superheroic strength to survive an unfathomable mission.
King’s greatest achievement in this story is not Cressner or even the building itself. Halfway through the walk, Norris runs into a problem with a pigeon. The bird in question is protecting its nest and, understandably, is attacking him until his ankle is bloody. Just when the problems couldn’t get any worse, he has to worry about either the pain becoming unbearable or the blood creating a slippery slope to his destination. This dramatic arc may sound like a small roadblock, but King dedicates a few pages to lamenting this avian nuisance, and it works both as suspense and a dark irony. This feels like a perverted version of Tweety Bird pulling on Sylvester the Cat’s toes until he falls from a cliff, but with more severe circumstances. It’s also funny given that, hypothetically, Norris would want to start a family with the woman he loves and, by accident, has become the Cressner to this animal habitat.
Most of the story from here doesn’t seem intent on obstacles. It seems like King understands that once the reader has taken in the dread, they can interpret a lot of the implied details. Even so, there are questions of whether this literal embodiment of Norris rushing to the finish line is meant to symbolize the hubris of man leading to their downfall. It doesn’t.
While the story by itself has a lot of great pulse-pounding details, this would’ve been an underwhelming place for “The Ledge” to end. He may have survived the journey, but something’s got to give. There are four more pages to go, and Norris is still at the mercy of Cressner. He may have the money and the freedom, but why doesn’t everything else feel right? He’s gotten his car, and there’s no jail time in his future. What gives?
To back up to the inciting incident, another part of the negotiation was asking whether they’re a “welsher.” While this term is outdated by modern standards, it is understood to mean someone who is disloyal. Even with denial, it pushes both of them forward to see the limitations of the shared loyalty. This becomes most evident in the twist that might catch some readers off guard. Despite his own will to survive for a better future, Cressner has shot that down by murdering his wife. Again, he’s too comical a villain not to expect anything different, though it seems like a ridiculous act of cruelty. So what does Norris do? Does he push his foe off the ledge? No. In a move that happens in a confounding succession, Norris somehow garners control of the situation and forces him to perform the same journey he just took. The story ends with him announcing that while Cressner was not a welsher, Norris was.
Points for originality. The story doesn’t end with an obvious plunge to the death scenario. The irony isn’t outside of the building. Instead, the cruelty is found within both of the men whose external environments are just as cold and unforgiving. Even if Norris seemed likable from the first page, his rampage that ends the story appears shocking because he seemed helpless. Does this act of power reflect his hidden motivations? He may be acting out solely because he has nothing left to live for, as if King is suggesting that royalty isn’t enough if there’s nobody to share it with. The literal height of the tower and its distance from society also suggest a removal that both men have from reality, and it makes sense that their base instinct would be to tear the other down only to be a little higher up the chain.
This is not the most groundbreaking story that King has written, but it may be one of his most expedient and entertaining so far. Without too many supernatural gimmicks, he allows the story to rely entirely on direct emotion and questions of mortality, which leave the reader concerned for what happens next. Even in the event that things were a tad predictable, it still brings a twist that is more reminiscent of his later journey into detective fiction. It’s a shock of human depravity that nobody hopes to be in.
It also works as a simple premise for adaptation. In this case, it was included as one of the segments in Cat’s Eye (1985) starring Robert Hayes and Kenneth McMillan. There were certain rewrites to make the drama more engaging for viewers, notably by making Cressner more flamboyant to make the journey more unnerving. If the film does one thing that may redeem Norris in the larger narrative, it’s that Cressner doesn’t survive his encounter with the pigeon. As much as that removes agency, it also keeps Norris from being the least bit objectionable. There have also been interpretations, with the most prominent being a similarly written vignette from the comic V For Vendetta.
The most noteworthy shortcoming is that this isn’t the most distinctive of King’s works. It lacks a lot of the hallmarks of the time, and it can be argued that “The Ledge” isn’t directly horror. And yet, it’s impossible to not acknowledge that it has his patented gift for lingering dread on every page, where every new detail makes things feel a tad worse. If there’s any story in “Night Shift” that should be put forth as an example of King’s ability to write tension out of the most bare bones of premises, then this is a strong candidate. “The Boogeyman” and “Strawberry Spring” may capture the supernatural elements more successfully, but this is pure id. He’s fighting for his life with only himself to blame, and in the moment that’s as scary as it gets.
Coming Up Next: “The Lawnmower Man”
Comments
Post a Comment