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.
The back half of “Night Shift” has been a vast improvement over the first few stories. It felt like King was finding his groove and really digging into characters that I wanted to learn more about. That is why I was startled that, with three stories to go, he decided to include “The Man Who Loved Flowers.” It’s by no means a badly written story, but it’s a deceitful tale built around implication more than hard details. The central event is obvious in its horrifying nature, and I’m not sure a modern King would get past the first few pages before calling shenanigans. Outside of posterity, the question I’m left with is why include this one at all?
My best guess is how deceptively simple the protagonist’s journey is. He’s yet another mentally ill sociopath who’s capable of hiding his maladies in public. However, it’s difficult to not assume that this author would throw in some sadistic twist. It’s arguably among the most heartless in “Night Shift” because he doesn’t revel in backstories to humanize anyone. The only thing we know is that this man loves flowers and, for some reason, is looking for a woman named Norma. He’s doing a bad job given that he presents the bouquet to someone who says “I’m not Norma” before brutally assaulting her with a hammer.
That’s it. That’s all. That’s all there is. This is a brisk story where the voyeuristic view of the outsider is the only redeeming factor. The florist who sells him the flowers is straight out of an old Hollywood romantic comedy. They have the knowledge he needs to make a good impression, down to what the different arrangements symbolize. It’s a cute scene, especially if you don’t know King. There’s no expectation, maybe that of a cute, awkward date where the man pitches woo in a sappy manner. The set-up works at misleading the most naïve of readers but, again, the last two stories featured children murdering tourists and suicidality. You can’t be this far into this anthology without assuming the man in question is up to no good.
And so it plays out exactly like you’d expect. Things slowly turn sour as his fantasy gives way to reality. To King’s credit, he allows the moment to pace gradually, providing doubt that this is your generic serial killer story. Maybe he’s just giving out flowers to a cute woman. Despite the confined page count, there is that brief murkiness where everyone is vulnerable, and it posits that this might be closer to “I Know What You Need” and be a psychological horror. Alas, it’s hard to buy that when there are very few pages left and not enough time to do more than the old hit-and-run. In this regard, I’m not sure the author is doing anything exceptional. Maybe he fit the request of publisher Gallery Magazine, but even so, he’s made more insidious characters with a similar level of word economy.
The story’s main gimmick is the contrast between a bright exterior and dark soul. Again, that’s not new by King standards, but I think perceived “laziness” might play in his favor. The desired effect is to get to the final word, put down the magazine, and become paranoid about the habits of the nebbish men around you. Is his smile genuine, or does he have some unprocessed, unfulfilled conflict? All we can do is assume he’ll be nice to us, but what happens when his brain snaps and, suddenly, you’re the victim of a death so rudimentary yet grisly. Given that this book features lengthy nods to arm dismemberment by a machine, it’s amazing how disturbing the much simpler act becomes just because of the weapon’s accessibility.
By not getting into specifics, the reader must ask a few questions. Why is the man like this? The infatuation with Norma is clearly unhealthy, but what did she provide that “comforted” (?) him? Maybe there’s nothing there at all; he has some grand delusion that will never be satisfied. Still, his efforts to eliminate, one by one, the imperfect women in the world are disturbing. The fact that it sounds like he’s gotten away with this type of murder before alludes to a greater sense of helplessness, as if the police will not be able to stop him.
The novelty of a clueless public works to make the reader question their neighbors, to wonder what they do in their private lives. While everyone publicly hides behind a sense of romance and positivity, it’s clearly not working for this guy. He’s not fulfilling the expectations of the higher order. He could feel inadequate on those grounds alone, yet few scorned lovers would ever think to make the world around them equally miserable. Still, the public fights the darkness not by conversing with it but by emphasizing goofy nonsense about love.
When judged as a structured tale, this is a very competent read. There’s enough here to unpack and fill in unknown details. The irony works to add some clever twist to a familiar tale. Maybe it played better in 1977 where the divide between private and public personas was more commonplace. However, with the prominence of true crime since, this lacks any depth that makes it last beyond initial thrills. The story ends and, while it has enough memorability, pales in comparison to the twists that preceded. While the mundanity of its conclusion simmers in an effective manner, there’s no great “a-ha.” Everyone is as helpless to change things as they were before reading it. The world moves on without noticing its own atrocities. That’s scary, sure, but it’s also underwhelming.
At the end of the day, this is an easier story to read than analyze. It doesn’t ask much from its audience and doesn’t waste time getting to the pulse. It’s entertaining as a disposable story, but King’s reputation as being more labyrinthine means it can’t help but lack appeal for me. The subtext isn’t that deep, and the results are telegraphed almost right away. Even if the titular flowers factored into the murders more, maybe it would’ve been more inspired. For what it is, there’s plenty to find amusing despite being way too simple and disposable for its own good. Even so, it would lead to a 2015 short film as well as a music video clip by José Madero. As those titles suggest, it’s not reaching for anything more harebrained than what’s on the page.
This isn’t the worst story in “Night Shift” by a decent margin. However, it might be one of the more disappointing works to be included. It delivers the chills, but when Stephen King is considered a Master of Horror who has found some unbelievable creativity in tired twists, it’s hard to appreciate when he strips everything down. “The Man Who Loved Flowers” does an admirable job of pushing against its limitations, yet it’s hard to compare to dozens, if not hundreds, of better stories that King has written about homicidal freaks who look nice on the surface. If there’s anything wrong here, it’s that not enough is wrong. It’s just there, and that’s a shame.
Coming Up Next: “One for the Road”
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