Should you be afraid of the dark?
As long as I can remember, I had a certain fascination with Stephen King.
Which is unfortunate because as we’ve established many times, horror is not really my genre.
The first King book I ever read — and for a long time the only one — was The Shining. I remember buying it before a long train ride. It was in 2017, and I was only a few months out of medical school. The utter exhaustion caused by my training to be a respectable physician just started to lift, and I could finally entertain the idea of reading again. So on a whim, I bought the book, a sandwich, and a bottle of water, and tucked myself away in the corner of a train coach that was several decades older than me.
At least. (It had seen better times too.)
As the train wound its way toward the North, the sandwich went untouched. Most of the water as well. I was simply too busy being sucked deeper and deeper into the madness of the Overlook Hotel.
I finished the entire book during that trip, and by the end, I was properly terrified. Here’s what I wrote at the time in my Goodreads review:
I don’t think I can stay at a storied hotel up in the mountains ever again. This book is good. It’s clever in its prose, terrifying in its story, and most interesting in its characters. Definitely worth a read.
Then I didn’t touch another Stephen King book for six years.
(I didn’t go to old hotels in the mountains either, if you’re wondering. And I still don’t.)
Occasionally, I was bummed about this in the intervening years. I wished King would write stories that didn’t include horrifying sewer clowns, vengeful cars, and rabid dogs. I loved his prose, his pacing, his stock-like, yet endearing characters. In more ways than not, King was a perfect writer for me.
But unfortunately, he also left me with nightmares lasting almost a week after I finished The Shining.
So I put King back on the metaphorical shelf, and things stayed that way until 2023.
That year, I was looking for some good books on the craft of writing, and the internet kept recommending yet another Stephen King joint — his only non-fiction piece —, On Writing. Picking it up, I expected a handbook, but what I found instead was what I’d been craving all along.
On Writing is divided into two parts: the second is the guidebook for writers, but the first one is a sort of autobiography. King wrote it as a series of vignettes, strung together loosely to try and puzzle out why he became the writer he is. It reads exactly like one of his novels — only without the horror parts.
But the biographical chapters turned out to be only the second-best thing On Writing had for me.
In the second part of the book, King goes into explaining how he approaches certain challenges of being a writer, and he illustrates each lesson with examples taken from his own work. He mentions maybe two dozen books he’s written, and halfway through, it dawned on me:
Stephen King is not a horror writer.
I mean, he does write horror novels and we all associate him with that particular genre, but in reality, he also writes science-fiction thrillers (The Dead Zone), contemporary fantasy (The Dark Tower series), realistic literature (Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption), and crime fiction (the Mr. Mercedes trilogy).
Looking at it now, I’m not even sure horror is his main genre.
By the time I finished On Writing, I had a handful of King novels I never heard of and what seemed safe enough for a scaredy cat like me. But even then — like all good Stephen King books — On Writing still had a final twist left.
The back matter of the book is filled with a few essays and interview transcripts. One of the latter is about a small podium talk King did with his son, Joe Hill, who’s also an author. They are taking turns pulling audience questions from a hat. Mid-way through, King picks the following one:
Joe, what is the most messed-up thing your dad did to you as a child?
And Hill gives a really surprising answer to the audience and his dad:
I know. It’s hard to decide. The thing is, I’ve thought about this a lot because there’s this old Jay Leno joke, right? And it goes, Stephen King asked the kids, do you want to hear a bedtime story? The kids go, “No!” But the thing is, it was never really like that, you know? I mean, we always loved bedtime stories. It was the best part of the day. And I sometimes think that it’s a basic misunderstanding of my dad’s work that he sells fear. Politicians sell fear. I’ve always thought that my dad’s stories sold bravery, that they essentially were making an argument that, yeah, things might get really bad. But if you have some faith and a sense of humor, and if you’re loyal to your loved ones, sometimes you can kick the darkness until it bleeds daylight.
Stephen King is not out there to teach you fear.
He’s out there to show you that bravery, humor, and loyalty can carry you through fear.
You don’t have to be afraid of the dark. The dark has to be afraid of you.
I found Joe Hill’s reinterpretation beautiful, and it was as if a light had been suddenly switched on inside me. After On Writing, I picked up a copy of The Dead Zone (a non-horror entry, four stars, loved it) and one of King’s most famous horror novels I wanted to read for ages, but didn’t dare, ‘Salem’s Lot. It did give me chills at times, but nothing like the deep fear The Shining instilled.
(Three stars, by the way. It was good, but not as good as The Dead Zone.)
So, why am I telling you all this?
First, because Stephen King’s books are amazing, and if you like good writing, you might want to try them. I can personally vouch for The Dead Zone — that’s my current favorite.
Also, quick aside: there’s this really good podcast — Just King Things — where two very smart (and funny) fans read every novel King ever wrote in publication order, then they talk about them in detail. I recommend them.
Okay, back to the topic at hand.
The real reason I was thinking about King so much is narrative.
Specifically, the narrative I tell myself about myself and the world around me. Lately, I think about it a lot because as I get older, I’m starting to realize that it’s possibly the most powerful thing shaping someone’s life. You know… intersubjective realities and whatnot.
Nothing changed in Stephen King’s books. The Shining is still The Shining, complete with a malevolent hotel, a frightful father, moving hedge animals, and an axe splintering wood ever so scarily. But I bet if I read it today, it wouldn’t scare me half as much.
Because inside, I decided not to see the horrifying sewer clown, the vengeful car, or the rabid dog, but the humor, loyalty, and bravery.
Now I tell myself to kick the darkness until it bleeds daylight. And that changed everything.
It makes me wonder: what other narrative of mine could change to open up whole new ways?
And you? What do you tell yourself… about yourself?