Stephen King is one of those busy new writers, isn't he? He has a story, A Death, in the current issue of The New Yorker, and a recent reprint, "Summer Thunder" in the latest issue of Cemetery Dance. "Summer Thunder" originally appeared in the CD anniversary anthology Turn Down the Lights. The question that piqued my interest is this: "Does King write differently for the slicks than he does for the pulps?" My answer: "Well, a little."
"Summer Thunder" is a by-the-numbers Stephen King story. It's effective, of course, but it's all there: New England setting (Vermont in this case), a Cold War/Baby Boomer anxiety come to life (limited nuclear exchange leading to global thermonuclear war), nostalgia (there's a "Dead Man's Curve", references to classic rock), a teensy bit of class struggle (an abandoned fancy housing development, the survivors drink Budweiser), and even a dying dog named Gandalf. I have the sneaking suspicion that a New Yorker editor would have at least circled the name choice. Gandalf is a little gray dog, you see. And yet, the story remained powerful, because people love dogs and hate the idea of being the last to die.
"A Death" isn't all that different: the surface elements have changed, of course. "A Death" takes place in the West, in the 19th century. It's a murder mystery of sorts. A little girl has been killed, on her birthday even, and a man little better than a simpleton stands accused. There's not much evidence, but it all points to him. He's hanged, pleading innocence and fighting all the way, and then as it turns out he actually did the murder after all. Hmm.
"A Death" reminds me of the stories that once appeared in The Saturday Evening Post and other slicks, including The New Yorker back in the proverbial day. It traffics in nostalgia in its own way—the gory details, except for a bit of scatology here and there, are kept off the page. Other Stephen King stories wouldn't be so polite. The language and POV is also different: objective third person for most of it, except when a viewpoint character is by himself, contemplating the case. King even put in a little epiphany at the end!
The wind gusted, bringing the sound of singing. It was coming from the church. It was the Doxology.
The New Yorker loves that shit. "Summer Thunder" has a similar ending, but there's no push toward a character experiencing realization. We're just watching a show.
Robinson aimed for the sign and twisted the throttle all the way. He just had time to hit fifth gear.
(Note to every other writer working in pulp/popular fiction idioms—you can have an ending like these without a single-sentence paragraph! See? See?)
Would "Summer Thunder" make it into The New Yorker? I suspect not, unless there was some sort of theme issue. A number of his stories for this magazine are historical for some reason, and those that aren't tend toward the domestic rather than the post-domestic. (There's always an exception, though.) "Summer Thunder" is a story that's purpose is boil way the setting; "A Death" is about a singular death. If "A Death" is "People sure are funny with their self-destructive tendencies" when "Summer Thunder" is "Well, they were." No wonder the former is in the central magazine for short fiction in the US, and the second in the premiere magazine for horror fiction.
"Summer Thunder" is a by-the-numbers Stephen King story. It's effective, of course, but it's all there: New England setting (Vermont in this case), a Cold War/Baby Boomer anxiety come to life (limited nuclear exchange leading to global thermonuclear war), nostalgia (there's a "Dead Man's Curve", references to classic rock), a teensy bit of class struggle (an abandoned fancy housing development, the survivors drink Budweiser), and even a dying dog named Gandalf. I have the sneaking suspicion that a New Yorker editor would have at least circled the name choice. Gandalf is a little gray dog, you see. And yet, the story remained powerful, because people love dogs and hate the idea of being the last to die.
"A Death" isn't all that different: the surface elements have changed, of course. "A Death" takes place in the West, in the 19th century. It's a murder mystery of sorts. A little girl has been killed, on her birthday even, and a man little better than a simpleton stands accused. There's not much evidence, but it all points to him. He's hanged, pleading innocence and fighting all the way, and then as it turns out he actually did the murder after all. Hmm.
"A Death" reminds me of the stories that once appeared in The Saturday Evening Post and other slicks, including The New Yorker back in the proverbial day. It traffics in nostalgia in its own way—the gory details, except for a bit of scatology here and there, are kept off the page. Other Stephen King stories wouldn't be so polite. The language and POV is also different: objective third person for most of it, except when a viewpoint character is by himself, contemplating the case. King even put in a little epiphany at the end!
The wind gusted, bringing the sound of singing. It was coming from the church. It was the Doxology.
The New Yorker loves that shit. "Summer Thunder" has a similar ending, but there's no push toward a character experiencing realization. We're just watching a show.
Robinson aimed for the sign and twisted the throttle all the way. He just had time to hit fifth gear.
(Note to every other writer working in pulp/popular fiction idioms—you can have an ending like these without a single-sentence paragraph! See? See?)
Would "Summer Thunder" make it into The New Yorker? I suspect not, unless there was some sort of theme issue. A number of his stories for this magazine are historical for some reason, and those that aren't tend toward the domestic rather than the post-domestic. (There's always an exception, though.) "Summer Thunder" is a story that's purpose is boil way the setting; "A Death" is about a singular death. If "A Death" is "People sure are funny with their self-destructive tendencies" when "Summer Thunder" is "Well, they were." No wonder the former is in the central magazine for short fiction in the US, and the second in the premiere magazine for horror fiction.