44. The Shining by Stephen King

First published in 1977. This edition: 2012, Anchor Books)

Cradled in the majestic, foreboding arms of the Colorado Rockies, the Overlook Hotel seems like nothing so much as a salvation/sanctuary, a real boon for the Torrance trio. Jack Torrance, patriarch, middling writer of possible promise (he once had work published in Esquire, which is saying something) and forcefully-retired preparatory school English teacher, knows that managing the Overlook during its sealed-up winter months is an ace of a job. For reasons that make him sick to his stomach to contemplate, performing commendably here, for six sequestered months, is his last chance in a variety of ways. He’s determined not to muck it up, and with the emotional support of his cheerful wife Wendy and dutiful son Danny, Jack thinks his first tenure at the grand hotel could be just the chance he needs to solidify his autonomy and finish the first draft of his three-act play.

Soon before departing for Floridian warmth, empathetic Overlook cook Dick Hallorann assures Danny, “I don’t think there’s anything here that can hurt you.” Halloran also gives a name to the prescience Danny’s always had, calling it “the shining”. Though Dick shines on a lesser level, Danny’s psychic powers are starkly, eerily majestic, revealing both Jack’s ever-pressing compulsion to drink and Wendy’s crushing anxieties. Danny’s shining is the brightest spark the Overlook has encountered in an age, and the hotel wants him. The spectre-lined chambers know just which desperate, drink-deprived man they can use, to help draw little Danny deeper into their carpeted, chandeliered clutches.

No, this isn’t like the Hotel California, since, in addition to not being able to never leave, you really can’t check out any time you like, either. King situates the glacial furnace of the novel’s primary activity in a place where retreat is nigh-impossible, where the hope of external rescue hangs as precariously as a loose tooth from a bloody thread of gum. Further to this, the storyboard conflicts – Man vs Nature, Man vs Self – are so orderly, so cleanly hewn in their make that they might have popped straight from the pages of a “How to Storytell” primer. Therein lies the ghoulish, fantastic rub, though – this is aching, jealousy-makingly-good storytelling. King’s third novel sees him harness deceptively simple constructs and then stun us between the eyes with the consistent power of worldmaking that fires on all cylinders.

First Edition cover, Doubleday, 1977.
First Edition cover, Doubleday, 1977.

What works well for The Shining is a discernible dearth of heavy turns, though the narrative does occasionally pat itself on the back with unnecessary, sometimes corny insertions. (If I were as tremendous a third book as this one, I’d probably be stroking my own spine with inky compliments, too.) We feel, when we read Jack, that we *are* Jack, from the moment we’re fidgeting in Ullman’s office, hating the officious little prick’s guts, promising vindictive retributions that our new boss might not quite deserve, but by God, it’s the principle of the thing, it’s to do with being humiliated and just how unjustly one can turn the knife back on one’s oppressor matters, it does. When we’re reading Wendy, we’re Wendy, a woman who fiercely adores her son, a woman who’s timed the steady degradation of her marriage against the repetitive clink of scotch and gin bottles, a lady who’s startled by the surges of her own uncommon intelligence. She stifles her own better judgments with hausfrau-esque personal admonitions that resonate with a sickly thud of commingled girlish naiveté and calculated despair, measured out in mental hair twirls through restless, well-manicured fingers.

Perhaps most astonishing and gratifying is the fact that when we read Danny, we are Danny. We’re five, and not too far gone from nights of bedwetting. We regress to thumbsucking states when confronted by the ire-fuelled interactions of the Mummy we cherish and the Daddy we idolize. We want things to be right, knowing from the very beginning that the Overlook is wrong, and we learn far sooner than we should about all the slithering, Room 217-dwelling manifestations of just how wrong wrong can be. King’s embodiment of Danny’s precarious, nuanced mental journeys is stunningly navigated. We’re there with him, fumbling in the labyrinths of his exceptional mind, our hands held up to fend off bogeymen of corporal and ethereal formations. We’re there with him even when we most want not to be.

2006 edition cover, Hodder.

Certainly, this book is scary. It’s more than a scream-by-numbers investigation, though. At its best, The Shining pierces through to the telltale heart of psychological decay, of the most earnest of human intentions lain low by a roque mallet. It’s a portrait of personal devastation as convoluted as anything Dorian Gray could conjure, and then some. Jack’s progressive decline is the novel’s snarling beast, and it’s even more terror-inducing than encounters with topiary creatures in feet of fresh snowfall, because Jack is you, and me. Jack is anyone who’s fought tooth and nail against the siren call of the thing they most love and fear. In his hubris, his clever arrogance, his petulant protestations against situations his own shortcomings have engendered, you know that he’s you on the days you want to erase from the ledger. Jack is proof that we can’t outrun ourselves, and oh, how brutally and systematically this reminder thuds from the pages.

If you’re new to Stephen King, as I was (and still am, since one novel doesn’t an adept make), maybe you might not want to read this one in the dark. Maybe it’ll come for you in the dark regardless, like it did for me, demanding to be read in silence, with a light borne aloft, while the rest of the house slept. Read about how this inhuman place makes human monsters, of how imaginary friends can reveal the truth lingering in a chiaroscuro world running parallel to this one. You might dismiss the horror as not supernatural enough, maybe. Or, like me, you might find your body blistering with wintry fear when you learn that King’s paranormal horror beats (bleats?) with the dogged persistence of a very human heart.

Don’t be surprised if surviving The Shining catapults you into the dimly-lit corridors of King’s considerable oeuvre. At the very least, it’ll make you want to take your medicine.

9 thoughts on “44. The Shining by Stephen King

  1. I knew it. I knew you would See and Know. You always, always do. And now you join the tribe. You belong here, with us. In the dark. With only enough light by which to scare you, by which to illumine your deepest, most speakless dreads. Welcome.

    Now. Take my hand. I won’t let you fall down. I won’t let you float away. Though we all fall. We all float in the end. Just ask Stephen.


  2. Funnily enough, the only book I’ve read by Stephen King is his non-fiction book On Writing, which I thought was an excellent book on the craft of fiction writing. I’ve been meaning to read some of his fiction ever since. Maybe The Shining is the place to start…


    1. Andrew, thanks for stopping by! Yes, I’ve heard many endorsements praising On Writing‘s merits. Curiously, the only time I came close to reading it was actually at a writers’ workshop, but I put it off. I was interested in piercing through to the core of my own style, without too great a series of external influences (which sounds a bit narcissistic, but I hope you take my meaning!)

      Do let me know what you make of The Shining, if you embark on it. I’ve also been told that Lisey’s Story is a good place to start, with King’s fiction.


  3. aartichapati

    I CANNOT read scary books! I don’t think I could handle this one, it would give me nightmares! But I should read Stephen King – he seems to have quite a range.

    I also wanted to let you know that the A More Diverse Universe tour is on again in a month if you want to participate!


    1. Aarti, I can more than relate — it’s nigh impossible for me to sit still during horror films, for instance. Somehow, reading about terrifying happenings comes much easier to me than witnessing it on a screen. It’s not less scary, not at all! I suppose it’s a medium preference. 🙂

      I hope that this year’s A More Diverse Universe tour went splendidly!


  4. I missed this post obviously but, in the meantime, I’ve read the novel myself and its sequel. (I actually thought I’d read this one before, because I went through a concerted effort of reading his novels some years back, but it was a fresh read after all…or else my memory is poorer than I thought.) When I think about the story now, of course I think of Danny’s voice first, but all the voices are strong and credible, adding to that “dogged persistence of a very human heart” at work, as you’ve said. And I echo Andrew’s recommendation above for On Writing, which also has a fantastic reading list in the back. (Because of course there aren’t enough books on our TBR lists now, right?)


    1. Dear BIP, yes — every voice in this novel is unforgettable, and utterly credible. I noted that you’d read and reviewed Doctor Sleep recently, and I’m eager to see what you made of the long-anticipated follow-up. I’d be diving into Doctor Sleep myself, but I have a date with the first of The Dark Tower books, first.

      I’m definitely going to read On Writing — and I’m looking forward to devouring the TBR list at its end! (And yes, verily, the TBR road goes ever on…)


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