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Paul
Sheldon used to write for a living. Now, he's writing to stay
alive.
Synopsis
The protagonist, Sheldon, has just completed
what he considers a ''literary'' novel - far different from the
19th-century historical potboilers that have made him an immense
commercial success. Those books have featured a plucky, beautiful,
indomitable young woman named Misery. In the last of the series, Sheldon,
to his great delight, finally killed her off. Or wanted to. In drunken
celebration of his new, contemporary book, he runs his car off a road in
the midst of a snowstorm. He awakens, legs mangled, rescued - a word one
uses gingerly - from death by the insane nurse. She is, by coincidence, a
devoted fan. So devoted that she will not counte-nance Misery's literary
demise, and through drugs and torture she forces the hapless Sheldon to
write a resurrection of Misery. A private edition, Sheldon thinks. With a
first and only printing of exactly one.
The standard King fan will
warm up to the gruesome nature of this relationship. Blood flies. The
nurse has an unfortunately gory habit of lopping off important (but not
essential) appendages belonging to her captive. Can the hero-writer
survive? Will he escape? Will he turn on his tormentor? This book is built
on a single cliff and hangs there throughout its length.
But the
novel functions as well on a more sophisticated level. Mr. King evokes the
image of Scheherazade. He muses on the literature of possession and the
idea that art is an act in which the artist willingly becomes captive. He
delves deeply into the psychology of creation, and it is to his credit
that much of the tension in the book stems from the devilish dilemma the
author-hero discovers: his book based on psychotic demand is actually
quite good, by far the best he has written. He is, in a wonderful touch,
compelled to finish it -and to save it, as well as himself, from
destruction. For all writers who have faced the torture of a blank page,
this is a delicious irony: that real torture can solve the problems of
writer's block. SHELDON is well drawn and we see the entire story from his
perspective: we willingly go along with him as he searches for a way out
of his problems, those of his literary creation and those created by his
captor. Nurse Wilkes is seen only through his eyes. She alternates between
childish glee and ax-wielding madness. She hasn't much depth but remains a
single-dimensional hulking horror throughout the book.
Wilkes is
expected to provide the terror that traditional King fans demand. Is she
the type of character who frightens us so much that we can't turn off the
light until the book is finished, and who then lurks first in shadows,
then in subsequent nightmares? I do not know if she is successful on that
score.
Ultimately, I think ''Misery'' is probably far less
viscerally frightening than most of Mr. King's offerings. There will be no
sweaty palms, no tightened throats while reading this book. That will
probably disappoint some fans. It shouldn't. Even if ''Misery'' is less
terrifying than his usual work - no demons, no witchcraft, no nether-world
horrors - it creates strengths out of its realities. Its excitements are
more subtle. And, as such, it is an intriguing work. -- John Katzenbach,
New York Times
Quotes from the
Book
I
suppose you want your cockadoodie medication.
"Can I?
Yeah. You bet I can. There's a million things in this world I can't do.
Couldn't hit a curveball, even back in high school. Can't fix a leaky
faucet. Can't roller skate or make an F-chord on the guitar that sounds
like anything but shit. I have tried twice to be married and couldn't do
it either time. But if you want me to take you away, to scare you or
involve you or make you cry or grin, yeah. I can. I can bring it to you
and keep bringing it until you holler uncle. I am able. I
can." |
