It's all words for me, in the end.
So a little while ago, a horror novel called Heart-Shaped Box came out. And it looked interesting -- not world-shaking or life-changing, but a lot higher quality than the Leisure Horror claptrap I tend to read for fun -- so I mentally marked it down on the 'read this when it comes out of hardcover' list, and waited.
And a little while after that, it came out that the name of the author, 'Joe Hill', was actually a pseudonym for Joseph King, the middle child of Stephen King, my favorite author. I found this fascinating, but didn't move Heart-Shaped Box up on the 'read this' list: I don't have enough shelf space or book money to just go around buying hardcovers at random. It could wait.
Well, at Boskone a few weeks ago, I found a table selling used books for charity. I like used books. I like charity. It seemed like a good deal, and after a little browsing, I walked away with two paperbacks, a trade paperback, and a hardcover, all for the princely sum of ten dollars. As you've probably guessed, given the setup, the hardcover was Heart-Shaped Box.
I read it yesterday, on my various trains. I read it cover to cover yesterday, on my various trains, and when the book was over, I leaned back in my seat and cried. Not because it was the best book I'd ever read, not because it was a change-your-life book, but because of the language. I love horror, but King doesn't have the highest body-count in the business. He doesn't come up with the best atrocities, the best torments, the best stings in the tail of the tale. Yet he's my favorite author. Why? Because of the way he uses words. He throws them into the air like confetti, and they come down in drifts, and they make stories out of snow, and it's only just this side of a miracle to me. The best advice I've ever received on writing came from Stephen King. (The second-best advice I've ever had on writing came from Arlene Harris, who was wicked with a red pen.)
Joe Hill uses words just like his father does.
He isn't aping his father's writing style; Heart-Shaped Box isn't a Stephen King book, and it doesn't want to be. It's entirely unashamed of what it is. It walks, it talks, it does the funky chicken, and it knows itself to be a solid piece of work, filled with words thrown into the air like confetti, words that scatter down like stars, or snow. He's had a very different life from the one his father led, and that shows through, too, in choices of phrase, in ways of fitting things together; the son is kinder than the father in his phrasing, and through his kindness, much more cruel.
If it seems like I'm doing exactly what he chose a pseudonym to avoid -- measuring the son against the father -- I'm not, because I measure every horror author against Stephen King. He's my benchmark for whether a writer is worth actually seeking out, rather than simply reading when I happen to stumble across them. Joe Hill is the first author in a while to make that cut; relation has nothing to do with it.
Heart-Shaped Box is about paying your dues, owning what you pay for, and learning how to let go. It's also about the dead, and the nightroad that leads between life and death, and what happens when you find yourself on it. And it's about a man who's run his way across just about his entire life, and what happens when he finally runs out of road. It's about heavy metal. It's about love. It's about dogs. It's about a hundred pages shorter than I wanted it to be, just because I wasn't ready for it to end, and it's just about perfectly what it needs to be, and it's about two months away from coming out in paperback.
I heartily recommend this book -- no pun intended. It's rough, but it's a grant promise of greater things ahead, and it's beautiful being exactly what it is. Some things are better for being a little rough.
Some things are beautiful that way.
And a little while after that, it came out that the name of the author, 'Joe Hill', was actually a pseudonym for Joseph King, the middle child of Stephen King, my favorite author. I found this fascinating, but didn't move Heart-Shaped Box up on the 'read this' list: I don't have enough shelf space or book money to just go around buying hardcovers at random. It could wait.
Well, at Boskone a few weeks ago, I found a table selling used books for charity. I like used books. I like charity. It seemed like a good deal, and after a little browsing, I walked away with two paperbacks, a trade paperback, and a hardcover, all for the princely sum of ten dollars. As you've probably guessed, given the setup, the hardcover was Heart-Shaped Box.
I read it yesterday, on my various trains. I read it cover to cover yesterday, on my various trains, and when the book was over, I leaned back in my seat and cried. Not because it was the best book I'd ever read, not because it was a change-your-life book, but because of the language. I love horror, but King doesn't have the highest body-count in the business. He doesn't come up with the best atrocities, the best torments, the best stings in the tail of the tale. Yet he's my favorite author. Why? Because of the way he uses words. He throws them into the air like confetti, and they come down in drifts, and they make stories out of snow, and it's only just this side of a miracle to me. The best advice I've ever received on writing came from Stephen King. (The second-best advice I've ever had on writing came from Arlene Harris, who was wicked with a red pen.)
Joe Hill uses words just like his father does.
He isn't aping his father's writing style; Heart-Shaped Box isn't a Stephen King book, and it doesn't want to be. It's entirely unashamed of what it is. It walks, it talks, it does the funky chicken, and it knows itself to be a solid piece of work, filled with words thrown into the air like confetti, words that scatter down like stars, or snow. He's had a very different life from the one his father led, and that shows through, too, in choices of phrase, in ways of fitting things together; the son is kinder than the father in his phrasing, and through his kindness, much more cruel.
If it seems like I'm doing exactly what he chose a pseudonym to avoid -- measuring the son against the father -- I'm not, because I measure every horror author against Stephen King. He's my benchmark for whether a writer is worth actually seeking out, rather than simply reading when I happen to stumble across them. Joe Hill is the first author in a while to make that cut; relation has nothing to do with it.
Heart-Shaped Box is about paying your dues, owning what you pay for, and learning how to let go. It's also about the dead, and the nightroad that leads between life and death, and what happens when you find yourself on it. And it's about a man who's run his way across just about his entire life, and what happens when he finally runs out of road. It's about heavy metal. It's about love. It's about dogs. It's about a hundred pages shorter than I wanted it to be, just because I wasn't ready for it to end, and it's just about perfectly what it needs to be, and it's about two months away from coming out in paperback.
I heartily recommend this book -- no pun intended. It's rough, but it's a grant promise of greater things ahead, and it's beautiful being exactly what it is. Some things are better for being a little rough.
Some things are beautiful that way.