“Really?“ One might be inclined to ask. “You’re reading it again? Really?“

 

And my answer? Of course I’m reading it again.  I have never been the type who enjoys the book, puts it down and then never thinks of it again. Sure, there are plenty of books which I never end up revisiting but with the ones that I really like, there inevitably comes the point when I feel the edge to go back and do the journey again. As I get older, I find this drive taking me back to movies much less frequently. When I was in my twenties. I could re-watch any number of movies  in my collection and still get a great deal of enjoyment out of them. Now, I find that I am glossing over a lot of what I once loved in a movie. But with books? Books have so much more depth to them that it is entirely possible to enjoy the book many times over, and often for completely different reasons. And The Stand is a book that definitely falls into that category. 

 

I am a huge fan of Stephen King's work, a fact which I think doesn’t really need to be stated. But my point in this context is that his writing has always entertained me, even if it was a book that overall I wasn’t preferring. There are several books of his that I have probably read close to ten times. And I am able to find so much enjoyment in his writing that I even find myself wanting to take another shot at books I didn’t like, maybe to see if this time around I can crack the tumblers to whatever it was that prevented me from enjoying it the first time. 

 

So when it comes to The Stand, of course I feel the drive to go back and read it again. It’s one of my top three of all time, desert island choices of Stephen King's books.  And on a more personal, nostalgic level, the hardback edition I have of this book is one of the few items in my personal library which I’ve managed to hold on to for most of my life.

 

It’s a first edition of the unabridged version of the book published in 1990. No, it isn’t particularly valuable from a collector's standpoint. It’s in what would be labelled awful condition but what I would consider well loved and well read.  The book was a gift from my step-grandmother and I have to think that she didn’t really know what the book contained because looking back, it’s a pretty risque gift to be giving a twelve-year-old child.  But as I have stated on many occasions, I was fortunate enough to grow up in a family that trusted in my maturity and intellect to be able to handle books of a more adult nature. And besides this book, the only other title which has withstood more of the test of time in my collection would be the ancient, battered copy of The Hobbit, which I have had since the early days of grade school. 

 

I think one aspect of this book which I had in mind on this re-read is that despite the number of times I have taken this journey, I still find myself connecting with and responding to the story on an emotional level. It is to be expected that in a book with such a large ensemble cast that you will end up making favorites, picking out characters that you particularly like and dislike.

 

And this book is certainly no exception. And again, my preferences tend to remain the same. I felt myself drawn again to the character of Stu Redman, the blue-collar factory worker from Texas. I love the fact that he is so deceptively intelligent. Based on how he starts in the book, just another bland face in a small Texas town, it might be easy to dismiss him. But he proves to be extremely resilient and resourceful throughout the book, winning over the reader fairly easily. I also love the aged sociologist, Glenn Bateman. I love reading through his various lectures on the state of society and how he sees things rebuilding after the collapse and amongst the remains of what people have been left behind.

 

Another response which I find interesting is how with each successive reading, I seem to find the character of Harold to be just a little bit more creepy and dark then the last time. Throughout the course of the book, he starts off in a fairly sympathetic position and as the story grows legs and gets bigger, while the rest of the characters seem to grow more virtuous, he goes in the opposite direction. And what’s interesting to me is that each time I read the book, the tipping point in which he starts his descent seems to start just a little bit earlier.

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One thing which I think The Stand demonstrates quite well is how the good intentions and character of people can be weaponized and aimed at each other through the use of some simple mis-information. The people in the free zone of Boulder know close to nothing about Randall Flagg and his people in Las Vegas. In fact, all they really know about Flagg is what is told it to them by Mother Abigail, as well as what little glimpses they get of him in their various dreams.

 

And on the other side of the coin, the people of Las Vegas who are under Flagg's thumb are equally clueless when it comes to the people of Boulder. For them the only information they are given about the free zone is what “information” is passed along to them by their leader. Flagg is able to manipulate their new world. He paints a picture of the free zone as the embodiment of all their fears and is something which should be vanquished, to be fought against.

 

Based on what we see of Flagg throughout the earlier parts of the book as well as what we are told about him, you would think that the people of Las Vegas would be of the lowest moral character. But the reality is that those people aren’t that dissimilar from those in the in the free zone. The ultimate irony of the end of the book is we find out how the people there are likely just as afraid of the faceless masses in Boulder and Flagg as the other way around.

 

I think that one aspect I took more notice of this time around was the character of Randall Flagg as well as The Stand’s connection with the Dark Tower saga. While the stories don’t necessarily bear a linear connection, they definitely weave into each other’s spaces. In Wastelands, the enigmatic Tick-Tock Man is saved by the Man in Black who makes a reference to another fabled character, the Trashcan Man, from The Stand. And then again, in Wastelands, the gunslingers find themselves briefly transported to Topeka, Kansas, laid bare in the wake of the Captain Trips virus. 

 

When we are introduced to Flagg in The Stand, he has very little memory of who he is, or where he is. Lost to even his own consciousness is his place in the world or what destiny lays before him. All he seems to know is that he has been placed onto a path of significant destiny. 

 

I’ve always taken this as a reference to his eventual role in this book, specifically. But what if there is a greater significance? What if The Stand plays as much of a part to Randall Flagg’s story as the other way around? 

 

I’ve always liked seeing The Stand as a kind of prequel to the Dark Tower, despite there being little to support that. But thinking of Randall Flagg in this new context did send my mind down that road again. What if his journey in The Stand is essential for him becoming the character he is in the Dark Tower? Is he really defeated by Trashie’s self-sacrificing, kamikaze attack? Or were the fires of that radioactive blast needed in order to bring about some “becoming” on his part? Maybe a necessary doorway through which he had to pass before rising to the next level of the Tower?

 

I realize that I am engaging in the exact line of thought I gave some mild criticism to in Tracing the Trails, positing connections that don’t necessarily exist. I’ll come clean, this is just a fun trail of contemplation for me, drawing free style as I participate in the fantasy playground that King created with these great books. 

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The Stand is a beautifully written book that is intriguingly deep in its composition. For me, the genius of the book is in how effective it is both as a plot-driven story as well as character-driven.

 

One final aspect I found myself drawn to this time around was the epilogue, something that was written for the unabridged version of the book. And again - spoilers here - but what should I take from the fact that in the end, Randall Flagg seems to survive while Mother Abigail does not? What kind of light does that shed on the quest and sacrifices of our heroes? And what I think I have settled on is this: we can't expect the goodness of the world to always be there for us. The evil in the world, that will always be a presence in our lives, no matter what we do to it. The good, however, the righteousness we need in our lives must essentially be found within ourselves. It might no longer be something we can see, it isn't an external presence, rather it exists as some fundamental aspect of our core character.

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I'll let you know how I feel the next time I read it.

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