This King took some mulling over. The rating, I mean. Should read 3 and a half. In terms of his range, The Plant isn’t the sort of supernatural story that serves as a backdrop for something else (reflection, melancholy, social commentary, it’s not a short list). It doesn’t dissect a character’s psychology and draw the horror from there, either. It’s meant to be a frivolous little exercise in King being King and loving it, period. What he does experiment with is narrative device.
Overall, it was a delight to read. The story is certainly engaging, I was sold on page 1. Glad I didn’t research in advance and find out this was a serialization that got released in installments over a period of… well, a whole lot of years. In short, he took long breaks and never finished it. Had I known that, I’d have picked something else and missed out on some delicious prose and a LOT of giggles. King doesn’t hold back the attitude and witticisms here.
Not saying he ever does, bless him. However, this time the whole narrative takes the form of a group of editors in a publishing house writing to each other or in their diaries. There’s also a black janitor who, when talking to anyone who isn’t family, insists on coming across as anything but the aspiring writer he is. Writing is in these people’s marrow. That’s a given with writers, but ideally, it’s also why an editor becomes an editor. (At some point, the damn carnivorous telepathic plant takes over, for all intents and purposes, and we find it’s missed its calling. It should have become an editor too.)
Anyway, the thing about most people I know who eat and breathe the written word is that even when typing out an email (in this case, an inter-office memo; The Plant takes place in the early 80s), they can’t help funning around with it and turning it into A Piece of Writing. Their personality, humor, and current mood have no trouble coming through, in fact, they mean them to, they have what it takes to pull it off, and they revel in the process. Consequently, the fact there’s a character here with a flare for the dramatic, plus one who’s overtired and pissy (to name just two examples), and ALL of them have a great handle on irony, sarcasm, and all things delightful, is very hard to miss.
To sum up what I enjoyed so much about this little book that I can’t stop smiling two days after I finished it: When your characters are poor mortals as opposed to professional writers, you have to watch how they express themselves. Many find King tends to fail in that department. "Let’s be honest, NOBODY talks like that in real life." (Tragic news, if you ask me.) Whatever "that" is, I can never get enough of it, and with a premise like The Plant’s, he officially gave himself full freedom to be as self-indulgent as he pleases. All over the place. Rejoice or consider yourself warned, that’s your business.
Since this is a tapestry of 1st person POVs (whatever dialog there is is recounted by whoever’s got the pen at any given moment), he tries to make sure they all sound different. With some characters, he succeeds. (There’s a couple of vocabulary challenged antagonists who can’t write worth two dead flies. Getting in THEIR heads couldn’t have been too easy for somebody as pathologically eloquent as he is, but he managed it.) With others, he slips, and their voices sometimes become interchangeable. With the black janitor, he goes completely overboard (unless the fella is talking to himself in his diary). There’s this demented, stunningly ham-fisted rendition of black slang King used to do when he was young, and it filled me with utter cringe whenever he saw fit to inflict it on his readers. It’s in The Dark Tower, it’s in The Stand, it rears its ugly head here as well, but shockingly, I couldn’t care less. I was in it for the general hilarity, and it wasn’t affected, except in parts 5 and upwards. That's where things start getting dark and heavy.
Pity The Plant’s unfinished; I’d love to find out how it ends. I suppose King never figured that out either.