This book was selected for my NJ Bookclub because it has similar themes to our last read, Bag of Bones. I've previously read this one, or listened, because it was an audiobook, and so this time I read-read it.
I loved the experience of the audio - the reader is great and the audio definitely brings the story to life in different ways than the text itself does, but reading this with my very own eyeballs is rewarding in its own way. First, it's a more active, involved experience. Audio is very passive, right? You can listen while you multi-task, and it will go on without you if you get distracted or zone out or fall asleep. But reading this required me to really be present in the moment and in the story, and especially the writing, so I noticed things that I hadn't (or had and then forgot) the first time around.
For instance, the writing. This is a very... flowy book. It's structured in such a way that the past and the present and memories and dreams are kind of intertwined and flow into and around each other. (Which I guess is what intertwined means. Whatever.) The writing will just kind of end, no punctuation or completion, and pick up in the next segment or section with a continuation from a different perspective or in memory or in a different time. It shifts between past tense and present tense and 3rd person limited and 3rd person omniscient, and all storylines and times and perspectives meld together. So you have to keep up to know where and when you are in the story... or maybe don't and just go with it.
In the text, as I'm not usually a header reader, my eye just naturally skips the breaks and continues on. It's not the same kind of unbroken narrative as say, Cujo, which would have definitely benefited from some segmentation, but it almost feels as though it is at times. It has a kind of pseudo-stream of consciousness mixed with magical realism feel that works for the story, without feeling annoyingly tedious as I usually find both SOC and MR to be. So, good job there, King.
But another thing that I noticed is that there are a lot of connections and links to his previous work, meaning his stories, characters, and themes, and to his own life. This is both good and bad. Someone who is very familiar with King's work might feel that it is either self-derivative or chock full of fun easter eggs and connections, depending on how charitable they are feeling at the time. I can see it both ways, but I tend to lean more toward the charitable side and I can enjoy the influences his previous work had on this story.
For instance, for me, Andrew Landon had undertones of Mark Torrance (Jack's father) from The Shining. That he was cognizant of his abuse and had, in his mind or in reality, a reason for it, makes him a more understandable and relateable character for me, but I couldn't help making that connection because of the very similar feels of the characters when they were in their hectoring rages, and especially given the love that their sons both held for the men who hurt them and their family members.
Lisey, though VERY different from her, had a bit of Dolores Claiborne in her nature, if only the stubbornness and backbone to wade through fire to help the people she loves. Lisey and Dolores don't have much else in common, but that stalwart quality makes up for a lot. We talked about Lisey a bit at my bookclub meeting last night, and it was pointed out that Lisey is one of the few women that King has written who doesn't really DO anything. She doesn't really have her own thing - she's purely there to be a support system for her sister, and then later her husband. And even after he's gone, she still does nothing but exist until she starts to clean out his office, and then the floodgates open and things start happening that makes her act accordingly. But, she's not a philanthropist, she doesn't volunteer, she's not on committees or boards or even have any hobbies that I can tell. She's really just something of a shim - the piece that holds something else stable and in place.
Scott Landon had a bit of Jack Sawyer and Mike Noonan and King himself, and even though we never get to see Scott while he's alive (outside of flashbacks and memories), he is one of my favorite characters. His history and his story, and his methods of coping and adapting and his refusal to carry on the cycle of this madness, is commendable. I found myself often wishing that I could just give him a hug and comfort him, because he lived through so much hurt and pain. It made me feel a bit better that he found happiness and support and understanding in Lisey, even IF she had nothing outside of that role. That sentence probably sets the woman's lib and feminism movements back about a bazillion years, but I'm not sorry about it, and I'm not taking it back. He is such a tragic character that I'm happy he got to be happy for a while.
Anyway, I'm rambling on now. What I'm getting at is that while I can see how he borrowed bits from his previous characters, I liked it more than not.
I really liked how the story was actually plotted around Amanda (even though it's not MUCH of a plot, if I'm honest) while it's the history of Scott's life and Scott and Lisey's marriage that actually helps her recover. I loved the interactions of the sisters and how real and fucked up they were. Their names bugged the hell out of me, though. Jodotha? Cantata? Darlanna? Amanda's daughter Intermezzo? And Good Ma (mother) and Dandy (father)? Who would call their parents that? Weird.
I still found the most creepy and disturbing scenes to be Scott's history of his father and brother, and they were, if anything, more heartbreaking this time around. It was easy for me to put myself in the place of a little boy having to deal with this stuff - trying to help someone who was into the bad-gunky, and I am somewhat in awe of the fact that he made it through and managed to move past it, while living with it.
The concept of belief vs reality, or even of belief SHAPING reality is a strong one in this book. Boo'ya Moon is a kind of canvas place which seems to both exist on its own and yet also be whatever it is needed to be. It's got a dual nature just like everything else. In the light, it's healing and calm and something of a relaxing retreat.... but when darkness falls, it turns malevolent and threatening. Even in its lighter nature, it's dangerous though. Too much of a good thing always is. Boo'ya Moon is like the rooms that many of King's characters retreat to in their own minds to protect their innermost thoughts and selves from outside threats. But in this case, it's a real, or real enough, place that can actually hide and protect physically as well as only mentally when needed. Though the question of whether it's really real, or if it's only manifested because of expectation - shared delusion? - is one that I can't answer.
This book is definitely one that makes me think - about the nature of love and how much of oneself it is safe to give to another, and how far we will go to help those we love. It was asked last night whether we, at the bookclub, would have stayed with someone like Scott. I had to think about it for a bit, but not long. If the fantastical element (Boo'ya Moon and the bad-gunky, etc) were removed, and it was just mental illness, would the question still be asked? I'd like to think not. We love who we love, and in doing so we accept them, flaws and all, and we help battle through the hard shit together. We become two.