Stephen King’s ‘Salem’s Lot is about two could’ve-been
Stephen Kings—Ben Mears, a modestly successful literary author, and Matthew
Burke, a high-school English instructor “two years from mandatory
retirement”—who defeat a vampire named Barlow. It’s a dull novel. I wasn’t
interested in any of the protagonists (Ben, Ben’s girlfriend, Susan Norton,
Matt, Dr. Jimmy Cody, Father Callahan, and mature-for-his age Mark Petrie). The
antagonists, Barlow and his familiar, Straker, never quite impress—especially
Barlow, who writes notes and shouts IN ALL CAPS. And then there’s the parade of
local residents, each introduced in a similar manner: name (first and last),
occupation, general skill-set, their role in “the Lot,” how much they do or
don’t drink, and if, in general, they are good or bad.
Some of these episodes are diverting. The corrupt
selectman-realtor who essentially sells the town to Barlow, the gravedigger who
buries and then unburies the vampire-boy Danny Glick, and the hunchbacked,
rat-shooting, dump-manager—uh, I don’t remember what happens to him, but he
entertained (he’s a proto Trashcan Man [from The Stand]; a King type).
Two ideas in ‘Salem’s Lot interest me, and King
deserves credit for… probably not inventing them, but recognizing them (he’s an
astute reader of horror) and incorporating them into his vampire tale: 1.
vampires are an evil that pre-dates Christianity, and possibly predates the
innovations of the Hebrews; therefore, while Christianity—specifically
Catholicism—is the modern religion best equipped to destroy vampires, other
religions were employed in the past, with success, against vampires—all this is
implied during the confrontation between Barlow and Father Callahan; and 2.
vampire-killing will invariably involve destroying what’s left of people you
knew and maybe even loved, and that’s not going to be easy, and in some cases
won’t even be possible.
It’s in service of that idea that King takes the
time to introduce us to so many townspeople. He wants his reader on the hook
for each vampire-staking. Every vampire has a name. When Jimmy and Mark yank a
vampire into the sun where it writhes in agony, Jimmy feels sick, and lets the
vampire crawl back into its hole.
Good ideas aren’t enough. King’s writing, fine in
places, is too often hackneyed. I cringed at the novel’s lone romantic sex
scene: “She was looking up at him, her eyes wide in the dark. She said, ‘Make
it be good.’ ‘I’ll try.’ ‘Slow, she said. ‘Slow. Slow. Here…’ They became
shadows in the dark. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Oh, Susan.’” And I laughed when Ben
discovers all that’s left of Barlow—his teeth—and they snap at him “like tiny
white animals.” Ben “whispered,” “Oh, my dear God. Please let that be the end.
Let it be the end of him.”
# # #
There was a reason why I borrowed ‘Salem’s Lot
from the library—but as soon as I left the library, I couldn’t remember what it
was. I read the book to remember the reason—I trusted myself. Yet, I still
don’t remember. I know why I also borrowed and read Ira Levin’s Rosemary’s Baby
(also dull, a short story stretched out to barely novel-length). That was
research. And, coincidentally, ‘Salem’s Lot contributed to my research:
on page 67 (of the Signet paperback edition,
August 1976), Floyd Tibbits picks up a newspaper and reads the headline: SATAN
WORSHIPPERS DESECRATE FLA. CHURCH. He skims the article, “…a bunch of kids had
broken into a Catholic Church in Clewiston, Florida, sometime after midnight
and had held some kind of unholy rites there.” And, “although some of the blood
was animal… most of it was human.” When Floyd discusses this with Dell the
bartender, Dell says, “The kids are going crazy.”
The late ‘80s Satanic Panic, which is what I’m
researching, may have its roots in the decades preceding—the Manson killings in
’69 (a real tragedy linked to long-haired rock ‘n’ roll weirdoes [The Beatles
and The Beach Boys, specifically]), as a possible origin point.
It's possible, though, that I just wasted my time.
