ohbloodyhell8

Picture the classic Jersey diner. Not one of the ones that tries to make an impression but one of the greasy spoon mom and pop joints. You know the menu-every breakfast item comes with hash browns. Lots of open-faced sandwiches smothered in gravy. Homemade soups.  Now imagine the corner booth with the duct tape covering the cracks in the vinyl. That’s where Uncle Stevie and I will be sitting while we discuss various observations from life. My hope is that we’ll start with comparing stories about our children. This will lead to why I can no longer read Pet Sematary. While all of his stories can give one the heebie-jeebies, what happens to the little boy could happen in real life (not being brought back to life in an Indian burial ground gone bad but being run over by an 18 wheeler) which makes it unreadable now that I am the mother of two small boys. Meanwhile, Cujo is fine. I’m not likely to be trapped by a rabid Saint Bernard at my mechanic’s place of business. He doesn’t even have a dog there. One of the mechanics we used to use always left me with an unsettled feeling. It wasn’t until recently that I realized why…it matched the setting in Cujo. They might have had a Saint Bernard.

After we catch up on the kids, I’d have to do the thank you. Thank you for It. “One for the Road.” Cell. The wonderful short stories. Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption.

The scariest book in my opinion is the novella Apt Pupil. This one haunts me and I can only read it every few years. Each time I read it there are new things to be afraid of. Why? The Reader, the Text and the Poem. I bring new life experiences to it and the world keeps adding new experiences of hate, evil incarnate, to bring to this terrifying tale of the all American boy.  Uncle Stevie is wonderfully talented at creating characters the reader cares about and becomes emotionally invested in. He weaves a story with detail that is real enough to see in the mind’s eye. He captures the creepy nature of the human experience so vividly that one can explore the dark underbelly of existence from a safe distance. Apt Pupil shines a bright light on that underbelly.

Most of his stories also contain hope. None so beautifully as Shawshank (“I hope…”) but readers hope things turn out all right for the characters because they grow to care about them.

I remember seeing Misery at a movie theater while living in Philly. After going through the metal detectors, I bought my goodies and found a seat toward the back in the middle section. I settled in, knowing I was safe enough because the security guard who checked my purse said I could keep my pepper spray, and watched in darkness as Kathy Bates worked her creepiness. As the movie was nearing the end, the audience had really become invested and we were all screaming for James Caan to beat her with the pig (sorry, Kathy, but you were just that good at being bad). You won’t shout at the screen unless you care about the characters.

There are two things about my relationship with Uncle Stevie that some folks think are odd. First, when I can’t sleep, I read from one of the short story collections and it calms me so I can fall asleep. People tell me that when they read Uncle Stevie they can’t fall asleep. I think his stories, particularly his short stories, help me to sleep because I have read them so many times they are like old friends. My copies of Night Shift and Skeleton Crew are well worn and bring me comfort, with the newer collections quickly becoming worn as well. “One for the Road,” “That Feeling, You Can Only Say What It Is in French,” “I Know What You Need,” “The Jaunt,”and “The Mangler” bring warmth to me, make me feel cozy all snuggled up in my bed. Clearly my life is going way better than the characters’ lives so I relax and fall asleep. The only thing that has surprised me is that “Quitters, Inc.” never made me quit. You would think that it would have worked…

The second thing some people don’t understand is why there are a select number of his books on the top of my Uncle Stevie shrine. These are the books I’ve banked. One day he will really retire. One day he won’t write another story. One day he won’t write another word for the public. The books on the top of the shelf are for that day. Then I’ll ration them so I will still have about ten years of discovering new stories and new friends. It could be a sickness…we’re not sure yet.