Over the last couple of years, as I’ve
looked at various lists and rankings of Stephen King’s top books, I kept seeing
a certain, somewhat surprising title popping up: Hearts in Atlantis. I call
it surprising because many such lists placed this one in the top ten, and at
least one reviewer I saw on YouTube selected it as the very best King book of
them all. Increasingly, it became
obvious that I needed to read this one.
As I say, for a long time, this book was
never on my radar. I remember the film
version being released and seeming generally well received, but nothing about
it grabbed my attention. Maybe it was
the film’s poster, or even the book’s cover design, both of which struck me as mildly
bland and hard to interpret. The title seemed
odd and somewhat unappealing, and I just wasn’t hearing enough about it from
other people to be intrigued. Lots of
people talk about The Shining, The
Shawshank Redemption, IT, Carrie, Pet Sematary. But Hearts
in Atlantis? Not so much.
And so I neglected it. This, it turns out, is a shame, because the
book is a terrific achievement. It is
one of King’s best for sure. In fact, I
think it is one of his masterpieces. It
is a unique work in King’s catalogue. The
tricky thing is in figuring out how to label it. The book is not a novel per se; it’s
organized as a collection of novellas and short stories. That said, the stories are all connected by
characters, events, and themes. And
there is a definite progression in terms of an evolution of ideas, if not so much one clear-cut
story. Additionally, the passage of time
is central to the book, and all of the stories combined create a powerfully
cumulative effect that is greater than the sum of its individual parts.
If there is one distinctive organizing theme
in the book, it is, I suppose, how the Vietnam war influenced the era of the
1960s into the 1970s, and even—King argues—in many ways beyond that. King conveys his ideas about all this through
wonderfully evoked stories of personal lives of young people growing up in and
living through that particular era.
King, no doubt, has very strong personal feelings about Vietnam—I doubt
this book would even exist otherwise—but to his credit, he restrains himself,
and resists sermonizing. Rather, King
communicates his ideas about the war and its impact primarily through the
emotions, viewpoints, and behavior of his characters. Particularly in the second novella, “Hearts
in Atlantis,” King demonstrates how antiwar sentiment evolves very gradually
and naturally; the way it is informed and fortified through conversations in college
dorm rooms, by questioning and debating, by seeing how the lives of friends and
loved ones are affected by war, by coming to understand not just what is
supposedly gained, but seeing with sober eyes what it truly costs.
When it comes to the war itself, King
references it more directly as the book progresses. But his approach is interesting. King only rarely writes about the hellish
aspects of combat. There are a few
passages that I can recall off the top of my head. And they are brutal. But by and large, King does not elect to
persuade us to view the war as bad by shocking us or forcing grisly images of
death into our minds. No, more often
King just writes about characters in the aftermath, individuals left to ponder
the meaning of what they were a part of, and living with various physical and
psychological ailments. King writes
about issues such as survivor’s guilt, suicide, substance abuse, and PTSD, but
he does not push any political agenda in doing so. Rather, he focuses on the people involved, empathizing
with them, exploring how they were shaped by their circumstances; by what they
saw and did. In writing about the war, an
author prone to writing “horror” might be inclined to focus on the violent
trauma of it. King does do that, but in
a different way than you might guess.
The result is a little less sensational, and a bit more somber than you
might expect.
I imagine there are aspects of King and
his real-life experiences embedded in the characters who populate these
stories, maybe most of all in Pete Riley, who learns a host of valuable,
complicated truths about love, politics, and himself while at the University of
Maine (King’s actual alma mater). But again,
it is the journey of the characters
that King seems to be promoting first and foremost, and he tells their stories
with a masterful grasp on communicating their specific feelings, worries,
passions, and hopes. Rarely in King’s
fiction have I known him to so effectively convey characters’ growth and
development—how their feelings, opinions, and beliefs change as a result of
their experiences and relationships.
On the level of pure story, nearly all
of the tales in the book are engaging and even moving, to varying degrees. The most involving and affecting one for me
was the first, “Low Men in Yellow Coats.”
It is the longest story in the book, and perhaps the deepest and most
tragic. I have, in the past, been
somewhat critical of King’s ability to write convincingly from the perspective
of children. I am not sure precisely
where I picked up the impression that King is shaky when it comes to this, but
more and more I am persuaded to think I was wrong. After all, I do consider “The Body” to be
King’s crowning achievement, and boy, “Low Men” is pretty darn good too.
By the time I reached the halfway point,
I was utterly spellbound. I was also
deeply invested in Bobby’s experiences, feeling a good deal of fear and sadness
for him. Some of the best writing in the
entire book occurs as that story unfolds.
One of the charms of that story is that it’s about a transition point in
the lives of young Bobby and his friends—the end of childhood and beginning of
adolescence. A period that carries with
it, of course, the falling away of certain childhood illusions. There are aches and pains involved in losing
the capacity to see the world in simple, purely idealistic terms—in coming to
understand the darker, harsher reality of things—and King captures this with honest,
stinging poignancy.
As I was reading the book, I struggled
to determine how I felt about “Low Men” being a Dark Tower-related story. Part of me thinks it didn’t need to be, especially
since everything else in the book is grounded and realistic. But then again, a huge part of the power of
that story is because it’s Tower
related. And, honestly, whatever
uncertainty or ambivalence I felt about the concept was redeemed at the end of
the book. I won’t say more than that, except…bravo,
Mr. King. Well done.
Ultimately, this is a King book that is
likely to surprise you. If you think of
King primarily as a horror writer, or regard him as a middle-of-the-road
talent, Hearts in Atlantis is a must
read. It will challenge your conception
of him and his abilities, I assure you. It
does not “fit in” very easily with the majority of his popular work. If there is anything frightening here, it is
firmly rooted in human nature. King’s typically
bold writing style is tempered, subdued—more artfully composed than you might
expect. This is as “literary” a work as anything you’re likely to encounter by
him, save for maybe Different Seasons. The book contains what we might label “important,”
socially-conscious themes, excellent character work, as well as plenty of deep,
reflective writing. King also does some impressive
things on a technical level, such as changing prose styles from story to
story.
This is a serious, heartfelt book, but
it is not overly sentimental. You can
sense how it could have been bolder, more emotional, strained, or forced. But King manages to avoid all that. At the end especially, you can feel King skillfully
maintaining control, perhaps even pulling back a little—not too much, but just
enough to keep the notes he’s hitting perfectly in tune. I don’t mind confessing that as I read the
final pages, I got goosebumps. I felt a
lump in my throat, and tears sting my eyes.
I can’t guarantee that everyone will have the same reaction, but I’m
guessing a good many people might.
Folks, I love this book. I am grateful that King wrote it, that he
poured so much apparent love and effort into it. I am glad I finally got around to reading it.
I may still not know how to categorize it, but I can tell you one thing
for sure: it’s great!
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