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A review by ashsalt
Just After Sunset by Stephen King
4.0
A few years ago I purchased, on a whim, a used copy of [b:Everything's Eventual: 14 Dark Tales|10579|Everything's Eventual 14 Dark Tales|Stephen King|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1386922876s/10579.jpg|2330175], an earlier volume of King's short fiction. I went to bed with the light on several nights running as I made my way through the stories. And I loved it.
Since then I've read a few more volumes of King's short stories and generally enjoyed them. However, I struggled to like this collection. Though I eventually settled on a 4-star rating, I found the volume tedious and disappointing at several points. Ultimately, this is a collection more admirable for its storycraft than enjoyable for its thrilling stories. If you're about to dive into JUST AFTER SUNSET, you might want to adjust your expectations so as not to be disappointed.
I never had the (terrible yet delightful) urge to sleep with the lights on after reading these stories. The horrors are often more mundane than supernatural: a serial killer, an apocalyptic explosion, a vindictive neighbor. In many of the stories I found myself missing that supernatural element, that how-the-heck-did-he-ever-imagine-this?! horror that I've enjoyed in other tales.
"The Gingerbread Girl," at 75 pages long, was particularly frustrating in this way. There is no supernatural element. There is no horror in the classic sense of the genre. There is a deranged human being bent on harming other human beings. That's scary in a way though not what I came to the collection hoping for. Also, the most suspenseful scenes are rendered motion by motion in excruciating detail that compelled me to skim.
The stories that do revolve around something unexplained are not the most memorable. I'd put "Anaya," "Willa," and "Harvey's Dream" on this list. All are mildly entertaining but ultimately forgettable. "The Cat From Hell" leaves a stronger impression, but it never feels cohesive with the rest of the collection. I wasn't surprised to read in the end-of-volume notes that it was written much earlier.
Having acknowledged the frustrations I felt with the stories, let me get to the upside. The collection eventually coalesces around a more subtle type of horror: the psychology of obsession and compulsion. "N." is perhaps the best of the bunch. I enjoyed its fragmented structure-a couple of letters, a psychologist's case notes, a news clipping-and thought it perfectly matched to the thematic content of the story.
"Stationary Bike" is another intriguing exploration of the horrors that arise in an obsessed psyche, but I wished it were shorter than 50 pages. "The Things They Left Behind" also had me skimming a bit, but it was, at times, an enjoyably creepy post 9-11 tale. It's a good representative of what the collection is because it blends psychological trauma with something unexplained.
While reading "A Very Tight Place," the final story in JUST AFTER SUNSET, I finally concluded that part of my disappointment arose from how literary these stories are. Yes, literary. I picked up another volume of Stephen King shorts hoping for some guilty-pleasure reading and some cheap thrills. Instead I got something more sophisticated than I really wanted at that particular time.
"A Very Tight Place" is not meant to be an enjoyable read. It offers up some gross-out scenes that made me think of Palahniuk. It focuses on two unlikable characters. (We may sympathize with Curtis, whose point of view the story follows, but in the end he's just as off-putting as his crazy neighbor.) The story, like some of the other more memorable reads in SUNSET, prompts us to think about human nature and human limitations. It is not a satisfying read, not even satisfyingly scary. It's unsettling, but not like your favorite horror movie and probably not like your favorite King novel. In other words, it's challenging in much the way literary works are.
So, if you read SUNSET, go into it forewarned: No cheap thrills here. Instead you will find some fairly complex characters dealing with such subtle horrors as the the grief of outliving a child, the fear that comes with facing down your own mortality, and that scary psychological precipice we stand on when we think about any particular thing incessantly. And unlike pulpier horror, these matters are at the hearts of the stories, not merely window dressing for shocking or fantastic tales.
Since then I've read a few more volumes of King's short stories and generally enjoyed them. However, I struggled to like this collection. Though I eventually settled on a 4-star rating, I found the volume tedious and disappointing at several points. Ultimately, this is a collection more admirable for its storycraft than enjoyable for its thrilling stories. If you're about to dive into JUST AFTER SUNSET, you might want to adjust your expectations so as not to be disappointed.
I never had the (terrible yet delightful) urge to sleep with the lights on after reading these stories. The horrors are often more mundane than supernatural: a serial killer, an apocalyptic explosion, a vindictive neighbor. In many of the stories I found myself missing that supernatural element, that how-the-heck-did-he-ever-imagine-this?! horror that I've enjoyed in other tales.
"The Gingerbread Girl," at 75 pages long, was particularly frustrating in this way. There is no supernatural element. There is no horror in the classic sense of the genre. There is a deranged human being bent on harming other human beings. That's scary in a way though not what I came to the collection hoping for. Also, the most suspenseful scenes are rendered motion by motion in excruciating detail that compelled me to skim.
The stories that do revolve around something unexplained are not the most memorable. I'd put "Anaya," "Willa," and "Harvey's Dream" on this list. All are mildly entertaining but ultimately forgettable. "The Cat From Hell" leaves a stronger impression, but it never feels cohesive with the rest of the collection. I wasn't surprised to read in the end-of-volume notes that it was written much earlier.
Having acknowledged the frustrations I felt with the stories, let me get to the upside. The collection eventually coalesces around a more subtle type of horror: the psychology of obsession and compulsion. "N." is perhaps the best of the bunch. I enjoyed its fragmented structure-a couple of letters, a psychologist's case notes, a news clipping-and thought it perfectly matched to the thematic content of the story.
"Stationary Bike" is another intriguing exploration of the horrors that arise in an obsessed psyche, but I wished it were shorter than 50 pages. "The Things They Left Behind" also had me skimming a bit, but it was, at times, an enjoyably creepy post 9-11 tale. It's a good representative of what the collection is because it blends psychological trauma with something unexplained.
While reading "A Very Tight Place," the final story in JUST AFTER SUNSET, I finally concluded that part of my disappointment arose from how literary these stories are. Yes, literary. I picked up another volume of Stephen King shorts hoping for some guilty-pleasure reading and some cheap thrills. Instead I got something more sophisticated than I really wanted at that particular time.
"A Very Tight Place" is not meant to be an enjoyable read. It offers up some gross-out scenes that made me think of Palahniuk. It focuses on two unlikable characters. (We may sympathize with Curtis, whose point of view the story follows, but in the end he's just as off-putting as his crazy neighbor.) The story, like some of the other more memorable reads in SUNSET, prompts us to think about human nature and human limitations. It is not a satisfying read, not even satisfyingly scary. It's unsettling, but not like your favorite horror movie and probably not like your favorite King novel. In other words, it's challenging in much the way literary works are.
So, if you read SUNSET, go into it forewarned: No cheap thrills here. Instead you will find some fairly complex characters dealing with such subtle horrors as the the grief of outliving a child, the fear that comes with facing down your own mortality, and that scary psychological precipice we stand on when we think about any particular thing incessantly. And unlike pulpier horror, these matters are at the hearts of the stories, not merely window dressing for shocking or fantastic tales.