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A review by keegan_leech
Misery by Stephen King
dark
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
Overall, a flawed by surprisingly worthwhile novel that seems more relevant than ever. There's a lot to like about it, but a lot of it is also just bad. All of it is very typically Stephen King.
Let's start with what's worst about the book. Top of the list: a pervasive misogyny which is unfortunately a hallmark of King's. In the first few pages there is a very direct rape metaphor which sets a lot of the tone for the book. Annie Wilkes' attempts to revive Paul Sheldon by CPR are presented as a kind of metaphysical sexual assault (with some heavily gendered undertones about the implications of a woman raping a man). It is poorly-thought out, clunky in its execution, clearly intended to shock readers and provoke disgust towards Annie, and comes across as generally rife with misogyny. Not necessarily a deliberate misogyny; it seems instead to be a kind of obliviousness on King's part that might have been avoided by a better writer or a more careful second draft. (Annie, as one of essentially only two characters in the novel, often becomes a stand-in for women in general, but especially for a perception of women who fail to properly perform femininity by being unattractive, controlling, unstable, and insufficiently motherly or nurturing. Whether King was aware of any of this is hard to judge.)
Some of this can be waved away as the preconceptions and prejudices of point-of-view character Paul—a half-decent author who is, of course, a Stephen King-type. Except there is so much about the poor execution of the gendered dynamic between he and Annie that can be laid only at the feet of Stephen King himself. It's the glaring flaw at the heart of the book which undercuts its most interesting themes. Annie Wilkes is a less effective commentary on the nature of controlling fans and toxic parasocial relationships when she is being portrayed as something closer to a cartoon sketch labelled "women sure be crazy!" This isn't the only flaw, but it is the hardest to ignore as being a fault of Paul's. (The sections where "Africa" and mental illness are mentioned in any detail are also tactless, but more easily read as deliberate attempts to portray an author who is somewhat of a hack at the best of times.) It's also hardly the only Stephen King book with this particular flaw.
To my surprise, King seems to have put more of an effort into the ending than is usual for him. The book was perfectly poised to end with the "And then the author got bored and wrapped up this book to start another one" that I've come to expect from his books. Instead it got a tidier ending that did a little more to put a satisfying coda on its themes. That level of effort didn't seem to persist long enough for him to do any very thorough revisions, but I'll take what I can get.
That makes quite a poor basis on which to then recommend a book, and I wouldn't blame anyone for deciding that the complaints above were enough to make up their mind and skip the thing. Despite all that, I think Misery is well worth reading.
The best aspects of the novel are, like its worst aspects, very typically Stephen King. His writing about writing is absorbing. (I think it's no surprise that On Writing is so popular and so widely-quoted.) There's an understanding—expressed through Paul—that King isn't a genius or some kind of once-in a generation talent, but that beyond a certain point his skill matters less than the actual process of storytelling. More than anything else, the heart of the novel is a feeling that stories have a kind of inexplicable force to them that can animate and compel people beyond what reason would suggest. Paul is, even at his lowest and most pitiful, animated by the process of writing; Annie is equally compelled by stories despite (or to the point of) completely disregarding the humanity of the person telling them. This isn't because the stories are especially good, but because the process of storytelling itself is compelling. Like surfing a wave, there is a kind of precarious equilibrium which makes the whole activity thrilling, which drives the surfer forward with an energy which seems external and almost uncontrollable. In Misery, Stephen King conjures that feeling, both in his writing about writing, and in the experience of reading the novel. It is so easy despite all it's flaws to pick up Misery and just read. The novel moves quickly and sustains itself with a tension and intensity that is surprising considering how simple the premise is.
Finally, there are the other thematic elements. As I'm writing this , Chappell Roan has become just the latest face of a discussion about toxic fandom, entitlement, and celebrity culture. For all its failings, Misery as an exploration of toxic parasocial relationships and obsessive fandom is startlingly relevant. It's a shame that Annie Wilkes is so often depicted as a "crazy woman" in a way that undermines the gendered dynamics that drive so much real world harassment of public figures. It's not a perfect book, and I don't want to heap undeserved praise on King here, but it is insightful and interesting beyond anything he seems to have envisioned for it. There's even elements of the novel that could be read in the context of online "media literacy discourse" (for want of a better phrase).
There's a sense that, despite Misery being so quintessentially A Stephen King Book, King himself was never in control or even really aware of where the novel went as he wrote it. He's too shortsighted to stop his prejudices from creeping in, and couldn't have predicted how its thematic relevance would only deepen with time. It is as if (to paraphrase Misery's own description of the writing process) King simply fell into the paper in front of him and emerged to find a completed novel in its place. In the best of circumstances, reading Misery is like falling into that page yourself. I recommend the experience.
Let's start with what's worst about the book. Top of the list: a pervasive misogyny which is unfortunately a hallmark of King's. In the first few pages there is a very direct rape metaphor which sets a lot of the tone for the book. Annie Wilkes' attempts to revive Paul Sheldon by CPR are presented as a kind of metaphysical sexual assault (with some heavily gendered undertones about the implications of a woman raping a man). It is poorly-thought out, clunky in its execution, clearly intended to shock readers and provoke disgust towards Annie, and comes across as generally rife with misogyny. Not necessarily a deliberate misogyny; it seems instead to be a kind of obliviousness on King's part that might have been avoided by a better writer or a more careful second draft. (Annie, as one of essentially only two characters in the novel, often becomes a stand-in for women in general, but especially for a perception of women who fail to properly perform femininity by being unattractive, controlling, unstable, and insufficiently motherly or nurturing. Whether King was aware of any of this is hard to judge.)
Some of this can be waved away as the preconceptions and prejudices of point-of-view character Paul—a half-decent author who is, of course, a Stephen King-type. Except there is so much about the poor execution of the gendered dynamic between he and Annie that can be laid only at the feet of Stephen King himself. It's the glaring flaw at the heart of the book which undercuts its most interesting themes. Annie Wilkes is a less effective commentary on the nature of controlling fans and toxic parasocial relationships when she is being portrayed as something closer to a cartoon sketch labelled "women sure be crazy!" This isn't the only flaw, but it is the hardest to ignore as being a fault of Paul's. (The sections where "Africa" and mental illness are mentioned in any detail are also tactless, but more easily read as deliberate attempts to portray an author who is somewhat of a hack at the best of times.) It's also hardly the only Stephen King book with this particular flaw.
To my surprise, King seems to have put more of an effort into the ending than is usual for him. The book was perfectly poised to end with the "And then the author got bored and wrapped up this book to start another one" that I've come to expect from his books. Instead it got a tidier ending that did a little more to put a satisfying coda on its themes. That level of effort didn't seem to persist long enough for him to do any very thorough revisions, but I'll take what I can get.
That makes quite a poor basis on which to then recommend a book, and I wouldn't blame anyone for deciding that the complaints above were enough to make up their mind and skip the thing. Despite all that, I think Misery is well worth reading.
The best aspects of the novel are, like its worst aspects, very typically Stephen King. His writing about writing is absorbing. (I think it's no surprise that On Writing is so popular and so widely-quoted.) There's an understanding—expressed through Paul—that King isn't a genius or some kind of once-in a generation talent, but that beyond a certain point his skill matters less than the actual process of storytelling. More than anything else, the heart of the novel is a feeling that stories have a kind of inexplicable force to them that can animate and compel people beyond what reason would suggest. Paul is, even at his lowest and most pitiful, animated by the process of writing; Annie is equally compelled by stories despite (or to the point of) completely disregarding the humanity of the person telling them. This isn't because the stories are especially good, but because the process of storytelling itself is compelling. Like surfing a wave, there is a kind of precarious equilibrium which makes the whole activity thrilling, which drives the surfer forward with an energy which seems external and almost uncontrollable. In Misery, Stephen King conjures that feeling, both in his writing about writing, and in the experience of reading the novel. It is so easy despite all it's flaws to pick up Misery and just read. The novel moves quickly and sustains itself with a tension and intensity that is surprising considering how simple the premise is.
Finally, there are the other thematic elements. As I'm writing this , Chappell Roan has become just the latest face of a discussion about toxic fandom, entitlement, and celebrity culture. For all its failings, Misery as an exploration of toxic parasocial relationships and obsessive fandom is startlingly relevant. It's a shame that Annie Wilkes is so often depicted as a "crazy woman" in a way that undermines the gendered dynamics that drive so much real world harassment of public figures. It's not a perfect book, and I don't want to heap undeserved praise on King here, but it is insightful and interesting beyond anything he seems to have envisioned for it. There's even elements of the novel that could be read in the context of online "media literacy discourse" (for want of a better phrase).
There's a sense that, despite Misery being so quintessentially A Stephen King Book, King himself was never in control or even really aware of where the novel went as he wrote it. He's too shortsighted to stop his prejudices from creeping in, and couldn't have predicted how its thematic relevance would only deepen with time. It is as if (to paraphrase Misery's own description of the writing process) King simply fell into the paper in front of him and emerged to find a completed novel in its place. In the best of circumstances, reading Misery is like falling into that page yourself. I recommend the experience.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Ableism, Addiction, Drug use, Emotional abuse, Mental illness, Medical content, Car accident, Murder, Schizophrenia/Psychosis , Fire/Fire injury, Gaslighting, and Injury/Injury detail
Moderate: Alcoholism, Rape, Sexual violence, Torture, and Vomit
Minor: Racism