The Shining

The Shining
When I first made the acquaintance of Stephen King's classic The
Shining I had more in common, seemingly, with the living dead than the
living living. With a dear precious baby who had day and night mixed
up and two older girls who required tending to when the sun was up--
not to mention the cooking, dishes, and laundry that needed to be
accomplished on a regular basis and the papers I typed to bring in a
little money--sleep came in tiny fragments, never enough to refresh me
or even remove the sleepy dust from my eyes. Amber was a bright eyed,
curious first grader. The Shining was going to be shown in three
installments on television. She wanted to watch. I videotaped it and
viewed it with her. She was fine, not scared in the least. But her
teacher read me the riot act. How could I let an innocent child watch
such a terrifying movie? I felt a groggy, vague realization that not
all first graders are created equal. Or something like that.
To be fair, Amber did also enjoy The Brave Little Toaster,
American Girls, and Babysitters Club books, Goosebumps, and Scooby
Doo--offerings that teacher would have considered much more age
appropriate. But after that introduction, long after I could claim
sleep deprivation as an excuse for not just saying no, we watched,
read, and discussed the works of that distinctly Maine born master of
horror. The Shining remained one of our favorites.
Fast forward to 2014. Picture winter coming in as a lion, fangs
bared, in the first snow of the year. Wind whipping the snow
relentlessly, making the house creak eerily, seeping in through every
nook and cranny as the electricity goes out, making the furnace
useless. Then darkness falling.
Amber, now a grad student, called to see if I was okay. She
mentioned she was reading The Shining. It was the perfect time, I
realized, to ponder the drama of a family trapped by snow in a haunted
hotel, sharing space with decidedly malevolent entities. So I located
my copy and the leftover Halloween candy and started reading by
flashlight. It was the perfect ambiance for reading the book.
Although Stephen King is considered a horror story writer, I see
him more as a keen observer of the human psyche. His horror comes not
from flashy special effects and over the top gore, but from the
messiness and inconsistency of the human soul and the gap between who
one is inside and what one shows on the surface. A prime example in
The Shining comes when 5-year-old Danny is having either close
encounters of malevolent spirits kinds. His mom, Wendy, says they
have to get him out of the snow bound hotel, away from the danger.
His father, Jack, acquiesces. But in the dark he weighs dangers posed
by "closet boogeyman and jumping shadows" with the dangers of running
from his hotel caretaker job with no replacement. "...A man with his
sterling record of alcoholism, student-beating, and ghost-chasing
would undoubtedly be able to write his own ticket. Anything you
like. Custodial engineer--swamping out Greyhound buses. The
automotive industry--washing cars in a rubber suit..."
The legendary hotel the Overlook draws its horrific power from
human drama. Even in the off season it is inhabited by the dead but
not departed, caught eternally in often brutal enactments. Their
auras charge it with a lethal energy that can be unleashed by those
who have the mixed blessing of the shining--like little Danny.
No wonder, nearly 40 years after its first release, as legions
of genre mates have faded into obscurity, The Shining continues to
fascinate and scare us.
On a personal note, that storm really clobbered Maine. At one point
there were well over 100,000 homes lacking power. A friend of mine
didn't get electricity for 3 days.
A great big shout out goes out to Mr. Stephen King. Long may he write!
Julia Emily Hathaway


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