Hands on a clock, numbers on a bathroom scale, weren’t they only ways of trying to measure invisible forces that had visible effects? A feeble effort to corral some greater reality beyond what mere humans thought of as reality?
Stephen King’s latest work is more of a modern-day fable than a novel. It’s also a surprisingly lighthearted look at a unique problem that happens to be a terminal condition.
Scott Carey is losing weight. The fact that it’s happening without any effort is fairly miraculous. The fact that his middle-aged body doesn’t change no matter how much weight he loses is kind of annoying. The fact that he weighs the same whether he’s naked, fully dressed, or carrying ten pound dumbbells should be terrifying. Except, somehow, he isn’t terrified. The lighter he gets, the less he cares about a lot of stuff that used to matter, even as the weight loss speeds up and the moment of Zero Pounds gets closer every day.
By design, Scott’s “affliction” is far, far outside the realm of anything that physics can explain. After all, if it were something understandable then Scott’s doctor-friend Bob might have dragged him kicking and screaming to a hospital, or an institute, or someplace that could cure him before his weight reaches zero. As it is, no one wants Scott to spend what could be his last few months (or weeks) locked away in a laboratory being poked at by scientists. Much better to spend the time dealing with the everyday things, like trying to patch things up with Missy and Deidre, the neighbors who’s dogs have been doing their business on his lawn.
Their ongoing feud is one of those things that manages to turn people into bitter enemies, but after a conversation with Missy, Scott somewhat guiltily realizes that he’s never even tried to connect with her or Deidre. The married couple is in a difficult situation: newcomers with no friends in the area, and business owners (a brand new vegan restaurant) in a conservative town that really doesn’t approve of same-sex marriage. Castle Rock has been practicing a “benign” sort of prejudice; don’t expect flaming crosses on the lawn, everyone is just refusing to interact with the new couple in the hope that their restaurant will fail and they’ll go away. It’s a situation that Scott’s never really considered before, so he does his best to reach out, to bring a friend to their restaurant, even stepping in when someone makes a rude comment about the couple in one of the town’s diners.
And Deidre shuts down Scott, hard. She has zero interest in his pity, or his white-knighting, and throws his olive branches right back in his face. Cut it out, back off, and stay away from her wife. Good discussion, get out.
I was afraid that King was taking a scolding tone here, tut-tutting people who need to appreciate when someone is trying to be an ally. But he isn’t, instead he’s written a plea for understanding. Imagine someone who’s spent their life dealing with people who think it’s their business to disapprove of everything they are, with people who will starve them out of society for daring to think that they deserve to live their lives. Someone like that isn’t going to be in any mood to make themselves vulnerable. Better to freeze everyone out than get hurt one more time. Oh, and no one owes you anything for your random act of kindness, and expecting someone to be fawningly grateful for treating them like a damn human being isn’t going to go over well at all.
If Scott wants to make things better, he’s going to have to get creative.
Is Scott’s solution a little convenient and neat? Probably. But it’s still fun and satisfying and (odd to say this about a Stephen King book) heart-warming. A lot of this comes across as a daydream of health, of beautiful fall days, of new friends that surprise us, of feeling the pull of gravity that makes knees and back hurt more and more every year, and then feeling that pull gradually going away.
I don’t always like how King ends his books, but I think he sticks the landing on this one, possibly because this feels very personal for King. One of the things he’s always done best is to show normal people dealing with utterly abnormal situations, but also pulling meaning from the most mundane things. There were tiny moments that absolutely kicked me in the chest, like when someone takes the time to grab an extra comforter, or the sight of personal items on a bedside table. The book is a touching look at the connections we make if we actually bother to reach out to our fellow human beings, and the ways those connections can change us for the better. But it may also be King’s daydream of what it would be like if the end isn’t just about leaving, it’s about finding out what happens next.