Ah yes, Pennywise. The reason you’re afraid of clowns; the reason folks might consider circuses with a more precise, fearful eye; the reason you might have gaped at your shower drain as a kid, and heard gurgled whispers in your head. And also, admittedly, the most likely reason this past October was over populated with weirdos riding the wave of the #clownsighting phenomenon. But, believe it or not, this character comes from a good place, and from an even better heart–that of master storyteller, “master of horror,” my personal favorite writer, Stephen King.
Trust me, you’ve heard of the dude. Many consider Stephen King to be this all-encompassing connoisseur of all the things that make you afraid, of all the things that go bump in the night and make you shudder under your covers. But King, as a man, isn’t all that scary, really (you can either take my word for it or look up one of his interviews on Youtube). And neither are some of his stories. Many folks turn a blind eye on his work, since a good lot of it is filled with blood and guts and death and ghosts. But Stephen King has churned up a number of stories that have either warmed or have broken your heart in the best possible way. The three that immediately come to mind are The Green Mile, Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption, and “The Body,” the novella that inspired my personal favorite movie, Stand by Me. Also, believe it or not, his novel, It.
The fact is, It is so big it’s even scary to review.
Big in pages, yes–my copy clocking in at 1153 pages, to be exact–but also big, utterly huge, in heart. Truth to tell, it’s scary to review something written with such tenacity, such tenderness, such palpable horror, all of it laying down the ground rules for what it means to grow up and grow old. It reminds us of what it was like to be a kid, with the whole wide world in front of you, your only limit your imagination. A time when fairies and goblins and Santa Claus were incontrovertibly real; a time when you could talk to your friends with unabashed, often unfiltered honesty; a time when you just might believe something strange lurked in the woods you now drive past without a second glance. A time when life moved slowly, strictly because it tripped you up with all its wonder, and brutality, and dreams, and subsequent nightmares, and of course, magic, raw in all its dappled, convivial reality. The book also touches on a number of topics that remain all too relevant and real today: racism, hatred, fear, mental illness, domestic and sexual abuse, violence, madness, alcoholism, love, desire, and belief. Oh, and in addition to the murderous clown you’re more than likely already acquainted with, there’s a feast of horror, both classical and modern, a motley presentation that includes, among other things, a vampire, a werewolf, a swamp creature, several dead children that haunt a tower, a giant bird, swarming leeches, and all sorts of horrid, vile people. Some of those people, in my opinion, are scariest of all. People, after all, as I’m sure you’d agree, are the real monsters.
On your odyssey through this book, a journey that will inevitably take you to your childhood and all the way back, you will encounter a sprawling cast of what I believe to be some of Stephen King’s most intricately drawn characters. These include the Loser’s Club: Bill Denbrough (the writer with the dead little brother, quasi-protagonist), Ben Hancsom (the lovable fat kid turned stud in his later years), Eddie Kasprak (the physical weakling, the brain, often smothered by his zealously overprotective mother), Mike Hanlon (the black kid, who keeps them all together throughout the test of time), Richie Tozier (the wise-cracking jokester, the comic relief, at least amongst the Loser’s Club), and Beverly Marsh (the pretty girl, the apple of all their prepubescent eyes, the waking symbol of their shared, consummate love). You will also encounter demons in the shape of people, including Henry Bowers (the bully who takes things much too far) and his racist father, Al Marsh (Beverly’s alcoholic, abusive father), and; scariest of all–at least for me–Patrick Hockstetter (a Henry Bowers follower with extreme psychological…err, issues). And of course, hovering over all (or rather, beneath them all), in the sewer system of Stephen King’s fictional haven of horror, Derry, Maine, lurks Pennywise the Dancing Clown, the shapeshifter, the magical creature, the vile thing…IT.
You will journey alongside the Loser’s Club both in 1958 and 1985. The novel is broken up into five parts, spanning across their childhoods and subsequent adulthoods, going back and forth between both time periods. Between each part lies an Interlude that details not only the vast history of Pennywise, but also the admittedly dark history of our own humanity. These Interludes explore the very nature of evil, and feature some of the novel’s creepiest, bloodiest sections.
When you read about the Loser’s Club as kids, you will become these kids. When you read about the Barrens–their place of play, a lush zone of nature ripe for all sorts of squiffy adventure and exploration–you will see the place you grew up playing with your own best friends, if you are fortunate enough to have had such a place, and to have likewise had such friends. When you read about their encounters with Pennywise, you will remember all those scary tales your older siblings told you in the dark; or perhaps those stories your cousin shared before he or she joined the Army or got addicted to drugs or maybe got famous–stories like the Witch in the Woods, the Beast in the Alley, the Ghost Man on the Cul-de-sac–and all at once you will be delighted while simultaneously filled with a nostalgic punch of sadness.
When you read about the Loser’s Club as adults, you will come to understand what it means to dream and find wonder again. When you read about the awkwardness that has bubbled amongst them when they reunite for the first time in thirty years, you will remember all the friends you no longer speak with, and you will wonder why you don’t care all that much about it. When you read about the horror of what it truly means to forget where you came from; to forget that world of imagination and wonder and magic, you might laugh, you might cry, you might feel suddenly sick, or you might feel suddenly happy. It really depends on your mood at the time you read the words, I think.
You will laugh when you read this book. You will cry when you read this book. You will remember and reflect on your life when you read this book, and whether that brings you tears of joy or of sadness, I cannot be the one to say. However, I will say that this book is all about nostalgia; it’s got all the goods of the hit netflix show “Stranger Things,” and much, much more. It will inspire you in places, cripple you in others, break you down, shake you up; and by the time you reach the end, you will be better for it. You will have learned all about what only the best of stories can teach (loss of innocence, becoming an adult, etc.), and you will be renewed with a sense of wonder. You might; however, become disgusted, and think Stephen King is some kind of pervert. Which brings me to the ending.
The ending is the among the most controversial sections of fiction ever written. Personally, I think it’s brilliant. Tackling themes such as love and desire, the ending will reveal to you the true meaning behind the novel’s title, It, not so much about a clown, but about the horror of growing up and growing older and facing the inevitability of your mortality. It is Death; It is Life; It is Sex, the formation of life itself; It is the Universe, and the endless possibilities and magic and wonder it holds in this life, and perhaps even the next.
This book, in this aspiring novelist’s humble opinion, is the best horror book ever written. It is so worth your time; especially since time itself is so woefully fleeting and fragile. You’d do well to read the book before the new movie comes out later this year; although I have the highest hopes for the film, I’m always sure to keep in mind the famous words of Stephen King himself, “Never judge a book by its movie.” I read It for the first time when I was thirteen, then I reread it this year at twenty-three, and I will be revisiting Derry and the Barrens and the Loser’s Club and Pennywise and even Patrick Hockstetter again, barring anything happens to me, when I am thirty-three. I know I’ll find something new when I do.
After all, the damn thing is almost bigger than the Bible or the Torah or the Koran or whatever huge book compliments your religious affiliation. Both in size, and, arguably–at least when comparing it to all other works of fiction–its heart.
The Stats
Prose/readability: 10/10
Dialogue: 10/10
Description: 10/10
Characters: 10/10
Plot: 10/10
Reread value: 10/10
Ending: 10/10
Overall Score: 10/10
First sentence: “The terror, which would not end for another twenty-eight years–if it ever did end–began, so far as I know or can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newspaper floating down a gutter swollen with rain.”
Have you read It? Feel free to share your opinions on anything I have discussed, and of course, anything else I might have left out. Are you as stoked for the movie as I am? Do you think the book’s ending is a bit too much? Are there any other books by Stephen King, or by any author, you’d be interested to see me review without spoilers? Leave a comment below and let me know! Thanks for reading.
-Keith Enterante, author of two novels-in-progress, Aaron Ares: the Padder’s Timepiece, and Scarlett, and a collection of short stories, Hell and Suburbia
Keith Enterante 